Drums of Autumn - Diana Gabaldon [141]
“You’ve arranged what with Myers?” Jocasta asked sharply, her voice cutting through the babble of exclamations and questions that greeted this announcement.
Jamie finished buttering the piece of toast that he held, and handed it to Duncan before speaking.
“We shall take the woman into the mountains,” he said. “Myers says she’ll be welcome among the Indians; he kens a good place for her, he says. And she’ll be safe there from Wee Billy Murchison.”
“We?” I asked politely. “And who’s we?”
He grinned at me in reply.
“Myers and myself, Sassenach. I need to go to the backcountry to have a look before the cold weather comes, and this will be a good chance. Myers is the best guide I could have.”
He carefully refrained from noting that it might be as well for him to be temporarily out of Sergeant Murchison’s sphere of influence, but the implication was not lost on me.
“Ye’ll take me, will ye not, Uncle?” Ian brushed the matted hair out of his face, looking eager. “Ye’ll need help wi’ that woman, believe me—she’s the size of a molasses barrel.”
Jamie smiled at his nephew.
“Aye, Ian. I expect we can use another man along.”
“Ahem,” I said, giving him an evil stare.
“To keep an eye on your auntie, if nothing else,” Jamie continued, giving the stare back to me. “We leave in three days, Sassenach—if Myers can sit a horse by then.”
Three days didn’t allow much time, but with the assistance of Myers and Phaedre, my preparations were completed with hours to spare. I had a small traveling box of medicines and tools, and the saddlebags were packed with food, blankets, and cooking implements. The only small matter remaining was that of attire.
I recrossed the ends of the long silk strip across my chest, tied the ends in a jaunty knot between my breasts, and examined the results in the looking glass.
Not bad. I extended my arms and jiggled my torso from side to side, testing. Yes, that would do. Though perhaps if I took one more turn around my chest before crossing the ends …
“What, exactly, are ye doing, Sassenach? And what in the name of God are ye wearing?” Jamie, arms crossed, was leaning against the door, watching me with both brows raised.
“I am improvising a brassiere,” I said with dignity. “I don’t mean to ride sidesaddle through the mountains wearing a dress, and if I’m not wearing stays, I don’t mean my breasts to be joggling all the way, either. Most uncomfortable, joggling.”
“I daresay.” He edged into the room and circled me at a cautious distance, eyeing my nether limbs with interest. “And what are those?”
“Like them?” I put my hands on my hips, modeling the drawstring leather trousers that Phaedre had constructed for me—laughing hysterically as she did so—from soft buckskin provided by one of Myers’s friends in Cross Creek.
“No,” he said bluntly. “Ye canna be going about in—in—” He waved at them, speechless.
“Trousers,” I said. “And of course I can. I wore trousers all the time, back in Boston. They’re very practical.”
He looked at me in silence for a moment. Then, very slowly, he walked around me. At last, his voice came from behind me.
“Ye wore them outside?” he said, in tones of incredulity. “Where folk could see ye?”
“I did,” I said crossly. “So did most other women. Why not?”
“Why not?” he said, scandalized. “I can see the whole shape of your buttocks, for God’s sake, and the cleft between!”
“I can see yours, too,” I pointed out, turning around to face him. “I’ve been looking at your backside in breeks every day for months, but only occasionally does the sight move me to make indecent advances on your person.”
His mouth twitched, undecided whether to laugh or not. Taking advantage of the indecision, I took a step forward and put my arms around his waist, firmly cupping his backside.
“Actually, it’s your kilt that makes me want to fling you to the floor and commit ravishment,” I told him. “But you don’t look at all bad in your breeks.”
He did laugh then, and bending, kissed me thoroughly, his hands carefully exploring the outlines of