Drums of Autumn - Diana Gabaldon [163]
“Well, no doubt I shall have to cut down a few trees first, but that can wait, aye?”
We made a bed of plaid and cloaks, and lay down upon it naked, skin to skin among the yellow grasses and the scent of balsam and wild strawberries.
We touched each other for what might have been a very long time or no time at all, together in the garden of earthly delight. I forced away the thoughts that had plagued me up the mountain, determined only to share his joy for as long as it lasted. I grasped him tight and he breathed in deep and pressed himself hard into my hand.
“And what would Eden be without a serpent?” I murmured, fingers stroking.
His eyes creased into blue triangles, so close I could see the black of his pupils.
“And will ye eat wi’ me, then, mo chridhe? Of the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of Good and Evil?”
I put out the tip of my tongue and drew it along his lower lip in answer. He shivered under my fingers, though the air was warm and sweet.
“Je suis prest,” I said. “Monsieur Fréselière.”
His head bent and his mouth fastened on my nipple, swollen as one of the tiny ripe berries.
“Madame Fréselière,” he whispered back. “Je suis à votre service.”
And then we shared the fruit and flowers, and the green leaves covering all.
We lay tangled in drowsiness, stirring only to bat away inquisitive insects, until the first shadows touched our feet. Jamie rose quietly, and covered me with a cloak, thinking me asleep. I heard the stealthy rustle as he dressed himself, and then the soft swish of his passage through the grass.
I rolled over, and saw him a little distance away, standing at the edge of the wood, looking out over the fall of land toward the river.
He wore nothing but his plaid, crumpled and blood-stained, belted round his waist. With his hair unbound and tangled round his shoulders, he looked the wild Highlander he was. What I had thought a trap for him—his family, his clan—was his strength. And what I had thought my strength—my solitude, my lack of ties—was my weakness.
Having known closeness, both its good and its bad, he had the strength to leave it, to step away from all notions of safety and venture out alone. And I—so proud of self-sufficiency at one time—could not bear the thought of loneliness again.
I had resolved to say nothing, to live in the moment, to accept whatever came. But the moment was here, and I could not accept it. I saw his head lift in decision, and at the same moment, saw his name carved in cold stone. Terror and despair washed over me.
As though he had heard the echo of my unspoken cry, he turned his head toward me. Whatever he saw in my face brought him swiftly to my side.
“What is it, Sassenach?”
There was no point in lying; not when he could see me.
“I’m afraid,” I blurted out.
He glanced quickly round for danger, one hand reaching for his knife, but I stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“Not that. Jamie—hold me. Please.”
He gathered me close against him, wrapping the cloak around me. I was shivering, though the air was still warm.
“It’s all right, a nighean donn,” he murmured. “I’m here. What’s frightened ye, then?”
“You,” I said, and clung tight. His heart thumped just under my ear, strong and steady. “Here. It makes me afraid to think of you here, of us coming here—”
“Afraid?” he asked. “Of what, Sassenach?” His arms tightened around me. “I did say when we were wed that I would always see ye fed, no?” He pulled me closer, tucking my head into the curve of his shoulder.
“I gave ye three things that day,” he said softly. “My name, my family, and the protection of my body. You’ll have those things always, Sassenach—so long as we both shall live. No matter where we may be. I willna let ye go hungry or cold; I’ll let nothing harm ye, ever.”
“I’m not afraid of any of that,” I blurted. “I’m afraid you’ll die, and I can’t stand it if you do, Jamie, I really can’t!”
He jerked back a little, surprised, and looked down into my face.
“Well, I’ll do my best to oblige