Drums of Autumn - Diana Gabaldon [410]
He took a deep breath and let it out again; I saw the faint white mist surround his head for a moment, the steam of his anger made visible.
“But if he knew her—was close enough to want her, and not just any woman—then perhaps it might be that he could touch her soul, and do real damage—”
“You don’t think he did real damage?” My voice rose, despite myself. “Whether he knew her or not—”
“It is different, I tell ye!”
“No, it’s not. I know what you mean—”
“You don’t!”
“I do! But why—”
“Because it is not your body that matters when I take you,” he said. “And ye ken that well enough, Sassenach!”
He turned and kissed me fiercely, taking me completely by surprise. He crushed my lips against my teeth, then took my whole mouth with his, half biting, demanding.
I knew what he wanted of me; the same thing I wanted so desperately of him—reassurance. But neither of us had it to give, tonight.
His fingers dug into my shoulders, slid upward and grasped my neck. The hairs rose up on my arms as he pressed me to him—and then he stopped.
“I can’t,” he said. He squeezed my neck hard, and then let go. His breath came raggedly. “I can’t.”
He stepped back and turned away from me, groping for the fence rail before him as though blind. He grasped the wood hard with both hands, and stood there, eyes closed.
I was shaking, my legs gone watery. I wrapped my arms around myself under my cloak and sat down at his feet. And waited, my heart beating painfully loud in my ears. The night wind moved through the trees on the ridge, murmuring through the pines. Somewhere, far away in the dark hills, a panther screamed, sounding like a woman.
“It’s not that I dinna want ye,” he said at last, and I caught the faint rustle of his coat as he turned toward me. He stood for a moment, head bowed, his bound hair gleaming in the moonlight, face hidden by the darkness, with the moon behind him. At last he leaned down and took my hand in his bruised one, lifting me to my feet.
“I want ye maybe more than I ever have,” he said quietly. “And Christ! I do need ye, Claire. But I canna bear even to think of myself as a man just now. I cannot touch you, and think of what he—I can’t.”
I touched his arm.
“I do understand,” I said, and did. I was glad that he hadn’t asked for the details; I wished I didn’t know them. How would it be, to make love with him, envisioning all the time an act identical in its motions, but utterly different in its essence?
“I understand, Jamie,” I said again.
He opened his eyes and looked at me.
“Aye, ye do, don’t you? And that’s what I mean.” He took my arm and drew me close to him.
“You could tear me limb from limb, Claire, without touching me,” he whispered, “for ye know me.” His fingers touched the side of my face. They were cold, and stiff. “And I could do the same to you.”
“You could,” I said, feeling a little faint. “But I really wish you wouldn’t.”
He smiled a little at that, bent and kissed me, very gently. We stood together, barely touching save our lips, breathing each other’s breath.
Yes, we said silently to each other. Yes, I am still here. It was not rescue, but at least a tiny lifeline, stretched across the gulf that lay between us. I did know what he meant, about the difference between damage to body or soul; what I couldn’t explain to him was the link between the two that centered in the womb. At last I stepped back, looking up at him.
“Bree’s a very strong person,” I said quietly. “Like you.”
“Like me?” He gave a small snort. “God help her, then.”
He sighed, then turned and began to walk slowly along the line of the fence. I followed, hurrying a little to catch up.
“This man, this Roger she speaks of. Will he stand by her?” he asked abruptly.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, not knowing how to answer. I’d known Roger only a few months. I liked him; was very fond of him, in fact. From everything I knew of him, he was a thoroughly decent, honorable young