Drums of Autumn - Diana Gabaldon [514]
She heaved a huge sigh.
“Then my father died, and … we found out that Jamie Fraser was still alive. My mother went to join him, and then I came. And—it was different. I saw how they looked at each other. I never saw her look at Frank Randall that way—or him at her.”
“Ah, yes.” A small gust of bleakness swept through him. He’d seen that look once or twice; the first time, he had wanted desperately to put a knife through Claire Randall’s heart.
“Do you know how rare such a thing is?” he asked quietly. “That peculiar sort of mutual passion?” The one-sided kind was common enough.
“Yes.” She had half turned, her arm along the back of the love seat, and was looking out through the French doors, over the burgeoning spread of the spring flower beds below.
“The thing is—I think I had it,” she said, even more quietly. “For a little while. A very little while.” She turned her head and looked at him, with eyes that let him see clear through her.
“If I’ve lost it—then I have. I can live with that—or without it. But I won’t live with an imitation of it. I couldn’t stand that.”
“It looks like you may get me by default.” Brianna put the breakfast tray over his lap and collapsed heavily into the love seat, making the joints groan.
“Don’t riddle with a sick man,” he said, picking up a piece of toast. “What do you mean?”
“Drusus just came racing into the cookhouse, saying he saw two riders coming down through Campbell’s fields. He said he was sure one of them was my father—he said it was a big man with red hair; God knows there aren’t that many like him.”
“Not many, no.” He smiled briefly, his eyes traveling over her. “So, two riders?”
“It must be Da and my mother. So they haven’t found Roger. Or they did, and he—didn’t want to come back.” She twisted the big sapphire on her finger. “Good thing I have a fallback, isn’t it?”
Lord John blinked, and made haste to swallow his mouthful of toast.
“If by that extraordinary metaphor, you mean that you intend to marry me after all, I assure you—”
“No.” She gave him a halfhearted smile. “Just teasing.”
“Oh, good.” He took a gulp of tea, closing his eyes to enjoy the fragrant steam. “Two riders. Did your cousin not go with them?”
“Yes, he did,” she said slowly. “God, I hope nothing’s happened to Ian.”
“It might be that they experienced any variety of disasters on the journey, which obliged your cousin and your mother to travel behind your father and Mr. MacKenzie. Or your cousin and MacKenzie behind your parents.” He waved a hand, indicating innumerable possibilities.
“I guess you’re right.” She still looked peaked, and Lord John suspected she had cause. Comforting possibilities were all very well for the short term, but the colder probabilities were inclined to triumph over the longer course—and whoever accompanied Jamie Fraser, they would be arriving shortly, with the answers to all questions.
He pushed back the unfinished breakfast and leaned back against his pillows.
“Tell me—how far does your remorse extend for having nearly gotten me killed?”
She colored and looked uncomfortable.
“What do you mean?”
“If I ask you to do something you do not wish to, will your sense of guilt and obligation compel you to do it nonetheless?”
“Oh, more blackmail. What is it?” she asked warily.
“Forgive your father. Whatever has happened.”
Pregnancy had made her complexion more delicate; all her emotions ebbed and flowed just under the surface of that apricot skin. A touch would bruise her.
He reached out and laid a hand very gently along her cheek.
“For your sake, as well as his,” he said.
“I already have.” Her lashes covered her eyes as she looked down; her hands lay still in her lap, the blue fire of his sapphire glowing on her finger.
The sound of hooves came clearly through the open French doors, rattling on the gravel drive.
“Then I think you had better go down and tell him so, my dear.”
She pursed her lips, and nodded. Without a word, she stood up and floated out the door, disappearing like a storm cloud over the horizon.
“When we heard