Drums of Autumn - Diana Gabaldon [529]
“Oh, lovely,” she said, poking his foot with a surgeon’s ghoulish delight. “Granulating beautifully; almost no inflammation left.”
“Great,” he said. “Are they gone?”
“The maggots? Oh, yes,” she assured him. “They pupate within a few days. Did a nice job, didn’t they?” She ran a delicate thumbnail along the side of his foot, which tickled.
“I’ll take your word for it. I’m clear to walk on it, then?” He flexed the foot experimentally. It hurt a bit, but nothing compared to what it had before.
“Yes. Don’t wear shoes for a few more days, though. And for God’s sake, don’t step on anything sharp.”
She began to put away her things, humming to herself. She looked happy but tired; there were shadows under her eyes.
“Kid still howling at night?” he asked.
“Yes, poor thing. Can you hear him up here?”
“No. You just look tired.”
“I’m not surprised. Nobody’s had a good night’s sleep all week, especially poor Bree, since she’s the only one who can feed him.” She yawned briefly and shook her head, blinking. “Jamie’s got the back bedroom here nearly floored; he wants to move up here as soon as it’s ready—give Bree and the baby more room, and, not incidentally, have a little peace and quiet ourselves.”
“Good idea. Ah—speaking of Bree …”
“Mm?”
No use dragging it out; better say it straight.
“Look—I’m trying all I can. I love her, and I want to show her that, but—she sheers off. She comes and we talk, and it’s great, but then I go to put an arm around her or kiss her, and suddenly she’s across the room, picking leaves off the floor. Is there something wrong, something I should do?”
She gave him one of those disconcerting yellow looks of hers; straightforward and ruthless as a hawk.
“You were her first, weren’t you? The first man she slept with, I mean.”
He felt the blood rising his cheeks.
“I—ah—yes.”
“Well, then. So far her entire experience of what one might call the delights of sex consists of being deflowered—and I don’t care how gentle you were about it, it tends to hurt—being raped two days later, then giving birth. You think this is calculated to make her fall swooning into your arms in anticipation of your reclaiming your marital rights?”
You asked for it, he thought, and you got it. Right between the eyes. His cheeks burned hotter than they ever had with fever.
“I never thought of that,” he muttered to the wall.
“Well, naturally not,” she said, sounding torn between exasperation and amusement. “You’re a bloody man. That’s why I’m telling you.”
He took a deep breath, and reluctantly turned back to face her.
“And just what are you telling me?”
“That she’s afraid,” she said. She cocked her head to one side, evaluating him. “Though it’s not you she’s afraid of, by the way.”
“It’s not?”
“No,” she said bluntly. “She may have convinced herself that she has to know why you came back, but that’s not it—a regiment of blind men could see that. It’s that she’s afraid she won’t be able to—mmphm.” She raised one brow at him, encompassing a wealth of indelicate suggestion.
“I see,” he said, taking a deep breath. “And just what do you suggest I do about it?”
She picked up her basket and put it over her arm.
“I don’t know,” she said, giving him another yellow look. “But I think you should be careful.”
He had just about recovered his equanimity after this unsettling consultation, when another visitor darkened his door. Jamie Fraser, bearing gifts.
“I’ve brought ye a razor,” Fraser said, looking critically at him. “And some hot water.”
Claire had clipped his beard short with her surgical scissors a few days earlier, but he had felt too shaky then to attempt shaving with what was called a “cutthroat” razor for good reason.
“Thanks.”
Fraser had brought a small looking glass and a pot of shaving soap as well. Very thoughtful. He could have wished that Fraser might have left him alone, rather than leaning against the doorframe, lending a critical eye to the proceedings,