Drums of Autumn - Diana Gabaldon [536]
“Oh.” Jamie sat back, lips pursed in thought. “Aye, that’s a thought. Perhaps we will go, then, Duncan.”
“That’s fine; your auntie will be pleased.” Something appeared to be caught in Duncan’s throat; he was turning slowly red as I watched. Jamie squinted at him and pushed a jug of cider in his direction.
“Ye’ve something in your throat, man?”
“Ah … no.” Everyone had stopped eating by now, viewing the changes to Duncan’s complexion in fascination. He had gone a sort of puce by the time he managed to squeeze out the next words.
“I—errr—wish to ask your consent, an fhearr Mac Dubh, to the marriage of Mistress Jocasta Cameron and … and—”
“And who?” Jamie asked, the corner of his mouth twitching. “The governor of the colony?”
“And myself!” Duncan seized the cup of cider and buried his face in it with the relief of a drowning man seeing a life raft float past.
Jamie burst out laughing, which seemed to be no great solace to Duncan’s embarrassment.
“My consent? D’ye not think my aunt’s of an age, Duncan? Or you, come to that?”
Duncan was breathing a little easier now, though the purple tinge hadn’t yet begun to fade from his cheeks.
“I thought it only proper,” he said, a little stiffly. “Seeing as how ye’re her nearest kinsman.” He swallowed, and unbent a bit. “And … it didna seem entirely right, Mac Dubh, that I should be takin’ what might be yours.”
Jamie smiled and shook his head.
“I’ve no claim on any of my aunt’s property, Duncan—and wouldna take it when she offered. You’ll be married at the Gathering? Tell her we’ll come, then, and dance at the wedding.”
69
JEREMIAH
October 1770
Roger rode with Claire and Fergus, close to the wagon. Jamie, not trusting Brianna to drive a vehicle containing his grandson, insisted on driving, with Lizzie and Marsali in the wagon bed and Brianna on the seat beside him.
From his saddle Roger caught snatches of the discussion that had been going on ever since his arrival.
“John, for sure,” Brianna was saying, frowning down at her son, who was burrowing energetically under her shawl. “But I don’t know if it should be his first name. And if it was—should it maybe be Ian? That’s ‘John’ in Gaelic—and I’d like to name him that, but would it be too confusing, with Uncle Ian and our Ian, too?”
“Since neither one of them is here, I think it wouldna be too troublesome,” Marsali put in. She glanced up at her stepfather’s back. “Did ye not say ye wanted to use one of Da’s names, as well?”
“Yes, but which one?” Brianna twisted around to talk to Marsali. “Not James, that would be confusing. And I don’t think I like Malcolm much. He’ll already have MacKenzie, of course, so maybe—” She caught Roger’s eye and smiled up at him.
“What about Jeremiah?”
“John Jeremiah Alexander Fraser MacKenzie?” Marsali frowned, saying the names over to taste them.
“I rather like Jeremiah,” Claire chipped in. “Very Old Testament. It’s one of your names, isn’t it, Roger?” She smiled at him and drew closer to the wagon, leaning over to talk to Brianna.
“Besides, if Jeremiah seems too formal, you can call him Jemmy,” she said. “Or is that too much like Jamie?”
Roger felt a small chill prickle down his spine, at the sudden recollection of another child whose mother had called him Jemmy—a child whose father was fair-haired, with eyes as green as Roger’s own.
He waited until Brianna had turned to rummage through her bag for a fresh diaper, handing the fussing baby to Lizzie to mind. He kneed his horse, urging it up close to Claire’s mare.
“Do you recall something?” he asked in a low voice. “When you first came to call on me in Inverness, with Brianna—you’d had my genealogy researched beforehand.”
“Yes?” She quirked a brow at him.
“It’s been some time, and you likely wouldn’t have noticed in any case …” He hesitated, but he had to know, if it could be known. “You pointed out the place on my family tree where the substitution was made; where Geilie Duncan’s child by Dougal was adopted in place of another child