Drums of Autumn - Diana Gabaldon [89]
There was a cry from one of the little boys in the vanguard, and two of them broke loose, galloping down the path toward the mooring, where they circled us, yapping like puppies. At first I couldn’t make out a word—it was only as Ian replied jocularly to them that I realized they were shouting in Gaelic.
I didn’t know whether Jamie had thought what to say or to do upon this first meeting, but in the event, he simply stepped forward, went up to Jocasta MacKenzie, and embraced her, saying, “Aunt—it’s Jamie.”
It was only as he released her and stepped back that I saw his face, with an expression I had never seen before; something between eagerness, joy, and awe. It occurred to me, with a small jolt of shock, that Jocasta MacKenzie must look very much like her elder sister—Jamie’s mother.
I thought she might have his deep blue eyes, though I couldn’t tell; they were blurred as she laughed through her tears, holding him by the sleeve, reaching up to touch his cheek, to smooth nonexistent strands of hair from his face.
“Jamie!” she said, over and over. “Jamie, wee Jamie! Oh, I’m glad ye’ve come, lad!” She reached up once more, and touched his hair, a look of amazement on her face.
“Blessed Bride, but he’s a giant! You’ll be as tall as my brother Dougal was, at least!”
The expression of happiness on his face faded slightly at that, but he kept his smile, turning her with him so she faced me.
“Auntie, may I present my wife? This is Claire.”
She put out a hand at once, beaming, and I took it between my own, feeling a small pang of recognition at the long, strong fingers; though her knuckles were slightly knobbed with age, her skin was soft and the feel of her grip was unnervingly like Brianna’s.
“I am so glad to meet ye, my dear,” she said, and drew me close to kiss my cheek. The scent of mint and verbena wafted strongly from her dress, and I felt oddly moved, as though I had suddenly come under the protection of some beneficent deity.
“So beautiful!” she said admiringly, long fingers stroking the sleeve of my dress.
“Thank you,” I said, but Ian and Fergus were coming up to be introduced in their turn. She greeted them both with embraces and endearments, laughing as Fergus kissed her hand in his best French manner.
“Come,” she said, breaking away at last, and wiping at her wet cheeks with the back of a hand. “Do come in, my dearies, and take a dish of tea, and some food. Ye’ll be famished, no doubt, after such a journey. Ulysses!” She turned, seeking, and her butler stepped forward, bowing low.
“Madame,” he said to me, and “Sir,” to Jamie. “Everything is ready, Miss Jo,” he said softly to his mistress, and offered her his arm.
As they started up the brick walk, Fergus turned to Ian and bowed, mimicking the butler’s courtly manner, then offered an arm in mockery. Ian kicked him neatly in the backside, and walked up the path, head turning from side to side to take in everything. His green ribbon had come undone, and was dangling halfway down his back.
Jamie snorted at the horseplay, but smiled nonetheless.
“Madame?” He put out an arm to me, and I took it, sweeping rather grandly up the path to the doors of River Run, flung wide to greet us.
The house was spacious and airy inside, with high ceilings and wide French doors in all the downstairs rooms. I caught a glimpse of silver and crystal as we passed a large formal dining room, and thought that on the evidence, Hector Cameron must have been a very successful planter indeed.
Jocasta led us to her private parlor, a smaller, more intimate room no less well furnished than the larger rooms, but which sported homely touches among the gleam of polished furniture and the glitter of ornaments. A large knitting basket full of yarn balls sat on a small table of polished wood, beside a glass vase spilling summer flowers and a small, ornate silver bell;