Outlander - Diana Gabaldon [137]
“What?” I said as encouragingly as possible.
He shook his head, still pink. “It doesna matter.”
“Go ahead.” I reached out a foot and nudged his leg with a tentative toe. “Honesty, remember?” It was unfair, but I really couldn’t stand any more nervous throat-clearing and eye-twitching.
His clasped hands tightened around his knees, and he rocked back a bit, but fixed his gaze directly on me.
“I was going to say,” he said softly, “that I hoped the man who had the honor to lie first wi’ you was as generous as you were with me.” He smiled, a little shyly. “But on second thought, that didna sound quite right. What I meant…well, all I wanted was to say thank you.”
“Generosity had nothing to do with it!” I snapped, looking down and brushing energetically at a nonexistent spot on my dress. A large boot pushed into my downcast field of vision and nudged my ankle.
“Honesty, is it?” he echoed, and I looked up to meet a derisively raised pair of eyebrows above a wide grin.
“Well,” I said defensively, “not after the first time, anyway.” He laughed, and I discovered to my horror that I was not beyond blushing after all.
A cool shadow fell over my heated face and a large pair of hands took firm hold of mine and pulled me to my feet. Jamie took my place on the log, and patted his knee invitingly.
“Sit,” he said.
I reluctantly obliged, keeping my face turned away. He settled me comfortably against his chest and wrapped his arms about my waist. I felt the steady thump of his heart against my back.
“Now then,” he said. “If we canna talk easy yet without touching, we’ll touch for a bit. Tell me when you’re accustomed to me again.” He leaned back so that we were in the shade of an oak, and held me close without speaking, just breathing slowly, so that I felt the rise and fall of his chest and the stir of his breath in my hair.
“All right,” I said after a moment.
“Good.” He loosened his grip and turned me to face him. At close range, I could see the bristle of auburn stubble on cheek and chin. I brushed my fingers across it; it was like the plush on an old-fashioned sofa, stiff and soft at the same time.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I couldna shave this morning. Dougal gave me a razor before the wedding yesterday, but he took it back—in case I cut my throat after the wedding night, I expect.” He grinned down at me and I smiled back.
The reference to Dougal reminded me of our conversation of the night before.
“I wondered…” I said. “Last night, you said Dougal and his men met you at the coast when you came back from France. Why did you come back with him, instead of going to your own home, or the Fraser lands? I mean, the way Dougal’s treated you…” I trailed off, hesitant.
“Oh,” he said, shifting his legs to bear my weight more evenly. I could almost hear him thinking to himself. He made up his mind quite quickly.
“Well, it’s something ye should know, I suppose.” He frowned to himself. “I told ye why I’m outlawed. Well, for a time after—after I left the Fort, I didna care much…about anything. My father died about that time, and my sister…” He paused again, and I sensed some kind of struggle going on inside him. I twisted around to look at him. The normally cheerful face was shadowed with some strong emotion.
“Dougal told me,” he said slowly, “Dougal told me that-that my sister was wi’ child. By Randall.”
“Oh, dear.”
He glanced sideways at me, then away. His eyes were bright as sapphires and he blinked hastily once or twice.
“I…I couldna bring myself to go back,” he said, low-voiced. “To see her again, after what happened. And too”—he sighed, then set his lips firmly—“Dougal told me that she…that after the child was born, she…well, of course, she couldna help it; she was alone—damn it, I left her alone! He said she had taken up wi’ another English soldier, someone from the garrison, he didna know which one.”
He swallowed heavily, then went on more firmly. “I sent back what money I could, of course, but I could not…well, I couldna bring myself to write to her. What could I say?” He shrugged helplessly.
“Anyway, after a