Outlander - Diana Gabaldon [178]
Still shielded by his partly turned body, Randall’s knife-hand swiveled; the blade was now pointed at my throat. I could see Jamie over his shoulder, braced in the window like a cat about to spring. The pistol barrel didn’t waver, nor did he change expression. The only clue to his emotions was the dusky red creeping up his throat; his collar was unbuttoned and the small scar on his neck flamed crimson.
Almost casually, Randall slowly raised the knife into view, point almost touching my throat. He half turned toward Jamie.
“Perhaps you’d better toss that pistol over here—unless you’re weary of married life. If you’d prefer to be a widower, of course…” Their eyes locked tight as a lover’s embrace, neither man moved for a long minute. Finally, Jamie’s body relaxed its springlike tension. He let out his breath in a long sigh of resignation and tossed the pistol into the room. It hit the floor with a clunk and slid almost to Randall’s feet.
Randall bent and scooped up the gun in a quicksilver motion. As soon as the knife left my throat, I tried to sit up, but he placed a hand on my chest and shoved me flat again. He held me down with one hand, using the other to aim the pistol at Jamie. The discarded knife lay somewhere on the floor near my feet, I thought. Now, if only I had prehensile toes.…The dirk in my pocket was as unreachable as if it were on Mars.
The smile had not left Randall’s features since Jamie’s appearance. Now it broadened, enough to show the pointed dog teeth.
“Well, that’s a bit better.” The pressing hand left my chest to return to the swelling flies of his breeches. “I was engaged when you arrived, my dear fellow. You’ll forgive me if I get on with what I was doing before I attend to you.”
The red color had spread completely over Jamie’s face, but he stood motionless, the gun pointed at his middle. As Randall finished his maneuvers, Jamie launched himself at the open mouth of the pistol. I tried to scream, to stop him, but my mouth was dry with terror. Randall’s knuckles whitened as he squeezed the trigger.
The hammer clicked on an empty chamber, and Jamie’s fist drove into Randall’s stomach. There was a dull crunching sound as his other fist splintered the officer’s nose, and a fine spray of blood spattered my skirt. Randall’s eyes rolled up in his head, and he dropped to the floor like a stone.
Jamie was behind me, pulling me up, sawing at the rope around my wrists.
“You bluffed your way in here with an empty gun?” I croaked hysterically.
“If it were loaded, I would ha’ just shot him in the first place, wouldn’t I?!” Jamie hissed.
Feet were coming down the corridor toward the office. The rope came free and Jamie yanked me to the window. It was an eight-foot drop to the ground, but the footsteps were almost to the door. We jumped together.
I landed with a bone-shaking jar and rolled in a tumble of skirts and petticoats. Jamie jerked me to my feet and pressed me against the wall of the building. Feet were passing the corner of the building; six soldiers came into view, but didn’t look in our direction.
As soon as they were safely past, Jamie took my hand and motioned toward the other corner. We sidled along the building, stopping short of the corner. I could see where we were now. About twenty feet away, a ladder led up to a sort of catwalk that ran along the inside of the fort’s outer wall. He nodded toward it; this was our objective.
He brought his head close to mine and whispered, “When ye hear an explosion, run like hell and get up that ladder. I’ll be behind ye.”
I nodded understanding. My heart was going like a trip-hammer; glancing down, I saw that one breast was still exposed. Not much to be done about it just at present. I rucked up my skirts, ready to run.
There was an almighty roar from the other side of the building, like a mortar explosion. Jamie gave me a shove and I was off, running as fast as I could go. I jumped for the ladder, caught it and scrambled up; I felt the wood jerk and tremble as Jamie’s weight hit the ladder