Outlander - Diana Gabaldon [192]
I collapsed again.
“Oh, Jamie, I do love you!”
This time it was his turn to laugh. He doubled over, then sat down at the roadside, fizzing with mirth. He slowly fell over backward and lay in the long grass, wheezing and choking.
“What on earth is the matter with you?” I demanded, staring at him. At long last, he sat up, wiping his streaming eyes. He shook his head, gasping.
“Murtagh was right about women. Sassenach, I risked my life for ye, committing theft, arson, assault, and murder into the bargain. In return for which ye call me names, insult my manhood, kick me in the ballocks and claw my face. Then I beat you half to death and tell ye all the most humiliating things have ever happened to me, and you say ye love me.” He laid his head on his knees and laughed some more. Finally he rose and held out a hand to me, wiping his eyes with the other.
“You’re no verra sensible, Sassenach, but I like ye fine. Let’s go.”
* * *
It was getting late—or early, depending on your viewpoint, and it was necessary to ride, if we were to make Bargrennan by dawn. I was enough recovered by this time to bear sitting, though the effects were still noticeable.
We rode in a companionable silence for some way. Left to my own thoughts, I considered for the first time at leisure what would happen if and when I ever managed to find my way back to the circle of standing stones. Married to him by coercion and dependent on him from necessity, I had undeniably grown very fond of Jamie.
More to the point, perhaps, were his feelings about me. Linked at first by circumstance, then by friendship, and finally by a startlingly deep bodily passion, still he had never made even a casual statement to me about his feelings. And yet.
He had risked his life for me. That much he might do for the sake of his marriage vow; he would, he said, protect me to the last drop of his blood, and I believed he meant it.
I was more touched by the events of the last twenty-four hours, when he had suddenly admitted me to his emotions and his personal life, warts and all. If he felt as much for me as I thought perhaps he did, what would he feel if I suddenly disappeared? The remnants of physical discomfort receded as I grappled with these uncomfortable thoughts.
We were within three miles of Bargrennan when Jamie suddenly broke the silence.
“I havena told you how my father died,” he said abruptly.
“Dougal said he had a stroke—an apoplexy, I mean,” I said, startled. I supposed that Jamie, alone with his thoughts as well, had found them dwelling on his father as a result of our earlier conversation, but I could not imagine what led him to this particular subject.
“That’s right. But it…he…” He paused, considering his words, then shrugged, abandoning carefulness. He drew a deep breath and let it out. “You should know about it. It’s to do with…things.” The road here was wide enough to ride easily abreast, provided only that we kept a sharp eye out for protruding rocks; my excuse to Dougal about my horse had not been chosen at random.
“It was at the Fort,” Jamie said, picking his way around a bad patch, “where we were yesterday. Where Randall and his men took me from Lallybroch. Where they flogged me. Two days after the first time, Randall summoned me to his office—two soldiers came for me, and took me from the cells up to his room—the same where I found you; it’s how I knew where to go.”
“Just outside, we met my father in the courtyard. He’d found out where they’d taken me, and come to see if he could get me out some way—or at least to see for himself that I was all right.”
Jamie kicked a heel gently into his horse’s ribs, urging it on with a soft click of his tongue. There was no trace of daylight yet, but the look of the night had changed. Dawn could be no more than an hour away.
“I hadna realized until I saw him just how alone I’d felt there—or how scairt. The soldiers would not give us any time alone together, but at least they let me greet him.” He swallowed and went on.
“I told him I was sorry—about Jenny,