Outlander - Diana Gabaldon [290]
“Didna last long, though,” Jenny said, flashing white teeth in a mildly malicious smile at her brother. “How old were ye when ye got your first thrashing, Jamie? Seven?”
“No, eight,” Jamie said, thrusting a new log into the smoldering pile of kindling. “Christ, that hurt. Twelve strokes full across the bum, and he didna let up a bit, beginning to end. He never did.” He sat back on his heels, rubbing his nose with the knuckles of one hand. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes bright from the exertion.
“Once it was over, Father went off a bit and sat down on a rock while I settled myself. Then when I’d quit howling and got down to a sort of wet snuffle, he called me over to him. Now that I think of it, I can remember just what he said. Maybe you can use it on young Jamie, Ian, when the time comes.” Jamie closed his eyes, recalling.
“He stood me between his knees and made me look him in the face, and said, ‘That’s the first time, Jamie. I’ll have to do it again, maybe a hundred times, before you’re grown to a man.’ He laughed a bit then and said, ‘My father did it to me at least that often, and you’re as stubborn and cockle-headed as ever I was.’
“He said, ‘Sometimes I daresay I’ll enjoy thrashing you, depending on what you’ve done to deserve it. Mostly I won’t. But I’ll do it nonetheless. So remember it, lad. If your head thinks up mischief, your backside’s going to pay for it.’ Then he gave me a hug and said, ‘You’re a braw lad, Jamie. Go away to the house now and let your mother comfort ye.’ I opened my mouth to say something to that, and he said, quick-like, ‘No, I know you don’t need it, but she does. Get on wi’ ye.’ So I came down and Mother fed me bread with jam on it.”
Jenny suddenly started to laugh. “I just remembered,” she said, “Da used to tell that story about you, Jamie, about thrashing you, and what he said to you. He said when he sent ye back to the house after, you came halfway down, then all of a sudden stopped and waited for him.
“When he came down to ye, you looked up at him and said, ‘I just wanted to ask, Faither—did ye enjoy it this time?’ And when he said ‘no,’ you nodded and said, ‘Good. I didna like it much either.’ ”
We all laughed for a minute together, then Jenny looked up at her brother, shaking her head. “He loved to tell that story. Da always said you’d be the death of him, Jamie.”
The merriment died out of Jamie’s face, and he looked down at the big hands resting on his knees.
“Aye,” he said quietly. “Well, and I was, then, wasn’t I?”
Jenny and Ian exchanged glances of dismay, and I looked down at my own lap, not knowing what to say. There was no sound for a moment but the crackling of the fire. Then Jenny, with a quick look at Ian, set down her glass and touched her brother on the knee.
“Jamie,” she said. “It wasna your fault.”
He looked up at her and smiled, a little bleakly.
“No? Who else’s, then?”
She took a deep breath and said, “Mine.”
“What?” He stared at her in blank astonishment.
She had gone a little paler even than usual, but remained composed.
“I said it was my fault, as much as anyone’s. For—for what happened to you, Jamie. And Father.”
He covered her hand with his own and rubbed it gently.
“Dinna talk daft, lass,” he said. “Ye did what ye did to try to save me; you’re right, if ye’d not gone wi’ Randall, he’d likely have killed me here.”
She studied her brother’s face, a troubled frown wrinkling her rounded brow.
“No, I dinna regret taking Randall to the house—not even if he’d…well, no. But that wasn’t it.” She drew a deep breath again, steeling herself.
“When I took him inside, I brought him up to my room. I—I didna ken quite what to expect—I’d not…been wi’ a man. He seemed verra nervous, though, all flushed and as though he were not certain himself, which seemed strange to me. He pushed me onto the bed, and then he stood there, rubbing himself. I thought at first I’d really damaged him wi’ my knee, though I knew I hadna struck him so hard, really.” The color was creeping up her cheeks, and she stole