The Fiery Cross - Diana Gabaldon [130]
“That’s the way of it, then?” he asked, finally. “A woman can say, I will, or I won’t—and the man has no say in it?” His voice was filled with astonishment—and disapproval.
I laughed a little.
“Well, it’s not exactly like that. Or not all the time. I mean, there are accidents. And ignorance and foolishness; a lot of women just let things happen. And most women would certainly care what their men thought about it. But yes . . . I suppose if you come right down to it, that’s right.”
He grunted slightly.
“But MacKenzie’s from that time, too. So he’ll think nothing odd of it?”
“He picked the weeds for her,” I pointed out.
“So he did.” The line stayed between his brows, but the frown eased somewhat.
It was growing late, and the muffled rumble of talk and laughter was dying down in the house below. The growing quiet of the house was pierced suddenly by a baby’s wail. Both of us stood still, listening—then relaxed as the murmur of the mother’s voice reached us through the closed door.
“Besides, it’s not so unusual for a young woman to think of such a thing—Marsali came and asked me about it, before she married Fergus.”
“Oh, did she?” One eyebrow went up. “Did ye not tell her, then?”
“Of course I did!”
“Whatever ye told her didna work all that well, did it?” One corner of his mouth curled up in a cynic smile; Germain had been born approximately ten months following his parents’ marriage, and Marsali had become pregnant with Joan within days of weaning him.
I felt a flush rising in my cheeks.
“Nothing works all the time—not even modern methods. And for that matter—nothing works at all if you don’t use it.” In fact, Marsali had wanted contraception not because she didn’t want a baby—but only because she had feared that pregnancy would interfere with the intimacy of her relationship with Fergus. When we get to the prick part, I want to like it had been her words on that memorable occasion, and my own mouth curled at the memory.
My equally cynical guess was that she had liked it fine, and had decided that pregnancy was unlikely to diminish her appreciation of Fergus’s finer points. But that rather came back to Jamie’s fears about Brianna—for surely her intimacy with Roger was well established. Still, that was hardly . . .
One of Jamie’s hands remained entwined with mine; the other left my fingers and reached elsewhere—very lightly.
“Oh,” I said, beginning to lose my train of thought.
“Pills, ye said.” His face was quite close, eyes hooded in thought as he worked. “That’s how it’s done—then?”
“Um . . . oh. Yes.”
“Ye didna bring any with you,” he said. “When ye came back.”
I breathed deep and let it out, feeling as though I were beginning to dissolve.
“No,” I said, a little faintly.
He paused a moment, hand cupped lightly.
“Why not?” he asked quietly.
“I . . . well, I . . . I actually—I thought—you have to keep taking them. I couldn’t have brought enough. There’s a permanent way, a small operation. It’s fairly simple, and it makes one permanently . . . barren.” I swallowed. Viewing the prospect of coming back to the past, I had in fact thought seriously about the possibilities of pregnancy—and the risks. I thought the possibility very low indeed, given both my age and previous history, but the risk . . .
Jamie stood stock-still, looking down.
“For God’s sake, Claire,” he said at last, low-voiced. “Tell me that ye did it.”
I took a deep breath, and squeezed his hand, my fingers slipping a little.
“Jamie,” I said softly, “if I’d done it, I would have told you.” I swallowed again. “You . . . would have wanted me to?”
He was still holding my hand. His other hand left me, touched my back, pressed me—very gently—to him. His skin was warm on mine.
We stood close together, touching, not moving, for several minutes. He sighed then, chest rising under my ear.
“I’ve bairns enough,” he said quietly. “I’ve only the one life—and that’s you, mo chridhe.”
I reached up and touched his face. It was