The Fiery Cross - Diana Gabaldon [149]
There was no sound for a moment but the shuffling of their feet through dry leaves.
“Christ,” Roger said softly, at last. “He looked for Jamie Fraser. He said so, in his letter.”
“And he found a Jamie Fraser. He said that, too. We just don’t know whether it was the right one or not.” She kept her eyes on her boots, wary of snakes. There were copperheads in the wood, and timber rattlers; she saw them now and then, basking on rocks or sunny logs.
Roger took a deep breath, lifting his head.
“Aye. And so you’re wondering now—what else might he have found?”
She nodded, not looking up.
“Maybe he found me,” she said softly. Her throat felt tight. “Maybe he knew I’d go back, through the stones. But if he did—he didn’t tell me.”
He stopped walking, and put a hand on her arm to turn her toward him.
“And perhaps he didn’t know that at all,” he said firmly. “He may only have thought ye might try it, if you ever found out about Fraser. And if you did find out, and did go . . . then he wanted you to be safe. I’d say no matter what he knew, that’s what he wanted; you to be safe.” He smiled, a little crookedly. “Like you want me to be safe. Aye?”
She heaved a deep sigh, feeling comfort descend on her with his words. She’d never doubted that Frank Randall had loved her, all the years of her growing up. She didn’t want to doubt it now.
“Aye,” she said, and tilted up an inch on her toes to kiss him.
“Fine, then,” he said, and gently touched her breast, where the buckskin of her shirt showed a small wet patch. “Jem’ll be hungry. Come on; it’s time we were home.”
They turned again and went down the mountain, into the golden sea of chestnut leaves, watching their shadows go before them as they walked, embracing.
“Do you think—” she began, and hesitated. One shadow head dipped toward the other, listening.
“Do you think Ian’s happy?”
“I hope so,” he replied, and his arm tightened round her. “If he has a wife like mine—then I’m sure he is.”
21
TWENTY-TWENTY
NOW, HOLD THIS over your left eye, and read the smallest line you can see clearly.”
With a long-suffering air, Roger held the wooden spoon over his right eye and narrowed his left, concentrating on the sheet of paper I had pinned to the kitchen door. He was standing in the front hall, just inside the door, as the length of the corridor was the only stretch of floor within the house approaching twenty feet.
“Et tu Brute?” he read. He lowered the spoon and looked at me, one dark eyebrow raised. “I’ve never seen a literate eye chart before.”
“Well, I always did think the ‘f, e, 5, z, t, d’ things on the regular charts rather boring,” I said, unpinning the paper and flipping it over. “Other eye, please. What’s the smallest line you can read easily?”
He reversed the spoon, squinted at the five lines of hand-printing—done in such even decrements of size as I could manage—and read the third one, slowly.
“Eat no onions. What’s that from?”
“Shakespeare, of course,” I said, making a note. “Eat no onions nor garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath. That’s the smallest you can read, is it?”
I saw Jamie’s expression alter subtly. He and Brianna were standing just behind Roger, out on the porch, watching the proceedings with great interest. Brianna was leaning slightly toward Roger, a faintly anxious expression on her face, as though willing him to see the letters.
Jamie’s expression, though, showed slight surprise, faint pity—and an undeniable glint of satisfaction. He, evidently, could read the fifth line without trouble. I honor him. One from Julius Caesar: As he was valiant, I honor him; as he was ambitious, I slew him.
He felt my gaze on him, and the expression vanished, his face instantly resuming its usual look of good-humored inscrutability. I narrowed my eyes at him, with a “You’re not fooling me” sort of look, and he looked away, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.
“You can’t make out any of the next line?” Bree had moved close to Roger, as though drawn by osmosis. She stared intently at the paper, then at him, with an encouraging look. Obviously she could