The Fiery Cross - Diana Gabaldon [342]
I hadn’t seen him among the card players, nor yet among the men talking low-voiced of taxes and tobacco.
I hadn’t seen Phillip Wylie anywhere on the first floor of the house, either. I could well believe he was out with the revelers by the river landing. That was his set and his style, wealthy young men who would seek diversion in drink and carouse in the dark, careless both of cold and danger, laughing and chasing each other by the light of random gunfire.
That was neither Jamie’s set nor his style, but the thought of him among them was what made my feet curl with chill, despite the heat of the room.
He wouldn’t do anything stupid, I assured myself, rolling onto my side, knees drawn up as much as possible in the cramped quarters. He wouldn’t; but his notion of stupid wasn’t always the same as mine, by any means.
Most of the male guests were bedded down in the outbuildings, or in the parlors; as I passed, I had seen anonymous sleeping figures sprawled on the floor of the front parlor, snoring loudly, wrapped in their cloaks before the fire. I had not gone to poke among them, but doubtless Jamie was there—he had had as long a day as I had, after all.
But it was not like him to retire without coming to wish me good night, no matter what the circumstances. Of course, he had been annoyed with me, and despite the promise of our interrupted conversation on the terrace, we had not quite made up the quarrel. Re-inflamed it, rather, with beastly Phillip Wylie’s invitation. My hands curled, thumbs rubbing at the slight calluses that marked the spots where my rings normally sat. Effing Scot!
Next to me Jemima Hatfield stirred and murmured, disturbed by my restlessness. I eased myself slowly back onto my side, and stared sightlessly at the oaken footboard in front of me.
Yes, he was undoubtedly still angry about Phillip Wylie’s advances. So was I—or I would be, were I not so tired. How dare he—I yawned, nearly dislocating my jaw, and decided that it really wasn’t worth the bother of being annoyed, at least not now.
But it wasn’t like Jamie to avoid me, angry or not. He wasn’t the sort of man to sulk or brood. He would seek a confrontation or provoke a fight, without a moment’s hesitation; but I didn’t think he had ever let the sun go down on anger—at least not with regard to me.
Which left me to worry about where he was, and what in bloody hell he was doing. And the necessity of worrying about him was making me really angry, if only because that was better than being worried.
But it had been a very long day, and as the moments passed, and the faint pops of gunfire from the river landing gradually ceased, languor stole over me, blunting my fears and scattering my thoughts like spilled sand. The gentle breathing of the women all around me lulled me like the sound of wind in the trees, and my grip on reality slackened and at last fell free.
I might have expected dreams of violence or nightmares of dread, but my subconscious had plainly had enough of that. In the contrary way of such things, it instead chose to dwell on another thread of the day’s events. Perhaps it was the warmth of the room, or simply the closeness of so many bodies, but I dreamed vividly and erotically, the tides of arousal washing me now and then near to the shores of wakefulness, then once more carrying me out into the deeps of unconsciousness.
There were horses in my dreams; glowing black Friesians with flowing manes that rippled in the wind as the stallions ran beside me. I saw my own legs stretch and leap; I was a white mare, and the ground flew past in a blur of green beneath my hooves, until I stopped and turned, waiting for the one, a broad-chested stallion who came to me, his breath hot and moist against my neck, his white teeth closing on my nape . . .
“I am the King of Ireland,” he said, and I came slowly awake, tingling from head to foot, to find that someone was gently stroking the sole of said foot.
Still bemused by the carnal images of my dreams, I was not alarmed by this, but merely muzzily pleased to discover that I