The Fiery Cross - Diana Gabaldon [82]
“It was rather a busy morning.” I shuddered briefly in remembrance, and took another sip of whisky.
“The whole Gathering is talking of ye, Sassenach. I did think of the Bible, in fact, seeing all the crowd clamoring round ye this morning.”
“The Bible?” I must have looked blank at the reference, because the grin got wider.
“And the whole multitude sought to touch him,” Jamie quoted. “For there went virtue out of him, and healed them all.”
I laughed ruefully, interrupting myself with a small hiccup. “Fresh out of virtue at the moment, I’m afraid.”
“Dinna fash. There’s plenty in the flask.”
Thus reminded, I offered him the whisky, but he waved it away, brows drawn down in thought. Melting hail had left wet streaks in his hair, and it lay like ribbons of melted bronze across his shoulders—like the statue of some military hero, weathered and glistening in a public park.
“So ye’ll do the lad’s tonsils, once he comes to the Ridge?”
I thought a moment, then nodded, swallowing. There would still be dangers in it, and normally I wouldn’t do purely elective surgery. But Josiah’s condition was truly dreadful, and the continued infections might well kill him eventually, if I didn’t take some steps to remedy it.
Jamie nodded, satisfied.
“I’ll see to it, then.”
My feet had thawed, even wet as they were, and I was beginning to feel warm and pliable. My belly still felt as though I’d swallowed a large volcanic rock, but I wasn’t minding all that much.
“I was wondering something, Sassenach,” he said.
“Yes?”
“Speakin’ of the Bible, ye ken.”
“Got Scripture on the brain today, have you?”
One corner of his mouth curled up as he glanced at me.
“Aye, well. It’s only I was thinking. When the Angel of the Lord comes along to Sarah and tells her she’ll have a bairn the next year, she laughs and says that’s a rare jest, as it’s ceased to be wi’ her after the manner of women.”
“Most women in that situation likely wouldn’t think it at all a funny idea,” I assured him. “I often think God’s got a very peculiar sense of humor, though.”
He looked down at the large maple leaf he was shredding between thumb and forefinger, but I caught the faint twitch of his mouth.
“I’ve thought that now and again myself, Sassenach,” he said, rather dryly. “Be that as it may, she did have the bairn, aye?”
“The Bible says she did. I’m not going to call the book of Genesis a liar.” I debated the wisdom of drinking more, but decided to save it for a rainy—well, a rainier—day, and put the stopper back in the flask. I could hear a certain amount of stirring in the direction of the campsite, and my ears caught a word of inquiry, borne on the chilly breeze.
“Someone’s looking for Himself,” I said. “Again.”
Himself glanced over his shoulder and grimaced slightly, but made no immediate move to answer the call. He cleared his throat, and I saw a faint flush move up the side of his neck.
“Well, the point is,” he said, carefully not looking at me, “that so far as I ken, if your name’s not Mary and the Holy Ghost isna involved in the matter, there’s only the one way of getting wi’ child. Am I right?”
“So far as I know, yes.” I put a hand over my mouth to stifle a rising hiccup.
“Aye. And if so . . . well, that must mean that Sarah was still bedding wi’ Abraham at the time, no?”
He still wasn’t looking at me, but his ears had gone pink, and I belatedly realized the point of this religious discussion. I reached out a toe and prodded him gently in the side.
“You were thinking perhaps I wouldn’t want you anymore?”
“Ye dinna want me now,” he pointed out logically, eyes on the crumbled remains of his leaf.
“I feel as though my belly is full of broken glass, I’m half-soaked and mud to the knees, and whoever’s looking for you is about to burst through the shrubbery with a pack of bloodhounds at any moment,” I said, with a certain amount of asperity. “Are you actually inviting me to participate in carnal revelry with you in that mound of soggy leaves? Because