The Outlandish Companion - Diana Gabaldon [17]
While Jared and Jamie toast the successful conclusion of their business arrangement onboard one of Jared’s ships in the harbor at Le Havre, Claire is on deck, watching as another ship is unloaded. Seeing a man carried off, obviously ill, she hurries down to lend assistance, and is in time both to diagnose a case of smallpox—and to see the man die in front of her.
Unfortunately, the harbormaster has arrived in time to hear her diagnosis, and in accordance with French maritime law declares that the ship from which the sailor came must be towed out into the harbor and burned, in order to prevent contagion being spread through the port.
Still more unfortunately, the Comte St. Germain, the owner of the ship in question, is present—and strongly inclined to blame Claire for the loss of his ship and cargo. Jamie arrives in time to prevent harm, but the Comte St. Germain, Claire is given to understand, is not a good enemy to have. Shadowed by the flames of the burning ship, the Frasers leave Le Havre, bound for Paris and what seem the lesser perils of Royal politics.
With Jared gone to Germany on business, Jamie takes over the French affairs of the House of Fraser, and takes his place in the circle of Jacobites that surround Charles Stuart. Near in age to the Prince, he quickly becomes Stuart’s boon companion and confidante, unwillingly privy to the Prince’s affairs—including an affair of the heart with the married Princesse Louise de Rohan.
Blissfully married himself, and looking forward to the birth of his first child, Jamie views the carryings-on of Charles Stuart with a jaundiced eye. Still, duty calls, and many a night sees him coming home to Claire’s bed with the scent of wine and strange women clinging to his skin.
“Who looks on a woman with lust in his heart hath committed adultery with her already. Is that how ye see it?”
“Is it how you see it?”
“No,” he said shortly. “I don’t. And what would ye do if I had lain wi’ a whore, Sassenach? Slap my face? Order me out of your chamber? Keep yourself from my bed?”
I turned and looked at him.
“I’d kill you,” I said through my teeth.
Both eyebrows shot up, and his mouth dropped slightly with incredulity.
“Kill me? God, if I found you wi’ another man, I’d kill him.” He paused, and one corner of his mouth quirked wryly.
“Mind ye,” he said, “I’d no be verra pleased wi’ you either, but still, it’s him I’d kill.”
“Typical man,” I said. “Always missing the point.”
He snorted with a bitter humor.
“Am I, then? So you dinna believe me. Want me to prove it to ye, Sassenach, that I’ve lain wi’ no one in the last few hours?” He stood up, water cascading down the stretches of his long legs. The light from the window highlighted the reddish-gold hairs of his body and the steam rose off his flesh in wisps. He looked like a figure of freshly molten gold. I glanced briefly down.
“Ha,” I said, with the maximum of scorn it was possible to infuse into one syllable.
“Hot water,” he said briefly, stepping out of the tub. “Dinna worry yourself, it won’t take long.”
“That,” I said, with delicate precision, “is what you think.”
Fighting jealousy, Claire is reassured to hear that Jamie has conceived a scheme to prevent his carousing comrades from pressing him to join in their debauches; he has told them that Claire is La Dame Blanche—the White Lady, a sorceress whose powers will shrivel his private parts, should he ever be unfaithful to her. Sodden with drink and strongly superstitious, the men believe him, and rumors of La Dame Blanche are soon circulating through Paris—much to Claire’s amusement.
Between the demands of business and Royal intrigue, Jamie is thoroughly occupied. Between morning sickness and dinner parties, Claire is not. Seeking useful occupation, she volunteers her medical services at L’Hôpital des Anges, a convent hospital run by the redoubtable Mother Hildegarde and her assistant, the dog Bouton.
Jamie also has acquired an assistant: a French lad met—by accident—in a brothel.