The Outlandish Companion - Diana Gabaldon [237]
“Germain!”
I turned to see a small blond head, hair flying as the owner streaked down the slope below the rocks. Two-year-old Germain had taken advantage of his mother’s preoccupation with his newborn sister to escape custody and make a dash for the row of soldiers. Eluding capture by lookers-on, he charged headlong down the slope, picking up speed like a rolling stone.
“Fergus!” Marsali screamed. Germain’s father, hearing his name, turned round from his conversation, just in time to see his son trip over a rock and fly headlong. Oddly, the boy made no move to save himself, but collapsed gracefully, rolling into a ball like a hedgehog as he struck the grassy slope on one shoulder. He rolled like a cannonball through the ranks of soldiers, shot off the edge of a rocky shelf, and plopped with a splash into the creek.
There was a general gasp of consternation, and a number of people ran down the hill to help, but one of the soldiers had already hurried to the bank. Kneeling, he thrust the tip of his bayonet through the child’s floating clothes and towed the soggy bundle to the shore.
Fergus charged into the icy shallows, reaching out to clasp his waterlogged son.
“Merci, mon ami, mille merci beaucoup,” he said to the young soldier. “Et tu, toto,” he said, addressing his spluttering offspring with a small shake, “Comment ça va, ye wee chowderheid?”
The soldier looked startled, but I couldn’t tell whether the cause was Fergus’s unique patois, or the sight of the gleaming hook he wore in place of his missing left hand.
“That’s all right then, sir,” he said, with a shy smile. “He’ll no be damaged, I think.”
Brianna appeared from behind a pine tree, six-month-old Jemmy on one shoulder. She bent down and scooped baby Joan neatly out of Marsali’s arms. Jamie swung the heavy cloak from his shoulders and laid it in Marsali’s arms in place of the baby.
“Tell the soldier laddie to come share our fire,” he told her. “We can feed another, Sassenach?”
“Of course,” I said, readjusting my mental calculations. Eighteen eggs, four loaves of stale bread for toast—no, I should keep back one for the trip home tomorrow—three dozen oatcakes if Jamie and Roger hadn’t eaten them, half a jar of honey…
Marsali’s thin face lighted with a rueful smile, shared among the three of us, then she was gone, hastening to the aid of her drenched and shivering menfolk.
Jamie looked after her with a sigh of resignation, as the wind caught the full sleeves of his shirt and belled them out with a muffled whoomp. He crossed his arms across his chest, hunching his shoulders against the wind, and smiled down at me, sidelong.
“Ah, well. I suppose we shall both freeze together, Sassenach. That’s all right, though. I wouldna want to live without ye, anyway.”
“Ha,” I said amiably. “You could live naked on an ice floe, Jamie Fraser, and melt it. What have you done with your coat and plaid?” He wore nothing besides his kilt and sark save shoes and stockings, and his high cheekbones were reddened with cold, like the tips of his ears. When I slipped a hand back inside his arm, though, he was warm as ever.
“Ye dinna want to know,” he said, grinning. He covered my hand with one large, callused palm. “Let’s go; I’m fair starved for my breakfast.”
“Wait,” I said, detaching myself. Jemmy was indisposed to share his mother’s embrace with the newcomer, and howled and squirmed in protest, his small round face going red with annoyance. I reached out and took him from Brianna, as he wriggled and fussed in his wrappings.
“Musical babies.” Brianna smiled briefly, boosting tiny Joan into a more secure position against her shoulder. “Sure you want that one? This one’s quieter—and weighs half as much.”
“No, he’s all right. Hush, sweetie, come see Grannie.” I smiled as I said it, with the still-new feeling of mingled surprise and delight that I could actually be someone’s grandmother. I supposed the novelty would wear off sooner or later; I had, after all, got quite used to being “Mama.”
Recognizing me, Jemmy abandoned his fuss