Voyager - Diana Gabaldon [241]
“Mmphm.” Jamie rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw, and tried again. “Aye, well, that’s what I mean about Young Ian. He’s carried himself like a man this last week. I dinna think it right for ye to thrash him like a wee laddie, Ian.”
Jenny’s eyebrows rose, graceful wings of scorn.
“A man, now, is he? Why, he’s but a baby, Jamie—he’s not but fourteen!”
Despite his annoyance, one side of Jamie’s mouth curled slightly.
“I was a man at fourteen, Jenny,” he said softly.
She snorted, but a film of moisture shone suddenly over her eyes.
“Ye thought ye were.” She stood and turned away abruptly, blinking. “Aye, I mind ye then,” she said, face turned to the bookshelf. She reached out a hand as though to support herself, grasping the edge.
“Ye were a bonny lad, Jamie, riding off wi’ Dougal to your first raid, and your dirk all bright on your thigh. I was sixteen, and I thought I’d never seen a sight so fair as you on your pony, so straight and tall. And I mind ye coming back, too, all covered in mud, and a scratch down the side of your face from falling in brambles, and Dougal boasting to Da how brawly ye’d done—driven off six kine by yourself, and had a dunt on the head from the flat of a broadsword, and not made a squeak about it.” Her face once more under control, she turned back from her contemplation of the books to face her brother. “That’s what a man is, aye?”
A hint of humor stole back into Jamie’s face as he met her gaze.
“Aye, well, there’s maybe a bit more to it than that,” he said.
“Is there,” she said, more dryly still. “And what will that be? To be able to bed a girl? Or to kill a man?”
I had always thought Janet Fraser had something of the Sight, particularly where her brother was concerned. Evidently the talent extended to her son, as well. The flush over Jamie’s cheekbones deepened, but his expression didn’t change.
She shook her head slowly, looking steadily at her brother. “Nay, Young Ian’s not a man yet—but you are, Jamie; and ye ken the difference verra well.”
Ian, who had been watching the fireworks between the two Frasers with the same fascination as I had, now coughed briefly.
“Be that as it may,” he said dryly. “Young Ian’s been waiting for his whipping for the last quarter-hour. Whether or not it’s suitable to beat him, to make him wait any longer for it is a bit cruel, aye?”
“Have ye really got to do it, Ian?” Jamie made one last effort, turning to appeal to his brother-in-law.
“Well,” said Ian slowly, “as I’ve told the lad he’s going to be thrashed, and he kens verra well he’s earned it, I canna just go back on my word. But as for me doing it—no, I dinna think I will.” A faint gleam of humor showed in the soft brown eyes. He reached into a drawer of the sideboard, drew out a thick leather strap, and thrust it into Jamie’s hand. “You do it.”
“Me?” Jamie was horror-struck. He made a futile attempt to shove the strap back into Ian’s hand, but his brother-in-law ignored it. “I canna thrash the lad!”
“Oh, I think ye can,” Ian said calmly, folding his arms. “Ye’ve said often enough ye care for him as though he were your son.” He tilted his head to one side, and while his expression stayed mild, the brown eyes were implacable. “Well, I’ll tell ye, Jamie—it’s no that easy to be his Da; best ye go and find that out now, aye?”
Jamie stared at Ian for a long moment, then looked to his sister. She raised one eyebrow, staring him down.
“You deserve it as much as he does, Jamie. Get ye gone.”
Jamie’s lips pressed tight together and his nostrils flared white. Then he whirled on his heel and was gone without speaking. Rapid steps sounded on the boards, and a muffled slam came from the far end of the passage.
Jenny cast a quick glance at Ian, a quicker one at me, and then turned to the window. Ian and I, both a good deal taller, came to stand behind her. The light outside was failing rapidly, but there was still enough to see the wilting figure of Young Ian, leaning dispiritedly against a wooden gate,