Voyager - Diana Gabaldon [257]
He moved off me, slowly, clumsy as a bear. Jenny snatched a quilt from the bed and flung it over my body.
On all fours, he shook his head like a dog, sending droplets of water flying. Then, very slowly, he got to his feet, and pulled his ripped breeches back into place.
“Are ye no ashamed?” she cried, scandalized.
Jamie stood looking down at her as though he had never seen any creature quite like her, and was making up his mind what she might be. The wet ends of his hair dripped over his bare chest.
“Yes,” he said at last, quite mildly. “I am.”
He seemed dazed. He closed his eyes and a brief, deep shudder went over him. Without a word, he turned and went out.
35
FLIGHT FROM EDEN
Jenny helped me to the bed, making small clucking noises; whether of shock or concern, I couldn’t tell. I was vaguely conscious of hovering figures in the doorway—servants, I supposed—but wasn’t disposed to pay much attention.
“I’ll find ye something to put on,” she murmured, fluffing a pillow and pushing me back onto it. “And perhaps a bit of a drink. You’re all right?”
“Where’s Jamie?”
She glanced at me quickly, sympathy mixed with a gleam of curiosity.
“Dinna be afraid; I’ll no let him at ye again.” She spoke firmly, then pressed her lips tight together, frowning as she tucked the quilt around me. “How he could do such a thing!”
“It wasn’t his fault—not this.” I ran a hand through my tangled hair, indicating my general dishevelment. “I mean—I did it, as much as he did. It was both of us. He—I—” I let my hand fall, helpless to explain. I was bruised and shaken, and my lips were swollen.
“I see,” was all Jenny said, but she gave me a long, assessing look, and I thought it quite possible that she did see.
I didn’t want to talk about the recent happenings, and she seemed to sense this, for she kept quiet for a bit, giving a soft-voiced order to someone in the hall, then moving about the room, straightening furniture and tidying things. I saw her pause for a moment as she saw the holes in the armoire, then she stooped to pick up the larger pieces of the shattered ewer.
As she dumped them into the basin, there was a faint thud from the house below; the slam of the big main door. She stepped to the window and pushed the curtain aside.
“It’s Jamie,” she said. She glanced at me, and let the curtain fall. “He’ll be going up to the hill; he goes there, if he’s troubled. That, or he gets drunk wi’ Ian. The hill’s better.”
I gave a small snort.
“Yes, I expect he’s troubled, all right.”
There was a light step in the hallway, and the younger Janet appeared, carefully balancing a tray of biscuits, whisky, and water. She looked pale and scared.
“Are ye…well, Aunt?” she asked tentatively, setting down the tray.
“I’m fine,” I assured her, pushing myself upright and reaching for the whisky decanter.
A sharp glance having assured Jenny of the same, she patted her daughter’s arm and turned toward the door.
“Stay wi’ your auntie,” she ordered. “I’ll go and find a dress.” Janet nodded obediently, and sat down by the bed on a stool, watching me as I ate and drank.
I began to feel physically much stronger with a little food inside me. Internally, I felt quite numb; the recent events seemed at once dreamlike and yet completely clear in my mind. I could recall the smallest details; the blue calico bows on the dress of Laoghaire’s daughter, the tiny broken veins in Laoghaire’s cheeks, a rough-torn fingernail on Jamie’s fourth finger.
“Do you know where Laoghaire is?” I asked Janet. The girl had her head down, apparently studying her own hands. At my question, she jerked upright, blinking.
“Oh!” she said. “Oh. Aye, she and Marsali and Joan went back to Balriggan, where they live. Uncle Jamie made them go.”
“Did he,” I said flatly.
Janet bit her lip, twisting her hands in her apron. Suddenly she looked up at me.
“Aunt—I’m so awfully sorry!” Her eyes were a warm brown, like her father’s, but swimming now with