Voyager - Diana Gabaldon [399]
“I do?” Jamie glanced at me, startled, a shirt in his hand.
“You do. Maybe you’d best ask Lawrence if he’ll act as ambassador; the priest seems to get on with him.”
“All right. What’s happened to this Arabella, though? Has one of the crew debauched her?”
“I suppose you might say that.” I drew breath to explain further, but before I could speak, another knock sounded on the door.
“Can a man not dress in peace?” Jamie demanded irritably. “Come, then!”
The door swung open, revealing Marsali, who blinked at the sight of her nude stepfather. Jamie hastily swathed his midsection in the shirt he was holding, and nodded to her, sangfroid only slightly impaired.
“Marsali, lass. I’m glad to see ye unhurt. Did ye require something?”
The girl edged into the room, taking up a position between the table and a sea chest.
“Aye, I do,” she said. She was sunburned, and her nose was peeling, but I thought she seemed pale nonetheless. Her fists were clenched at her sides, and her chin lifted as for battle.
“I require ye to keep your promise,” she said.
“Aye?” Jamie looked wary.
“Your promise to let me and Fergus be married, so soon as we came to the Indies.” A small wrinkle appeared between her fair eyebrows. “Hispaniola is in the Indies, no? The Jew said so.”
Jamie scratched at his beard, looking reluctant.
“It is,” he said. “And aye, I suppose if I…well, aye. I did promise. But—you’re still sure of yourselves, the two of ye?” She lifted her chin higher, jaw set firmly.
“We are.”
Jamie lifted one eyebrow.
“Where’s Fergus?”
“Helping stow the cargo. I kent we’d be under way soon, so I thought I’d best come and ask now.”
“Aye. Well.” Jamie frowned, then sighed with resignation. “Aye, I said. But I did say as ye must be blessed by a priest, did I no? There’s no priest closer than Bayamo, and that’s three days’ ride. But perhaps in Jamaica…”
“Nay, you’re forgetting!” Marsali said triumphantly. “We’ve a priest right here. Father Fogden can marry us.”
I felt my jaw drop, and hastily closed it. Jamie was scowling at her.
“We sail first thing in the morning!”
“It won’t take long,” she said. “It’s only a few words, after all. We’re already married, by law; it’s only to be blessed by the Church, aye?” Her hand flattened on her abdomen where her marriage contract presumably resided beneath her stays.
“But your mother…” Jamie glanced helplessly at me for reinforcement. I shrugged, equally helpless. The task of trying either to explain Father Fogden to Jamie or to dissuade Marsali was well beyond me.
“He likely won’t do it, though.” Jamie came up with this objection with a palpable air of relief. “The crew have been trifling with one of his parishioners named Arabella. He willna want anything to do wi’ us, I’m afraid.”
“Yes, he will! He’ll do it for me—he likes me!” Marsali was almost dancing on her toes with eagerness.
Jamie looked at her for a long moment, eyes fixed on hers, reading her face. She was very young.
“You’re sure, then, lassie?” he said at last, very gently. “Ye want this?”
She took a deep breath, a glow spreading over her face.
“I am, Da. I truly am. I want Fergus! I love him!”
Jamie hesitated a moment, then rubbed a hand through his hair and nodded.
“Aye, then. Go and send Mr. Stern to me, then fetch Fergus and tell him to make ready.”
“Oh, Da! Thank you, thank you!” Marsali flung herself at him and kissed him. He held her with one arm, clutching the shirt about his middle with the other. Then he kissed her on the forehead and pushed her gently away.
“Take care,” he said, smiling. “Ye dinna want to go to your bridal covered wi’ lice.”
“Oh!” This seemed to remind her of something. She glanced at me and blushed, putting up a hand to her own pale locks, which were matted with sweat and straggling down her neck from a careless knot.
“Mother Claire,” she said shyly, “I wonder—would ye—could ye lend me a bit of the special soap ye make wi’ the chamomile? I—if there’s time—” she added, with a hasty glance at Jamie, “I should like to wash my hair.”
“Of course,” I said, and smiled at her. “Come along