I shuddered a bit at the memory of the Captain, and Jamie's hands tightened on mine.
"You are safe," he said firmly. "You have my name and my family, my clan, and if necessary, the protection of my body as well. The man willna lay hands on ye again, while I live."
"Thank you," I said. Looking at that strong, young, determined face, with its broad cheekbones and solid jaw, I felt for the first time that this preposterous scheme of Dougal's might actually have been a reasonable suggestion.
The protection of my body. The phrase struck with particular impact, looking at him—the resolute set of the wide shoulders and the memory of his graceful ferocity, "showing off" at wordplay in the moonlight. He meant it; and young as he was, he knew what he meant, and bore the scars to prove it. He was no older than many of the pilots and the infantrymen I had nursed, and he knew as well as they the price of commitment. It was no romantic pledge he had made me, but the blunt promise to guard my safety at the cost of his own. I hoped only that I could offer him something in return.
"That's most gallant of you," I said, with absolute sincerity. "But was it worth, well, worth marriage?"
"It was," he said, nodding. He smiled again, a little grimly this time. "I've good reason to know the man, ye ken. I wouldna see a dog given into his keeping if I could prevent it, let alone a helpless woman."
"How flattering," I remarked wryly, and he laughed. He stood up and went to the table near the window. Someone—perhaps the landlady—had supplied a bouquet of wildflowers, set in water in a whisky tumbler. Behind this stood two wineglasses and a bottle.
Jamie poured out two glasses and came back, handing me one as he resumed his seat.
"Not quite so good as Colum's private stock," he said with a smile, "but none so bad, either." He raised his glass briefly. "To Mrs. Fraser," he said softly, and I felt a thump of panic again. I quelled it firmly and raised my own glass.
"To honesty," I said, and we both drank.
"Well, that's one reason," I said, lowering my glass. "Are there others you can tell me?"
He studied his wineglass with some care. "Perhaps it's just that I want to bed you." He looked up abruptly. "Did ye think of that?"
If he meant to disconcert me, he was succeeding nicely, but I resolved not to show it.
"Well, do you?" I asked boldly.
"If I'm bein' honest, yes, I do." The blue eyes were steady over the rim of the glass.
"You wouldn't necessarily have had to marry me for that," I objected.
He appeared honestly scandalized. "You do not think I would take ye without offering you marriage!"
"Many men would," I said, amused at his innocence.
He sputtered a bit, at a momentary loss. Then regaining his composure, said with formal dignity, "Perhaps I am pretentious in saying so, but I would like to think that I am not 'many men,' and that I dinna necessarily place my behavior at the lowest common denominator."
Rather touched by this speech, I assured him that I had so far found his behavior both gallant and gentlemanly, and apologized for any doubt I might inadvertently have cast on his motives.
On this precariously diplomatic note, we paused while he refilled our empty glasses.
We sipped in silence for a time, both feeling a bit shy after the frankness of that last exchange. So, apparently there was something I could offer him. I couldn't, in fairness, say the thought had not entered my mind, even before the absurd situation in which we found ourselves arose. He was a very engaging young man. And there had been that moment, right after my arrival at the castle, when he had held me on his lap, and—
I tilted my wineglass back and drained the contents. I patted the bed beside me again.
"Sit down here with me," I said. "And"—I cast about for some neutral topic of conversation to ease us over the awkwardness of close proximity—"and tell me about your family. Where did you grow up?"
The bed sank noticeably under his weight, and I braced myself not to roll against him. He sat closely enough that the sleeve of his shirt brushed my arm. I let my hand lie open on my thigh, relaxed. He took it naturally as he sat, and we leaned against the wall, neither of us looking down, but as conscious of the link as though we had been welded together.
"Well, now, where shall I start?" He put his rather large feet up on the stool and crossed them at the ankles. With some amusement, I recognized the Highlander settling back for a leisurely dissection of that tangle of family and clan relationships which forms the background of almost any event of significance in the Scottish Highlands. Frank and I had spent one evening in the village pub, enthralled by a conversation between two old codgers, in which the responsibility for the recent destruction of an ancient barn was traced back through the intricacies of a local feud dating, so far as I could tell, from about 1790. With the sort of minor shock to which I was becoming accustomed, I realized that that particular feud, whose origins I had thought shrouded in the mists of time, had not yet begun. Suppressing the mental turmoil this realization caused, I forced my attention to what Jamie was saying.