"Now then," he said. "If we canna talk easy yet without touching, we'll touch for a bit. Tell me when you're accustomed to me again." He leaned back so that we were in the shade of an oak, and held me close without speaking, just breathing slowly, so that I felt the rise and fall of his chest and the stir of his breath in my hair.
"All right," I said after a moment.
"Good." He loosened his grip and turned me to face him. At close range, I could see the bristle of auburn stubble on cheek and chin. I brushed my fingers across it; it was like the plush on an old-fashioned sofa, stiff and soft at the same time.
"I'm sorry," he said, "I couldna shave this morning. Dougal gave me a razor before the wedding yesterday, but he took it back—in case I cut my throat after the wedding night, I expect." He grinned down at me and I smiled back.
The reference to Dougal reminded me of our conversation of the night before.
"I wondered…"I said. "Last night, you said Dougal and his men met you at the coast when you came back from France. Why did you come back with him, instead of going to your own home, or the Fraser lands? I mean, the way Dougal's treated you…" I trailed off, hesitant.
"Oh," he said, shifting his legs to bear my weight more evenly. I could almost hear him thinking to himself. He made up his mind quite quickly.
"Well, it's something ye should know, I suppose." He frowned to himself. "I told ye why I'm outlawed. Well, for a time after—after I left the Fort, I didna care much… about anything. My father died about that time, and my sister…" He paused again, and I sensed some kind of struggle going on inside him. I twisted around to look at him. The normally cheerful face was shadowed with some strong emotion.
"Dougal told me," he said slowly, "Dougal told me that—that my sister was wi' child. By Randall."
"Oh, dear."
He glanced sideways at me, then away. His eyes were bright as sapphires and he blinked hastily once or twice.
"I… I couldna bring myself to go back," he said, low-voiced. "To see her again, after what happened. And too"—he sighed, then set his lips firmly—"Dougal told me that she… that after the child was born, she… well, of course, she couldna help it; she was alone—damn it, I left her alone! He said she had taken up wi' another English soldier, someone from the garrison, he didna know which one."
He swallowed heavily, then went on more firmly. "I sent back what money I could, of course, but I could not… well, I couldna bring myself to write to her. What could I say?" He shrugged helplessly.
"Anyway, after a time I grew tired of soldiering in France. And I heard through my uncle Alex that he'd had word of an English deserter, named Horrocks. The man had left the army and taken service wi' Francis MacLean o' Dunweary. He was in his cups one day and let out that he'd been stationed wi' the garrison at Fort William when I escaped. And he'd seen the man who shot the sergeant-major that day."
"So he could prove that it wasn't you!" This sounded good news, and I said so. Jamie nodded.
"Well, yes. Though the word of a deserter would likely not count for much. Still, it's a start. At least I'd know myself who it was. And while I… well, I dinna see how I can go back to Lallybroch; still it would be as well if I could walk the soil of Scotland without the risk of being hanged."
"Yes, that seems a good idea," I said dryly. "But where do the MacKenzies come into it?"
There followed a certain amount of complicated analysis of family relationships and clan alliances, but when the smoke cleared away, it appeared that Francis MacLean was some connection with the MacKenzie side, and had sent word of Horrocks to Colum, who had sent Dougal to make contact with Jamie.
"Which is how he came to be nearby when I was wounded," Jamie finished up. He paused, squinting into the sun. "I wondered, afterward, ye know, whether perhaps he'd done it."
"Hit you with an ax? Your own uncle? Why on earth?"
He frowned as though weighing how much to tell me, then shrugged.
"I dinna ken how much ye know about the clan MacKenzie," he said, "though I imagine ye canna have ridden wi' old Ned Gowan for days without hearin' something of it. He canna keep off the subject for long."
He nodded at my answering smile. "Well, you've seen Colum for yourself. Anyone can see that he'll not make old bones. And wee Hamish is barely eight; he'll no be able to lead a clan for ten years yet. So what happens if Colum dies before Hamish is ready?" He looked at me, prompting.