"Oh, aye. And broke his leg for him, as well. The back, too, Munro? No," he amended, at a series of signs from Munro, "the back was an accident, something that happened jumping off a wall in Alexandria. The feet, though; that was the Turks' doing."
I didn't really want to know, but both Munro and Jamie seemed dying to tell me. "All right," I said, resigned. "What happened to his feet?"
With something approaching pride, Munro stripped off his battered clogs and hose, exposing broad, splayed feet on which the skin was thickened and roughened, white shiny patches alternating with angry red areas.
"Boiling oil," said Jamie. "It's how they force captive Christians to convert to the Mussulman religion."
"It looks a very effective means of persuasion," I said. "So that's why several parishes will give him leave to beg? To make up for his trials on behalf of Christendom?"
"Aye, exactly." Jamie was evidently pleased with my swift appreciation of the situation. Munro also expressed his admiration with another deep salaam, followed by a very expressive if indelicate sequence of hand movements which I gathered were meant to be praising my physical appearance as well.
"Thank ye, man. Aye, she'll do me proud, I reckon." Jamie, seeing my uplifted brows, tactfully turned Munro so that his back was to me and the flying fingers hidden. "Now, tell me what's doing in the villages?"
The two men drew closer together, continuing their lopsided conversation with an increased intensity. Since Jamie's part seemed to be limited mainly to grunts and exclamations of interest, I could glean little of the content, and busied myself instead with a survey of the strange little rock plants sprouting from the surfaces of our perch.
I had collected a pocketful of eyebright and dittany by the time they finished talking and Hugh Munro rose to go. With a final bow to me and a thump on the back for Jamie, he shuffled to the edge of the rock and disappeared as quickly as one of the rabbits he poached might vanish into its hole.
"What fascinating friends you have," I said.
"Oh, aye. Nice fellow, Hugh. I hunted wi' him and some others, last year. He's on his own, now that he's an official beggar, but his work keeps him moving about the parishes; he'll know everything that goes on within the borders of Ardagh and Chesthill."
"Including the whereabouts of Horrocks?" I guessed.
Jamie nodded. "Aye. And he'll carry a message for me, to change the meeting place."
"Which foxes Dougal rather neatly," I observed. "If he had any ideas about holding you to ransom over Horrocks."
He nodded, and a smile creased one corner of his mouth.
"Aye, there's that about it."
It was near supper-time again as we reached the inn. This time, though, Dougal's big black and its five companions were standing in the inn yard, contentedly munching hay.
Dougal himself was inside, washing the road dust from his throat with sour ale. He nodded to me and swung round to greet his nephew. Instead of speaking, though, he just stood there, head on one side, eyeing Jamie quizzically.
"Ah, that's it," he said finally, in the satisfied tones of a man who has solved a difficult puzzle. "Now I know what ye mind me of, lad." He turned to me.
"Ever seen a red stag near the end of the rutting season, lass?" he said confidentially. "The poor beasts dinna sleep nor eat for several weeks, because they canna spare the time, between fightin' off the other stags and serving the does. By the end o' the season, they're naught but skin and bones. Their eyes are deep-sunk in their heads, and the only part o' them that doesna shake wi' palsy is their—"
The last of this was lost in a chorus of laughter as Jamie pulled me up the stairs. We did not come down to supper.
Much later, on the edge of sleep, I felt Jamie's arm around my waist, and felt his breath warm against my neck.
"Does it ever stop? The wanting you?" His hand came around to caress my breast. "Even when I've just left ye, I want you so much my chest feels tight and my fingers ache with wanting to touch ye again."
He cupped my face in the dark, thumbs stroking the arcs of my eyebrows. "When I hold ye between my two hands and feel you quiver like that, waitin' for me to take you… Lord, I want to pleasure you 'til ye cry out under me and open yourself to me. And when I take my own pleasure from you, I feel as though I've given ye my soul along with my cock."
He rolled above me and I opened my legs, wincing slightly as he entered me. He laughed softly. "Aye, I'm a bit sore, too. Do ye want me to stop?" I wrapped my legs around his hips in answer and pulled him closer.