"We had a different schoolmaster each year, usually; they didna last long—usually turned farmer or moved on to richer parts. Schoolmasters are paid so little, they're always skinny and starving. Had a fat one once, and I could never believe he was a real schoolmaster; he looked like a parson in disguise." I thought of plump little Father Bain and smiled in agreement.
"One I remember especially, because he'd make ye stand out in the front of the schoolroom with your hand out, and then he'd lecture ye at great length about your faults before he started, and again in between strokes. I'd stand there wi' my hand out, smarting, just praying he'd stop yammering and get on with the job before I lost all my courage and started crying."
"I imagine that's what he wanted you to do," I said, feeling some sympathy in spite of myself.
"Oh, aye," he replied matter-of-factly. "It took some time for me to realize that, though. And once I did, as usual I couldna keep my mouth shut." He sighed.
"What happened?" I had all but forgotten to be furious by this time.
"Well, he had me up one day—I got it a lot because I couldna write properly with my right hand, kept doing it with my left. He'd smacked me three times—takin' nearly five minutes to do it, the bastard—and he was goin' on at me for being a stupid, idle, stubborn young lout before givin' me the next. My hand burned something fierce, because it was the second time that day, and I was scared because I knew I'd get an awful thrashing when I got home—that was the rule; if I got a beating at school, I'd get another directly I came home, for my father thought schooling important—anyway, I lost my temper." His left hand curled involuntarily around the rein, as though protecting the sensitive palm.
He paused and glanced at me. "I seldom lose my temper, Sassenach, and generally regret it when I do." And that, I thought, was likely to be as close to an apology as I'd get.
"Did you regret it that time?"
"Well, I doubled up my fists and glared up at him—he was a tall, scrawny fellow, maybe twenty, I suppose, though he looked quite old to me—and I said 'I'm not afraid o' you, and ye can't make me cry, no matter how hard you hit me!' " He drew a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "I suppose it was a bit of a mistake in judgment to tell him that while he was still holding the strap."
"Don't tell me," I said. "He tried to prove you were wrong?"
"Oh, aye, he tried." Jamie nodded, head dark against the cloud-lit sky. His voice held a certain grim satisfaction on the word "tried."
"He didn't succeed, then?"
The shaggy head shook back and forth. "No. At least he couldna make me cry. He surely made me regret not keeping quiet, though."
He paused for a moment, turning his own face toward me. The cloud cover had parted for a moment and the light touched the edges of jaw and cheek, making him look gilded, like one of Donatello's archangels.
"When Dougal was describing my character to ye, before we wed, did he by chance mention that I'm sometimes a bit stubborn?" The slanted eyes glinted, much more Lucifer than Michael.
I laughed. "That's putting it mildly. As I recall, what he said is that all the Frasers are stubborn as rocks, and you're the worst of the lot. Actually," I said, a little dryly, "I'd noticed something of the kind myself."
He smiled as he reined the horse around a deep puddle in the road, leading mine by the checkrein after him.
"Mmph, well, I'll no just say Dougal's wrong," he said, once the hazard had been negotiated. "But if I'm stubborn, I come by it honest. My father was just the same, and we'd get in wrangles from time to time that we couldna get out of without the application of force, usually wi' me bent over the fence rail."
Suddenly, he put out a hand to grab my horse's rein, as the beast reared and snorted. "Hey now! Hush! Stad, mo dhu!" His own, less spooked, only jerked and tossed its head nervously.
"What is it?" I could see nothing, despite the patches of moonlight that mottled road and field. There was a pine grove up ahead, and the horses seemed disinclined to go any nearer to it.
"I don't know. Stay here and keep quiet. Mount your horse and hold mine. If I call to ye, drop the checkrein and run for it." Jamie's voice was low and casual, calming me as well as the horses. With a muttered "Sguir!" to the horse and a slap on the neck to urge it closer to me, he faded into the heather, hand on his dirk.
I strained eyes and ears to discern whatever it was still troubling the horses; they shifted and stamped, ears and tails twitching in agitation. The clouds by now had shredded and flown on the nightwind, leaving only scattered trails across the face of a brilliant half moon. In spite of the brightness, I could see nothing on the road ahead, or in the menacing grove.