"I don't know," he said, eyes still shut. "I could guess, perhaps, but it doesna much matter. Damn-all chance of proving it."
I had to agree that this was true. I sank back on the bed beside him and stared up at the black oak beams of the low ceiling.
"What can you do then?" I asked. "Go to France? Or perhaps"—a bright thought occurred to me—"perhaps to America? You could likely do well in the New World."
"Across the ocean?" A brief shudder ran through him. "No. No, I couldna do that."
"Well, what then?" I demanded, turning my head to look at him. He opened one eye enough to give me a jaundiced look.
"I'd thought for a start that I might get another hour's sleep," he said, "but apparently not." Resigned, he pulled himself up in bed, leaning against the wall. I had been too tired to pull the bedclothes off before retiring, and there was a suspicious black spot on the quilt near his knee. I kept a wary eye on it as he talked.
"You're right," he agreed, "we could go to France." I started, having momentarily forgotten that whatever he decided to do, I was now included in the decision.
"But there isna that much for me there," he said, idly scratching his thigh. "Only soldiering, and that's no life for you. Or to Rome, to join King James's court. That might be managed; I've some Fraser uncles and cousins with a foot in that camp, who would help me. I've no great taste for politics, and less for princes, but aye, it's a possibility. I'd rather try first to clear myself in Scotland, though. If I did, at the worst I might end up as a small crofter in the Fraser lands; at best, I might be able to go back to Lallybroch." His face clouded, and I knew he was thinking of his sister. "For myself," he said softly, "I wouldna go, but it isn't only me anymore."
He looked down at me and smiled, his hand gently smoothing my hair. "I forget sometimes, that there's you now, Sassenach," he said.
I felt extraordinarily uncomfortable. I felt like a traitor, in fact. Here he was, making plans that would affect his entire life, taking my comfort and safety into account, when I had been doing my best to abandon him completely, dragging him into substantial danger in the process. I had meant none of it, but the fact remained. Even now, I was thinking that I should try to talk him out of going to France, as that would carry me farther away from my own goal: the stone circle.
"Is there any way to stay in Scotland, though?" I asked, looking away from him. I thought the black spot on the quilt had moved, but I wasn't sure. I fixed my eyes on it, staring hard.
Jamie's hand traveled under my hair and began idly to fondle my neck.
"Aye," he said thoughtfully. "There may be. That's why Dougal waited up for me; he's had some news."
"Really? What sort?" I turned my head to look up at him again; the movement brought my ear within reach of his fingers, and he began to stroke lightly around it, making me want to arch my neck and purr like a cat. I repressed the impulse, though, in favor of finding out what he meant to do.
"A messenger from Colum," he said. "He didna think to find us here, but he passed Dougal on the road by accident. Dougal's to return at once to Leoch, and leave Ned Gowan to manage the rest of the rents. Dougal's suggested we should go with him."
"Back to Leoch?" It wasn't France, but it wasn't a lot better. "Why?"
"There's a visitor expected shortly, an English noble that's had dealings wi' Colum before. He's a powerful man, and it might be he could be persuaded to do something for me. I've not been tried or condemned on the charge of murder. He might be able to have it dismissed, or arrange to have me pardoned." He grinned wryly. "It goes a bit against the grain to be pardoned for something I've not done, but it's better than being hanged."
"Yes, that's true." The spot was moving. I squinted, trying to focus on it. "Which English noble is it?"
"The Duke of Sandringham."
I jerked upright with an exclamation.
"What is it, Sassenach?" Jamie asked, alarmed.
I pointed a trembling finger at the black spot, which was now proceeding up his leg at a slow but determined pace.
"What's that?!" I said.
He glanced at it, and casually flicked it off with a fingernail.
"Oh, that? It's only a bedbug, Sassenach. Nothing to—"
He was interrupted by my abrupt exit. At the word "bedbug," I had shot out from under the covers, and stood pressed against the wall, as far away as possible from the teeming nest of vermin I now envisioned as our bed.