"Sounds a memorable first experience," I said, laughing.
"I doubt I was her first," he said, grinning. "She knew a lot more about it than I did. But we didna get much practice; a day or two later, her mother caught us in the pantry. She didna do more than give me a sharpish look and tell Tibby to go and set the table for dinner, but she must have told Dougal about it."
If Dougal MacKenzie had been quick to resent an insult to his sister's honor, I could only imagine what he might have done in defense of his daughter's.
"I shudder to think," I said, grinning.
"So do I," said Jamie, shuddering. He shot me a sidelong glance, looking shy.
"You'll know that young men in the morning, sometimes they wake up with… well, with—" He was blushing.
"Yes, I know," I said. "So do old men of twenty-three. You think I don't notice? You've brought it to my attention often enough."
"Mmmphm. Well, the morning after Tib's mother caught us, I woke up just at dawn. I'd been dreaming about her—Tib, I mean, not her mother—and I wasna surprised to feel a hand on my cock. What was surprising was that it wasn't mine."
"Surely it wasn't Tibby's?"
"Well, no, it wasna. It was her father's."
"Dougal! Whatever—"
"Well, I opened my eyes wide and he smiled down at me, verra pleasant. And then he sat on the bed and we had a nice little chat, uncle and nephew, foster-father to foster-son. He said how much he was enjoying my being there, him not having a son of his own, and all that. And how his family was all so fond of me, and all. And how he would hate to think that there might be any advantage taken of such fine, innocent feelings as his daughters might have toward me, but how of course he was so pleased that he could trust me as he would his own son."
"And all the time he was talking and me lying there, he had his one hand on his dirk, and the other resting on my fine young balls. So I said yes, Uncle, and no, Uncle, and when he left, I rolled myself up in the quilt and dreamed about pigs. And I didna kiss a girl again until I was sixteen, and went to Leoch."
He looked over at me, smiling. His hair was laced back with a leather thong, but the shorter ends were sticking up at the crown as usual, glimmering red and gold in the brisk, clear air. His skin had darkened to a golden bronze during our journey from Leoch and Craigh na Dun, and he looked like an autumn leaf, swirling joyfully wind-borne.
"And what of you, my bonny Sassenach?" he asked, grinning. "Did ye have the wee laddies panting at your heels, or were ye shy and maidenly?"
"A bit less than you," I said circumspectly. "I was eight."
"Jezebel. Who was the lucky lad?"
"The dragoman's son. That was in Egypt. He was nine."
"Och, well, you're no to blame then. Led astray by an older man. And a bloody heathen, no less."
The mill came into sight below, picture-pretty, with a deep-red vine glowing up the side of the yellow plaster wall, and shutters standing open to the daylight, tidy in spite of the worn green paint. The water gushed happily down the sluice under the idle waterwheel into the millpond. There were even ducks on the pond, teal and goldeneye paused for a rest on their southern flight.
"Look," I said, pausing at the top of the hill, putting a hand on Jamie's arm to stop him. "Isn't it lovely?"
"Be a sight more lovely if the waterwheel were turnin'," he said practically. Then he glanced down at me and smiled.
"Aye, Sassenach. It's a bonny place. I used to swim here when I was a lad—there's a wide pool round the bend of the stream."
A little further down the hill, the pool became visible through the screen of willows. So did the boys. There were four of them, sporting and splashing and yelling, all naked as jays.
"Brrr," I said, watching them. The weather was fine for autumn, but there was enough of a nip in the air to make me glad of the shawl I'd brought. "It makes my blood run cold, just to see them."
"Och?" Jamie said. "Well, let me warm it for ye then."
With a glance down at the boys in the stream, he stepped back into the shade of a big horse chestnut tree. He put his hands about my waist and drew me into the shadow after him.
"Ye werena the first lass I kissed," he said softly. "But I swear you'll be the last." And he bent his head to my upturned face.
Once the miller had emerged from his lair, and hasty introductions were made, I retired to the bank of the millpond, while Jamie spent several minutes listening to an explanation of the problem. As the miller went back into the millhouse, to try turning the stone from within, Jamie stood a moment, staring into the dark, weedy depths of the millpond. Finally, with a shrug of resignation, he began to strip off his clothes.