"Mrs. MacNab," he said, bowing to his elderly tenant.
"Sir," she said, bowing back once again. "A fine day, is it no?"
"A bit b-brisk," he said, casting an eye at me. I shrugged helplessly.
"We're pleased to see ye back in yer home, sir, and it's our hope, the lads and mysel', as you'll soon be back to stay."
"Mine too, Mrs. MacNab," Jamie said courteously. He jerked his head at me, glaring. I smiled blandly.
The old lady, ignoring this byplay, folded her gnarled hands in her lap and settled back with dignity.
"I've a wee favor I was wishin' to ask of your lairdship," she began, "havin' tae do wi'—"
"Grannie MacNab," Jamie interrupted, advancing a menacing half-step through the water, "whatever your wish is, I'll do it. Provided only that ye'll give me back my shirt before my parts fall off wi' cold."
* * *
29
More Honesty
In the evenings, when supper was cleared away, we generally sat in the drawing room with Jenny and Ian, talking companionably of this and that, or listening to Jenny's stories.
Tonight, though, it was my turn, and I held Jenny and Ian rapt as I told them about Mrs. MacNab and the Redcoats.
"God kens well enough that boys need to be smacked, or he'd no fill them sae full o' the de'il." My imitation of Grannie MacNab brought down the house.
Jenny wiped tears of laughter from her eyes.
"Lord, it's true enough. And she'd know it too. What has she got, Ian, eight boys?"
Ian nodded. "Aye, at least. I canna even remember all their names; seemed like there was always a couple of MacNabs about to hunt or fish or swim with, when Jamie and I were younger."
"You grew up together?" I asked. Jamie and Ian exchanged wide, complicitous grins.
"Oh, aye, we're familiar," Jamie said, laughing. "Ian's father was the factor for Lallybroch, like Ian is now. On a number of occasions during my reckless youth, I've found myself standing elbow to elbow with Mr. Murray there, explaining to one or other of our respective fathers how appearances can be deceiving, or failing that, why circumstances alter cases."
"And failin' that," said Ian, "I've found myself on the same number of occasions, bent over a fence rail alongside Mr. Fraser there, listenin' to him yell his heid off while waitin' for my own turn."
"Never!" replied Jamie indignantly. "I never yelled."
"Ye call it what ye like, Jamie," his friend answered, "but ye were awful loud."
"Ye could hear the both of ye for miles," Jenny interjected. "And not only the yelling. Ye could hear Jamie arguing all the time, right up to the fence."
"Aye, ye should ha' been a lawyer, Jamie. But I dinna ken why I always let you do the talking," said Ian, shaking his head. "You always got us in worse trouble than we started."
Jamie began to laugh again. "You mean the broch?"
"I do." Ian turned to me, motioning toward the west, where the ancient stone tower rose from the hill behind the house.
"One of Jamie's better arguments, that was," he said, rolling his eyes upward. "He told Brian it was uncivilized to use physical force in order to make your point of view prevail. Corporal punishment was barbarous, he said, and old-fashioned, to boot. Thrashing someone just because they had committed an act with whose ram-ramifications, that was it—with whose ramifications ye didn't agree was not at a' a constructive form of punishment…"
All of us were laughing by this time.
"Did Brian listen to all of this?" I asked.
"Oh, aye." Ian nodded. "I just stood there wi' Jamie, nodding whenever he'd stop for breath. When Jamie finally ran out of words, his father sort of coughed a bit and said 'I see.' Then he turned and looked out of the window for a little, swinging the strap and nodding his head, as though he were thinking. We were standing there, elbow to elbow like Jamie said, sweating. At last Brian turned about and told us to follow him to the stables."
"He gave us each a broom, a brush, and a bucket, and pointed us in the direction of the broch," said Jamie, taking up the story. "Said I'd convinced him of my point, so he'd decided on a more 'constructive' form of punishment."
Ian's eyes rolled slowly up, as though following the rough stones of the broch upward.
"That tower rises sixty feet from the ground," he told me, "and it's thirty feet in diameter, wi' three floors." He heaved a sigh. "We swept it from the top to the bottom," he said, "and scrubbed it from the bottom to the top. It took five days, and I can taste rotted oat-straw when I cough, even now."