She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it, her face glowing. She fumbled in her pocket for a handkerchief and blew her nose. Then she looked at Ian, still frozen by her side, a look of hurt anger in his eyes.
She touched him gently on the shoulder.
"You think I should ha' told you."
He didn't move, but went on looking at her. "Aye," he said quietly. "I do."
She put the handkerchief down in her lap and took him by both hands.
"Ian, man, I didna tell ye because I didna wish to lose you too. My brother was gone, and my father. I didna mean to lose my own heart's blood as well. For you are dearer to me even than home and family, love." She cast a lopsided smile at Jamie. "And that's saying quite a bit."
She looked into Ian's eyes, pleading, and I could see love and hurt pride struggling for mastery on his face. Jamie rose then and touched me on the shoulder. We left the room quietly, leaving them together before the dying fire.
It was a clear night, and the moonlight fell in floods through the tall casements. I could not fall asleep myself, and I thought perhaps it was the light also that kept Jamie awake; he lay quite still, but I could tell by his breathing that he was not asleep. He turned onto his back, and I heard him chuckle softly under his breath.
"What's funny?" I asked quietly.
He turned his head toward me. "Oh, did I wake ye, Sassenach? I'm sorry. I was only remembering about things."
"I wasn't asleep." I scooted closer. The bed had obviously been made for the days when a whole family slept together on one mattress; the gigantic feather-bed must have consumed the entire productivity of hundreds of geese, and navigating through the drifts was like crossing the Alps without a compass. "What were you remembering?" I asked, once I had safely reached his side.
"Oh, about my father, mostly. Things he said."
He folded his arms behind his head, staring musingly at the thick beams that crossed the low ceiling. "It's strange," he said, "when he was alive, I didna pay him much heed. But once he was dead, the things he'd told me had a good deal more influence." He chuckled briefly again. "What I was thinking about was the last time he thrashed me."
"Funny, was it?" I said. "Anyone ever told you that you have a very peculiar sense of humor, Jamie?" I fumbled through the quilts for his hand, then gave up and pushed them back. He began to stroke my back, and I snuggled next to him, making small noises of pleasure.
"Didn't your uncle beat you, then, when you needed it?" he asked curiously. I smothered a laugh at the thought.
"Lord, no! He would have been horrified at the thought. Uncle Lamb didn't believe in beating children—he thought they should be reasoned with, like adults." Jamie made a Scottish noise in his throat, indicating derision at this ludicrous idea.
"That accounts for the defects in your character, no doubt," he said, patting my bottom. "Insufficient discipline in your youth."
"What defects in my character?" I demanded. The moonlight was bright enough for me to see his grin.
"Ye want me to list them all?"
"No." I dug an elbow into his ribs. "Tell me about your father. How old were you then?" I asked.
"Oh, thirteen—fourteen maybe. Tall and skinny, with spots. I canna remember why I was being thrashed; at that point, it was more often something I'd said than something I'd done. All I remember is we were both of us boiling mad about it. That was one of the times he enjoyed beating me." He pulled me to him and settled me closer against his shoulder, his arm around me. I stroked his flat belly, toying with his navel.
"Stop that, it tickles. D'ye want to hear, or no?"
"Oh, I want to hear. What are we going to do if we ever have children—reason with them, or beat them?" My heart raced a little at the thought, though there was no sign that this would ever be more than an academic question. His hand trapped mine, holding it still over his belly.
"That's simple. You reason with them, and when you're through, I'll take them out and thrash them."
"I thought you liked children."
"I do. My father liked me, when I wasna being an idiot. And he loved me, too—enough to beat the daylights out of me when I was being an idiot."
I flopped onto my stomach. "All right, then. Tell me about it."
Jamie sat up and wadded the pillows more comfortably before lying back down, folded arms behind his head again.
"Well, he sent me up to the fence, as usual—he always made me go up first, so I could experience the proper mixture of terror and remorse while I waited for him, he said—but he was so angry, he was right behind me. I was bent over and taking it, then, gritting my teeth and determined I'd make no noise about it—damned if I'd let him know how much it hurt. I was digging my fingers into the wood of the fence rail as hard as I could—hard enough to leave splinters behind—and I could feel my face turnin' red from holding my breath." He drew a deep breath, as though making up for it, and let it out slowly.