Marley, who had begun to pant rather heavily during the search, stopped and wiped a thread of saliva from the side of his mouth. I moved as far away as I could manage, disgusted.
Randall, watching me, said, "I imagine Marley would like to entertain you privately in his quarters, once we've finished our conversation. Of course, he might decide later on to share his good fortune with his friends, but that's up to him."
"Oh, you don't want to watch?" I asked sarcastically.
Randall laughed, truly amused.
"I may have what are called 'unnatural tastes' myself, as I imagine you know by this time. But give me credit for some aesthetic principles." He glanced at the immense orderly, slouched in his filthy clothes, paunch straining over his belt. The loose, blubbery lips chewed and mumbled constantly, as though seeking some fragment of food, and the short, thick fingers worked nervously against the crotch of the stained breeches. Randall shuddered delicately.
"No," he said."You're a very lovely woman, shrewish tongue notwithstanding. To see you with Marley—no, I don't believe I want to watch that. Appearance aside, Marley's personal habits leave quite a lot to be desired."
"So do yours," I said.
"That's as may be. At any rate, they'll not concern you much longer." He paused, looking down at me. "I would still like to know who you are, you know. A Jacobite, plainly, but whose? Marischal's? Seaforth's? Lovat's, most likely, since you're with the Frasers." Randall nudged Jamie gently with a polished boot-toe, but he still lay inert. I could see his chest rising and falling regularly; perhaps he had merely slipped from unconsciousness into sleep. The smudges under his eyes gave evidence that he had had little rest of late.
"I've even heard from some that you're a witch," the Captain went on. His tone was light, but he watched me closely, as though I might suddenly turn myself into an owl and flap away. "There was some kind of trouble at Cranesmuir, wasn't there? A death of some kind? But no doubt that's all superstitious nonsense."
Randall eyed me speculatively. "I might be persuaded to make a bargain with you," he said abruptly. He leaned back, half-sitting on the table, inviting me.
I laughed bitterly. "I can't say I'm in either a position or a mood to bargain at the moment. What can you offer me?"
Randall glanced at Marley. The idiot's eyes were fixed on me, and he was mumbling under his breath.
"A choice, at least. Tell me—and convince me—who you are and who sent you to Scotland. What you're doing and what information you've sent to whom. Tell me that, and I'll take you to Sir Fletcher, instead of giving you to Marley."
I kept my eyes firmly away from Marley. I had seen the rotting stumps of teeth embedded in pustulant gums, and the thought of him kissing me, let alone—I choked the thought off. Randall was right; I wasn't a coward. But neither was I a fool.
"You can't take me to Sir Fletcher," I said, "and I know it as well as you do. Take me to him and risk my telling him about this?" My nod took in the snug little room, the cozy fire, the bed I sat on, and Jamie lying at my feet. "Whatever his own shortcomings, I don't imagine Sir Fletcher would stand, officially, for his officers torturing prisoners. Even the English army must have some standards."
Randall raised both eyebrows. "Torture? Oh, that." He waved negligently at Jamie's hand. "An accident. He fell in his cell and was trampled by the other prisoners. It's rather crowded in those cells, you know." He smiled derisively.
I was silent. While Sir Fletcher might or might not believe the damage to Jamie's hand was an accident, he was most unlikely to believe anything I said, once I was unmasked as an English spy.
Randall was watching me, eyes alert for any signs of weakening. "Well? The choice is yours."
I sighed and closed my eyes, tired of looking at him. The choice wasn't mine, but I could hardly tell him why not.
"It doesn't matter," I said wearily. "I can't tell you anything."
"Think it over for a moment." He stood up, and stepped carefully over Jamie's unconscious form, taking a key from his pocket. "I may need Marley's help for a bit, but then I'll send him back to his quarters—and you with him, if you don't mean to cooperate." He stooped, unlocked the manacle, and heaved the inert body up with an impressive display of strength for one so slightly built. The muscles of his forearms ridged the cloth of his snowy shirt as he carried Jamie, head lolling, to a stool in the corner. He nodded at the bucket standing nearby.