I had, of course, seen a great variety of wounds and injuries, doing combat nursing, but there was something about these scars that seemed shockingly brutal. I must have drawn in my breath at the sight, for he turned his head and caught me staring. He shrugged his good shoulder.
"Lobsterbacks. Flogged me twice, in the space of a week. They'd ha' done it twice the same day, I expect, were they not afraid of killing me. No joy in flogging a dead man."
I tried to keep my voice steady while I sponged. "I shouldn't think anyone would do such a thing for joy."
"No? You should ha' seen him."
"Who?"
"The redcoat captain that skinned my back for me. If he was not precisely joyous, he was at least verra pleased with himself. More nor I was," he added wryly. "Randall was the name."
"Randall!" I couldn't keep the shock from my voice. Cold blue eyes fixed on mine.
"You're familiar with the man?" The voice was suddenly suspicious.
"No, no! I used to know a family of that name, a long time, uh, a long time ago." In my nervousness, I dropped the sponge cloth.
"Drat, now that will have to be boiled again." I scooped it off the floor and bustled to the fireplace, trying to hide my confusion in busyness. Could this Captain Randall possibly be Frank's ancestor, the soldier with the sterling record, gallant on the field of battle, recipient of commendations from dukes? And if so, could someone related to my sweet gentle Frank possibly be capable of inflicting the horrifying marks on this lad's back?
I busied myself at the fire, dropping in a few more handfuls of witch hazel and garlic, setting more cloths to soak. When I thought I could control my voice and face, I came back to Jamie, sponge in hand.
"Why were you flogged?" I asked abruptly.
It was hardly tactful, but I badly wanted to know, and was too tired to phrase it more gently.
He sighed, moving his shoulder uneasily under my ministrations. He was tired, too, and I was undoubtedly hurting him, gentle as I tried to be.
"The first time was escape, and the second was theft—or at least that's what the charge-sheet read."
"What were you escaping from?"
"The English," he said, with an ironic lift of his brow: "If ye mean where, Fort William."
"I gathered it was the English," I said, matching the dryness of his tone. "What were you doing in Fort William in the first place?"
He rubbed his brow with his free hand. "Oh, that. I think that was obstruction."
"Obstruction, escape, and theft. You sound a right dangerous character," I said lightly, hoping to distract him from what I was doing.
It worked at least slightly; one corner of the wide mouth turned up, and one dark blue eye glinted back over his shoulder at me.
"Oh, I am that," he said. "A wonder you think yourself safe in the same room wi' me, and you an English lassie."
"Well, you look harmless enough at the moment." This was entirely untrue; shirtless, scarred and blood-smeared, with stubbled cheeks and reddened eyelids from the long night ride, he looked thoroughly disreputable. And tired or not, he looked entirely capable of further mayhem, should the need arise.
He laughed, a surprisingly deep, infectious sound.
"Harmless as a setting dove," he agreed. "I'm too hungry to be a threat to anything but breakfast. Let a stray bannock come within reach, though, and I'll no answer for the consequences. Ooh!"
"Sorry," I muttered. "The stab wound's deep, and it's dirty."
"It's all right." But he had gone pale beneath the coppery stubble of his beard. I tried to lead him back into conversation.
"What exactly is obstruction?" I asked casually. "I must say it doesn't sound a major crime."
He took a deep breath, fixing his eyes resolutely on the carved bedpost as I swabbed deeper.
"Ah. Well, I suppose it's whatever the English say it is. In my case, it meant defending my family and my property, and getting myself half killed in the process." He pressed his lips together, as if to say no more, but after a moment went on, as though seeking to focus his attention on anything other than his shoulder.
"It was near to four years ago. There was a levy put on the manors near Fort William—food for the garrison, horses for transport, and suchlike. I wouldna say many liked it, but most would yield what they had to. Small parties of soldiers would go round with an officer and a wagon or two, collecting the bits of food and things. And one day in October, yon Captain Randall came along to L—" he caught himself quickly, with a glance at me, "to our place."