Something else occurred to me. The women came back. Holy water, spell, or knife, they came back. So perhaps, just perhaps, it was possible. I must get back to the standing stones on Craigh na Dun. I felt a rising excitement that made me feel a trifle sick, and I reached for the wine goblet to calm myself.
"Be careful!" My groping fingers fumbled the edge of the nearly full crystal goblet which I had carelessly set on the bench beside me. Jamie's long arm shot across my lap, narrowly saving the goblet from disaster. He lifted the glass, holding the stem delicately between two large fingers, and passed it gently back and forth under his nose. He handed it back to me, eyebrows lifted.
"Rhenish," I explained helpfully.
"Aye, I know," he said, still looking quizzical. "Colum's, is it?"
"Why, yes. Would you like to try some? It's very good." held out the glass, a trifle unsteadily. After a moment's hesitation, he accepted the glass and tried a small sip.
"Aye, it's good," he said, handing the goblet back. "It's also double strength. Colum takes it at night because his legs pain him. How much of it have you had?" he asked, eyeing me narrowly,
"Two, no, three glasses," I said, with some dignity. "Are you implying that I'm intoxicated?"
"No," he said, brows still raised, "I'm impressed that you're not. Most folk that drink wi' Colum are under the table after the second glass." He reached out and took the goblet from me again.
"Still," he added firmly, "I think you'd best drink no more of it, or ye won't get back up the stairs." He tilted the glass and deliberately drained it himself, then handed the empty goblet to Laoghaire without looking at her.
"Take that back, will ye, lass," he said casually. "It's grown late; I believe I'll see Mistress Beauchamp to her chamber." And putting a hand under my elbow, he steered me toward the archway, leaving the girl staring after us with an expression that made me relieved that looks in fact cannot kill.
Jamie followed me up to my chamber, and somewhat to my surprise, came in after me. The surprise vanished when he shut the door and immediately shed his shirt. I had forgotten the dressing, which I had been meaning to remove for the last two days.
"I'll be glad to get this off," he said, rubbing at the rayon and linen harness arrangement under his arm. "It's been chafing me for days."
"I'm surprised you didn't take it off yourself, then," I said, reaching up to untie the knots.
"I was afraid to, after the scolding ye gave me when you put the first one on," he said, grinning impudently down at me. "Thought I'd get my bum smacked if I touched it."
"You'll get it smacked now, if you don't sit down and keep still," I answered, mock-stern. I put both hands on his good shoulder and, a little unsteadily, pulled him down onto the bedroom stool.
I slipped the harness off and carefully probed the shoulder joint. It was still slightly swollen, with some bruising, but thankfully I could find no evidence of torn muscles.
"If you were so anxious to get rid of it, why didn't you let me take it off for you yesterday afternoon?" His behavior at the paddock had puzzled me then, and did so still more, now that I could see the patches of reddened skin where the rough edges of the linen bandages had rubbed him nearly raw. I lifted the dressing cautiously, but all was well beneath.
He glanced sidelong at me, then looked down a bit sheepishly. "Well, it's—ah, it's only that I didna want to take my shirt off before Alec."
"Modest, are you?" I asked dryly, making him raise his arm to test the extension of the joint. He winced slightly at the movement, but smiled at the remark.
"If I were, I should hardly be sittin' half-naked in your chamber, should I? No, it's the marks on my back." Seeing my raised eyebrows, he went on to explain. "Alec knows who I am—I mean, he's heard I was flogged, but he's not seen it. And to know something like that is no the same as seein' it wi' your own eyes." He felt the sore shoulder tentatively, eyes turned away. He frowned at the floor. "It's—maybe you'll not know what I mean. But when you know a man's suffered some harm, it's only one of the things you know about him, and it doesna make much difference to how ye see him. Alec knows I've been flogged, like he knows I've red hair, and it doesna matter to how he treats me." He looked up then, searching for some sign of understanding from me.
"But when you see it yourself, it's like"—he hesitated, looking for words—"it's a bit… personal, maybe, is what I mean. I think… if he were to see the scars, he couldna see me anymore without thinking of my back. And I'd be able to see him thinking of it, and that would make me remember it, and—" He broke off, shrugging.