Ian silenced her with a quick gesture. He hesitated, still frowning, but then nodded abruptly at Jamie, giving permission.
“Consorting wi’ criminals like me?” Jamie asked his sister, a definite edge to his voice. His eyes met hers straight on, matching slits of blue.
“D’ye ken where the money comes from, Jenny, that keeps you and your bairns and everyone here in food, and the roof from fallin’ in over your head? It’s not from me printing up copies o’ the Psalms in Edinburgh!”
“And did I think it was?” she flared at him. “Did I ask ye what ye did?”
“No, ye didn’t,” he flashed back. “I think ye’d rather not know—but ye do know, don’t you?”
“And will ye blame me for what ye do? It’s my fault that I’ve children, and that they must eat?” She didn’t flush red like Jamie did; when Jenny lost her temper, she went dead white with fury.
I could see him struggling to keep his own temper. “Blame ye? No, of course I dinna blame ye—but is it right for you to blame me, that Ian and I canna keep ye all just working the land?”
Jenny too was making an effort to subdue her rising temper. “No,” she said. “Ye do what ye must, Jamie. Ye ken verra well I didna mean you when I said ‘criminals,’ but—”
“So ye mean the men who work for me? I do the same things, Jenny. If they’re criminals, what am I, then?” He glared at her, eyes hot with resentment.
“You’re my brother,” she said shortly, “little pleased as I am to say so, sometimes. Damn your eyes, Jamie Fraser! Ye ken quite well I dinna mean to quarrel wi’ whatever ye see fit to do! If ye robbed folk on the highway, or kept a whorehouse in Edinburgh, ’twould be because there was no help for it. That doesna mean I want ye takin’ my son to be part of it!”
Jamie’s eyes tightened slightly at the corners at the mention of whorehouses in Edinburgh, and he darted a quick glance of accusation at Ian, who shook his head. He looked mildly stunned at his wife’s ferocity.
“I’ve said not a word,” he said briefly. “Ye ken how she is.”
Jamie took a deep breath and turned back to Jenny, obviously determined to be reasonable.
“Aye, I see that. But ye canna think I would take Young Ian into danger—God, Jenny, I care for him as though he were my own son!”
“Aye?” Her skepticism was pronounced. “So that’s why ye encouraged him to run off from his home, and kept him with ye, wi’ no word to ease our minds about where he was?”
Jamie had the grace to look abashed at this.
“Aye, well, I’m sorry for that,” he muttered. “I meant to—” He broke off with an impatient gesture. “Well, it doesna matter what I meant; I should have sent word, and I didna. But as for encouraging him to run off—”
“No, I dinna suppose ye did,” Ian interrupted. “Not directly, anyway.” The anger had faded from his long face. He looked tired now, and a little sad. The bones in his face were more pronounced, leaving him hollow-cheeked in the waning afternoon light.
“It’s only that the lad loves ye, Jamie,” he said quietly. “I see him listen when ye visit, and talk of what ye do; I can see his face. He thinks it’s all excitement and adventure, how ye live, and a good long way from shoveling goat-shit for his mother’s garden.” He smiled briefly, despite himself.
Jamie gave his brother-in-law a quick smile in return, and a lifted shoulder. “Well, but it’s usual for a lad of that age to want a bit of adventure, no? You and I were the same.”
“Whether he wants it or no, he shouldna be having the sort of adventures he’ll get with you,” Jenny interrupted sharply. She shook her head, the line between her brows growing deeper as she looked disapprovingly at her brother. “The good Lord kens as there’s a charm on your life, Jamie, or ye’d ha’ been dead a dozen times.”
“Aye, well. I suppose He had something in mind to preserve me for.” Jamie glanced at me with a brief smile, and his hand sought mine. Jenny darted a glance at me, too, her face unreadable, then returned to the subject at hand.
“Well, that’s as may be,” she said. “But I canna say as the same’s true for Young Ian.” Her expression softened slightly as she looked at Jamie.
“I dinna ken everything about the way ye live, Jamie—but I ken you well enough to say it’s likely not the way a wee laddie should live.”
“Mmphm.” Jamie rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw, and tried again. “Aye, well, that’s what I mean about Young Ian. He’s carried himself like a man this last week. I dinna think it right for ye to thrash him like a wee laddie, Ian.”
Jenny’s eyebrows rose, graceful wings of scorn.
“A man, now, is he? Why, he’s but a baby, Jamie—he’s not but fourteen!”
Despite his annoyance, one side of Jamie’s mouth curled slightly.
“I was a man at fourteen, Jenny,” he said softly.
She snorted, but a film of moisture shone suddenly over her eyes.
“Ye thought ye were.” She stood and turned away abruptly, blinking. “Aye, I mind ye then,” she said, face turned to the bookshelf. She reached out a hand as though to support herself, grasping the edge.
“Ye were a bonny lad, Jamie, riding off wi’ Dougal to your first raid, and your dirk all bright on your thigh. I was sixteen, and I thought I’d never seen a sight so fair as you on your pony, so straight and tall. And I mind ye coming back, too, all covered in mud, and a scratch down the side of your face from falling in brambles, and Dougal boasting to Da how brawly ye’d done—driven off six kine by yourself, and had a dunt on the head from the flat of a broadsword, and not made a squeak about it.” Her face once more under control, she turned back from her contemplation of the books to face her brother. “That’s what a man is, aye?”
A hint of humor stole back into Jamie’s face as he met her gaze.
“Aye, well, there’s maybe a bit more to it than that,” he said.
“Is there,” she said, more dryly still. “And what will that be? To be able to bed a girl? Or to kill a man?”
I had always thought Janet Fraser had something of the Sight, particularly where her brother was concerned. Evidently the talent extended to her son, as well. The flush over Jamie’s cheekbones deepened, but his expression didn’t change.
She shook her head slowly, looking steadily at her brother. “Nay, Young Ian’s not a man yet—but you are, Jamie; and ye ken the difference verra well.”
Ian, who had been watching the fireworks between the two Frasers with the same fascination as I had, now coughed briefly.
“Be that as it may,” he said dryly. “Young Ian’s been waiting for his whipping for the last quarter-hour. Whether or not it’s suitable to beat him, to make him wait any longer for it is a bit cruel, aye?”
“Have ye really got to do it, Ian?” Jamie made one last effort, turning to appeal to his brother-in-law.
“Well,” said Ian slowly, “as I’ve told the lad he’s going to be thrashed, and he kens verra well he’s earned it, I canna just go back on my word. But as for me doing it—no, I dinna think I will.” A faint gleam of humor showed in the soft brown eyes. He reached into a drawer of the sideboard, drew out a thick leather strap, and thrust it into Jamie’s hand. “You do it.”