Outlander aka Cross Stitch, стр. 94

My mouth fell open.

“In the glade? With the English deserters?”

“Aye! Ye think I should ha’ been able to protect ye there, an’ you’re right. But I couldna do it; you had to do it yourself, and now you’re tryin’ to make me pay for it by deliberately putting yourself, my wife, in the hands of a man that’s shed my blood!”

“Your wife! Your wife! You don’t care a thing about me! I’m just your property; it only matters to you because you think I belong to you, and you can’t stand to have someone take something that belongs to you!”

“Ye do belong to me,” he roared, digging his fingers into my shoulders like spikes. “And you are my wife, whether ye like it or no!”

“I don’t like it! I don’t like it a bit! But that doesn’t matter either, does it? As long as I’m there to warm your bed, you don’t care what I think or how I feel! That’s all a wife is to you – something to stick your cock into when you feel the urge!”

At this, his face went dead white and he began to shake me in earnest. My head jerked violently and my teeth clacked together, making me bite my tongue painfully.

“Let go of me!” I shouted. “Let go, you” – I deliberately used the words of Harry the deserter, trying to hurt him – “you rutting bastard!” He did let go, and fell back a pace, eyes blazing.

“Ye foul-tongued bitch! Ye’ll no speak to me that way!”

“I’ll speak any way I want to! You can’t tell me what to do!”

“Seems I can’t! Ye’ll do as ye wish, no matter who ye hurt by it, won’t ye? Ye selfish, willful-”

“It’s your bloody pride that’s hurt!” I shouted. “I saved us both from those deserters in the glade, and you can’t stand it, can you? You just stood there! If I hadn’t had a knife, we’d both be dead now!”

Until I spoke the words, I had had no idea that I had been angry with him for failing to protect me from the English deserters. In a more rational mood, the thought would never have entered my mind. It wasn’t his fault, I would have said. It was just luck that I had the knife, I would have said. But now I realized that fair or not, rational or not, I did somehow feel that it was his responsibility to protect me, and that he had failed me. Perhaps because he so clearly felt that way.

He stood glaring at me, panting with emotion. When he spoke again, his voice was low and ragged with passion.

“You saw that post in the yard of the fort?” I nodded shortly.

“Well, I was tied to that post, tied like an animal, and whipped ’til my blood ran! I’ll carry the scars from it ’til I die. If I’d not been lucky as the devil this afternoon, that’s the least as would have happened to me. Likely they’d have flogged me, then hanged me.” He swallowed hard, and went on.

“I knew that, and I didna hesitate for one second to go into that place after you, even thinking that Dougal might be right! Do ye know where I got the gun I used?” I shook my head numbly, my own anger beginning to fade. “I killed a guard near the wall. He fired at me; that’s why it was empty. He missed and I killed him wi’ my dirk; left it sticking in his wishbone when I heard you cry out. I would have killed a dozen men to get to you, Claire.” His voice cracked.

“And when ye screamed, I went to you, armed wi’ nothing but an empty gun and my two hands.” Jamie was speaking a little more calmly now, but his eyes were still wild with pain and rage. I was silent. Unsettled by the horror of my encounter with Randall, I had not at all appreciated the desperate courage it had taken for him to come into the fort after me.

He turned away suddenly, shoulders slumping.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “Aye, you’re quite right.” Suddenly the rage was gone from his voice, replaced by a tone I had never heard in him before, even in the extremities of physical pain.

“My pride is hurt. And my pride is about all I’ve got left to me.” He leaned his forearms against a rough-barked pine and let his head drop onto them, exhausted. His voice was so low I could barely hear him.

“You’re tearin’ my guts out, Claire.”

Something very similar was happening to my own. Tentatively, I came up behind him. He didn’t move, even when I slipped my arms around his waist. I rested my cheek on his bowed back. His shirt was damp, sweated through with the intensity of his passion, and he was trembling.

“I’m sorry,” I said, simply. “Please forgive me.” He turned then, to hold me tightly. I felt his trembling ease bit by bit.

“Forgiven, lass,” he murmured at last into my hair. Releasing me, he looked down at me, sober and formal.

“I’m sorry too,” he said. “I’ll ask your pardon for what I said; I was sore, and I said more nor I meant. Will ye forgive me too?” After his last speech, I hardly felt that there was anything for me to forgive, but I nodded and pressed his hands.

“Forgiven.”

In an easier silence, we mounted again. The road was straight for a long way here, and far ahead I could see a small cloud of dust that must be Dougal and the other men.

Jamie was back with me again; he held me with one arm as we rode, and I felt safer. But there was still a vague sense of injury and constraint; things were not yet healed between us. We had forgiven each other, but our words still hung in memory, not to be forgotten.

Chapter 22. RECKONINGS

We reached Doonesbury well after dark. It was a fair-sized coach-stop with an inn, fortunately. Dougal closed his eyes briefly in pain as he paid the innkeeper; it would take quite a bit of extra silver to insure his silence as to our presence.

The silver, however, also insured a hearty supper, with plenty of ale. Despite the food, supper was a grim affair, eaten mostly in silence. Sitting there in my ruined gown, modestly covered by Jamie’s extra shirt, I was plainly in disgrace. Except for Jamie, the men behaved as though I were completely invisible, and even Jamie did no more than shove bread and meat in my direction from time to time. It was a relief at last to go up to our chamber, small and cramped though it was.

I sank on the bed with a sigh, disregarding the state of the bedclothes.

“I’m done in. It’s been a long day.”

“Aye, it has that.” Jamie unfastened his collar and cuffs and unbuckled his sword belt, but made no move to undress further. He pulled the strap from the scabbard and doubled it, flexing the leather meditatively.

“Come to bed, Jamie. What are you waiting for?”

He came to stand by the bed, swinging the belt gently back and forth.

“Well, lass, I’m afraid we’ve a matter still to settle between us before we sleep tonight.” I felt a sudden stab of apprehension.

“What is it?”

He didn’t answer at once. Deliberately not sitting down on the bed by me, he pulled up a stool and sat facing me instead.

“Do ye realize, Claire,” he said quietly, “that all of us came close to bein’ killed this afternoon?”

I looked down at the quilt, shamefaced. “Yes, I know. My fault. I’m sorry.”

“Aye, so ye realize,” he said. “Do ye know that if a man among us had done such a thing, to put the rest in danger, he would ha’ likely had his ears cropped, or been flogged, if not killed outright?” I blanched at this.

“No, I didn’t know.”

“Well, I know as you’re not yet familiar wi’ our ways, and it’s some excuse. Still I did tell ye to stay hid, and had ye done so, it would never have happened. Now the English will be lookin’ high and low for us; we shall have to lie hid during the days and travel at night now.”

He paused. “And as for Captain Randall… aye, that’s something else again.”

“He’ll be looking for you especially, you mean, now that he knows you’re here?” He nodded absently, looking off into the fire.

“Aye. He… it’s personal, with him, ye know?”

“I’m so sorry, Jamie,” I said. Jamie dismissed this with a wave of the hand.