Chapter 8: An Indecent Proposal
Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander
I was reasonably calm all that day, puttering about. The silver lining to all of this was the deserters had a cache of food stored in the kitchen, along with firewood and kindling. Then there were also the remaining horses in the stable. Murtagh had his pick of the litter. However, with his bad luck, maybe he should've chosen two of them.
Despite the peaceful atmosphere of the subsequent weeks, I missed the work in my surgery suite, the patients coming in and out, and the gathering of herbs for my distillations and powders.
I hated being idle. The men did all the cooking, and frequent hunting, leaving only the organizing and cleaning to me. Luckily I had nothing to do with burying the dead, neither human nor equine.
That's not to say I was totally bored, for I did enjoy the company of my amorous Scotsman, and we stayed sequestered behind closed doors more times than I could count; the rhythmic thumping of the mattress against the wooden supports blaringly evident of our joining. There could be no doubt in Dougal's mind that his nephew was in my good graces and welcome in my bed once more.
At one time, Jamie had commented, "When does it stop—the wantin'?"
I had no answer to that question, because truthfully, I craved his touch, his words of love and his unbridled joy each and every time he took me. His overwhelming exuberance never seemed to diminish one iota, and filled me with such happiness, knowing that I was the cause of that joy. It was one of his most endearing qualities—his open heart, and his sincerity. The man was without guile.
One night after we made love, Jamie was unusually quiet. He tipped my chin up toward him as we faced each other. His eyes searched mine, and speaking in a low voice, he said, "I told ye once, lass, how I loved ye e'en afore ye became my wife—that day when ye patched the hole in my shoulder to be exact. When ye gave me yer hand, I reached out and touchin' it, gave ye my heart in return. E'en afore that, wi' ye slipping the bone in my arm back to its rightful place, I knew as there was somethin' special about ye, leastways to me."
He sighed, and was silent for a moment, trying to arrange his thoughts properly, I supposed. "And I was wonderin' …"
Anxious to hear what he had to say, I coaxed, "Out with it."
"Weel … when did ye come to know for certain as ye shared the same feeelin's?"
I smiled at my suddenly shy husband, brushing a stray curl back from his forehead. "Oh … I can't really pinpoint a specific occasion. It crept up on me bit by bit, initially. You were always so cordial, and had this easy-going manner about you. I can honestly say that I liked you then. I must confess though, when you came after me the first time I ran away, I didn't think of you very fondly at all."
"Aye. 'Twas plain as the nose on yer face. I thought I would havta sling ye over my shoulder like a sack o' barley, and carry ye back to my horse. Ye were so stubborn."
"You should talk, Scotty! I distinctly remember you falling off your horse because you were too proud to admit you were injured."
"Och … did ye just call me, Scotty?"
"What of it? If the kilt fits … It's only fair. You and the others all call me, Sassenach." He looked bewildered, so I canted my head, and asked, "Would you rather I called you, Kilty?"
His mouth formed a horrified O. "Scotty 'tis, then."
Waiting for him to continue, I finally said, "Well?"
"Ah … so ye wanta ken why I asked ye."
"Yes. You know I love you now, so why does it matter that much to you?"
The man actually blushed clear up to the roots of his hair, and he averted his eyes. "I … I like hearin' ye say it—that ye love me. It makes my heart sing for gladness. And when ye lay your soft palm on my cheek, or touch my lips when ye say it, my insides tumble 'bout, and I feel all weak wi' love for ye."
Furrowing his brow, and narrowing his eyes, he confessed, "It's different from wantin' ye. 'Tis like a tender feeling I ne'er felt afore. I just wanta hold onto ye and ne'er let go. But I havta ken what I did to make ye love me, so I willna change those feelin's."
I nodded, and looked deep within my being to answer Jamie in a way that would satisfy him. "When I come down to it, I guess it dawned on me when you told Dougal that you agreed to marry me. It was so selfless; marrying someone who you barely knew. Then on our wedding night you told me the three conditions that you demanded. You respected me so much that you did everything in your power to make sure that the wedding was proper, when you could have just had some local magistrate marry us in a tavern, while we were dressed in our old ratty clothes, and you holding a cigar band between your fingers."
He raised one eyebrow. "A cigar band?"
A small chuckle escaped my lips. "Never mind.
"You went all out—looking forward to the wedding, and there I was, lying in bed the morning of, totally pissed from the night before, with the mother of all hangovers. My memories of the ceremony are shady at best. I was ashamed when you told me that you remembered every little detail … every word that was spoken, every expression on my face, every touch of my hand."
Taking his sweet face between both of my palms, I continued, "Then, when the time came to make the marriage official, I was surprised that you didn't in some way hoot in triumph. Instead you were elated with so much innocent … joyfulness. That's the moment I realized how much you meant to me; that maybe this marriage wasn't such a bad idea after all."
His blue eyes were moist with tears. "Thank ye, Sassenach, truly."
We both leaned toward each other until our lips met, and I felt that warm, tender emotion which Jamie so succinctly had described mere minutes ago.
It was a little after dawn when Dougal pounded on our door. Then, opening it, he popped his head into the room, and brayed, "Jamie, get yer arse outta bed, and make yerself scarce. Rupert's back, and says the watch are up early t'day and headin' in this direction."
Jamie let loose of me, and scrambled out from under the blankets, dressing quickly. He grabbed his battle gear, left a kiss on my forehead, and raced out to the stable. I went to the window and watched as he talked to Rupert, then mounted his animal. I yelled to him, "Jamie, be careful!" He waved to me, and galloped to what I hoped was safety.
Every time someone mentioned the redcoats or the Black watch, my stomach convulsed in worry over Jamie's security. Why couldn't they leave him alone? Munroe had given Jamie a message that someone named Horrocks could swear under oath that my particular Scotsman wasn't responsible for the killing of Randall's enlisted man. I wished they could find the person, and let him testify. Then I thought, would anyone besides Jamie's family listen though?
All during breakfast, Dougal kept staring at me. Now what? It didn't take long to find out.
I had promised Jamie that I wouldn't walk far from the cottage alone, but skittish as a cat cornered by a cobra, I needed to shake the nervous tension from my bones. I walked to the stable where Murtagh was currying the horses, hoping to settle my nerves somewhat.
Murtagh didn't talk much. In that regard, he didn't seem as Scottish to me. The rest of the pirates all seemed to like hearing their own voices.
His back was to me, so I cleared my throat to let him know I was present. "Ah, Sassenach. What brings ye here to the stable?"
"I thought maybe being around the horses would help calm me. I'm worried about Jamie. The watch is coming here."
"Is that a fact?"
"Unfortunately, yes.
"Murtagh …? You know, I don't even have the slightest idea what your first name is."
He didn't look a bit amused. "Murtagh … Murtagh Fitzgibbons Fraser."
"Oh, how stupid of me. So, Murtagh, how long has Jamie been branded as an outlaw?"
His hand dropped away from the horse he was working on. It hung down, the straw still clenched in his fist. "Weel, let's see now … He was arrested at 19 years of age. I dinna ken how long he rotted at Wentworth 'til we broke him out. I canna say for sure, but he's been on the run for nigh on four years, I expect."
I was horrified. "Four years?"
"Aye. The lad's used to it, leastways, there nothin' to be doon about it. You dinna be worrit about Jamie, though. He's verra clever. The watch nor the redcoats have so much as seen a glimpse of his red hair since he escaped from that hole they call a prison."
Four years, I thought to myself. How could he endure it, always looking over his shoulder at every turn?
Murtagh continued brushing down the horse, then turned his attention to the hooves. Pulling up one of the animal's legs, he let out a curse, then, "Och … a loose shoe. I'll be needin' a nail or two to put it right. I expect there'll be some in the shed behind the cabin. If ye'll excuse me."
He left by the back gate. I started walking around the stable aimlessly, when in strode the warchief. Peering straight at me, he said, "Sassenach, glad I am to find ye here. I have an urgent message to give ye. I've been doin' some serious thinkin'. It wouldna do to have the watch or the redcoats makin' ye a widow so soon after yer marriage. I can see now, as twas a mistake to have ye marry the lad. Ye need a man, not a boy, wet behind the ears. Ye need someone who can protect ye, someone who doesna run ever' time the watch comes round. Ye'll come with me; the marriage will be annulled, and we can be man and wife afore the next full moon appears in the heavens."
Was he insane, or just full of himself? The arrogant prick. I still remembered the kiss he forced on me during an escape attempt. "You can't be serious."
"Oh, but I am; 'tis the sensible thing to do. Randall will have ye if Jamie dies. 'Tis just a matter o' time. The lad canna escape him forever. Think on it, Mistress Fraser. Yer husband canna take ye back to Castle Leoch and out o' Randall's reach, but I can."
"You'll do nothing of the sort. I don't want to leave Jamie. I love him, and he loves me. This would break his heart."
"Better his heart should break now, than for me to see ye turned over to that bloodthirsty monster when Jamie's dead. Love willna see ye to safety. Mark my words, woman, Jamie's no for this earth much longer."
"Says you …" I spat at him.
Dougal glared daggers at me, and swung around, storming out of the structure.
Panic suddenly seized me. Did he mean to have Jamie killed so he could clear the path to wed me? I wouldn't put it past him. Just one less threat to worry about. Get Colum out of the way next, and Dougal would succeed to the Lairdship.
Murtagh entered through the back entrance, carrying a burlap sack in one hand and a hammer in the other. Looking dour, he inquired, "Is he gone, then?"
"I believe so."
He put down the tool and bag of supplies. "I heard ever' word that man uttered. I didna ken that he could stoop so low as to steal another man's wife. Ye'd best stay clear of him, Sassenach. I'll let Jamie in on what was told here. 'Tis no secret that Dougal's jealous o' ye two. He wants ye for himself, he does, and will go to any means necessary to have ye. And, he wants the position o' Laird after Colum's death, so he'll be killin' two birds with one stone, ye ken."
I ken his mind all right, the bloody bastard. I nearly shuddered thinking about Dougal with his hands all over me, his whisky breath while pressing his lips to mine, and taking me by storm.