Knight Moves

Jamie's skin is burning beneath my hands. Not from fever, fire, or passion, but from the sun itself. A long day of work, done foolishly without protection, has taken its toll. I gently spread a cooling gel over his scorched cheeks, ears, neck and shoulders, singing to us both as I do so. It is a child's nursery tune, but the words are strange -

"Hey Nonny Nonny,

The Rowan-tree is bonny,

The Mountains are under the Spoon,

The Devil's Eye flashed,

To see such s'port,

And the Witches dance under the Moon."

He looks up at me with eyes the colour of a summer sky, and he raises a hand to wrap his fingers lightly around my wrist. There is ease in his touch, and gratitude in his eyes, and something much more than either in both.

"The Devil's Eye is on us, my Light. Will we make it through?"

For answer, I raise my hands to the sky, and a bolt of lightning strikes my fingertips, the crash and roll of thunder carrying us away, away, away into the midnight dark, where nothing but a single star shines to guide us, call us, welcome us into space. As we draw closer and closer to it, we see that it is not a star at all, but single, silver rose, glowing with all the indomitable, relentless power of the Moon.

When we are near enough to touch it, suddenly it falls, plummeting down, down, down to Earth, diving into a lake of blood, and throwing up a black mist, more dense and cloying than smoke. Through this we stumble, choking, searching for a way out.

Then Lamb is before me, his eyes lit with silver light, his hands holding a small golden sphere as if it were the entire world.

"One chance," he says, in a voice that might move mountains.

Then, the mist is drawn away, up, up, into the branches of trees, leaving only the colour of itself behind, for the trees are black, black as soot, black as night, black as the soul of the Devil.

The world turns upside down, and we are dropped onto the back of a great golden-winged creature, strange and monstrous, unnamed, unnamable, with pearls for eyes and sparks for breath, and it carries us through curtain after curtain of rain.

In the distance, drums begin, and a high, wistful piping that coils 'round and 'round and 'round the flying beast, spinning us over and over, without end.

A harsh, growling wind rises-

"Wha' th'bluddy shite are ye doin' heer?"

"I might ask ye the same question. . ."

After a long period of deep sleep without any dreams at all, entering my usual early-morning's shallower, more dream-laden sleep - especially with this dream in particular - is shock to the system enough, but to be suddenly snapped into full consciousness by Jamie's fierce whispering, and to hear a similar reply from a voice I can't immediately recognize, jolts me so severely, I very nearly leap out of bed, screaming with the shock of it.

I don't, but it is a near thing.

"A man doesnae need an excuse tae care for his girlfriend."

"Oh, girlfriend is it?"

"Aye, 'tis. But any other man sure as hell needs an excuse tae barge inta a woman's room at quarter past five in the morning, especially when he's made it quite clear he cannae stand that woman's guts. Have ye no' plagued her enough yet, Uncle?"

Uncle?

Who. . . ?

"We reached terms last night-"

"Now tha' I ken is'nae true."

"Calling me a liar, are ye?"

"Aye. Tae yer face."

Thankfully, I am facing away from this confrontation, but I still hold my eyes closed, and feign sleep as best I can.

"How much has she told ye, I wonder?"

"Sae wonder then. Ye still havenae given me a reason no' tae put my fist through yer teeth, Dougal."

Dougal!

Dougal?

Wait. . .

Dougal is Jamie's uncle?

My heart races, and adrenaline fills my veins. If that's so, then it changes everything. . .

"Fine. I'm here in search of my own. Not that 'tis any business of yours."

The cameras. How much does Jamie know about them, again? My muddled head doesn't quite remember at the moment. . .

"Ye spyin' on Colum is'nae my business? Ye have a very strange definition of the word then, Uncle."

A low growl I definitely recognize rumbles through the room, "Accordin' tae the official rules of parley, I may attempt tae recover my own, by any means sanctioned by the rules of battle."

"Och, aye?" I feel the bed dip as Jamie sits up, and I can hear his scathing sarcasm, even through his whispers, "Sae ye'er doin' yer oon dirty work nowadays, are ye? Tha's good tae ken."

Actually, it is, at that. . .

"Tha's enuf! Ya wee plague. . ."

"Tit fer tat, Dougal, tha's fair, an' well ye ken et. An' while we'er on the subject of what ye ken - just who d'ye ken ye'er foolin'?"

"Foolin'?"

"Dinnae play the saint wi' me, ye auld letch - wha' exactly are ye doin' in the guest wing a'this time o' th'mornin', eh? I ken it cannae only be fer a small handful o' cameras a very fine woman used tae force ye tae do nae moor than leave her aloon - which, let us no' forget, ye'er still failing at - noo, ye wouldnae ha' made the effort in person unless ye were already nearby for. . . other reasons."

My very hungover and still half-asleep brain scrambles to keep up with Jamie's logic. . .

Who are they talking about?

"Now that absaelutely isnae yer business."

"Oh no? Shee's marrit!"

Not me, then.

"No tae ye."

"Aye. And? Tha' doesnae make it any less wrong - nor any less a mattar of family honour. Oor are ye going tae try and tell me that isnae my business either?"

"Does yer wee Sassenach ken?"

"Who knows? But she has eyes, an' a brain. . ."

Yes, and ears, too.

". . .an' moor than half a grain of sense. I wouldnae put it past her. Which ye tried tae do, last night. An' even the stable hands saw through ye, Dougal. Shot through t'heart, indeed."

Geillis!

"Tha' was an accident!"

"Was et? No' that 'Fly Me To Th'moon' would'ha been sae very subtle either, mind, but ye ken Mrs. Duncan was here the day the Cuckoos arrived, aye? Spent a good long time talkin' tae Mrs. Pritchard, so she said. How if she had time tae talk tae Gav MaQuarie too?"

"The drummer? Mebbe shee did. What of et?"

Jamie huffs, sharply, "D'ye intend tae spend all yer days criminally underestimatin' women, Dougal? How can ye spend as much time swivin' 'em as ye do, and learn nae respect?"

"An' wha's tha' supposed tae mean?"

"Et means that I've never kent Gwyllyn tae make sitch a mistake as playin' th'wrong request befoor. Sae mebbe he didnae. Mebbe when ye towld Gav tae play yer request next, he already had an agreement wi' Mrs. Duncan tae play a different song furst, an' tha's the one he towld Gwyllyn. Mebbe ye were set up, Dougal. Did ye no' think o' that?"

My heart swells. This man. This man is on my side. I cannot believe my glorious luck. . .

There is a long, very tense pause.

"An' sae how did yer Sassenach react?"

"Ye'ed be far bettar off askin' what she said tae the men who wher laughin' at ye, Dougal," Jamie harrumphs.

"Fine. Wha' did she say?"

"She said ye always respect yer enemy. Oor it's yer oon head ye risk. An', in yer case, booth of 'em. . ."

"Fine, fine, ye'ev made yer point. Ye've quite the wee crush on a mere Sassenach, laddie."

Jamie snorts, "If ye mean I cannae help but ha' massive respect fer a woman wi' baws enough tae no' only stand up tae ye, Murtagh, Rupert, Angus, me, an' Black Jack all in one day, but Colum the next, no' tae mention an entire dining room full o' Mackenzies - if ye mean I think shee's t'bonniest lass evar breathed and I'm blest tae have ever once been in her presence - if ye mean I ken she's the smartest, bravest, most capable woman I've evar met oor am likely tae meet - an' keep in mind I've met my sistar, aye? - if ye mean I canno' hardly imagine life wi'out her now. . . if that's what ye mean, then aye, I've 'a wee crush'." I feel Jamie lay back down, and put a warm, soothing hand on my shoulder, "Now, if ye wilnae leave her aloon fer her own sake, Dougal, will ye a'least shove off sae I c'n enjoy my crush in peace?"

Dougal gives a low chuckle, "Cherchez la femme, eh?"

"Nae," rumbles Jamie, "If ye think that, then ye nevar kent me at all, Uncle."

"I ken our other arrangement has'nae changed."

"An' why would et?"

"Weel. . ." says Dougal, his calculating deviousness clear even in his whisper.

Jamie's hand grips my shoulder just a little tighter, "One o' these days, Dougal, ye'er goin' tae measure somun' else's corn by yer own half-bushel once tae often, and cheat yerself sae badly ye'el nevar recover."

"Time will tell," Dougal harrumphs, and closes the door, almost silently.

In a flash, Jamie gets up, and a moment or two later, I hear the outer door close behind Dougal, and Jamie almost runs out to the sitting room. I clearly hear the lock click shut, Jamie turns the key so emphatically.

Then, he's back in my bedroom, standing in the doorway. I can feel his eyes on me.

I turn over, and slowly, being extremely careful of my head, I sit up. In the dim light, our eyes meet, and all at once several things are clear.

He knows I heard. He knows I have a lot of questions. I know he's going to answer them. So does he.

So I go ahead and ask the first one.

". . . Uncle?"