Pick Of The Litter
We are spared asking for an audience with Colum, by himself "requesting the honour of our attendance" the next day. He sets the time much later than we had initially hoped for, but that is alright, as it gives us time to fully discuss and finalize our plans.
The real surprise is that he directs us to present ourselves before him in the library, instead of his office.
"Has he ever asked for a meeting here? With anyone?" I ask, lugging one of the three cages we got from Marc this morning, silently wondering how many secret weapons have ever been this unwieldy. Probably quite a few, come to think of it. . .
"No' that I've ever heard."
"I wonder why he is this time."
"No doubt we'll soon learn, Sorcha," he says, grunting a little, and heaving the two cages he is carrying onto a table just outside the library doors, "Leave yours just here, aye?" He gestures at my rustling, scurrying burden.
I nod, and set it alongside the others, then quickly brush myself down, and run a hand through my hair.
"He doesn't usually set meeting times this close to tea, either."
"No. He doesnae."
"We'll probably learn the why of that soon too. . ."
"Aye." Quickly, he looks me up and down, and nods in approval, "Probably."
I take the arm he offers, and we enter the library in a very dignified Laird-and-his-Lady manner.
It is clear almost at once why he requested we meet him here. He is seated in grand state, upon the same enormous, intricately carved wooden throne that was used at the Oathtaking, set up in one of the library's deep window embrasures. In front of him is the magnificent old family bible I've admired on all my previous visits here, though this is the first time I've seen the reading stand moved from its place over by the opposite wall, or the book itself being handled, out from under its usual protective glass dome.
Colum doesn't look up as we approach, instead turning one of the ancient vellum pages with such slow, splendid dignity, such cool, detached grandeur in his movements and expression, I nearly cheer at the performance of it. It is a thoroughly impressive, perfect display of Colum's rank and position – ideally constructed, and consummately executed.
But still a performance.
We knew he would be in a rage today, but this is something else again. Why on earth should he feel the need to make such an effort to show us that he is The MacKenzie, Himself, Clan Chieftain, the Laird Of Leoch? We are all too aware of it already.
Behind us, the doors open and close again, and two more people come up to stand in Colum's presence. One, a small, blonde man with rough, tanned skin that I've never seen before, and was not expecting.
But the other. . .
The still nominative Mrs. Kim, nee Laoghaire MacKenzie.
Who we were expecting.
Slowly, Colum turns another page, not acknowledging them either.
I begin to understand.
This isn't just about Colum being Chieftain and Laird, it is also that he knows best. That amongst us all, he is the most wise, the most intelligent, the most crafty, and, given the careful way he mouths a few words as he reads down the page of ancient holy verses, the most pious, the most clean-hearted, and the most righteous as well.
Holding the meeting here isn't just a power move, it's a morality move.
This is clearly obvious to Jamie too, and he squeezes my arm a little, and I watch as his posture, already very dignified, straightens even more.
If Laird Broch Tuarach wasn't here before, he is certainly here now.
And for the very first time, in my mind, I call myself Claire Fraser. I haven't truly been her until now, not in my own mind. But now, she comes to the fore, as the new person I must become, if I am to keep my place as Jamie's wife. This is doubly strange, of course, because I am not here as Jamie's wife, just as he is not here as my husband. That's by design, and according to our plans. We are both here as ourselves. As powerful, current members of influential Clans. As Colum's kith, kin, and contemporaries.
As his equals.
And yet it is this confirmation of his power and position, his ideal and ethical superiority, that has drawn out similar attitudes in us.
In his framing himself as intensely, morally perfect, he has given both Jamie and I an in to becoming the same – or at least to framing ourselves as such.
I send silent thanks over to him, for his exquisite staging of this confrontation. Without it, very probably Jamie and I would not have these identities pulled to the fore in his presence at all, and the advantage would not be ours. I doubt he knows he's given us such an advantage, but I am still immeasurably thankful he has.
Maybe, maybe, we stand a chance of winning the day now. I only gave us barely fifty/fifty before. Jamie was a bit more hopeful, but not by much. Now? It's two against one. And considering which are the two, and which is the one, suddenly it's better than seventy/thirty. . .
In your opinion, Fraser. Don't get cocky! This all could still go sideways terribly easily, and you know it!
Colum looks up at last, nodding first to the slender blonde man standing between Laoghaire and me, and then very briefly at Jamie, me, and last of all to Laoghaire.
"Welcome to my friends," he says, with formal solemnity, and gestures imperiously with one thin hand, "Welcome, indeed."
He is very clearly speaking to us, but he is just as clearly not speaking about us. He gestures grandly all around, "Every book in this room is a friend. Some old, some new, but all worth the time it takes to get to know them. Even the ones meant for children, and the silly magazines full of clothes and makeup. All have their purpose, and their place. Even the mindless romance novels, and the outdated textbooks. Even the cheap pulp fiction and the knockoff encyclopedias full of errors and incorrect attributions. Even books once banned by those who sought to exert their power upon men's minds, but who only succeeded in showing off their own weaknesses. Even books once hacked to pieces and nearly ruined by censorious fools-"
And now he is speaking about us. He, the Master of Leoch, has openly embraced all who come to him for a home, for sanctuary, and for help, no matter how ragged, roguish, or radical, and This Is How You Repay Me. I nearly applaud again. I have never seen the Injured Saint played to such a pitch of perfection.
I see the corner of Jamie's mouth twitch. He understands too.
I wonder if Laoghaire does. Or if the small tanned stranger between us is aware of what is going on at all.
"But there," says Colum, winding down at last, "Allow me to introduce you - " he gestures with an open palm, "Mr. Sean Petrie, may I present Mrs. Claire Beaucha-"
"Fraser," I say, interrupting with a tight little grimace. We were afraid of this. . . "I am properly addressed as Mrs. Claire Fraser." I turn towards the man I'm being introduced to, "And if one wishes to be formal, I may also be called Lady Broch Tuarach." I extend my hand, and he takes it, very briefly.
Colum smiles sourly at the exchange, "Aye, forgive me. A mere slip of the tongue. Rather a sudden change though, you must admit? But since you have taken on such a new and. . . complex role, I am pleased tae inform ye that Mr. Petrie is here tae take on your auld responsibilities as Farm Manager. He just arrived, not half an hour ago."
I am brought up short by this, but no doubt less than Colum expected me to be. Jamie and I hadn't expected this – not quite – but we did think he would make me Geordie's assistant, instead of Geordie assisting me.
And at least we now know why Colum called this meeting so late in the day. . .
"I am told ye are one of Beaton and Sons best, is that correct, Mr. Petrie?" Colum goes on, in a calm, causal tone that still belies the seriousness and formality of the occasion.
"Aye," says Mr. Petrie, clearly picking up on the formality, if nothing else, "I look forward to Mrs. Fraser showing me the ropes," he nods at me solemnly, "No doubt I will have the measure of things in a few days."
"I will see to it that you do, Mr. Petrie," I say, pleasantly.
"And now, I will not keep you from your tea, sir." Colum nods at the small man, in such clear and decisive dismissal it actually brings the focus back around to the fact that he is keeping the rest of us from our tea. . .
The library door opens and closes softly behind Mr. Petrie.
Colum smiles grimly at the small sound, and turns back to the three of us.
"And now," he says, portentously, "Would any of ye three idiots care tae tell me what the bloody hell is going on between ye?"
Laoghaire speaks first, all in a rush, "It was all such a surprise yesterday, ye see, my Laird, an' since reconnecting wi' Jamie was the whole reason I came back heer tae Leoch-"
"An' I thought ye were here tae support yer family through yer second divorce," Colum interrupts her, censoriously.
I blink.
Second?
What on earth was this woman doing for ten years?
At least two Americans, apparently. Don't ask stupid questions, Fraser! Now is not the time.
"Aye, my Laird, that too, but I wouldnae ha' requested yer assistance at all if I hadnae been told-"
Colum interrupts again, this time with a sigh and a grunt, "I dinnae ken what all my brother must've told ye – but ye c'n forget it all, lass. None of it came from me, an' 'tis my word that mattars."
"But. . ."
"An' nothing either of us could promise ye – up to an' including marriage tae the next MacKenzie – could possibly ha' justified such a petulant and thoughtless display as the one ye made of yerself in the dining room yeasterday."
She makes two fists, and draws herself up, "It was all such a shock, you see. I thought-"
"This Clan is not to blame for what you thought!" Colum roars, "But now a formal challenge to its honour has been issued, an' I cannae ignore it!"
Laoghaire subsides into tense, seething silence.
"Now," says Colum, more quietly, "There is a place for an under-housekeeper at Dougal's Beannachd estate. D'ye wish tae move there yerself, or will my men be moving ye there by force?"
She blinks, "Ye. . . ye'er banishing-"
"I am moving ye, yes," he says, tightly, "Other than inflicting some sort of public punishment, it is the only way tae resolve this mattar now – how d'ye no' see that?"
Oddly enough, neither Jamie nor I saw it either. This is far, far more than either of us thought would happen. . .
"Uncle. . ." Jamie speaks up, tentatively.
"An' as for ye!" Colum rounds on Jamie with equal if not greater ferocity than he did on Laoghaire, "As if marrying a Sassenach wasnae enough, you go an' make it an unplanned Pagan ceremony, attended by hoors, no less!"
"I dinnae think Dougal will appreciate bein' called such, uncle, even by you," Jamie says, wryly.
Colum blinks, but doesn't let the remark derail him, "D'ye ken the position ye'ev put me in wi' such a thing? Ye'ev removed the only clear option I had for a smooth an' easy succession, an' now-"
"Now, I am no longer yer pick o' the litter?" Jamie half-sneers, "D'ye think I dinnae ken what it is tae be such, evan though I'm no' my father's first born, nor his second? D'ye really think I dinnae ken why ye'ev fixed on me as yer heir, uncle? Third-born child, second born son, wi' Seumas Ruadh's blood in my heart, and the Auld Fox's stubbornness in my bones. I'm evarything ye either are or would wish ye could be, uncle! But that's nae mattar of mine!"
Colum's eyes blaze, almost savagely, "Ye think that is my consideration?"
"I ken it is! An' the fact that I've made my own choice of wife onlay galls ye since ye cannae make one pick ov the litter marry another!"
"I nevar intended that ye should!"
Laoghaire has been listening to all this with her mouth slightly open. Now, she finally brings herself to look at me for a minute, an expression of almost curious wonder on her face.
For a second or two, I look fixedly into the strange blue eyes of the woman beside me. And there is something there, after all. Something I didn't give her credit for yesterday. She has a measure of good, honest, Scottish tenacity. And it may be buried deep, and much thwarted, and cruelly malformed, but there is also a remnant of a sense of right and wrong.
Despite everything, she is a woman aggrieved, and righteously out for justice.
Very, very grudgingly, I give her points for that.
And then, for the briefest of moments, as she turns to watch Colum and Jamie again, there is a set to her jaw, and a look in her eyes, that reveals some cowering, bedraggled, real thing inside her, a bit of her soul that's so scared, and so wounded, and so achingly, pitifully small, that some part of me cannot help but respect it.
Suddenly, any malice I bore for her evaporates.
There is a special kind of hatred the world reserves for a woman who refuses to suffer. Pain and torture and loss have defined us for so long that, when one of us cries enough, and demands something better, or even simply something else, it is too often seen as a refusal of all womanhood, and a condemnation of half of all Humanity - and the other half by extension – and always the outcry is the crime, regardless of who has actually been harmed.
But it is only the cry of Humanity itself, that we all gave the moment our mothers bled us into being, and we suddenly knew we existed. It is only the language of mud and stars, that we all learn and then forget, and learn again if we are wise.
It is the cry of the universe itself, speaking with the only tongue it has.
It says – know me! For I am more than I seem.
Laoghaire is more than she at first seemed. Not greatly. Not in any measure that has a chance of bringing me into concert with her, or separating me one iota from Jamie. But she is more than a brainless chit, and I cannot hate her any more. To do so would be to deny her Human soul, and degrade my own into the bargain.
And besides – there are more Human souls involved in this too. Don't write them off either, Fraser.
"I understand there are school holidays coming up next month," I interrupt, so matter-of-factly even Jamie looks surprised at me.
"Yes?" says Colum, slightly bewildered.
"Well. Since Mrs. Kim and her daughters are settled here, why not let the children have some consistency, or some stability at least, and leave off any repercussions until the school break? You can just as easily re-open this issue then."
Laoghaire's jaw drops slack, and she resolutely does not look at me. Very naturally, I am the last person she expected to be standing up for her or her children.
But Colum only blinks, "Re-open it? An' jus' how d'ye suggest we close it, then? That is a prerequisite, an' at the moment, for ye, yer marriage stands in the way of anny such thing!"
"Weel what would ye have had me do, uncle?" Jamie cuts back in, trying to give me the setup I'm going to need if I am to properly execute our plans, "Leave another good Human creature tae the attentions of that bastard Randall? A Human creature I reverence an' adore? The woman I love tae the core of my heart? Ye would have had me leave her in his power?"
"I would have ye thinkin' wi' yer head an' no' yer cock!"
"Unlike Dougal, ye mean?"
"Yes, damn ye!" Colum slams his hands on the reading podium, "D'ye think I dinnae ken the forces which drive my brother?"
"An' that's why ye'ev promised me tae a twice-divorced woman I showed an interest in when I was seventeen, is it? So I won't be thinkin' wi' my cock?"
"I've no' promised annyone tae annybody!"
At this, Laoghaire takes a breath to speak again, and Colum once more rounds on her, skewering her with the vehemence of his blazing grey eyes,
"An' I tell ye again that nothin' of what my brother promised ye came from me, child! All I've promised ye is houseroom, employment, an education for yer children, an' what safety my home c'n provide ye. An' the searvices of my lawyers. That is all. An' I've delivered. An' in gratitude, what d'ye do? Ye stand forth in public an' throw down my gage before my Guest, and my chosen heir. D'ye ken the meaning of that, lass? Cat among the pigeons isn't in it! It's more like snake among the newborn mice. This cannae stand! If it does, the whole Clan will likely eat itself. I ken them. None bettar. Ye'er fixing tae bring down this entire family around our very ears, woman, an' god damn if I'll let ye!"
"But-"
"There's nae but about it, girl! Ye issued a formal challenge to my official Guest's honour, in public-"
"It's worse than that, my Laird," I say, audaciously interrupting.
Jamie and I had agreed upon this frontal approach, given the state of things with Laoghaire, and the kind of man we both know Colum to be. Meet him squarely, on his own ground, with honest and clear intentions, bold words, and measured self-assurance, and he'll give you the benefit of the doubt, "an' sometimes enough slack rope tae at least lash yersel - if mebbe no' enough tae hang yersel, ken".
But this angle of attack has double the force now that I've stood up for Laoghaire, and everyone in the room knows it.
Colum breaks off and blinks at me, balanced precariously between righteous indignation and honest curiosity.
"Jamie was hosting at the time," I continue, straightforwardly, "And our marriage, though somewhat untraditional for the Highlands, is fully legal – which means that as a fighting man of Leoch, I am both de-facto and de-jure sworn to him. That position includes the status of bodyguard, which means-"
Colum raises an imperious hand,"Wait. Back up." He levels an accusing finger at me, "You. Are a fighting man of Leoch?"
"Yes sir." I draw my sgian-dubh, and salute him with it, "I was formally inducted into the fighting force of the Clan ten days ago, by the grace of Clan MacKenzie's own War Chieftain. I was tried by his own hand, and I have chosen my fighting name. I have blooded my blade in combat, too."
Colum will find out about Mill Farm, of course. And very probably everything else Dougal did on campaign. The wonder is that he doesn't appear to know already. . .
"Och, wonderful," Colum says sardonically. Then he sighs and rolls his eyes, but also gestures for me to go ahead, "Weel, get on wi' it, then."
I sheathe my dagger, and bow a little, "Yes sir. Since Jamie is a Laird, and at the time sat in the position of host, any general challenge issued in that setting goes first to him, not you. And as the officially sworn bodyguard of a Laird and de-facto Chieftain, it is my duty to intervene in such a matter, as his champion." I turn to Laoghaire, "That means, Mrs. Kim, that in order to settle this matter, I am allowed to fight you, in the public hall, until blood is spilled." I turn back to Colum, "If the duel is approved by the de-jure Chieftain, of course." I take a deep breath. Now for the real punch of the argument. . . "And if it is not, then we have a conundrum – for as this is a matter of honour, the issue must be settled properly, and if a dueling pair is not approved, then the one who issued the challenge must take a champion - and such a challenge would devolve upon their official protector or overlord. You, sir."
I industriously strive to suppress a smile, "If you do not approve of my dueling with Mrs. Kim to resolve our differences, I must duel with you, my Laird."
I watch, as Laoghaire slowly realizes that by employing a few words and a little knowledge, I've taken this matter entirely out of her hands.
It is an utterly fascinating contrast to watch as Colum realizes the same thing.
Impotent, scalding rage rises in one, while while cool, masterful anger subsides in the other.
They are close to total opposites, these two. And yet, they are both Scottish to the bone. The range and depth of the Human spirit truly is a wonder to behold. . .
"There is only one way to resolve such a situation, my Laird."
I draw my dagger again, and approach Colum's throne.
In the old days, such duels for honour were nearly always fought to first blood, not death. Rarely was it something so serious as to be a killing matter. And in this scenario, a fighting man of Leoch would have no choice but to concede the fight. And there was only one way of doing so with his honour still intact.
I prick the heel of the palm of my right hand, and let a tiny, thin line of blood run down into my palm. Then I kneel, leaving my hand outstretched.
I have drawn first blood, and now I am offering it to him. If he accepts it, we will have fulfilled all the requirements of a duel, and fought to a draw – for both of us will have drawn first blood at the very same moment. It is a medieval, and perhaps an over-dramatic method of wiping the slate clean - but it is the only one which both Jamie and I thought might work.
I'm not exactly taking the Oath. In fact, this is a very long way from that. But the Chief of Clan MacKenzie still has me, a Sassenach woman, on her knees to him, head bowed, palm raised, solemnly offering him an ancient and sacred ritual, which, if he accepts, will resolve a ferociously tangled affair, with as little fuss and bother as is both reasonable and, likely, possible.
If Colum is anywhere near the man we think he is, he won't be able to resist.
I hope. . .
You'd better also hope he doesn't want revenge on you personally, Fraser. . .
I feel two of his fingers dip into my cupped palm, and then touch the middle of my forehead, leaving a small, sticky spot of blood behind. I feel it dry almost at once, and then I lift my head, and see him touch those same fingers between his own eyes. Then, he draws a deep breath, and crosses himself.
He nods solemnly at me, "You may rise."
I do.
He considers me quietly, for a long and contemplative few moments.
"This matter is closed," he says at last, "For now."
Laoghaire nearly shouts, "But my Laird-"
"Ye will be silent!" Colum roars, rounding on her again, "I have spoken." He jerks his head at me, "An' ye may thank this woman that I dinnae have ye horse-whipped in the public hall, in front of men, women, and children alike, tae show the world that MacKenzie honour is no' so lightly slandered, nor thrown aside. Now be off wi' ye, an' see that ye dinnae enter my range of vision evar again, unless I send for ye. Is that understood?"
Laoghaire's face contorts in indescribable rage, and she whirls around, and stomps petulantly out of the library, slamming the great double doors behind her with what I admit is a highly satisfying crash.
The silence that descends after her exit isn't exactly comfortable, but it has an air of peace to it that is quite remarkable for its sense of comforting familiarity.
The three of us – Colum, Jamie, and myself – if we haven't been in this exact situation before, then at least we all know what we are doing. And we all know we know.
The silence is the companionable silence that sometimes exists between experts. Experts that trust each other.
I relax, feeling almost as reassured as I often do in a public caf.
I belong here. I'm an equal here. I'm one of a team here.
Jamie gives me a long look, and one very small, subtle nod.
I nod back. It is time for him to strike the next blow.
Jamie and I switch places, me retreating, and him putting himself forward, "Believe what ye will of my reasons for taking Mistress Beauchamp to wife, uncle. Speculate on the manner and frequency of my subsequent doubts too, for all I care. But ye'ed best believe I've had nae doubt, nor reason tae doubt, the rightness of my choice. Has she no' just proven it before yer very eyes? Can ye deny that she's one woman in a thousand? Ten thousand? She's the true pick o' the litter, an' I would ha' chosen her jus' the same, regardless of circumstance. An' what is more – ye and I both ken the wisdom of my choice too. Had ye been in my place that day, uncle, marryin' Claire would'ha been yer choice as well." He leans in closer to Colum, and speaks so low I can barely hear him, "Because it is the choice a Chief would make." He stands up, tall and beautiful, "And before that consideration, everything else mus' bow. Everything."
Jamie retreats a little back to me, takes up my hand, and bows over it, formally, "Like calls to like, Colum ban Campbell MacKenzie. She is my true mate, an' a good Scot, and more than equal tae any of the ones ye'd have had me choose."
Colum's lip twists, "If that is what ye contend-"
"That is what I declare!" Jamie's eyes blaze blue and fierce, "Ye an' she may have cleared the matter of honour between us, uncle, but I am still Laird Broch Tuarach, and my Lady was still denounced under your roof, and I am no longer here under sanctuary or duress!" With a grand gesture, Jamie removes the letter of reprieve from his coat pocket, and striding forward, places it on the reading podium, "And even more than that, my own Chief, The Fraser of Lovat, Laird of Beaufort, The Auld Fox himsealf, has sworn me a debt of steel. Thirty men, he owes me. An' moor besides."
Colum opens and closes his mouth a few times, shocked for once into inelegant mannerisms. If there is any man in Scotland who knows the magnitude of what Old Simon has done for Jamie, it's Colum MacKenzie. He gives himself a small shake, then snatches up the letter of reprieve, reading it over swiftly.
"I didnae come before ye taeday tae beg yer forgiveness, uncle," Jamie continues, "Nor yer grace, nor yet yer tolerance. I didnae come here taeday tae beg at all. Taeday, we stand as equals. Ye may forgive me or no', as it may please ye, for taeday I come before ye whole – a complete man, an' a Laird, an' a kinsman wi' rights. An' so. . ." He draws the Fraser dirk, and lays it across the still-open bible on the podium, "I offer ye all that is mine tae offer - my friendship an' allegiance, as befits a son of Ellen MacKenzie, to the Clan that gave her birth, an' to the Chief that calls her sister. I promise ye whate'er obedience I can perform in good conscience, for as long as I still set foot upon MacKenzie land, an' I give ye the searvice of me an' mine, for as long as we bide within your walls. An' ye have all our goodwill regardless, whether we choose tae go oor stay."
And you may like it or lump it, his tone implies.
But behind the shock, a different expression has been growing on Colum's face. A smile. It shines forth now, in thoroughly ungrudging pride, "So speaks a true Chief! High time Auld Simon saw what was good for him!"
But Jamie shakes his head, "I'll no' be speakin' for him, in this or aught else. All I ken is what he's done for me. The long an' the short of it is, I'll no' be sheltering at Leoch annymore. Tho' stay heer we may, for a time. There's our lad tae think on, besides all we have in hand here ourselves, Mr. Petrie no' withstandin'. An' there's all of Lallybroch tae consider too. Going back now, sudden-like, wi' nae preparation beforehand, would very probably only make aught worse for the folk living there. A wee letter of reprieve is small protection until the fact has been properly proclaimed, an' the knowledge of it has had time tae circulate. Myself, I'd like tae try an' get Lallybroch registered, finally, before moving back officially. T'would make evarything safer and smoother all round."
Colum's smile doesn't exactly fade, but it does morph somewhat into a grimace at this speech from Jamie, "Ye'el no' be speakin' for Auld Simon, but ye will be speakin' for me?" His voice goes low, and sorrowful, and more than a little hurt, "Lad, have I done sae little for ye that in yer eyes I am less than that crabbed auld Fox who hasnae paid ye more'n a glance in yer whole life? Why d'ye reserve yerself for him, and dinnae give the Chieftain that ye are tae me? He has nae need of ye – I do. He doesnae care for ye – I do. He has nae worries ovar who shall be his heir – I do. Ye'er right tae say ye'er my pick o' the litter - why mus' ye keep refusin' what I am willin', evan now, Sassenach wife an' all, willin' tae hand ovar tae ye?"
I must admit, even I don't actually know the answer to that. I know Jamie doesn't want to be Chief of Clan MacKenzie, but, shockingly, I have never once asked myself why.
And now is hardly the time. . .
Jamie bows, with very formal grace, and avoids answering by asking a question. A question that, admittedly, does get to the heart of the issue.
"Are we right in surmising your main objection to naming Dougal as your successor is that he is not your ideal person to train Hamish in the modern ways and attitudes a leader of a Clan such as MacKenzie will require?"
This, of course, is an extremely tactful skirting around the issue of Hamish's parentage. I see Colum acknowledge this with a very subtle nod.
"In large part, yes. I cannae assure my son the leadership an' support he shall need as he grows. I cannae guarantee I shall be there tae do it myself, an' there is n-"
"But what if ye were, uncle?" Jamie interrupts gently, "What if ye could be there, tae do it yerself?"
Colum flicks his hand against the prosthetic standing waiting beside him, and barks a sardonic laugh, "What are ye speaking of, lad? 'Tis several miracles I'm still alive taeday! Ten years, fifteen years hence?" he shakes his head, "I have two. Perhaps three, at the outside. Nae moor."
"But what if ye didnae have tae accept that, uncle? What if?"
I go out into the hallway, and come back quickly. Jamie follows me, retrieving the two cages I cannot lift.
"Speaking of picks of litters. . ." I say, putting my secret weapon onto the table beside Colum, "Here are a few."
He sneers a little in revulsion, but to his credit, he doesn't actually flinch, "What, in God's name, woman, do rats have tae do wi' anything?"