Brianna's, the earthy smell of woman-flesh, a faint, sweet cloud of sweat and slippery willingness.
She sighed in her sleep, murmured something incomprehensible, and turned her head on the pillow. There were blue smudges under her eyes; she'd been up late making jelly, up again twice more with the little bas-with the baby. How could he wake her, only to gratify his own base urges?
How could he not?
He gritted his teeth, torn between temptation, compassion, and the sure conviction that if he yielded to his inclinations, he would get precisely as far as the worst possible moment before an interruption from the vicinity of the cradle compelled him to stop.
Experience had been a harsh teacher, but the urgings of the flesh were louder than the voice of reason. He put out a stealthy hand and gently grasped the buttock nearest. It was cool and smooth and round as a gourd.
She made a small noise deep in her throat and stretched luxuriously. She arched her back, pushing her backside up in a way that convinced Roger that the course of wisdom was to fling back the quilt, roll on top of her, and achieve his goal in the ten seconds flat it was likely to take.
He got as far as flinging back the quilt. As he raised his head from the pillow, a round, pale object rose slowly into view over the rim of the cradle, like one of the moons of Jupiter. A pair of blue eyes regarded him with clinical dispassion. "Oh, sbitl" he said.
"Oh, chitl" Jemmy said, in happy mimicry. He clambered to his feet and stood, bouncing up and down as he gripped the edge of the cradle he was rapidly outgrowing, chanting "Chit-cbit-chit-cbit" in what he evidently thought was a song.
Brianna jerked into wakefulness, blinking through tangled locks. "What? What's wrong?"
"Ah ... something stung me." Roger flipped the edge of the quilt discreetly back in place. "Must be a wasp in here."
She stretched on her pillow, groaning and smoothing her hair out of her face with one hand, then picked up the cup from the table and took a drink; she always woke up thirsty.
Her eyes traveled over him, and a slow smile spread across her wide, soft
The Fiery Cross 761
outh. "Yeah? Nasty sting you got there. Want me to rub it?" She put down
0
cup, rolled gracefully up onto an elbow, and re"aNchoedoouubttaabhaonudt.it. Ye must "Ye're a sadist," Roger said, gritting his teeth.
it from your father."
She laughed, took her hand off the quilt, and stood up, pulling her shift on r her head.
MAMA! Chit, Mama!" Jemmy informed her, beaming, as she swung him out of his cradle with a grunt of effort.
"You rat," she said, affectionately. "You aren't very popular with Daddy this orning. Your timing stinks." She wrinkled her nose. "And not only your ming.11
"Depends on your perspective, I suppose." Roger rolled onto his side, watching. "I imagine from his point of view, the timing was perfect."
"Hence the new word, huh? "Yeah." Brianna gave him a raised brow.
"He's heard it before," Roger said dryly. "Many times." He sat up, swinging
4's legs out of bed, and rubbed a hand through his hair and over his face. "Well, all we have to do now is figure out how to get from the abstract to
the concrete, huh?" She put Jemmy on his feet and knelt in front of him, kiss ing him on the nose, then unpinning his diaper. "Oh, yag, is eighteen months too soon for toilet-training, do you think?"
"Are ye asking me, or him?"
"Pew. I don't care; whichever one of you has an opinion."
Jernmy plainly didn't; cheerfully stoic, he was ignoring his mother's deter mined assault on his private parts with a cold, wet cloth, absorbed in a new song of his own composition, which went along the lines of ,Pew, pew, chit, chit, PEW, PEW - - ."
I Brianna put a stop to this by swinging him up in her arms and sitting down with him in the nursing chair by the hearth.
"Want snackies?" she said, pulling down the neck of her shift invitingly. "God, yes," Roger said, with feeling. Bree laughed, not without sympathy, as she settled Jemmy on her lap, where he settled happily to suckling.
"Your turn next," she assured Roger. "You want oatmeal porridge, or fried mush for breakfast?"
ccAnything else on the menu?" Damn, he'd been nearly ready to stand upBack to square one.
"Oh, sure. Toast with strawberry jam. Cheese. Eggs7 but you'll have to go get them from the coop; I don't have any in the pantry."
Roger found it hard to concentrate on the discussion, faced with the sight of Brianna in the dim smoky light of the cabin, long thighs spread under her shift, her heels tucked under the chair. She seemed to detect his lack of interest in matters dietary, for she looked up and smiled at him, her eyes taking in his own nakedness.
"You look nice, Roger," she said softly. Her free hand drifted down, resting lightly on the inner curve of one thigh. The long, blunt-nailed fingers made slow circles, barely moving-
"So do you." His voice was husky. "Better than nice." Her hand rose and patted Jernmy softly on the back.
762 Diana Gabaldon
"Want to go see Auntie Lizzie after breakfast, sweetie?" she asked, not looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on Roger's, and her Aide mouth curved in a slow smile.
He didn't think he could wait until after breakfast to touch her, at least. Her shawl was thrown across the foot of the bed; he grabbed it and wrapped it round his hips for the sake of decency as he got out of bed and crossed to kneel beside her chair.
Her hair stirred and lifted in a draft from the window, and he saw the stipple of gooseflesh break out suddenly on her arms. He put his arms around them both. The draft was cold on his bare back, but he didn't care.
"I love you," he whispered in her ear. His hand lay over hers, resting on her thigh.
She turned her head and kissed him, a glancing contact of soft bps. "I love you, too," she said.
She had rinsed her mouth with water and wine, and tasted of autumn grapes and cold streams. He was just settling down to more serious business when a loud hammering shivered the timbers of the door, accompanied by his fatherin-law's voice.
"Roger! Are ye in there, man? Up vvi'ye this minute!
"What does he mean am I in here?" Roger hissed to Brianna. "Where the hell else would I be?"
"Shh." She nipped his neck and reluctantly let go, her eyes traveling over him with deep appreciation.
"He's already up, Da!" she called.
"Aye, it's likely to be a permanent condition, too," Roger muttered. "Coming! " he bellowed. "Where the hell are my clothes?"
"Under the bed where you left them last night." Brianna set down Jemmy, who shrieked ecstatically at the sound of his grandfather's voice and ran to pound on the bolted door. Having finally ventured to walk, he had lost no time with the next stage, moving on to rapid-and perpetual-locomotion within a matter of days.
"Hurry!" Sunlight flooded into the cabin as the bide over the window was thrust aside, revealing Jamie Fraser's broad-boned face, flushed with excitement and morning sun. He lifted an eyebrow at the view of Roger thus revealed, crouched on the floor with a shirt clutched protectively to his rnidsection.
"Move yourself, man," he said, mildly, "It's no time to be hangin' about bare-arsed; MacLeod says there are beasts just over the ridge." He blew a kiss to Jemmy. 'Agbille ruaidb, a charaid! Ciamar a tha thu?"
Roger forgot both sex and self-consciousness. He jerked the shirt over his head and stood up.
"What kind? Deer, elk?"
"I dinna ken, but they're meat!" The hide dropped suddenly, leaving the room half in shadow.
The intrusion had let in a blast of cold air, breaking the warm, smoke-laden atmosphere and bringing with it the breath of hunting weather, of crisp wind and crimson leaves, of mud and fresh droppings, of wet wool and sleek hide, all spiced with the imaginary reek of gunpowder.
With a final, longing look at his Aife's body, Roger grabbed his stockings.
DANGER IN THE GRMS
D puFFING, the men pushed i
nto the dark-
,GRUNTING AN res Clusgreen zone of the conifers by noon. High on the upper ridg .
ters of balsam fir and hemlock huddled with spruce and pine, over the mortality, needles murtumbled rock. Here they stood secure in seasonal im
muting lament for the bright fragility of the fallen leaves below.
Roger shivered in the cold shadow of the conifers, and was glad of the thiek Wool hunting shirt he wore over the linen one. There was no conversation; even when they paused briefly to draw breath, there was a stillness in the wood here that forbade unnecessary speech.
The wilderness around them felt calm-and empty. Perhaps they were too late, and the game had moved on; perhaps MacLeod had been wrong. Roger t mastered the killing skills, but he had spent a good deal of time
had not ye and silence; he had acquired some of the instincts of a alone in sun and wind
hunter. The men came out into full sun as they emerg-ed on the far side of the ridge. The air was thin and cold, but Roger felt heat strike through his chilled body, and closed his eyes in momentary pleasure. The men paused together in unspoken appreciation, basking in a sheltered spot, momentarily safe from the wind.
Jamie stepped to the edge of a rocky shelf) sun glinting off his tailed copper hair. He turned to and fro, squinting downward through the trees. Roger saw . Well, then) perhaps he did smell the
his nostrils flare, and smiled to himself ot nothing game ed experimentally, but g
. He, wouldn't be surprised. Roger sniff -aged perspiration but the must of decaying leaves and a strong whiff of well
from the body of Kenny Lindsay.
Fraser shook his head, then turned to Fergus, and with a quiet word, climbed over the edge of the shelf and disappeared. d sat down. He produced "We wait," Fergus said laconically to the others, an fro in his a pair of carved stone balls from his bag, and sat rolling them to and
palm, concentrating intently) rolling a sphere out and back along the length of each dexterous finger.
A brilliant fall sun poked long fingers through the empty branches, administering the last rites of seasonal consolation, blessing the dying earth with a final of warmth. The men sat talking quietly, reeking in the sun. He hadn't
touch od, but here in the, sun, the tang of fresh sweat was apnoticed in the colder wo, d body odors.
parent, overlying the deeper layers of grime an on Roger reflected that perhaps it was not extraordinary olfactory acuteness
764 Diana Gabaldo.
the part of animals, but merely the extreme smelliness of human beings that made it so difficult to get near game on f
oot. He had som times seen the M, hawk rub themselves with herbs, e D to disguise their natural odor when hunting,
but even oil of peppermint wouldn't make a dent in Kenny Lindsay5s stench. He didn't reek like that himself, did he? Curious, he bent his head toward the open neck of his shirt and breathed in, He f
the back of his neck, under his hair. He blotted elt a trickle of sweat run down to bathe before going back to the cabin, no m it with his collar and resolved with ice. atter if the creek was crusted
Showers and deodorants were of more than aesthetic importance, he reflected, One got used to almost any habitual stink in short order, after all. What he'd not realized, secure in his relatively odorless modem environment, were the more intimate implications of smell. Sometimes he felt like a bloody baboon, his most primitive responses unleashed without warning, by some random assault of odor.
He remembered what had happened just the week before, and felt a hot blush creep over him at the memory.
He had walked into the dairy shed, looking for Claire. He'd found her-aDd Jamie, too. They were both fidly clothed, standing well apart-and the air was so filled with the musk of desire and the sharp scent of male completion that Roger had felt the blood burn in his face, the hair on his body prickling erect.
His first instinct had been to turn and leave, but there was no excuse for that. He had given his message to Claire, conscious of Fraser's eyes on him, bland and quizzical. Conscious, too, of the unspoken communication between the two of them, an unseen thrum in the air, as though they were two beads strung on a Aire stretched tight.
Jamie had waited until Roger left, before leaving himself. From the comer of his eye, Roger had caught a slight movement, seen the light touch of the hand with which he left her, and even now, felt a queer clutch of his insides at the memory.
He blew out his breath to ease the tightness in his chest, then stretched out in the leaves, letting the sun beat down on his closed eyelids. He heard a muffled groan from Fergus, then the rustle of footsteps as the Frenchman made another hasty withdrawal. Fergus had eaten half-cured sauerkraut the night before-a fact made clear to anyone who sat near him for long.
His thoughts drifted back to that awkward moment in the dairy shed,
It was not prurience, nor even simple curiosity, and yet he often found himself watching them. He saw them from the cabin window, walking together in the evening, Jamie's head bent toward her, hands clasped behind his back. Claire's hands moved when she talked, rising long and white in the air, as though she would catch the future between them and give it shape, would hand Jamie her thoughts as she spoke them, smooth and polished objects, bits of sculptured air.
Once aware of what he was doing, Roger watched them purposefiAly, and brushed aside any feelings of shame at such intrusion, minor as it was. He had a compelling reason for his curiosity; there was something he needed to know, badly enough to excuse any lack of manners.
How was it done, this business of marriage?
The Fiery Cross
765
een brought up in a bachelor's house. Given all he needed as a boy lie had b
terms of affection by his great-uncle and the Reverend's elderly housekeeper, mself tacking something as an adult, ignorant of the threads of L_
found hi
1W
and word that bound a married couple. Instinct would do, for a start.
13ut if love like that could be learned ...
A touch on his elbow startled him and he jerked round, flinging out an arm . quick defense. Jamie ducked neatly, eluding the blow, and grinned at him. Fraser jerked his head toward the edge of the shelf.
I,ve found them," he said.
side. The IE RAISEE) A RAND, and Fergus went at once to his
reachman came barely to the big Scot's shoulder, but didn't look ridiculous. e shaded his eyes with his one hand, peering down where Fraser pointed. gh POger came up behind them, looking down the slope. A flicker shot throu clearing below, marked by the Swooping dip and rise of its flight. Its mate
Itafled deep in the wood, a sound like a high-pitched laugh. He could see notb :ling else remarkable below; it was the same dense tangle of mountain laurel, which they had "hickory and oak that existed on the side of the ridge from
Oome; far below, a thick line of tall leafless trees marked the course of a stream. Fraser saw him, and gestured downward with a twist of the head, pointing Iith his chin.
"By the stream; d'ye see)" he said. visible, but he could Roger saw nothing. The stream itself wasn't llows, Then he At first, bare-limbed sycamore and wi
chart its course by the growth Of It like the windsaw it; a bush far down the slope moved, in a way that wasn
blown tossings of the branches near it. A sudden jerk that shook the bush as thing pulled at it, feeding.
some lesus, what's that?"
His glimpse of a sudden dark bulk had been enough only to tell him that the thing was big--very big.
"I dinna ken. Bigger than a deer- Wapiti, maybe." Fraser's eyes were intent, sket in one hand, but Roger narrowed against the wind. He stood easy, mu
Icould see his excitement. hading hand. "I have not "A moose, perhaps?" Fergus frowned under his s
seen one, but they are very large, DO" at it is. I've "No." Rog ,I inean yes, but that's not wh Too late er shook his head.
hunted moose-wit
h the Mohawk. They donIt move like that at all
he saw Fraser's Mouth tighten briefly) then relax; by unspoken consent, they avoided mention of Roger's captivity among the Mohawk. Fraser said nothing, though, only nodded at tangle of woodland below. se0l,
4Aye) it's not deer or moose, either-but there's more than one. D'yc
Roger squinted harder, then saw what Fraser was doing, and did likewiseto foot, deliberately letting his eyes drift casualty across the swaying from foot
landscape. pt to focus on a single spot in the panorama below, he could With no attem le slope as a blurred patchwork of color and motion-like a instead see the who
766 Diana Gabaldon
Van Gogh painting, he thought, and smiled at the thought. Then he saw what Jamie had seen, and stiffened, all thought of modern art forgotten.
Here and there among the faded grays and browns and the patches of evergreen was a disjunction, a knot in the pattern of nature's weft-strange movements, not caused by the rushing wind. Each beast was invisible itself, but made its presence known, nonetheless, by the twitchings of the bushes nearbv God, how big must they be? There ... and there ... he let his eyes drift to and* fro, and felt a tightening of excitement through chest and belly. Christ, there were half a dozen, at least!
"I was right! 1 was right, was I no, Mac Dubh?" MacLeod exulted. His round face beamed from one to another, flushed with triumph. "I did say as I'd seen beasts, aye?"
"Jesus, there's a whole herd of them," Evan Lindsay breathed, echoing his thought. The Highlander's face was bright, fierce with anticipation. He glanced at Jamie.
"How will it be, Mac Dubb?
Jamie lifted one shoulder slightly, still peering into the valley. "Hard to say; they're in the open. We canna corner them anywhere." He licked a finger and held it to the breeze, then pointed.
"The wind's from the west; let us come down the runnel there to the foot of the slope. Then wee Roger and I will pass to the side, near that great outcrop; ye see the one?"
Lindsay nodded slowly, a crooked front tooth worrying the thin flesh of his lip.
"They're near the stream. Do you circle about-keep well clear until ye're near to the big cedar tree; ye see it? Aye, then spread yourselves, two to each bank of the stream. Evan's the best marksman; have him stand ready. Roger Mac and I will come behind the herd, to drive them toward ye."
Fergus nodded, surveying the land below.
441 see. And if they shall see us, they will turn into that small defile, and so be trapped. Very good. Allons-y!"
He gestured imperiously to the others, his hook gleaming in the sun. Then he grimaced slightly, hand to his belly, as a long, rumbling fart despoiled the silence of the wood. Jamie gave him a thoughthd look.
"Keep downwind, aye?" he said.
IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE to walk silently through the drifts of dry leaves, but Roger stepped as lightly as possible. Seeing Jamie load and prime his own gun, Roger had done likewise, feeling mingled excitement and misgiving at the acrid scent of powder. From his impressions of the size of the beasts they followed, even he might have a chance at hitting one.
Putting aside his doubts, he paused for a moment, turning his head from side to side to listen. Nothing but the faint rush of wind through the bare branches overhead, and the far-off murmur of water. A small soundedin crack
the underbrush ahead, and he caught a gJimpse of red hair. He cupped the
The Fiery Cross Page 106
