* * *
We had reached the chamber allotted us for the night, and Jamie graciously dismissed our small guide with a pat on the head.
I sank down on the bed, gazing around helplessly.
“Now what do we do?” I asked. Dinner had passed with little to remark, but I had felt the weight of Lovat’s eyes on me from time to time.
Jamie shrugged, pulling his shirt over his head.
“Damned if I know, Sassenach,” he said. “They asked me the state of the Highland army, the condition of the troops, what I knew of His Highness’s plans. I told them. And then they asked it all again. My grandfather’s no inclined to think anyone could be giving him a straight answer,” he added dryly. “He thinks everyone must be as twisted as himself, wi’ a dozen different motives; one for every occasion.”
He shook his head and tossed the shirt onto the bed next to me.
“He canna tell whether I might be lying about the state of the Highland army or no. For if I wanted him to join the Stuarts, then I might say as how things were better than they are, where if I didna care personally, one way or the other, then I might tell the truth. And he doesna mean to commit himself one way or the other until he thinks he knows where I stand.”
“And just how does he mean to tell whether you are telling the truth?” I asked skeptically.
“He has a seer,” he replied casually, as though this were one of the normal furnishings of a Highland castle. For all I knew, it was.
“Really?” I sat up on the bed, intrigued. “Is that the odd-looking woman he threw out into the hall?”
“Aye. Her name’s Maisri, and she’s had the Sight since she was born. But she couldna tell him anything—or wouldn’t,” he added. “It was clear enough she knows something, but she’d do naught but shake her head and say she couldn’t see. That’s when my grandsire lost patience and struck her.”
“Bloody old crumb!” I said, indignant.
“Well, he’s no the flower o’ gallantry,” Jamie agreed.
He poured out a basin of water and began to splash handfuls over his face. He looked up, startled and streaming, at my gasp.
“Hah?”
“Your stomach…” I said, pointing. The skin between breastbone and kilt was mottled with a large fresh bruise, spreading like a large, unsightly blossom on his fair skin.
Jamie glanced down, said “Oh, that,” dismissively, and returned to his washing.
“Yes, that,” I said, coming to take a closer look. “What happened?”
“It’s no matter,” he said, speech coming thickly through a towel. “I spoke a bit hasty this afternoon, and my grandsire had Young Simon give me a small lesson in respect.”
“So he had a couple of minor Frasers hold you while he punched you in the belly?” I said, feeling slightly ill.
Tossing the towel aside, Jamie reached for his nightshirt.
“Verra flattering of you to suppose it took two to hold me,” he said, grinning as his head popped through the opening. “Actually, there were three; one was behind, chokin’ me.”
“Jamie!”
He laughed, shaking his head ruefully as he pulled back the quilt on the bed.
“I don’t know what it is about ye, Sassenach, that always makes me want to show off for ye. Get myself killed one of these days, tryin’ to impress ye, I expect.” He sighed, gingerly smoothing the woolen shirt over his stomach. “It’s only play-acting, Sassenach; ye shouldna worry.”
“Play-acting! Good God, Jamie!”
“Have ye no seen a strange dog join a pack, Sassenach? The others sniff at him, and nip at his legs, and growl, to see will he cower or growl back at them. And sometimes it comes to biting, and sometimes not, but at the end of it, every dog in the pack knows his place, and who’s leader. Old Simon wants to be sure I ken who leads this pack; that’s all.”
“Oh? And do you?” I lay down, waiting for him to come to bed. He picked up the candle and grinned down at me, the flickering light picking up a blue gleam in his eyes.
“Woof,” he said, and blew out the candle.