“We’ll come,” I said.
* * *
“I am a fool,” Jamie grumbled, climbing the steep, cobbled streets to the wynd where Alex Randall had his lodgings. “We should have left yesterday, at once, as soon as we got back your pearls from the pawnbroker! D’ye no ken how far it is to Inverness? And we wi’ little more than nags to get us there?”
“I know,” I said impatiently. “But I promised. And if you’d seen him…well, you will see him in a moment, and then you’ll understand.”
“Mphm.” But he held the street door for me and followed me up the winding stair of the decrepit building without further complaint.
Mary was half-sitting, half-lying on the bed. Still dressed in her tattered traveling clothes, she was holding Alex, cradling him fiercely against her bosom. She must have stayed with him so all night.
Seeing me, he gently freed himself from her grasp, patting her hands as he laid them aside. He propped himself on one elbow, face paler than the linen sheets on which he lay.
“Mrs. Fraser,” he said. He smiled faintly, despite the sheen of unhealthy sweat and the gray pallor that betokened a bad attack.
“It was good of you to come,” he said, gasping a little. He glanced beyond me. “Your husband…he is with you?”
As though in answer, Jamie stepped into the room behind me. Mary, stirred from her misery by the noise of our entry, glanced from me to Jamie, then rose to her feet, laying a hand timidly on his arm.
“I…we…n-need you, Lord Tuarach.” I thought it was the stammer, more than the use of his title, that touched him. Though he was still grim-faced, some of the tension went out of him. He inclined his head courteously toward her.
“I asked your wife to bring you, my lord. I am dying, as you see.” Alex Randall had pushed himself upright, sitting on the edge of the bed. His slender shins gleamed white as bone beneath the frayed hem of his nightshirt. The toes, long, slim, and bloodless, were shadowed with the bluing of poor circulation.
I had seen death often enough before, in all its forms, but this was always the worst—and the best; a man who met death with knowledge and courage, while the healer’s futile arts fell aside. Futile or not, I rummaged through the contents of my case for the digitalin I had made for him. I had several infusions, in varying strengths, a spectrum of brown liquids in glass vials. I chose the darkest vial without hesitation; I could hear his breath bubbling through the water in his lungs.
It wasn’t digitalin, but his purpose that sustained him now, lighting him with a glow as though a candle burned behind the waxy skin of his face. I had seen that a few times before, too; the man—or woman—whose will was strong enough to override for a time the imperatives of the body.
I thought that was perhaps how some ghosts were made; where a will and a purpose had survived, heedless of the frail flesh that fell by the wayside, unable to sustain life long enough. I didn’t much want to be haunted by Alex Randall; that, among other reasons, was why I had made Jamie come with me today.
Jamie himself appeared to be coming to similar conclusions.
“Aye,” he said softly. “I do see. Do ye ask aught of me?”
Alex nodded, closing his eyes briefly. He lifted the vial I handed him and drank, shuddering briefly at the bitter taste. He opened his eyes and smiled at Jamie.
“The indulgence of your presence only. I promise I shall not detain you long. We are waiting for one more person.”
While we waited, I did what I could for Alex Randall, which under the circumstances was not much. The foxglove infusion again, and a bit of camphor to help ease his breathing. He seemed a little better after the administration of such medicine as I had, but placing my homemade stethoscope against the sunken chest, I could hear the labored thud of his heart, interrupted by such frequent flutters and palpitations that I expected it to stop at any moment.
Mary held his hand throughout, and he kept his eyes fixed on her, as though memorizing every line of her face. It seemed almost an intrusion to be in the same room with them.
The door opened, and Jack Randall stood on the threshold. He looked uncomprehendingly at me and Mary for a moment, then his gaze lighted on Jamie and he turned to stone. Jamie met his eyes squarely, then turned, nodding toward the bed.
Seeing that haggard face, Jack Randall crossed the room rapidly and fell on his knees beside the bed.
“Alex!” he said. “My God, Alex…”
“It’s all right,” his brother said. He held Jack’s face between frail hands and smiled at him, trying to reassure him. “It’s all right, Johnny,” he said.
I put a hand under Mary’s elbow, gently urging her off the bed. Whatever Jack Randall might be, he deserved a few last words in privacy with his brother. Stunned with despair, she didn’t resist, but came with me to the far side of the room, where I perched her on a stool. I poured a little water from the ewer and wet my handkerchief. I tried to give it to her to swab her eyes, but she simply sat, clutching it lifelessly. Sighing, I took it and wiped her face, smoothing her hair as much as I could.
There was a small, choked sound from behind that made me glance toward the bed. Jack, still on his knees, had his face buried in his brother’s lap, while Alex stroked his head, holding one of his hands.
“John,” he said. “You’ll know that I do not ask this lightly. But for the sake of your love for me…” He broke off to cough, the effort flushing his cheeks with hectic color.
I felt Jamie’s body stiffen still further, if such a thing were possible. Jonathan Randall stiffened, too, as though he felt the force of Jamie’s eyes upon him, but didn’t look up.
“Alex,” he said quietly. He laid a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder, as though to quiet the cough. “Don’t trouble your mind, Alex. You know you needn’t ask; I’ll do whatever you wish. Is it the—the girl?” He glanced in Mary’s direction, but couldn’t quite bring himself to look at her.
Alex nodded, still coughing.
“It’s all right,” John said. He put both hands on Alex’s shoulders, trying to ease him back on the pillow. “I won’t let her want for anything. Put your mind at rest.”
Jamie looked down at me, eyes wide. I shook my head slowly, feeling the hair prickle from my neck to the base of my spine. Everything made sense now; the bloom on Mary’s cheeks, despite her distress, and her apparent willingness to wed the wealthy Jew of London.
“It isn’t money,” I said. “She’s with child. He wants…” I stopped, clearing my throat, “I think he wants you to marry her.”
Alex nodded, eyes still closed. He breathed heavily for a moment, then opened them, bright pools of hazel, fixed on his brother’s stunned and incomprehending face.
“Yes,” he said. “John…Johnny, I need you to take care of her for me. I want…my child to have the Randall name. You can…give them some position in the world—so much more than I could.” He reached out a hand, groping, and Mary seized it, clutching it to her bosom as though it were a life preserver. He smiled tenderly at her, and stretched up a hand to touch the shiny, dark ringlets that fell by her cheek, hiding her face.
“Mary. I wish…well, you know what I wish, my dear; so many things. And so many things I am sorry for. But I cannot regret the love between us. Having known such joy, I would die content, save for my fear that you might be exposed to shame and disgrace.”
“I don’t care!” Mary burst out fiercely. “I don’t care who knows!”
“But I care for you,” Alex said, softly. He stretched out a hand to his brother, who took it after a moment’s hesitation. Then he brought them together, laying Mary’s hand in Randall’s. Mary’s lay inert, and Jack Randall’s stiff, like a dead fish on a wooden slab, but Alex pressed his hands tightly around the two, pressing them together.
“I give you to each other, my dear ones,” he said softly. He looked from one face to the other, each reflecting the horror of the suggestion, submerged in the overwhelming grief of impending loss.
“But…�
� For the first time in our acquaintance, I saw Jonathan Randall completely at a loss for words.
“Good.” It was almost a whisper. Alex opened his eyes and let out the breath he had been holding, smiling at his brother. “There is not much time. I shall marry you myself. Now. That is why I asked Mrs. Fraser to bring her husband—if you will be witness with your wife, sir?” He looked up at Jamie, who, after a moment’s stunned immobility, nodded his head like an automation.
I do not believe I have ever seen three people look so entirely wretched.
Alex was so weak that his brother, with a face like stone, had to help him, tying his minister’s high white stock about the pallid throat. Jonathan himself looked little better. Gaunt from illness, the lines in his face were carved so deep that he looked years older than his age, and his eyes peered out from deep sockets like caves of bone. Impeccably attired as always, he looked like a badly made tailor’s dummy, features carelessly hacked from a block of wood.
As for Mary, she sat miserably on the bed, weeping helplessly into the folds of her cloak, hair disheveled and static with electricity. I did what I could for her, straightening her gown and combing out her hair. She sat drearily sniffling, her eyes fixed on Alex.
Bracing himself with a hand on the bureau, Alex groped in the drawer, coming out at last with his large Book of Common Prayer. It was too heavy for him to hold open before him in the normal fashion. He couldn’t stand, but sat heavily on the bed, holding the book open on his knees. He closed his eyes, breathing heavily, and a drop of sweat fell from his face, making a blot on the page.
“Dearly beloved,” Alex began, and I hoped for his own sake, as well as everyone else’s, that he was using the short form of the ceremony.
Mary had stopped crying, but her nose was red and shiny in her white face, and a small snail track showed on her upper lip. Jonathan saw it, and expressionless, pulled a large square of linen from his sleeve and offered it to her silently.
She took it with a faint nod, not looking at him, and carelessly mopped her face.
“I will,” she said, when the time came, as though not caring at all what she said now.
Jack Randall made his promises in a firm voice, but one remote from the scene. It gave me an odd feeling to see a marriage contracted between two people who were quite unaware of each other; the complete attention of both was focused on the man who sat before them, eyes fixed on the pages of his book.
It was done. Congratulations to the bridal pair hardly seemed in order, and there was an awkward silence. Jamie glanced at me questioningly and I shrugged. I had fainted immediately after marrying him, and Mary looked rather as though she meant to follow my example.
The act complete, Alex sat quite still for a moment. He smiled slightly, and looked deliberately round the room, his eyes resting for a moment on each face in turn. Jonathan, Jamie, Mary, and me. I saw the glow in those soft hazel depths as his glance met mine. The candle’s stub grew low, but the last of the wick blazed up, for a moment bright and strong.
His gaze lingered on Mary’s face, then he closed his eyes briefly, as though he could not stand to look upon her, and I could hear the slow, labored rasp of his breathing. The glow of his skin was blanching and fading, the candle guttering.
Without opening his eyes, he reached up a hand, groping blindly. Jonathan grasped it, caught him behind the shoulders and eased him slowly back, onto the pillows. The long hands, smooth as a boy’s, twitched uneasily, whiter than the shirt they lay against.
“Mary.” The blue lips moved in a whisper, and she trapped the nervous hands between her own, holding them still against her bosom.
“I’m here, Alex. Oh, Alex, I’m here!” She bent close to him, murmuring in his ear. The movement forced Jonathan Randall back a bit, so that he stepped away from the bed. He stood, staring expressionlessly down.
The heavy, domed lids lifted once more, only halfway this time, seeking a face and finding it.
“Johnny. So…good to me. Always, Johnny.”
Mary bent over him, the shadow of her fallen hair hiding his face. Jonathan Randall stood, still as one of the stones in a henge, watching his brother and his wife. There was no sound in the room but the whisper of the fire and the soft sobbing of Mary Randall.
I felt a touch on my shoulder, and looked up at Jamie. He nodded in Mary’s direction.
“Stay with her,” he said quietly. “It wilna be long, will it?”
“No.”
He nodded. Then he took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and crossed the room to Jonathan Randall. He took the frozen figure by one arm and turned him gently toward the door.
“Come, man,” he said quietly. “I’ll see ye safe to your quarters.”
The crooked door creaked to as he left, assisting Jack Randall to the place where he would spend his wedding night, alone.
* * *
I closed the door of our inn room behind me and leaned against it, exhausted. It was first dark outside, and the watchmen’s cries echoed down the street.
Jamie was by the window, watching for me. He came to me at once, pulling me tight against him before I had even got my cloak off. I sagged against him, grateful for his warmth and solid strength. He scooped me up with an arm beneath my knees and carried me to the window seat.
“Have a bit of a drink, Sassenach,” he urged. “Ye look all in, and no wonder.” He took the flask from the table and mixed something that appeared to be brandy and water without the water.
I shoved a hand tiredly through my hair. It had been just after breakfast when we went to the room in Ladywalk Wynd; now it was past six o’clock. It seemed as though I had been gone for days.
“It wasn’t long, poor chap. It was as though he was only waiting to see her safely taken care of. I sent word to her aunt’s house; the aunt and two cousins came to fetch her. They’ll take care of…him.” I sipped gratefully at the brandy. It burned my throat and the fumes rose inside my head like fog on the moors, but I didn’t care.
“Well,” I said, attempting a smile, “at least we know Frank is safe, after all.”
Jamie glowered down at me, ruddy brows nearly touching each other.
“Damn Frank!” he said ferociously. “Damn all Randalls! Damn Jack Randall, and damn Mary Hawkins Randall, and damn Alex Randall—er, God rest his soul, I mean,” he amended hastily, crossing himself.
“I thought you didn’t begrudge—” I started. He glared at me.
“I lied.”
He grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me slightly, holding me at arm’s length.
“And damn you, too, Claire Randall Fraser, while I’m at it!” he said. “Damn right I begrudge! I grudge every memory of yours that doesna hold me, and every tear ye’ve shed for another, and every second you’ve spent in another man’s bed! Damn you!” He knocked the brandy glass from my hand—accidentally, I think—pulled me to him and kissed me hard.
He drew back enough to shake me again.
“You’re mine, damn ye, Claire Fraser! Mine, and I wilna share ye, with a man or a memory, or anything whatever, so long as we both shall live. You’ll no mention the man’s name to me again. D’ye hear?” He kissed me fiercely to emphasize the point. “Did ye hear me?” he asked, breaking off.
“Yes,” I said, with some difficulty. “If you’d…stop…shaking me, I might…answer you.”
Rather sheepishly, he released his grip on my shoulders.
“I’m sorry, Sassenach. It’s only…God, why did ye…well, aye, I see why…but did you have to—” I interrupted this incoherent sputtering by putting my hand behind his head and drawing him down to me.
“Yes,” I said firmly, releasing him. “I had to. But it’s over now.” I loosened the ties of my cloak and let it fall back off my shoulders to the floor. He bent to pick it up, but I stopped him.
“Jamie,” I said. “I’m tired. Will you take me to bed?”
He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, staring down at me, eyes sunk deep with tiredne
ss and strain.
“Aye,” he said softly, at last. “Aye, I will.”
He was silent, and rough at the start, the edges of his anger sharpening his love.
“Ooh!” I said, at one point.
“Christ, I’m sorry, mo duinne. I couldna…”
“It’s all right.” I stopped his apologies with my mouth and held him tightly, feeling the wrath ebb away as the tenderness grew between us. He didn’t break away from the kiss, but held himself motionless, gently exploring my lips, the tip of his tongue caressing, barely stroking.
I touched his tongue with my own, and held his face between my hands. He hadn’t shaved since morning, and the faint red stubble rasped pleasantly beneath my fingertips.
He lowered himself and rolled slightly to one side, so as not to crush me with his weight, and we went on, touching all along our lengths, joined in closeness, speaking in silent tongues.
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