The Outlander Series 7-Book Bundle

by Diana Gabaldon

  He turned abruptly toward the door, and an elderly woman, who had been listening avidly with the child clinging to her skirts, drew back in alarm.

  “I should not have come. I’ll go.”

  “You’ll do no such thing, Jamie Fraser,” his sister said sharply. “Not before you’ve listened to me. Sit yourself down, then, and I’ll tell ye about Captain Randall, since ye want to know.”

  “I don’t want to know! I don’t want to hear it!” As she advanced toward him, he turned sharply away to the window that looked out over the yard. She followed him, saying “Jamie …,” but he repelled her with a violent gesture.

  “No! Don’t talk to me! I’ve said I canna bear to hear it!”

  “Och, is that a fact?” She eyed her brother, standing at the window with his legs braced wide apart, hands on the sill and back stubbornly set against her. She bit her lip and a calculating look came over her face. Quick as lightning, she stooped and her hand shot under his kilt like a striking snake.

  Jamie let out a roar of sheer outrage and stood bolt upright with shock. He tried to turn, then froze as she apparently tightened her grip.

  “There’s men as are sensible,” she said to me, with a wicked smile, “and beasts as are biddable. Others ye’ll do nothing with, unless ye have ’em by the ballocks. Now, ye can listen to me in a civil way,” she said to her brother, “or I can twist a bit. Hey?”

  He stood still, red-faced, breathing heavily through clenched teeth. “I’ll listen,” he said, “and then I’ll wring your wee neck, Janet! Let me go!”

  No sooner did she oblige than he whirled on her.

  “What in hell d’ye think you’re doing?” he demanded. “Tryin’ to shame me before my own wife?” Jenny was not fazed by his outrage. She rocked back on her heels, viewing her brother and me sardonically.

  “Weel, and if she’s your wife, I expect she’s more familiar wi’ your balls than what I am. I havena seen them myself since ye got old enough to wash alone. Grown a bit, no?”

  Jamie’s face went through several alarming transformations, as the dictates of civilized behavior struggled with the primitive impulse of a younger brother to clout his sister over the head. Civilization at length won out, and he said through his teeth, with what dignity he could summon, “Leave my balls out of it. And then, since you’ll not rest ’til ye make me hear it, tell me about Randall. Tell me why ye disobeyed my orders and chose to dishonor yourself and your family instead.”

  Jenny put her hands on her hips and drew herself to her full height, ready for combat. Slower than he to lose her temper; still she had one, no doubt of that.

  “Oh, disobey your orders, is it? That’s what eats at ye, Jamie, isn’t it? You know best, and we’ll all do as ye say, or we’ll come to rack and ruin, nae doubt.” She flounced angrily. “And if I’d done as you said, that day, you’d ha’ been dead in the dooryard, Faither hanged or in prison for killing Randall, and the lands gone forfeit to the Crown. To say nothing of me, wi’ my home and family gone, needing to beg in the byroads to live.”

  Not pale at all now, Jamie was flushed with anger.

  “Aye, so ye chose to sell yourself rather than beg! I’d sooner have died in my blood and seen Faither and the lands in hell along with me, and well ye know it!”

  “Aye, I know it! You’re a ninny, Jamie, and always have been!” his sister returned in exasperation.

  “Fine thing for you to say! You’re not content wi’ ruining your good name and my own, ye must go on with the scandal, and flaunt your shame to the whole neighborhood!”

  “You’ll not speak to me in that way, James Fraser, brother or no! What d’ye mean, ‘my shame’? Ye great fool, you—”

  “What I mean? When you’re goin’ about swelled out to here like a mad toad?” He mimicked her belly with a contemptuous swipe of the hand.

  She took one step back, drew back her hand and slapped him with all the force she could muster. The impact jarred his head back and left a white outline of her fingers printed on his cheek. He slowly raised a hand to the mark, staring at his sister. Her eyes were glittering dangerously and her bosom heaved. The words spilled out in a torrent between clenched white teeth.

  “Toad, is it? Stinking coward—ye’ve no more courage than to leave me here, thinking ye dead or imprisoned, wi’ no word from one day to the next, and then ye come strolling in one fine day—with a wife, no less—and sit in my drawing room calling me toad and harlot and—”

  “I didna call ye harlot, but I should! How can ye—”

  Despite the differences in their heights, brother and sister were almost nose to nose, hissing at one another in an effort to keep their carrying voices from ringing through the old manor house. The effort was largely wasted, judging from the glimpses I caught of various interested faces peeping discreetly from kitchen, hall, and window. The laird of Broch Tuarach was having an interesting homecoming, to be sure.

  I thought it best to let them have it out without my presence, and so I stepped quietly into the hall, with an awkward nod to the elderly woman, and continued into the yard. There was a small arbor there with a bench, on which I seated myself, looking about with interest.

  Besides the arbor, there was a small walled garden, blooming with the last of the summer roses. Beyond it was what Jamie referred to as “the doocot”; or so I assumed, from the assorted pigeons that were fluttering in and out of the pierced-work opening at the top of the building.

  I knew there was a barn and a shed for silage; these must be to the other side of the house, with the farm’s granary and the henyard, kailyard, and disused chapel. Which still left a small stone building on this side unaccounted for. The light autumn wind was from that direction; I sniffed deeply, and was rewarded with the rich smell of hops and yeast. That was the brewhouse, then, where the beer and ale for the estate were made.

  The road past the gate led up and over a small hill. As I looked, a small group of men appeared at the crest, silhouetted in the evening light. They seemed to hover a moment, as though taking leave of each other. This appeared to be the case, for only one came down the hill toward the house, the others striking off through the fields toward a clump of cottages in the distance.

  As the single man came down the hill, I could see that he limped badly. When he came through the gate, the reason for it was apparent. The right leg was missing below the knee, and he wore a wooden peg in replacement.

  In spite of the limp, he moved youthfully. In fact, as he drew near to the arbor, I could see that he was only in his twenties. He was tall, nearly as tall as Jamie, but much narrower through the shoulder, thin, in fact, nearly to the point of skinniness.

  He paused at the entrance to the arbor, leaning heavily on the lattice, and looked in at me with interest. Thick brown hair fell smoothly over a high brow, and deepset brown eyes held a look of patient good humor.

  The voices of Jamie and his sister had risen while I waited outside. The windows were open to the warm weather, and the disputants were quite audible from the arbor, though not all the words were clear.

  “Interfering, nosy bitch!” came Jamie’s voice, loud on the soft evening air.

  “Havena the decency to …” His sister’s reply was lost in a sudden breeze.

  The newcomer nodded easily toward the house.

  “Ah, Jamie’s home, then.”

  I nodded in reply, not sure whether I should introduce myself. It didn’t matter, for the young man smiled and inclined his head to me.

  “I’m Ian Murray, Jenny’s husband. And I imagine ye’ll be … ah …”

  “The Sassenach wench Jamie’s married,” I finished for him. “My name is Claire. Did you know about it, then?” I asked, as he laughed. My mind was racing. Jenny’s husband?

  “Oh, aye. We heard from Joe Orr, who’d got it from a tinker in Ardraigh. Ye canna keep anything secret long in the Highlands. You should know that, even if you’ve been wed as little as a month. Jenny’s been wondering for weeks what you’d be like
.”

  “Whore!” Jamie bellowed from inside the house. Jenny’s husband didn’t turn a hair, but went on examining me with friendly curiosity.

  “You’re a bonny lass,” he said, looking me over frankly. “Are ye fond of Jamie?”

  “Well … yes. Yes, I am,” I answered, a bit taken aback. I was becoming accustomed to the directness that characterized most Highlanders, but it still took me unawares from time to time.

  He pursed his lips and nodded as though satisfied, and sat down beside me on the bench.

  “Better let them have a few minutes longer,” he said, with a wave at the house, where the shouting had now turned to Gaelic. He seemed completely unconcerned as to the cause of the battle. “Frasers dinna listen to anything when they’ve their danders up. When they’ve shouted themselves out, sometimes ye can make them see reason, but not ’til then.”

  “Yes, I noticed,” I said dryly, and he laughed.

  “So you’ve been wed long enough to find that out, eh? We heard as how Dougal made Jamie wed ye,” he said, ignoring the battle and concentrating his attention on me. “But Jenny said it would take more than Dougal MacKenzie to make Jamie do something he didna care to. Now that I see ye, of course I can see why he did it.” He lifted his brows, inviting further explanation, but politely not forcing it.

  “I imagine he had his reasons,” I said, my attention divided between my companion and the house, where the sounds of combat continued. “I don’t want … I mean, I hope …” Ian correctly interpreted my hesitations and my glance toward the drawing-room windows.

  “Oh, I expect you’ve something to do with it. But she’d take it out of him whether you were here or not. She loves Jamie something fierce, ye know, and she worried a lot while he was gone, especially with her father goin’ so sudden. Ye’ll know about that?” The brown eyes were sharp and observant, as though to gauge the depth of confidence between me and Jamie.

  “Yes, Jamie told me.”

  “Ah.” He nodded toward the house. “Then, of course, she’s wi’ child.”

  “Yes, I noticed that too,” I said.

  “Hard to miss, is it no?” Ian answered with a grin, and we both laughed. “Makes her frachetty,” he explained, “not that I’d blame her. But it would take a braver man than me to cross words wi’ a woman in her ninth month.” He leaned back, stretching his wooden leg out in front of him.

  “Lost it at Daumier with Fergus nic Leodhas,” he explained. “Grape shot. Aches a wee bit toward the end of the day.” He rubbed the flesh just above the leather cuff that attached the peg to his stump.

  “Have you tried rubbing it with Balm of Gilead?” I asked. “Water-pepper or stewed rue might help too.”

  “I’ve not tried the water-pepper,” he answered, interested. “I’ll ask Jenny does she know how to make it.”

  “Oh, I’d be glad to make it for you,” I said, liking him. I looked toward the house again. “If we stay long enough,” I added doubtfully. We chatted inconsequentially for a little, both listening with one ear to the confrontation going on beyond the window, until Ian hitched forward, carefully settling his artificial limb under him before rising.

  “I imagine we should go in now. If either of them stops shouting long enough to hear the other, they’ll be hurting each other’s feelings.”

  “I hope that’s all they hurt.”

  Ian chuckled. “Oh, I dinna think Jamie would strike her. He’s used to forbearance in the face of provocation. As for Jenny, she might slap his face, but that’s all.”

  “She already did that.”

  “Weel, the guns are locked up, and all the knives are in the kitchen, except what Jamie’s wearing. And I don’t suppose he’ll let her close enough to get his dirk away from him. Nay, they’re safe enough.” He paused at the door. “Now, as for you and me …” He winked solemnly. “That’s a different matter.”

  * * *

  Inside, the maids started and flitted nervously away at Ian’s approach. The housekeeper, though, was still hovering by the drawing room door in fascination, drinking in the scene within, Jamie’s namesake cradled against her capacious bosom. Such was her concentration that when Ian spoke to her, she jumped as though he had run a hatpin into her, and put a hand to her palpitating heart.

  Ian nodded politely to her, took the little boy in his arms, and led the way into the drawing room. We paused just inside the door to survey the scene. Brother and sister had paused for breath, both still bristling and glaring like a pair of angry cats.

  Small Jamie, spotting his mother, struggled and kicked to get down from Ian’s arms, and once on the floor, made for her like a homing pigeon. “Mama!” he cried. “Up! Jamie up!” Turning, she scooped up the little boy and held him like a weapon against her shoulder.

  “Can ye tell your uncle how old ye are, sweetheart?” she asked him, throttling her voice down to a coo—under which the sound of clashing steel was still all too apparent. The boy heard it; he turned and burrowed his face into his mother’s neck. She patted his back mechanically, still glaring at her brother.

  “Since he’ll not tell ye, I will. He’s two, come last August. And if you’re bright enough to count—which I take leave to doubt—you’ll see he was conceived six months past the time I last saw yon Randall, which was in our own dooryard, beating the living daylight out of my brother with a saber.”

  “That’s so, is it?” Jamie glowered at his sister. “I’ve heard a bit differently. It’s common knowledge you’ve taken the man to your bed; not the once, but as your lover. That child’s his.” He nodded contemptuously at his namesake, who had turned to peer under his mother’s chin at this big, loud stranger. “I believe ye when ye say the new bastard you’re carrying is not; Randall was in France ’til this March. So you’re not only a whore, but an unchoosy one too. Who fathered this last devil’s-spawn on ye?”

  The tall young man beside me coughed apologetically, breaking the tension in the room.

  “I did,” he said mildly. “That one too.” Advancing stiffly on his wooden leg, he took the little boy from his fuming wife and set him in the crook of his arm. “Favors me a bit, some say.”

  In fact, seen side by side, the faces of man and boy were nearly identical, allowing for the round cheeks of the one and the crooked nose of the other. The same high brow and narrow lips. The same feathery brows arched over the same deep, liquid-brown eyes. Jamie, staring at the pair of them, looked rather as though he’d been hit in the small of the back with a sandbag. He closed his mouth and swallowed once, clearly having no idea what to do next.

  “Ian,” he said, a little weakly. “You’re married, then?”

  “Oh, aye,” his brother-in-law said cheerfully. “Wouldn’t do, otherwise, would it?”

  “I see,” Jamie murmured. He cleared his throat and bobbed his head at his newly discovered brother-in-law. “It’s, er, it’s kind of ye, Ian. To take her, I mean. Most kind.”

  Feeling that he might be in need of some moral support at this point, I moved to Jamie’s side, and touched his arm. His sister’s eyes lingered on me speculatively, but she said nothing. Jamie looked around and seemed startled to find me there, as though he had forgotten my existence. And no wonder if he had, I thought. But he seemed relieved by the interruption, at least, and put out a hand to draw me forward.

  “My wife,” he said, rather abruptly. He nodded toward Jenny and Ian. “My sister, and, her, ah …” he trailed off, as Ian and I exchanged polite smiles.

  Jenny was not to be distracted by social niceties.

  “What d’ye mean, it’s kind of him to take me?” she demanded, ignoring the introductions. “As if I didna ken!” Ian looked inquiringly at her, and she waved a disdainful hand at Jamie. “He means it was kind of ye to wed me in my soiled condition!” She gave a snort that would have done credit to someone twice her size. “Bletherer!”

  “Soiled condition?” Ian looked startled, and Jamie suddenly leaned forward and grasped his sister hard about the upper arm.


  “Did ye not tell him about Randall?” He sounded truly shocked. “Jenny, how could ye do such a thing?”

  Only Ian’s hand on Jenny’s other arm restrained her from flying at her brother’s throat. Ian drew her firmly behind him, and turning, set small Jamie in her arms, so that she was forced to grasp the child to save him falling. Then Ian put an arm about Jamie’s shoulders and tactfully steered him a safe distance away.

  “It’s hardly a matter for the drawing room,” he said, low-voiced and deprecating, “but ye might be interested to know that your sister was virgin on her wedding night. I was, after all, in a position to say.”

  Jenny’s wrath was now more or less evenly divided between brother and husband.

  “How dare ye to say such things in my presence, Ian Murray!?” she flamed. “Or out of it, either! My wedding night’s no one’s business but mine and yours—sure it’s not his! Next you’ll be showing him the sheets from my bridal bed!”

  “Weel, if I did now, it would shut him up, no?” said Ian soothingly. “Come now, mi dhu, ye shouldna worrit yourself, it’s bad for the babe. And the shouting troubles wee Jamie too.” He reached out for his son, who was whimpering, not sure yet whether the situation required tears. Ian jerked his head at me and rolled an eye in Jamie’s direction.

  Taking my cue, I grabbed Jamie by the arm and dragged him to an armchair in a neutral corner. Ian had Jenny likewise installed on the loveseat, a firm arm across her shoulders to keep her in place.

  “Now, then.” In spite of his unassuming manner, Ian Murray had an undeniable authority. I had my hand on Jamie’s shoulder, and could feel the tension begin to go out of it.

  I thought that the room looked a bit like the ring of a boxing match, with the fighters twitching restlessly in the corners, each awaiting the signal for action under the soothing hand of a manager.

  Ian nodded at his brother-in-law, smiling. “Jamie. It’s good to see ye, man. We’re pleased you’re home, and your wife with ye. Are we not, mi dhu?” he demanded of Jenny, his fingers tightening perceptibly on her shoulder.