Dragonfly in Amber (120 page)

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 tiredness 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.

Alive, and one. We are one, and while we love, death will never touch us. "The grave's a fine and private place/But none, I think, do there embrace." Alex Randall lay cold in his bed, and Mary Randall alone in hers. But we were here together, and no one and nothing mattered beyond that fact.

He grasped my hips, large hands warm on my skin, and pulled me toward him, and the shudder that went through me went through him, as though we shared one flesh.

I woke in the night, still in his arms, and knew he was not asleep.

"Go back to sleep, mo duinne." His voice was soft, low and soothing, but with a catch that made me reach up to feel the wetness on his cheeks.

"What is it, love?" I whispered. "Jamie, I do love you."

"I know it," he said quietly. "I do know it, my own. Let me tell ye in your sleep how much I love you. For there's no so much I can be saying to ye while ye wake, but the same poor words, again and again. While ye sleep in my arms, I can say things to ye that would be daft and silly waking, and your dreams will know the truth of them. Go back to sleep, mo duinne."

I turned my head, enough that my lips brushed the base of his throat, where his pulse beat slow beneath the small three-cornered scar. Then I laid my head upon his chest and gave my dreams up to his keeping.

There were men and their traces all around, as we made our way north, following the retreat of the Highland army. We passed small groups of men on foot, walking doggedly, heads down against the windy rain. Others lay in the ditches and under the hedgerows, too exhausted to go on. Equipment and weapons had been abandoned along the way; here a wagon lay overturned, its sacks of flour split and ruined in the wet, there a brace of small culverin stood beneath a tree, twin barrels gleaming darkly in the shadows.