Dragonfly In Amber

“Yes,” I said cautiously. I had no idea where he was going, but he wasn’t just making idle conversation. “I’m grateful for it, of course.”

He made a small Scottish noise of dismissal, deep in his throat. “It isna a matter for gratitude, Sassenach, on your part or mine – my point is only that it’s no a matter of obligation, either.” The smile had vanished from his eyes, and he was entirely serious.

“I didna give ye Randall’s life as an exchange for my own – it wouldna be a fair trade, for one thing. Close your mouth, Sassenach,” he added practically, “flies will get in.” There were in fact a number of the insects present; three were resting on the Fergus’s shirtfront, undisturbed by its constant rise and fall.

“Why did you agree, then?” I stopped struggling, and he wrapped both hands around my feet, ru

“Well, it wasna for any of the reasons you tried to make me see. As for Frank,” he said, “well, it’s true enough that I’ve taken his wife, and I do pity him for it – more sometimes than others,” he added, with an impudent quirk of one eyebrow. “Still, is it any different than if he were my rival here? You had free choice between us, and you chose me – even with such luxuries as hot baths thrown in on his side. Oof!” I jerked one foot loose and drove it into his ribs. He straightened up and grabbed it, in time to prevent me repeating the blow.

“Regretting your choice, are you?”

“Not yet,” I said, struggling to repossess my foot, “but I may any minute. Keep talking.”

“Well then. I couldna see that the fact that you picked me entitled Frank Randall to particular consideration. Besides,” he said frankly, “I’ll admit to bein’ just a wee bit jealous of the man.”

I kicked with my other foot, aiming lower. He caught that one before it landed, twisting my ankle skillfully.

“As for owing him his life, on general principles,” he continued, ignoring my attempts to escape, “that’s an argument Brother Anselm at the Abbey could answer better than I. Certainly I wouldna kill an i

I remembered the soldier, and the boy in the snow that I had killed in our escape from Wentworth. I no longer tormented myself with memories of them, but I knew they would never leave me.

He shook his head. “No, there are a good many arguments ye might make about that, but in the end, such choices come down to one: You kill when ye must, and ye live with it after. I remember the face of every man I’ve killed, and always will. But the fact remains, I am alive and they are not, and that is my only justification, whether it be right or no.”

“But that’s not true in this case,” I pointed out. “It isn’t a case of kill or be killed.”

He shook his head, dislodging a fly that had settled on his hair. “Now there you’re wrong, Sassenach. What it is that lies between Jack Randall and me will be settled only when one of us is dead – and maybe not then. There are ways of killing other than with a knife or a gun, and there are things worse than physical death.” His tone softened. “In Ste. A

He let go my feet and rearranged his long legs. “And that leads me to consider your conscience as well as mine. After all, you had no idea what would happen when ye made your choice, and it’s one thing to abandon a man, and another to condemn him to death.”

I did not at all like this ma

He continued, “If ye had known it might mean Frank’s – well, his death, shall we say – perhaps you would have chosen differently. Given that ye did choose me, have I the right to make your actions of more consequence than you intended?”

Absorbed in his argument, he had been oblivious of its effect on me. Catching sight of my face now, he stopped suddenly, watching me in silence as we jostled our way through the greens of the countryside.

“I di

“I’m honest enough to say that I di

I laid my hand on his head; the short hair felt bristly but soft, like a very young hedgehog.

“I don’t think it was wrong,” I said softly. “But if it was… then I’ll go to the Devil with you, Jamie Fraser.”

He closed his eyes and bowed his head over my foot. He held it so tightly that I could feel the long, slender metatarsals pressed together; still, I didn’t pull back. I dug my fingers into his scalp and tugged his hair gently.

“Why then, Jamie? Why did you decide to let Jack Randall live?”

He still gripped my foot, but opened his eyes and smiled at me.

“Well, I thought a number of things, Sassenach, as I walked up and down that evening. For one thing, I thought that you would suffer, if I did kill the filthy scut. I would do, or not do, quite a few things to spare you distress, Sassenach, but – how heavily does your conscience weigh, against my honor?

“No.” He shook his head again, disposing of another point. “Each one of us can be responsible only for his own actions and his own conscience. What I do ca

“Why, then?” I demanded, leaning forward. “You’ve told me all the reasons why not; what’s left?”

He hesitated for a moment, but then met my eyes squarely.

“Because of Charles Stuart, Sassenach. So far we have stopped all the earths, but with this investment of his – well, he might yet succeed in leading an army in Scotland. And if so… well, ye ken better than I do what may come, Sassenach.”

I did, and the thought turned me cold. I could not help remembering one historian’s description of the Highlanders’ fate at Culloden – “the dead lay four deep, soaking in rain and their own blood.”

The Highlanders, mismanaged and starving, but ferocious to the end, would be wasted in one decisive half-hour. They would be left to lie in heaps, bleeding in a cold April rain, the cause they had cherished for a hundred years dead along with them.

Jamie reached forward suddenly and took my hands.

“I think it will not happen, Claire; I think we will stop him. And if not, then still I di