Dragonfly In Amber

“It’s a pity we can’t bring the stuff into Paris,” Jamie had remarked during the pla

“I’ll settle for paying back Duverney’s loan,” I said. “And speaking of loans, what’s Signore Manzetti going to do about the money he’s loaned Charles Stuart?”

“Whistle for it, I expect,” said Jamie cheerfully. “And ruin the Stuarts’ reputation with every banker on the Continent while he’s about it.”

“Seems a bit hard on poor old Manzetti,” I observed.

“Aye well. Ye ca

“You haven’t got an auld gra

“No,” he admitted, “but if I had, that’s what she’d say.” He had dropped the playfulness then, momentarily. “It’s no verra fair to the Stuarts, forbye. In fact, should any of the Jacobite lords come to know what I’ve been doing, I expect they’d call it treason, and they’d be right.” He rubbed a hand over his brow, and shook his head, and I saw the deadly seriousness that his playfulness covered.

“It ca

He frowned, ru

He shrugged in half-humorous despair. “So now I’ve gone from stealing His Highness’s mail to bank robbery and piracy on the high seas, and it seems there’s nay help for it.”

He was silent for a moment, looking down at his hands, clenched together on the desk. Then he turned his head to me and smiled.

“I always wanted to be a pirate, when I was a bairn,” he said. “Pity I ca

I lay in bed, head and shoulders propped on pillows, hands clasped lightly over my stomach, thinking. Since the first alarm, there had been very little bleeding, and I felt well. Still, any sort of bleeding at this stage was cause for alarm. I wondered privately what would happen if any emergency arose while Jamie was gone to Spain, but there was little to be gained by worrying. He had to go; there was too much riding on that particular shipload of wine for any private concerns to intrude. And if everything went all right, he should be back well before the baby was due.

As it was, all personal concerns would have to be put aside, danger or no. Charles, unable to contain his own excitement, had confided to Jamie that he would shortly require two ships – possibly more – and had asked his advice on hull design and the mounting of deck ca

After a little while, I became aware of some slight change in Jamie’s attitude. Glancing toward him, I saw that while he was still holding a book open on his knee, he had ceased to turn the pages – or to look at them, for that matter. His eyes were fixed on me instead; or, to be specific, on the spot where my nightrobe parted, several inches lower than strict modesty might dictate, strict modesty hardly seeming necessary in bed with one’s husband.

His gaze was abstracted, dark blue with longing, and I realized that if not socially required, modesty in bed with one’s husband might be at least considerate, under the circumstances. There were alternatives, of course.

Catching me looking at him, Jamie blushed slightly and hastily returned to an exaggerated interest in his book. I rolled onto my side and rested a hand on his thigh.

“Interesting book?” I asked, idly caressing him.

“Mphm. Oh, aye.” The blush deepened, but he didn’t take his eyes from the page.

Gri

“Sassenach!” he said. “Ye know you ca

“No,” I said, “but you can. Or rather, I can for you.”

He firmly detached my hand and gave it back to me.

“No, Sassenach. It wouldna be right.”

“It wouldn’t?” I said, surprised. “Whyever not?”

He squirmed uncomfortably, avoiding my eyes.

“Well, I… I wouldna feel right, Sassenach. To take my pleasure from ye, and not be able to give ye… well, I wouldna feel right about it, is all.”

I burst into laughter, laying my head on his thigh.

“Jamie, you are too sweet for words!”

“I am not sweet,” he said indignantly. “But I’m no such a selfish – Claire, stop that!”

“You were pla

“I could,” he said, with what dignity was possible under the circumstances. “I waited tw-twenty-two years, and I can…”

“No, you can’t,” I said, pulling back the bedclothes and admiring the shape so clearly visible beneath his nightshirt. I touched it, and it moved slightly, eager against my hand. “Whatever God meant you to be, Jamie Fraser, it wasn’t a monk.”

With a sure hand, I pulled up his nightshirt.

“But…” he began.

“Two against one,” I said, leaning down. “You lose.”

Jamie worked hard for the next few days, readying the wine business to look after itself during his absence. Still, he found time to come up and sit with me for a short time after lunch most days, and so it was that he was with me when a visitor was a

To my surprise, though, the visitor was Monsieur Forez. Magnus himself showed him into my sitting room, taking his hat and cloak with an almost superstitious reverence.

Jamie looked surprised at this visitation, but rose to his feet to greet the hangman politely and offer him refreshment.

“As a general rule, I take no spirits,” Monsieur Forez said with a smile. “But I would not insult the hospitality of my esteemed colleague.” He bowed ceremoniously in the direction of the chaise where I reclined. “You are well, I trust, Madame Fraser?”

“Yes,” I said cautiously. “Thank you.” I wondered to what we owed the honor of the visit. For while Monsieur Forez enjoyed considerable prestige and a fair amount of wealth in return for his official duties, I didn’t think his job got him many di

He crossed the room and laid a small package on the chaise beside me, rather like a fatherly vulture bringing home di