Jenny didn’t answer at first, but only went on reaching for onions, breaking, reaching, breaking, reaching.
“I liked you,” she said at last, so low I could barely hear her. “Loved ye, maybe, when ye lived here with Jamie, before.”
“I liked you, too,” I said, just as softly. “Then why?”
Her hands stilled at last and she looked up at me, fists balled at her sides.
“When Ian told me ye’d come back,” she said slowly, eyes fastened on the onions, “ye could have knocked me flat wi’ a down-feather. At first, I was excited, wanting to see ye—wanting to know where ye’d been—” she added, arching her brows slightly in inquiry. I didn’t answer, and she went on.
“But then I was afraid,” she said softly. Her eyes slid away, shadowed by their thick fringe of black lashes.
“I saw ye, ye ken,” she said, still looking off into some unseeable distance. “When he wed Laoghaire, and them standing by the altar—ye were there wi’ them, standing at his left hand, betwixt him and Laoghaire. And I kent that meant ye would take him back.”
The hair prickled slightly on the nape of my neck. She shook her head slowly, and I saw she had gone pale with the memory. She sat down on a barrel, the cloak spreading out around her like a flower.
“I’m not one of those born wi’ the Sight, nor one who has it regular. I’ve never had it before, and hope never to have it again. But I saw ye there, as clear as I see ye now, and it scairt me so that I had to leave the room, right in the midst o’ the vows.” She swallowed, looking at me directly.
“I dinna ken who ye are,” she said softly. “Or…or…what. We didna ken your people, or your place. I never asked ye, did I? Jamie chose ye, that was enough. But then ye were gone, and after so long—I thought he might have forgot ye enough to wed again, and be happy.”
“He wasn’t, though,” I said, hoping for confirmation from Jenny.
She gave it, shaking her head.
“No,” she said quietly. “But Jamie’s a faithful man, aye? No matter how it was between the two of them, him and Laoghaire, if he’d sworn to be her man, he wouldna leave her altogether. It didna matter that he spent most of his time in Edinburgh; I kent he’d always come back here—he’d be bound here, to the Highlands. But then you came back.”
Her hands lay still in her lap, a rare sight. They were still finely shaped, long-fingered and deft, but the knuckles were red and rough with years of work, and the veins stood out blue beneath the thin white skin.
“D’ye ken,” she said, looking into her lap, “I have never been further than ten miles from Lallybroch, in all my life?”
“No,” I said, slightly startled. She shook her head slowly, then looked up at me.
“You have, though,” she said. “You’ve traveled a great deal, I expect.” Her gaze searched my face, looking for clues.
“I have.”
She nodded, as though thinking to herself.
“You’ll go again,” she said, nearly whispering. “I kent ye would go again. You’re not bound here, not like Laoghaire—not like me. And he would go with ye. And I should never see him again.” She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them, looking at me under her fine dark brows.
“That’s why,” she said. “I thought if ye kent about Laoghaire, ye’d go again at once—you did—” she added, with a faint grimace, “and Jamie would stay. But ye came back.” Her shoulders rose in a faint, helpless shrug. “And I see it’s no good; he’s bound to ye, for good or ill. It’s you that’s his wife. And if ye leave again, he will go with ye.”
I searched helplessly for words to reassure her. “But I won’t. I won’t go again. I only want to stay here with him—always.”
I laid a hand on her arm and she stiffened slightly. After a moment, she laid her own hand over mine. It was chilled, and the tip of her long, straight nose was red with cold.
“Folk say different things of the Sight, aye?” she said after a moment.
“Some say it’s doomed; whatever ye see that way must come to pass. But others say nay, it’s no but a warning; take heed and ye can change things. What d’ye think, yourself?” She looked sideways at me, curiously.
I took a deep breath, the smell of onions stinging the back of my nose. This was hitting home in no uncertain terms.
“I don’t know,” I said, and my voice shook slightly. “I’d always thought that of course you could change things if you knew about them. But now…I don’t know,” I ended softly, thinking of Culloden.
Jenny watched me, her eyes so deep a blue as almost to be black in the dim light. I wondered again just how much Jamie had told her—and how much she knew without the telling.
“But ye must try, even so,” she said, with certainty. “Ye couldna just leave it, could ye?”
I didn’t know whether she meant this personally, but I shook my head.
“No,” I said. “You couldn’t. You’re right; you have to try.”
We smiled at each other, a little shyly.
“You’ll take good care of him?” Jenny said suddenly. “Even if ye go? Ye will, aye?”
I squeezed her cold fingers, feeling the bones of her hand light and fragile-seeming in my grasp.
“I will,” I said.
“Then that’s all right,” she said softly, and squeezed back.
