Outlander 03 - Voyager

“That’s more or less what I was thinking, yes.”

He took his finger away and glanced at the bowl of steaming water.

“Aye, well. It seems a shame to waste the water. Shall I send it back to Murphy to make soup, or shall I drink it?”

I laughed, both tension and strangeness dissolving at once.

“You shall sit down,” I said, “and wash with it. You smell like a brothel.”

“I expect I do,” he said, scratching. “There’s one upstairs in the tavern where the soldiers go to drink and gamble.” He took up the soap and dropped it in the hot water.

“Upstairs, eh?” I said.

“Well, the girls come down, betweentimes,” he explained. “It wouldna be mannerly to stop them sitting on your lap, after all.”

“And your mother brought you up to have nice manners, I expect,” I said, very dryly.

“Upon second thoughts, I think perhaps we shall anchor here for the night,” he said thoughtfully, looking at me.

“Shall we?”

“And sleep ashore, where there’s room.”

“Room for what?” I asked, regarding him with suspicion.

“Well, I have it planned, aye?” he said, sloshing water over his face with both hands.

“You have what planned?” I asked. He snorted and shook the excess water from his beard before replying.

“I have been thinking of this for months, now,” he said, with keen anticipation. “Every night, folded up in that godforsaken nutshell of a berth, listening to Fergus grunt and fart across the cabin. I thought it all out, just what I would do, did I have ye naked and willing, no one in hearing, and room enough to serve ye suitably.” He lathered the cake of soap vigorously between his palms, and applied it to his face.

“Well, I’m willing enough,” I said, intrigued. “And there’s room, certainly. As for naked…”

“I’ll see to that,” he assured me. “That’s part o’ the plan, aye? I shall take ye to a private spot, spread out a quilt to lie on, and commence by sitting down beside you.”

“Well, that’s a start, all right,” I said. “What then?” I sat down next to him on the berth. He leaned close and bit my earlobe very delicately.

“As for what next, then I shall take ye on my knee and kiss ye.” He paused to illustrate, holding my arms so I couldn’t move. He let go a minute later, leaving my lips slightly swollen, tasting of ale, soap, and Jamie.

“So much for step one,” I said, wiping soapsuds from my mouth. “What then?”

“Then I shall lay ye down upon the quilt, twist your hair up in my hand and taste your face and throat and ears and bosom wi’ my lips,” he said. “I thought I would do that until ye start to make squeaking noises.”

“I don’t make squeaking noises!”

“Aye, ye do,” he said. “Here, hand me the towel, aye?”

“Then,” he went on cheerfully, “I thought I would begin at the other end. I shall lift up your skirt and—” His face disappeared into the folds of the linen towel.

“And what?” I asked, thoroughly intrigued.

“And kiss the insides of your thighs, where the skin’s so soft. The beard might help there, aye?” He stroked his jaw, considering.

“It might,” I said, a little faintly. “What am I supposed to be doing while you do this?”

“Well, ye might moan a bit, if ye like, to encourage me, but otherwise, ye just lie still.”

He didn’t sound as though he needed any encouragement whatever. One of his hands was resting on my thigh as he used the other to swab his chest with the damp towel. As he finished, the hand slid behind me, and squeezed.

“My beloved’s arm is under me,” I quoted. “And his hand behind my head. Comfort me with apples, and stay me with flagons, For I am sick of love.”

There was a flash of white teeth in his beard.

“More like grapefruit,” he said, one hand cupping my behind. “Or possibly gourds. Grapefruit are too small.”

“Gourds?” I said indignantly.

“Well, wild gourds get that big sometimes,” he said. “But aye, that’s next.” He squeezed once more, then removed the hand in order to wash the armpit on that side. “I lie upon my back and have ye stretched at length upon me, so that I can get hold of your buttocks and fondle them properly.” He stopped washing to give me a quick example of what he thought proper, and I let out an involuntary gasp.

“Now,” he went on, resuming his ablutions, “should ye wish to kick your legs a bit, or make lewd motions wi’ your hips and pant in my ear at that point in the proceedings, I should have no great objection.”

“I do not pant!”

“Aye, ye do. Now, about your breasts—”