“I suppose that’s so,” he said slowly. “Ye dinna hear so much of the towns—only that it’s such a wild savage place, though verra beautiful. But I’m no a fool, Sassenach.” His voice sharpened slightly, and he dug his thumb savagely into the orange, splitting it in half.
“I dinna believe something only because someone’s set words down in a book—for God’s sake, I print the damn things! I ken verra well just what charlatans and fools some writers are—I see them! And surely I ken the difference between a romance and a fact set down in cold blood!”
“All right,” I said. “Though I’m not sure it’s all that easy to tell the difference between romance and fact in print. But even if it’s dead true about the Iroquois, the whole continent isn’t swarming with bloodthirsty savages. I
“Mmphm,” he said, plainly unconvinced. Still, he bent his attention to the orange, and began to divide it into segments.
“This is very funny,” I said ruefully. “When I made up my mind to come back, I read everything I could find about England and Scotland and France about this time, so I’d know as much as I could about what to expect. And here we end up in a place I know nothing about, because it never dawned on me we’d cross the ocean, with you being so seasick.”
That made him laugh, a little grudgingly.
“Aye, well, ye never ken what ye can do ’til ye have to. Believe me, Sassenach, once I’ve got Ian safely back, I shall never set foot on a filthy, godforsaken floating plank in my life again—except to go home to Scotland, when it’s safe,” he added, as an afterthought. He offered me an orange segment and I took it, token of a peace offering.
“Speaking of Scotland, you still have your printing press there, safe in Edinburgh,” I said. “We could have it sent over, maybe—if we settled in one of the larger American cities.”
He looked up at that, startled.
“D’ye think it would be possible to earn a living, printing? There are that many people? It takes a fair-sized city, ye ken, to need a printer or bookseller.”
“I’m sure you could. Boston, Philadelphia…not New York yet, I don’t think. Williamsburg, maybe? I don’t know which ones, but there are several places big enough to need printing—the shipping ports, certainly.” I remembered the flapping posters, advertising dates of embarkation and arrival, sales of goods and recruitment of seamen, that decorated the walls of every seaside tavern in Le Havre.
“Mmphm.” This one was a thoughtful noise. “Aye, well, if we might do that…”
He poked a piece of fruit into his mouth and ate it slowly.
“What about you?” he said abruptly.
I glanced at him, startled.
“What about me?”
His eyes were fixed intently on me, reading my face.
“Would it suit ye to go to such a place?” He looked down then, carefully separating the other half of the fruit. “I mean—you’ve your work to do as well, aye?” He looked up and smiled, wryly.
“I learned in Paris that I couldna stop ye doing it. And ye said yourself, ye might not have come, had Menzies’s death not stopped you, where ye were. Can ye be a healer in the Colonies, d’ye think?”
“I expect I can,” I said slowly. “There are people sick and injured, almost anywhere you go, after all.” I looked at him, curious.
“You’re a very odd man, Jamie Fraser.”
He laughed at that, and swallowed the rest of his orange.
“Oh, I am, aye? And what d’ye mean by that?”
“Frank loved me,” I said slowly. “But there were…pieces of me, that he didn’t know what to do with. Things about me that he didn’t understand, or maybe that frightened him.” I glanced at Jamie. “Not you.”
His head was bent over a second orange, hands moving swiftly as he scored it with his dirk, but I could see the faint smile in the corner of his mouth.
“No, Sassenach, ye dinna frighten me. Or rather ye do, but only when I think ye may kill yourself from carelessness.”
I snorted briefly.
“You scare me, for the same reason, but I don’t suppose there’s anything I can do about it.”
His chuckle was deep and easy.
“And ye think I canna do anything about it, either, so I shouldna be worrit?”
“I didn’t say you shouldn’t worry—do you think I don’t worry? But no, you probably can’t do anything about me.”
I saw him opening his mouth to disagree. Then he changed his mind, and laughed again. He reached out and popped an orange segment into my mouth.
“Well, maybe no, Sassenach, and maybe so. But I’ve lived a long enough time now to think it maybe doesna matter so much—so long as I can love you.”
Speechless with orange juice, I stared at him in surprise.
“And I do,” he said softly. He leaned into the berth and kissed me, his mouth warm and sweet. Then he drew back, and gently touched my cheek.
“Rest now,” he said firmly. “I’ll bring ye some broth, in a bit.”
I slept for several hours,
