She took it with a faint nod, not looking at him, and carelessly mopped her face.
“I will,” she said, when the time came, as though not caring at all what she said now.
Jack Randall made his promises in a firm voice, but one remote from the scene. It gave me an odd feeling to see a marriage contracted between two people who were quite unaware of each other; the complete attention of both was focused on the man who sat before them, eyes fixed on the pages of his book.
It was done. Congratulations to the bridal pair hardly seemed in order, and there was an awkward silence. Jamie glanced at me questioningly and I shrugged. I had fainted immediately after marrying him, and Mary looked rather as though she meant to follow my example.
The act complete, Alex sat quite still for a moment. He smiled slightly, and looked deliberately round the room, his eyes resting for a moment on each face in turn. Jonathan, Jamie, Mary, and me. I saw the glow in those soft hazel depths as his glance met mine. The candle’s stub grew low, but the last of the wick blazed up, for a moment bright and strong.
His gaze lingered on Mary’s face, then he closed his eyes briefly, as though he could not stand to look upon her, and I could hear the slow, labored rasp of his breathing. The glow of his skin was blanching and fading, the candle guttering.
Without opening his eyes, he reached up a hand, groping blindly. Jonathan grasped it, caught him behind the shoulders and eased him slowly back, onto the pillows. The long hands, smooth as a boy’s, twitched uneasily, whiter than the shirt they lay against.
“Mary.” The blue lips moved in a whisper, and she trapped the nervous hands between her own, holding them still against her bosom.
“I’m here, Alex. Oh, Alex, I’m here!” She bent close to him, murmuring in his ear. The movement forced Jonathan Randall back a bit, so that he stepped away from the bed. He stood, staring expressionlessly down.
The heavy, domed lids lifted once more, only halfway this time, seeking a face and finding it.
“Johnny. So…good to me. Always, Johnny.”
Mary bent over him, the shadow of her fallen hair hiding his face. Jonathan Randall stood, still as one of the stones in a henge, watching his brother and his wife. There was no sound in the room but the whisper of the fire and the soft sobbing of Mary Randall.
I felt a touch on my shoulder, and looked up at Jamie. He nodded in Mary’s direction.
“Stay with her,” he said quietly. “It wilna be long, will it?”
“No.”
He nodded. Then he took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and crossed the room to Jonathan Randall. He took the frozen figure by one arm and turned him gently toward the door.
“Come, man,” he said quietly. “I’ll see ye safe to your quarters.”
The crooked door creaked to as he left, assisting Jack Randall to the place where he would spend his wedding night, alone.
* * *
I closed the door of our inn room behind me and leaned against it, exhausted. It was first dark outside, and the watchmen’s cries echoed down the street.
Jamie was by the window, watching for me. He came to me at once, pulling me tight against him before I had even got my cloak off. I sagged against him, grateful for his warmth and solid strength. He scooped me up with an arm beneath my knees and carried me to the window seat.
“Have a bit of a drink, Sassenach,” he urged. “Ye look all in, and no wonder.” He took the flask from the table and mixed something that appeared to be brandy and water without the water.
I shoved a hand tiredly through my hair. It had been just after breakfast when we went to the room in Ladywalk Wynd; now it was past six o’clock. It seemed as though I had been gone for days.
“It wasn’t long, poor chap. It was as though he was only waiting to see her safely taken care of. I sent word to her aunt’s house; the aunt and two cousins came to fetch her. They’ll take care of…him.” I sipped gratefully at the brandy. It burned my throat and the fumes rose inside my head like fog on the moors, but I didn’t care.
“Well,” I said, attempting a smile, “at least we know Frank is safe, after all.”
Jamie glowered down at me, ruddy brows nearly touching each other.
“Damn Frank!” he said ferociously. “Damn all Randalls! Damn Jack Randall, and damn Mary Hawkins Randall, and damn Alex Randall—er, God rest his soul, I mean,” he amended hastily, crossing himself.
“I thought you didn’t begrudge—” I started. He glared at me.
“I lied.”
He grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me slightly, holding me at arm’s length.
“And damn you, too, Claire Randall Fraser, while I’m at it!” he said. “Damn right I begrudge! I grudge every memory of yours that doesna hold me, and every tear ye’ve shed for another, and every second you’ve spent in another man’s bed! Damn you!” He knocked the brandy glass from my hand—accidentally, I think—pulled me to him and kissed me hard.