The twin to the eye I was looking at opened slowly, to add its baleful glare to the first. I dropped my hand and smiled charmingly at him.
“Good morning.”
“That, Sassenach, is entirely a matter of opinion,” he said, and closed both eyes again.
“Have you got any idea how much you weigh?” I asked conversationally.
“No.”
The abruptness of the reply suggested that he not only didn’t know, he didn’t care, but I persisted in my efforts.
“Something around fifteen stone, I make it. About as much as a good-sized boar. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any beaters to hang you upside down from a spear and carry you home to the smoking shed.”
One eye opened again, and looked consideringly at me, then at the hearthstone on the far side of the room. One corner of his mouth lifted in a reluctant smile.
“How did you get me in bed?”
“I didn’t. I couldn’t budge you, so I just laid a quilt over you and left you on the hearth. You came to life and crawled in under your own power, somewhere in the middle of the night.”
He seemed surprised, and opened the other eye again.
“I did?”
I nodded and tried to smooth down the hair that spiked out over his left ear.
“Oh, yes. Very single-minded, you were.”
“Single-minded?” He frowned, thinking, and stretched, thrusting his arms up over his head. Then he looked startled.
“No. I couldn’t have.”
“Yes, you could. Twice.”
He squinted down his chest, as though looking for confirmation of this improbable statement, then looked back at me.
“Really? Well, that’s hardly fair; I dinna remember a thing about it.” He hesitated for a moment, looking shy. “Was it all right, then? I didna do anything foolish?”
I flopped down next to him and snuggled my head into the curve of his shoulder.
“No, I wouldn’t call it foolish. You weren’t very conversational, though.”
“Thank the Lord for small blessings,” he said, and a small chuckle rumbled through his chest.
“Mm. You’d forgotten how to say anything except ‘I love you,’ but you said that a lot.”
The chuckle came back, louder this time. “Oh, aye? Well, could have been worse, I suppose.”
He drew in his breath, then paused. He turned his head and sniffed suspiciously at the soft tuft of cinnamon under his raised arm.
“Christ!” he said. He tried to push me away. “Ye dinna want to put your head near my oxter, Sassenach. I smell like a boar that’s been dead a week.”
“And pickled in brandy after,” I agreed, snuggling closer. “How on earth did you get so—ahem—stinking drunk, anyway?”
“Jared’s hospitality.” He settled himself in the pillows with a deep sigh, arm round my shoulder.
“He took me down to show me his warehouse at the docks. And the storeroom there where he keeps the rare vintages and the Portuguese brandy and the Jamaican rum.” He grimaced slightly, recalling. “The wine wasna so bad, for that you just taste, and spit it on the floor when you’ve done wi’ a mouthful. But neither of us could see wasting the brandy that way. Besides, Jared said ye need to let it trickle down the back of your throat, to appreciate it fully.”
“How much of it did you appreciate?” I asked curiously.
“I lost count in the middle of the second bottle.” Just then, a church bell started to ring nearby; the summons to early Mass. Jamie sat bolt upright, staring at the windowpane, bright with sun.
“Christ, Sassenach! What time is it?”
“About six, I suppose,” I said, puzzled. “Why?”
He relaxed slightly, though he stayed sitting up.
“Oh, that’s all right, then. I was afraid it was the Angelus bell. I’d lost all track of time.”
“I’d say so. Does it matter?”
In a burst of energy, he threw back the quilts and stood up. He staggered a moment, but kept his balance, though both hands went to his head, to make sure it was still attached.
“Aye,” he said, gasping a bit. “We’ve an appointment this morning down at the docks, at Jared’s warehouse. The two of us.”
“Really?” I clambered out of bed myself, and groped for the chamber pot under the bed. “If he’s planning to finish the job, I shouldn’t think he’d want witnesses.”
Jamie’s head popped through the neck of his shirt, eyebrows raised.
“Finish the job?”
“Well, most of your other relatives seem to want to kill you or me; why not Jared? He’s made a good start at poisoning you, seems to me.”
“Verra funny, Sassenach,” he said dryly. “Have ye something decent to wear?”