#DailyLines #VIRGINS #novella #inanthology #DANGEROUSWomen #OutDECEMBER3rd #JamieandElderIan #YoungMercenaries #France1740 Coming back, Ian saw the dark spots on the back of Jamie’s shirt, blotches where fresh blood had seeped through the bandages. The sight filled him with fury, as well as fear. He’d seen such things; the wean had been flogged. Badly, and recently. _Who? How_? “Come on, then,” he said roughly, and bending, got an arm under Jamie’s and got him to his feet and away from the fire and the other men. He was alarmed to feel the clamminess of Jamie’s hand and hear his shallow breath. “What?” he demanded, the moment they were out of earshot. “What happened?” Jamie sat down abruptly. “I thought one joined a band of mercenaries because they didna ask ye questions.” Ian gave him the snort this statement deserved, and was relieved to hear a breath of laughter in return. “Eejit,” he said. “D’ye need a dram? I’ve got a bottle in my sack.” “Wouldna come amiss,” Jamie murmured. They were camped at the edge of a wee village, and D’Eglise had arranged for the use of a byre or two, but it wasn’t cold out, and most of the men had chosen to sleep by the fire or in the field. Ian had put their gear down a little distance away, and with the possibility of rain in mind, under the shelter of a plane tree that stood at the side of a field. Ian uncorked the bottle of whisky—it wasn’t good, but it _was_ whisky—and held it under his friend’s nose. When Jamie reached for it, though, he pulled it away. “Not a sip do ye get until ye tell me,” he said. “And ye tell me _now, a charaidh_.” Jamie sat hunched, a pale blur on the ground, silent. When the words came at last, they were spoken so softly that Ian thought for an instant he hadn’t really heard them. “My faither’s dead.” He tried to believe he _hadn’t_ heard, but his heart had; it froze in his chest. “Oh, Jesus,” he whispered. “Oh, God, Jamie.” He was on his knees then, holding Jamie’s head fierce against his shoulder, trying not to touch his hurt back. His thoughts were in confusion, but one thing was clear to him—Brian Fraser’s death hadn’t been a natural one. If it had, Jamie would be at Lallybroch. Not here, and not in this state. “Who?” he said hoarsely, relaxing his grip a little. “Who killed him?” More silence, then Jamie gulped air with a sound like fabric being ripped. “I did,” he said, and began to cry, shaking with silent, tearing sobs.
Posted on: Thu, 07 Nov 2013 09:59:01 +0000
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