I LEANED MY FOREHEAD against the cool glass of my surgery window, blinking at the scene outside. Exhaustion lent the scene in the dooryard an extra tinge of surrealismnot that it needed much extra.
The sun had all but set, flaming gold in the last ragged leaves of the chestnut trees. The spruces stood black against the dying glow, as did the gibbet in the center of the yard, and the grisly remains that swung from it. A bonfire had been lit near the blackberry bushes, and silhouetted figures darted everywhere, disappearing in and out of flames and shadow. Some attacked the hanging carcass, armed with knives and hatchets; others plodded laden away, carrying slabs of flesh and buckets of fat. Near the fire, the skirted bell-shapes of women showed, bending and reaching in silent ballet.
Dark as it was, I could pick Briannas tall, pale figure out of the horde of demons hacking at the buffalokeeping order, I thought. Before being forcibly returned to the surgery, Jamie had estimated the buffalos weight at something between eighteen hundred and two thousand pounds. Brianna had nodded at this, handed Jemmy to Lizzie, then walked slowly around the carcass, squinting in deep thought.
Right, shed said, and as soon as the men began to appear from their homesteads, half-dressed, unshaven, and wild-eyed with excitement, had issued cool directions for the cutting of logs and the building of a pulley-frame capable of hoisting and supporting a ton of meat.
The men, disgruntled at not being in on the kill, hadnt been inclined to pay attention to her at first. Brianna, however, was large, vivid, strongly-spokenand stubborn.
Whose stroke is that? shed demanded, staring down Geordie Chisholm and his sons as they started toward the carcass, knives in hand. She pointed at the deep gash across the neck, then wiped her hand slowly down her sleeve, drawing attention to the splashed blood there. Or that? One long bare foot pointed delicately at the severed throat, and the pool of blood that soaked the dooryard. My stockings lay at the edge of the congealing puddle where I had stripped them off, limp red rags, but recognizably feminine.
Watching from the window, I had seen more than one face glance toward the house, frowning with the realization that Brianna was Himselfs daughtera fact the wise kept well in mind.
It was Roger who had turned the tide for her, though, with a cool stare that brought the Lindsay brothers to heel behind him, axes in hand.
Its her kill, he said, in his husking croak. Do what she says. He squared his shoulders and gave the other men a look that strongly suggested there should be no further controversy.
Seeing this, Fergus had shrugged and bent to seize the beastone-handedby its spindly tail.
Where will you have us put it, madame? he asked politely. The men had all laughed, and then with sheepish glances and shrugs of resignation, reluctantly pitched in as well, following her directions.
Brianna had given Roger a look of surprise, then gratitude, and thenthe bit firmly between her teethhad taken charge of the whole enterprise, with remarkable results. It was barely nightfall, and the butchery was almost done, the meat distributed to all the households on the Ridge. She knew everyone, knew the number of mouths in each cabin, and parceled out the meat and sweetbreads as they were cut. Not even Jamie could have managed it better, I thought, feeling a warm swell of pride in her.
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I glanced across at the table, where Jamie lay swaddled in blankets. I had wanted to move him upstairs to his bed, but he had insisted on staying downstairs, where he could hearif not seewhat was going on.
Theyre nearly finished with the butchering, I said, coming to lay a hand on his head. Still flushed and blazing. Briannas done a wonderful job of it, I added, to distract both of us.
Has she? His eyes were half-open, but fixed in a fever-stare; that dream-soaked daze where shadows writhe in the wavering hot air over a fire. As I spoke, though, he came slowly back from wherever he had been, and his eyes met mine, heavy-lidded but clear, and he smiled faintly. Thats good.
The hide had been pegged out to dry, the enormous liver sliced for quick searing, intestines taken to soak for cleaning, haunches to the shed for smoking, strips of meat taken off for drying into jerky, fat for rendering into suet and soap. Once stripped bare, the bones would be boiled for soup, salvaged for buttons.
The prized hooves and horns sat bloodily discreet on my counter, brought in by Murdo Lindsay. Tacit trophies, I supposed; the eighteenth-century equivalent of two ears and a tail. I had got the gallbladder, too, though that was simply by default; no one wanted it, but it was popularly assumed that I must have some medicinal use for almost any natural object. A greenish thing the size of my fist, it sat oozing in a dish, looking rather sinister next to the set of detached and muddy hooves.
Everyone on the Ridge had come at the newseven Ronnie Sinclair, from his coopers shop at the foot of the slopeand little remained of the buffalo now, save a rack of scavenged bones. I caught the faint odor of roasting meat, of burning hickory wood and coffee, and pushed up the window all the way to let in the appetizing smells.
Laughter and the crackle of fire came in on a gust of cold wind. It was warm in the surgery now, and the cold air from the window felt good against my flushed cheeks.
Are you hungry, Jamie? I asked. I was starving myself; though I hadnt realized it til I smelled food. I closed my eyes and inhaled, buoyed up by the hearty scent of liver and onions.
No, he said, sounding drowsy. I dinna fancy anything.
You should eat a bit of soup, if you can, before you fall asleep. I turned and smoothed the hair off his face, frowning a little as I looked at him. The flush had faded a bit, I thoughthard to tell for sure in the uncertain light of fire and candle. We had got enough honey-water and herb tea into him so that his eyes were no longer sunken with dehydration, but the bones of cheek and jaw were still prominent; he hadnt eaten in more than forty-eight hours, and the fever was consuming an immense amount of energy, consuming his tissues.
Dye need more hot water, maam? Lizzie appeared in the doorway, looking more disheveled than usual, Jemmy clutched in her arms. She had lost her kerch and her fine, fair hair had escaped from its bun; Jemmy had a good handful of it in his chubby fist, and was yanking fretfully at it, making her squint with each yank.
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Mama-mama-mama, he said, in an escalating whine that made it obvious that hed been saying the same thing for quite some time. Mama-mama-MAMA!
No, I have enough; thank you, Lizzie. Stop that, young man, I said, getting hold of Jemmys hand and forcibly unpeeling his fat little fingers. We dont pull hair. There was a small chuckle from the nest of blankets on the table behind me.
Yed never ken it to look at ye, Sassenach.
Mm? I turned my head and stared blankly at him for a moment, then followed the direction of his glance with my hand. Sure enough, my own cap had somehow disappeared, and my hair was standing out like a bramblebush. Attracted by the word hair, Jemmy abandoned Lizzies fine locks, leaned over, and grabbed a fistful of mine.
Mama-mama-mama-mama...
Foo, I said, crossly, reaching to disentangle him. Let go, you little fiend. And why arent you in bed, anyway?
MAMA-MAMA-MAMA...
He wants his mother, Lizzie explained, rather redundantly. Ive put him in his cot a dozen times, but hell be climbin out again, the instant my backs turned. I couldna keep him
The outer door opened, letting in a strong draft that made the embers in the brazier glow and smoke, and I heard the pad of bare feet on the oak boards in the hall.
Id heard the expression, blood to the eyebrows before, but I hadnt seen it all that often, at least not outside the confines of a battlefield. Briannas eyebrows were invisible, being red enough to have blended into the mask of gore over her face. Jemmy took a good look at her, and turned down his mouth in an expression of doubtful distress, just this side of outright wails.
Its me, baby, she reassured him. She reached a hand toward him, but stopped short of touching him. He didnt cry, but burrowed his face into Lizzies shoulder, rejecting the notion that this apocalyptic vision had anything at all to do with the mother hed been fussing for a few minutes earlier.
Brianna ignored both her sons rejection and the fact that she was leaving footprints composed in equal parts of mud and blood all over the floor.
Look, she said, holding out a closed fist to me. Her hands were caked with dried blood, her fingernails crescents of black. She reverently uncurled her fingers to show me her treasure; a handful of tiny, wriggling white worms that made my heart give a quick bump of excitement.
Are they the right kind? she asked anxiously.
I think so; let me check. I hastily dumped the wet leaves from the herb tea onto a small plate, to give the worms a temporary refuge. Brianna gently deposited them on the mangled foliage and carried the plate to the counter where my microscope stood, as though the plate bore specks of gold dust, rather than maggots.
I picked up one of the worms with the edge of a fingernail, and deposited it on a glass slide, where it writhed unhappily in a futile search for nourishment. I beckoned to Bree to bring me another candle.
Nothing but a mouth and a gut, I muttered, tilting the mirror to catch the light. It was much too dim for microscopic work, but might just be sufficient for this. Voracious little buggers.
I held my breath, peering through the fragile eyepiece, straining to see. Ordinary blow-fly and flesh-fly larvae had one line visible on the body; screw-worm larvae had two. The lines were faint, invisible to the naked eye, but very important. Blow-fly maggots ate carrion, and only carriondead, decaying flesh. Screw-worm larvae burrowed into the living flesh, and consumed the live muscle and blood of their host. Nothing I wanted to insert into a fresh wound!
I closed one eye, to let the other adapt to the moving shadows in the eyepiece. The dark cylinder of the maggots body writhed, twisting in all directions at once. One line was clearly visible. Was that another? I squinted until my eye began to water, but could see no more. Letting out the breath Id been holding, I relaxed.
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Congratulations, Da, Brianna said, moving to Jamies side. He opened one eye, which passed with a marked lack of enthusiasm down Briannas figure. Stripped to a knee-length shift for butchering, she was splotched from head to toe with gouts of dark blood, and the muslin had stuck to her in random patches.
Oh, aye? he said. For what?
The maggots. You did it, she explained. She opened her other hand, revealing a misshapen blob of metala squashed rifle-ball. The maggots were in a wound in the hindquartersI dug this out of the hole behind them.
I laughed, as much from relief as from amusement.
Jamie! You shot it in the arse?
Jamies mouth twitched a little.
I didna think Id hit it at all, he said. I was only trying to turn the herd toward Fergus. He reached up a slow hand and took the ball, rolling it gently between his fingers.
Maybe you should keep it for good luck, Brianna said. She spoke lightly, but I could see the furrow between her invisible brows. Or to bite on while Mamas working on your leg.
Too late, he said, with a very faint smile.
It was then she caught sight of the small leather strip that lay on the table near his head, marked with overlapping crescentsthe deep imprints of Jamies teeth. She glanced at me, appalled. I lifted one shoulder slightly. I had spent more than an hour cleaning the wound in his leg, and it hadnt been easy on either of us.
I cleared my throat, and turned back to the maggots. From the corner of my eye, I saw Bree lay the back of her hand gently against Jamies cheek. He turned his head and kissed her knuckles, blood notwithstanding.
Dinna fash, lassie, he said. His voice was faint, but steady. Im fine.
I opened my mouth to say something, but caught sight of Brees face and bit my tongue instead. Shed been working hard, and still had Jemmy and Roger to care for; she neednt worry for Jamie, toonot yet.
I dropped the maggots into a small bowl of sterile water and swished them rapidly round, then dumped them back on the bed of wet leaves.
It wont hurt, I said to Jamie, trying to reassure myself as much as him.
Oh, aye, he said, with an unbecoming cynicism. Ive heard that one before.
Actually, shes right, said a soft, rasping voice behind me. Roger had already had a quick wash; his dark hair lay damp against his collar, and his clothes were clean. Jemmy, half asleep, lay against his fathers shoulder, dreamily sucking his thumb. Roger came over to the table to look down at Jamie.
How is it, man? he said quietly.
Jamie moved his head on the pillow, dismissive of discomfort.
Ill do.
Thats good. To my surprise, Roger grasped Jamies shoulder in a brief gesture of comfort. Id never seen him do that before, and once more I wondered just what had passed between them on the mountain.
Marsalis bringing up some beef teaor rather, buffalo teafor him, Roger said, frowning slightly as he looked at me. Maybe youd best be having some, too.
Good idea, I said. I closed my eyes briefly and took a deep breath.
Only when I sat down did I realize that I had been on my feet since the early morning. Pain outlined every bone in my feet and legs, and I could feel the ache where I had broken my left tibia, a few years before. Duty called, though.
Well, time and tide wait for no maggot, I said, struggling back to my feet. Best get on with it.
Jamie gave a small snort and stretched, then relaxed, his long body reluctantly readying itself. He watched with resignation while I fetched the plate of maggots and my forceps, then reached for the leather strip by his head.
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Youll not need that, Roger said. He pulled up another stool and sat down. Its true what she said, the wee beasts dont hurt.
Jamie snorted again, and Roger grinned at him.
Mind, he said, they tickle something fierce. Thats only if ye think about it, though. If ye can keep all thought of them out of your mind, why, theres nothing to it.
Jamie eyed him.
Yere a great comfort, MacKenzie, he said.
Thanks, said Roger, with a husk of a laugh. Here, I brought ye something. He leaned forward and deposited a drowsy Jemmy into Jamies arms. The little boy uttered a small squawk of surprise, then relaxed as Jamies arms tightened about him in reflex. One chubby hand swung free, seeking anchorage, then found it.
Hot, he murmured, smiling beatifically. Fist twined in Jamies ruddy hair, he sighed deeply and went soundly to sleep on his grandfathers fever-warm chest.
Jamie narrowed his eyes at me as I picked up the forceps. Then he gave a slight shrug, laid his stubbled cheek gently against Jemmys silk-bright hair, and closed his own eyes, though the tenseness in his features was a marked contrast to the rounded peace of Jemmys.
It couldnt have been easier; I simply lifted away the fresh onion poultice, and tucked the maggots one by one into the ulcerated slashmarks on Jamies calf. Roger circled behind me to watch.
It looks almost like a leg again, he said, sounding surprised. I never thought it would.
I smiled, though I didnt look round at him, too intent on my delicate work. Leeches are very effective, I said. Though your rather crude knifework may have been useful, tooyou left big enough holes that the pus and fluid were able to drain; that helped.
It was true; while the limb was still hot and grossly discolored, the swelling had subsided markedly. The long stretch of shinbone and the delicate arch of foot and ankle were once more visible. I was under no illusion about the dangers still remaininginfection, gangrene, sloughingbut nonetheless, my heart grew lighter. It was recognizably Jamies leg.
I pinched another maggot just behind the head with my forceps, careful not to crush it. I lifted the edge of the skin with the slender probe I held in my other hand, and deftly inserted the tiny, wiggling thing into the small pocket thus providedtrying to ignore the nastily spongy feel of the flesh under my fingers, and my memory of Aaron Beardsleys foot.
Done, I said, a moment later, and gently replaced the poultice. Stewed onion and garlic wrapped in muslin and soaked with penicillin broth would keep the wounds moist and draining. Renewed every hour or so, I hoped that the warmth of the poultices would also encourage circulation in the leg. And then a dressing of honey, to prevent any further bacterial invasions.
Concentration alone had kept my hands steady. Now it was done, and there was nothing more to do but wait. The saucer of wet leaves rattled against the counter as I set it down.
I didnt think I had ever been so tired before.
CHOICES
BETWEEN THEM, Roger and Mr. Bug got Jamie up to our bedroom. I hadnt wanted to disturb his leg by moving him from the surgery, but he insisted.
I dinna want ye to be sleeping on the floor down here, Sassenach, he said, when I protested. He smiled at me. Ye should be in your bedbut I ken ye willna leave me alone, and so that means I must go and be in it, too, aye?
I would have argued further, but in all truth, I was so tired that I wouldnt have complained much if he had insisted we both sleep in the barn.
Once he was settled, though, my doubts returned.
Ill joggle your leg, I said, hanging up my gown on one of the pegs. Ill just make up a pallet by the fire here, and
You will not, he said definitely. Yell sleep wi me. He lay back on the pillows, eyes closed, his hair an auburn tumble against the linen. His skin had begun to fade; it wasnt quite so red. It was, however, alarmingly pale where the tiny hemorrhages didnt stain it.
You would argue on your deathbed, I said crossly. You dont have to be constantly in charge, you know. You could lie still and let other people take care of things, for once. What do you think would happen, if
He opened his eyes and gave me a dark blue look.
Sassenach, he said softly.
What?
I would like ye to touch me... without hurting me. Just once before I sleep. Would ye mind much?
I stopped and drew breath, terribly disconcerted at the realization that he was right. Caught up in the emergency and worry of his condition, everything I had done to him during the day had been painful, intrusive, or both. Marsali, Brianna, Roger, Jemmyall of them had touched him in gentleness, offering sympathy and comfort.
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And II had been so terrified at the possibility of what might happen, of what I might be forced to do, that I had taken no time, allowed no room for gentleness. I looked away for a moment, blinking until the tears retreated. Then I stood and walked over to the bed, bent, and kissed him, very softly.
I stroked the hair back from his forehead, smoothed his brows with my thumb. Arch Bug had shaved him; the skin of his cheek was smooth, hot against the side of my hand. His bones were hard under his skin, framing his strengthand yet he seemed suddenly fragile. I felt fragile, too.
I want ye to sleep beside me, Sassenach, he whispered.
All right. I smiled at him, my lips trembling only a little. Let me brush out my hair.
I sat down in my shift, shook out my hair, and took up the brush. He watched me, not speaking, but with a faint smile on his lips, as I worked. He liked to watch me brush my hair; I hoped it was as soothing to him as it was to me.
There were noises downstairs, but they were muffled, safely distant. The shutters were ajar; firelight flickered against the glass of the window from the dying bonfire in the yard. I glanced at the window, wondering if I ought to close the shutters.
Leave them, Sassenach, he murmured from the bed. I like to hear the talk. The sound of voices from outside was comforting, rising and falling, with small bursts of laughter.
The sound of the brush was soft and regular, like surf on sand, and I felt the stress of the day lessen slowly, as though I could brush all the anxieties and dreads out of my hair as easily as tangles and bits of pumpkin vine. When at last I put down the brush and rose, Jamies eyes were closed.
I knelt to smoor the fire, rose to blow out the candle, and went at last to bed.
I eased myself gently into the bed beside him, not to jostle. He lay turned away from me, on his side, and I turned toward him, echoing the curve of his body with my own, careful not to touch him.
I lay very quietly, listening. All the house sounds had settled to their night-time rhythm; the hiss of the fire and the rumble of wind in the flue, the sudden startling crack! of the stairs, as though some unwary foot had stepped upon a riser. Mr. Wemysss adenoidal snoring reached me, reduced to a soothing buzz by the thickness of the intervening doors.
There were still voices outside, muffled by distance, disjointed with drink and the lateness of the hour. All jovial, though; no sound of hostility or incipient violence. I didnt really care, though. The inhabitants of the Ridge could hammer each other senseless and dance on the remains, for all I cared. All my attention was focused on Jamie.
His breathing was shallow but even, his shoulders relaxed. I didnt want to disturb him; he needed rest above all things. At the same time, I ached to touch him. I wanted to reassure myself that he was here, alive beside mebut I also needed badly to know how things went with him.
Was he feverish? Had the incipient infection in his leg blossomed in spite of the penicillin, spreading poison through his blood?
I moved my head cautiously, bringing my face within an inch of his shirt-covered back, and breathed in, slow and deep. I could feel the warmth of him on my face, but couldnt tell through the linen nightshirt just how hot he really was.
He smelt faintly of the woods, more strongly of blood. The onions in the dressing gave off a bitter tang; so did his sweat.
I inhaled again, testing the air. No scent of pus. Too early for the smell of gangrene, even if the rot was beginning, invisible under the bandages. I thought there was a strange scent about his skin, though; something I hadnt smelled before. Necrosis of the tissue? Some breakdown product of the snakes venom? I blew a short breath through my nose and took in a fresh one, deeper.
Do I stink verra badly? he inquired.
Uk! I said, startled into biting my tongue, and he quivered slightly, in what I took to be suppressed amusement.
Ye sound like a wee truffle-pig, Sassenach, snortling away back there.
Oh, indeed, I said, a bit crossly. I touched the tender spot on my tongue. Well, at least youre awake. How do you feel?
Like a pile of moldy tripes.
Very picturesque, I said. Can you be a trifle more specific? I put a hand lightly on his side, and he let his breath out in a sound like a small moan.
Like a pile of moldy tripes... he said, and pausing to breathe heavily, added, ....with maggots.
Youd joke on your deathbed, wouldnt you? Even as I said it, I felt a tremor of unease. He would, and I hoped this wasnt it.
Well, Ill try, Sassenach, he murmured, sounding drowsy. But Im no really at my best under the circumstances.
Do you hurt much?
No. Im just... tired. He sounded as though he were in fact too exhausted to search for the proper word, and had settled for that one by default.
Little wonder if you are. Ill go and sleep somewhere else, so you can rest. I made to throw back the covers and rise, but he stopped me, raising one hand slightly.
No. No, dinna leave me. His shoulder fell back toward me, and he tried to lift his head from the pillow. I felt still more uneasy when I realized that he was too weak even to turn over by himself.
I wont leave you. Maybe I should sleep in the chair, though. I dont want to
Im cold, he said softly. Im verra cold.
I pressed my fingers lightly just under his breastbone, seeking the big abdominal pulse. His heartbeat was rapid, shallower than it should have been. He wasnt feverish. He didnt just feel cold, he was cold to the touch, his skin chilled and his fingers icy. I found that very alarming.
No longer shy, I cuddled close against him, my breasts squashing softly against his back, cheek resting on his shoulder blade. I concentrated as hard as I could on generating body heat, trying to radiate warmth through my skin and into his. So often he had enfolded me in the curve of his body, sheltering me, giving me the warmth of his big body. I wished passionately that I were larger, and could do the same for him now; as it was, I could do no more than cling to him like a small, fierce mustard plaster, and hope I had the same effect.
Very gently, I found the hem of his shirt and pulled it up, then cupped my hands to fit the rounds of his buttocks. They tightened slightly in surprise, then relaxed.
It occurred to me to wonder just why I felt I must lay hands on him, but I didnt trouble my mind with it; I had had the feeling many times before, and had long since given up worrying that it wasnt scientific.
I could feel the faintly pebbled texture of the rash upon his skin, and the thought came unbidden of the lamia. A creature smooth and cool to the touch, a shape-shifter, passionately venomous, its nature infectious. A swift bite and the snakes poison spreading, slowing his heart, chilling his warm blood; I could imagine tiny scales rising under his skin in the dark.
I forcibly repressed the thought, but not the shudder that went with it.
Claire, he said softly. Touch me.
I couldnt hear his heartbeat. I could hear mine; a thick, muffled sound in the ear pressed to the pillow.
I slid my hand over the slope of his belly, and more slowly down, fingers parting the coarse curly tangle, dipping low to cup the rounded shapes of him. What heat he had was here.
I stroked him with a thumb and felt him stir. The breath went out of him in a long sigh, and his body seemed to grow heavier, sinking into the mattress as he relaxed. His flesh was like candle wax in my hand, smooth and silky as it warmed.
I felt very odd; no longer frightened, but with all my senses at once preternaturally acute and yet... peaceful. I was no longer conscious of any sounds save Jamies breathing and the beating of his heart; the darkness was filled with them. I had no conscious thought, but seemed to act purely by instinct, reaching down and under, seeking the heart of his heat in the center of his being.
Then I was movingor we were moving together. One hand reached down between us, up between his legs, my fingertips on the spot just behind his testicles. My other hand reached over, around, moving with the same rhythm that flexed my thighs and lifted my hips, thrusting against him from behind.
I could have done it forever, and felt that perhaps I did. I had no sense of time passing, only of a dreamy peace, and that slow, steady rhythm as we moved together in the dark. Somewhere, sometime, I felt a steady pulsing, first in the one hand, then in both. It melded with the beat of his heart.
He sighed, long and deep, and I felt the air rush from my own lungs. We lay silent and passed gently into unconsciousness, together.
I WOKE FEELING utterly peaceful. I lay still, without thought, listening to the thrum of blood through my veins, watching the drift of sunlit particles in the beam of light that fell through the half-opened shutters. Then I remembered, and flung myself over in bed, staring.
His eyes were closed, and his skin was the color of old ivory. His head was turned slightly away from me, so that the cords of his neck stood out, but I couldnt see any pulse in his throat. He was still warm, or at least the bedclothes were still warm. I sniffed the air, urgently. The room was fetid with the scent of onions and honey and fever-sweat, but no stink of sudden death.
I clapped a hand on the center of his chest, and he jerked, startled, and opened his eyes.
You bastard, I said, so relieved to feel the rise of his chest as he drew breath that my voice trembled. You tried to die on me, didnt you?
His chest rose and fell, rose and fell, under my hand, and my own heart jerked and shuddered, as though I had been pulled back at the last moment from an unexpected precipice.
