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; screwworm larvae had two. The lines were faint, invisible to the naked eye, but very important. Blow-fly maggots ate carrion, and only carrion-dead, 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 maggot's 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 I'd been holding, I relaxed.
"Congratulations, Da," Brianna said, moving to Jamie's side. He opened one eye, which passed with a marked lack of enthusiasm down Brianna's 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 band, revealing a misshapen blob of metal-a squashed rifle-ball. "The maggots were in a wound in the hindquarters-I dug this out of the hole behind them."
I laughed, as much from relief as from amusement.
"Jamie! You shot it in the arse?"
Jamie's mouth twitched a little. ying to turn the herd
11 didna think I'd hit it at all," he said. "I was only tr
ar Fergus." He reached up a slow hand and took the ball, rolling it gently een his fingers. I luck Brianna said, She spoke ligh'dY, "Maybe you should keep it for goo( "Or to bite on while t I could see the fiirrow between her invisible brows.
ama,s 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 his head, marked with overlapping crescents-the deep imprints of Jamie's th. She glanced at me, appalled. I lifted one shoulder slightly. I had spent
), and it hadn't been easy on re than an hour cleaning the wound in his leg,
r of us. . From the corner of my I cleared my throat, and turned back to the maggots
c, I saw Bree lay the back of her hand gently against Jamie's check. He ned his head and kissed her knuckles, blood notwithstanding.
"Dinna fash, lassie," he said. His voice was faint, but steady- "I'm fine."
I opened my mouth to say something, but caught sight of Bree's face and bit tongue instead. She'd been working hard, and still had Jemmy and Roger care for; she needn't worry for Jamie, too-not yet-
I dropped the maggots into a small bowl of sterile water and swished them idly round, then dumped them back on the bed of wet leaves.
c4it won't hurt," I said to Jamie, trying to reassure myself as much as him"Oh, aye," he said, with an unbecoming cynicism. 'I've heard that one before."
"Actually, she's 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 father's shoulder, dreamily sucking his thumb, Roger came over to the table to look down at Jamie.
"How is it, manP" he said quietly.
Jamie moved his head on the pillow, dismissive of discomfort.
"I'll do." amie's shoulder in a brief "That's good.- To my surprise, Roger grasped J
gesture of comfort. I'd never seen him do that before, and once more I wondered just what had passed between them on the mountain.
buffalo tea-for him," a--or rather,
"Marsali's bringing up some beef te
be you'd best be having looked at me. "May
Roger said, frowning slightly as he some, too."
"Good idea," I said. I closed my eyes briefly and took a deep breath.
my feet since the early only when I sat down did I realize that I had been on Id feel legs, and I cou
morning. Pain outlined every bone in my feet and s before. Duty called, the ache where I had broken my left tibia, a few year
though. struggling back to my feet. "Well, time and tide wait for no maggot," I said,
"Best get on with it." d, his long body relucJamie gave a small snort and stretched, then relaxe
794 Diana Gabaldon
tantly 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.
"You'll not need that," Roger said. He pulled up another stool and sat down. "It's true what she said, the wee beasts don't hurt."
Jamie snorted again, and Roger grinned at him.
"Mind," he said, "they tickle something fierce. That's only if ye think about it, though. If ye can keep all thought of them out of your mind, why, there's nothing to it."
Jamie eyed him.
"Ye're 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 Jamie's arms. The little boy uttered a small squawk of surprise, then relaxed as Jamie's arms tightened about him in reflex. One chubby hand swung free, seeking anchorage, then found it.
"Hot," he murmured, smiling beatifically. Fist twined in Jamie's ruddy hair, he sighed deeply and went soundly to sleep on his grandfather's 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 Jemmy's silk-bright hair, and closed his own eyes, though the tenseness in his features was a marked contrast to the rounded peace of Jemmy's.
It couldn't have been easier; I simply lifted away the fresh onion poultice, and tucked the maggots one by one into the ulcerated slashmarks on Jamie's 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 didn't look round at him, too intent on my delicate work. "Leeches are very effective," I said. "Though your rather crude knifework may have been useffil, too-you 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 swellin
9 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 remaining-infection, gangrene, sloughing-but nonetheless, my heart grew lighter. It was recognizably Jamie's leg.
I pinched another maggot just behind the head with my forceps, carefill 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 provided-trying to ignore the nastily spongy feel of the flesh under my fingers, and my memory of Aaron Beardsley's 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
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as nothing more to do but wait. The saucer of wet leaves rattled against the )unter as I set it down.
I didn't think I had ever been so tired before.
CHoiCES
ETwEEN THEM, Roger and Mr. Bug got Jamie up to our bedroom. I hadn't 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, en I protested. He smiled at me. "Ye should be in your bed-but I ken ye na leave me alone, and so that means I must go and be in it, too, aye?"
I would have argued ffirther, but in all truth, I was so tired that I wouldn't ave complained much if he had insisted we both sleep in the barn.
Once he was settled, though, my doubts returned.
"I'll joggle your leg," I said, hanging up my gown on one of the pegs. "I'll Just make up a pallet by the fire here, and-"
-You will not," he said definitely. "Ye'll sleep wi' me." He lay back on the osed, his hair an auburn tumble against the linen. His skin had pillows, eyes c1 so red. it was, however7 alarmingly pale where :begun to fade; it wasn't quite
the tiny hemorrhages didn't stain it.
"You would argue on your deathbed," I said crossly. "You don't bave to be till and let other people take care Xonstantly in charge, you know. You could lie s happen, if-"
of things, for once. What do you think would
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?" ation that he
I stopped and drew breath, terribly disconcerted at the realiz ything I was right. Caught up in the emergency and worry of his condition, ever
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.
And 1-1 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
796 Diana Gabaldon
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 strength-and 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 Aith a faint sme 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 tile 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, Jamie's 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 Jay turned away from me, on his side, and I turned toward him, echoing the curve of his body,%vith my own, careful not to touch him.
I lay very quietly, listening. All the house sounds had settled to their nighttime 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. Wemyss's 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 didn't 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 didn't 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 me-but 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 shirtcovered back, and breathed in, slow and deep. I could feel the warmth of him on my face, but couldn't 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.
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I inhaled again, testing the air. No scent of Pus. TOO early for the smelt of grene, even if the rot was beginning, invisible under the bandages. I ught there was a strange scent about his skin, though; something I hadn't Iled before. Necrosis of the tissue? Some breakdown product of the snake's m? I blew a short breath through my nose and took in a fresh one, deeper.
0
'Do I stink verra badly?" he inquired.
"Uk!" I said, startled into biting my tongue, and he quivered slightly, in at I took to be suppressed amusement.
"Ye sound like a wee truffle-pig, Sassena
c h, s n o r t lienngdaewr ap obta coin trhneyr e.
"Oh, indeed," I said, a bit crossly. I touched the tongueWell, at least you're 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 tly on his side, arid he let his breath out in a sound like a small moan.
4Like a pile of moldy tripes he said, and pausing to breathe heavily, ed, with maggots." as I said it, I felt a -You'd joke on your deathbed, wouldn't you?' Even
mor of unease. He would, and I hoped this wasn't it.
ed sounding drowsy. "But I'm no "Well, I'll try, Sassenach," he murmur
at my best under the circumstances."
"Do you hurt much?" were in fact too ex"No. I'm just ... tired." He sounded as though he by default. usted to search for the proper word, and had settled for that one
"Little wonder if you are. I'll go and sleep somewhere else, so you can rest." made to throw back the covers and rise, but he stopped me, raising one hand tly.
"No. No, dinna leave me." His shoulder fell back toward me, and he tried to his head from the pillow. I felt still more uneasy when I realized that he was weak even to turn over by himself. hair, though. I don't "I won't leave you. Maybe I should sleep in the c
-want to--" "I'm verra cold." "I'm cold," he said softly.
I pressed my fingers lightly just under his breastbone, seeking the big, abrl.,dorninal pulse. His heartbeat was rapid, shallower than it should have been. He il';, the touch, his skin (wasn't feverish. He didn't just feet cold, he was cold to
chilled and his fingers icy. I found that very alarming.
shy) I cuddled close against him, my breasts squashing sOft1Y No longer g on his shoulder blade - I concentrated as hard as I III against his back, cheek restin skin and
1', could on generating body heat, trying to radiate warmth through MY
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, was, I could do no more than cling to and could do the same for him now; as it e same effect.
him Re a small, fierce mustard plaster, and hope I had th ped MY Very gently, I found the hem of his shirt and pulled it up, then cup
hands to fit the rounds of his buttocks. They tightened slightly in surprise, then relaxed. must lay hands on him, but I It occurred to me to wonder just why I felt I
798 Diana Gabaldon
didn't trouble my mindArith it; I had had the feeling many times bef
ore, and had long since given up worrying that it wasn't 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 venemous, its nature inf
ectious. A s%rift bite and the snake's 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 couldn't 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 Jamie's 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, reach ing down and under, seeking the heart of his heat in the center of his being.
Then I was moving-or we were moving together, One hand reached down between as, 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 couldn't 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.
The Fiery Cross 799
u bastard," I said, so relieved to feel the rise of his chest as he drew
4'Y0
ca that my voice trembled. "You tried to die on me, didn't you)"
4His chest rose and fell, rose and fell, under my hand, and my own heart d and shuddered, as though I had been pulled back at the last moment expected precipice -
m an un
He blinked at me. His eyes were heavy,