“While Miss MacKenzie does not wish to resume a marital position wi’ regard to you—an action which would be impossible in any case,” he added fairly, “unless ye should wish to divorce the present Mrs. Fraser, and remarry—”
“No, I dinna want to do that,” Jamie assured him hurriedly, with another glance at me.
“Well, in such case,” Ned went on, unruffled, “I should advise my clients that it is more desirable where possible to avoid the cost—and the publicity—” he added, cocking an invisible eyebrow in admonition to Hobart, who nodded hastily, “of a suit at law, with a public trial and its consequent exposure of facts. That being the case—”
“How much?” Jamie interrupted.
“Mr. Fraser!” Ned Gowan looked shocked. “I havena mentioned anything in the nature of a pecuniary settlement as yet—”
“Only because ye’re too busy enjoying yourself, ye wicked auld rascal,” Jamie said. He was irritated—a red patch burned over each cheekbone—but amused, too. “Get to it, aye?”
Ned Gowan inclined his head ceremoniously.
“Weel, ye must understand,” he began, “that a successful suit brought under the charges as described might result in Miss MacKenzie and her brother mulcting ye in substantial damages—verra substantial indeed,” he added, with a faint lawyerly gloating at the prospect.
“After all, Miss MacKenzie has not only been subject to public humiliation and ridicule leading to acute distress of mind, but is also threatened with loss of her chief means of support—”
“She isna threatened wi’ any such thing,” Jamie interrupted heatedly. “I told her I should go on supporting her and the two lassies! What does she think I am?”
Ned exchanged a glance with Hobart, who shook his head.
“Ye dinna want to know what she thinks ye are,” Hobart assured Jamie. “I wouldna have thought she kent such words, myself. But ye do mean to pay?”
Jamie nodded impatiently, rubbing his good hand through his hair.
“Aye, I will.”
“Only until she’s marrit again, though.” Everyone’s head turned in surprise toward Jenny, who nodded firmly to Ned Gowan.
“If Jamie’s married to Claire, the marriage between him and Laoghaire wasna valid, aye?”
The lawyer bowed.
“That is true, Mrs. Murray.”
“Well, then,” Jenny said, in a decided manner. “She’s free to marry again at once, is she no? And once she does, my brother shouldna be providing for her household.”
“An excellent point, Mrs. Murray.” Ned Gowan took up his quill and scratched industriously. “Well, we make progress,” he declared, laying it down again and beaming at the company. “Now, the next point to be covered…”
An hour later, the decanter of whisky was empty, the sheets of foolscap on the table were filled with Ned Gowan’s chicken-scratchings, and everyone lay limp and exhausted—except Ned himself, spry and bright-eyed as ever.
“Excellent, excellent,” he declared again, gathering up the sheets and tapping them neatly into order. “So—the main provisions of the settlement are as follows: Mr. Fraser agrees to pay to Miss MacKenzie the sum of five hundred pounds in compensation for distress, inconvenience, and the loss of his conjugal services”—Jamie snorted slightly at this, but Ned affected not to hear him, continuing his synopsis—“and in addition, agrees to maintain her household at the rate of one hundred pounds per annum, until such time as the aforesaid Miss MacKenzie may marry again, at which time such payment shall cease. Mr. Fraser agrees also to provide a bride-portion for each of Miss MacKenzie’s daughters, of an additional three hundred pounds, and as a final provision, agrees not to pursue a prosecution against Miss MacKenzie for assault with intent to commit murder. In return, Miss MacKenzie acquits Mr. Fraser of any and all other claims. This is in accordance with your understanding and consent, Mr. Fraser?” He quirked a brow at Jamie.
“Aye, it is,” Jamie said. He was pale from sitting up too long, and there was a fine dew of sweat at his hairline, but he sat straight and tall, the child still asleep in his lap, thumb firmly embedded in her mouth.
“Excellent,” Ned said again. He rose, beaming, and bowed to the company. “As our friend Dr. John Arbuthnot says, ‘Law is a bottomless pit.’ But not more so at the moment than my stomach. Is that delectable aroma indicative of a saddle of mutton in our vicinity, Mrs. Jenny?”
At table, I sat to one side of Jamie, Hobart MacKenzie to the other, now looking pink and relaxed. Mary MacNab brought in the joint, and by ancient custom, set it down in front of Jamie. Her gaze lingered on him a moment too long. He picked up the long, wicked carving knife with his good hand and offered it politely to Hobart.
“Will ye have a go at it, Hobart?” he said.
“Och, no,” Hobart said, waving it away. “Better let your wife carve it. I’m no hand wi’ a knife—likely cut my finger off instead. You know me, Jamie,” he said comfortably.
Jamie gave his erstwhile brother-in-law a long look over the saltcellar.
“Once I would ha’ thought, so, Hobart,” he said. “Pass me the whisky, aye?”
