The body that pressed against my own with mounting urgency was the same from the neck down, but the face was a stranger’s, a Viking marauder’s. Besides the beard that transformed his face, he smelled unfamiliar, his own sweat overlaid with rancid cooking oil, spilled beer, and the reek of harsh perfume and unfamiliar spices.
I let go, and took a step back.
“Shouldn’t you dress?” I asked. “Not that I don’t enjoy the scenery,” I added, blushing despite myself. “I—er…I think I like the beard. Maybe,” I added doubtfully, scrutinizing him.
“I don’t,” he said frankly, scratching his jaw. “I’m crawling wi’ lice, and it itches like a fiend.”
“Eew!” While I was entirely familiar with
He grinned at me, white teeth startling in the auburn beard.
“Dinna fash yourself, Sassenach,” he assured me. “I’ve already sent for a razor and hot water.”
“Really? It seems rather a pity to shave it off right away.” Despite the lice, I leaned forward to peer at his hirsute adornment. “It’s like your hair, all different colors. Rather pretty, really.”
I touched it, warily. The hairs were odd; thick and wiry, very curly, in contrast to the soft thick smoothness of the hair on his head. They sprang exuberantly from his skin in a profusion of colors; copper, gold, amber, cinnamon, a roan so deep as almost to be black. Most startling of all was a thick streak of silver that ran from his lower lip to the line of his jaw.
“That’s funny,” I said, tracing it. “You haven’t any white hairs on your head, but you have right here.”
“I have?” He put a hand to his jaw, looking startled, and I suddenly realized that he likely had no idea what he looked like. Then he smiled wryly, and bent to pick up the pile of discarded clothes from the floor.
“Aye, well, little wonder if I have; I wonder I’ve not gone white-haired altogether from the things I’ve been through this month.” He paused, eyeing me over the wadded white breeches.
“And speaking of that, Sassenach, as I was saying to ye in the trees—”
“Yes, speaking of that,” I interrupted. “What in the name of God did you
“Oh, the soldiers, ye mean?” He scratched his chin meditatively. “Well, it was simple enough. I told the soldiers that as soon as the ship was launched, we’d gather everyone on deck, and at my signal, they were to fall on the crew and push them into the hold.” A broad grin blossomed through the foliage. “Only Fergus had mentioned it to the crew, ye see; so when each soldier came aboard, two of the crewmen snatched him by the arms while a third gagged him, bound his arms, and took away his weapons. Then we pushed all of
“Right,” I said, exhaling. “And as for just how you happened to be here in the first place…”
At this juncture we were interrupted by a discreet knock on the cabin’s door.
“Mr. Fraser? Er…Captain, I mean?” Maitland’s angular young face peered round the jamb, cautious over a steaming bowl. “Mr. Murphy’s got the galley fire going, and here’s your hot water, with his compliments.”
“Mr. Fraser will do,” Jamie assured him, taking the tray with bowl and razor in one hand. “A less seaworthy captain doesna bear thinking of.” He paused, listening to the thump of feet above our heads.
“Though since I
“Yes, sir, that’s one thing a captain does,” Maitland said. He added helpfully, “The captain also says when the hands are to have extra rations of food and grog.”
“I see.” The upward curl of Jamie’s mouth was still visible, beard notwithstanding. “Tell me, Maitland—how much d’ye think the hands can drink and still sail the ship?”
“Oh, quite a lot, sir,” Maitland said earnestly. His brow wrinkled in thought. “Maybe—an extra double ration all round?”
Jamie lifted one eyebrow. “Of brandy?”
“Oh, no, sir!” Maitland looked shocked. “Grog. If it was to be brandy, only an extra half-ration, or they’d be rolling in the bilges.”
“Double grog, then.” Jamie bowed ceremoniously to Maitland, unhampered by the fact that he was still completely unclad. “Make it so, Mr. Maitland. And the ship will not lift anchor until I have finished my supper.”
“Yes, sir!” Maitland bowed back; Jamie’s manners were catching. “And shall I desire the Chinee to attend you directly after the anchor is weighed?”
“Somewhat before that, Mr. Maitland, thank ye kindly.”
Maitland was turning to leave, with a last admiring glance at Jamie’s scars, but I stopped him.
“One more thing, Maitland,” I said.
“Oh, yes, mum?”
“Will you go down to the galley and ask Mr. Murphy to send up a bottle of his strongest vinegar? And then find where the men have put some of my medicines, and fetch them as well?”
