Luceo Non Uro || Outlander

Chapter 13

Marsali

I woke late the next morning with a pounding headache. The consequences of my sins the night before, no doubt. 

"Fergus," I groaned from the bed.

"Marsali?" his voice was raspy from sleep, and his jaw was stubbled from not having shaved yet. Even in my wretched state, I could not help but admire him. Admiration quickly turned into something else.

"Fetch the bucket, I think I'm going to be sick," I covered my mouth until I could retch into the bucket. Fergus rubbed my back until it passed.

"You're not..." he began, with the hint of a question.

"Don't be daft, ye fool, it's just the drink." I slumped back against the wall and tried to breathe. His eyes lowered and I could see his fingers working at the straps holding his wooden hand in place. I could not help but share in his disappointment.

"Maman," Germain crawled into bed beside me. "Do I have hair ticks?" He pushed his mop of brown hair under my nose to examine.  I used what little energy I could muster to pretend to check, and assured him he was safe from Uncle Roger's hair ticks.

"Leave your maman alone, Germain, she's not feeling well today." Fergus hoisted the boy up over his shoulders. "How about we go see grand-père instead?"

"Oui, Papa." 

"You stay here with Joan and rest, I'd better go check in on the Big House and the still. That whiskey last night was awful, I'll make some that will be the best in the colonies," Fergus beamed. 

The thought of whiskey made my stomach churn again, but I managed a weak smile, "I'm sure you will. Go on then," he kissed me and departed with my oldest child, leaving me with Joan who was still sound asleep in her cradle.

Despite the full-body exhaustion that I felt from last night's festivities, I made an effort to get up and see that my house was in good working order. The garden needed tending, and the floors needed a good sweep. That work kept me busy until late afternoon, when Fergus found me in the kitchen preparing an early supper, the first meal I could think about stomaching. 

I could tell right away that he was filled with the anxious energy I had grown accustomed to since our move into the cabin. He paced, and seemed about to speak every time we exchanged a glance.

"What is it now, Fergus?"

"I think something is happening." I put my knife down and leaned back against the counter, waiting for more. "Milord had a conversation with the Governor before he left."

"My love, I need more explanation than that. What's happening?" He chewed his lip until he finally answered.

"Milord has to hunt Murtagh."

I nearly laughed, but the grave look on Fergus' face made me reconsider. "Hunt him? He was here last night lurking about the woods."

At this, Fergus snickered. "We ran into him out there in those woods. Leaving Jocasta's tent," he raised an eyebrow at me. I was shocked. Murtagh and Jocasta? The two pieces of news were too much to bear.

"One thing at a time, we'll discuss Murtagh later. What does this mean for Daddy?"

"I'm not sure. But he took his kilt out of the chest he brought from Scotland. I think something is coming."

"And will you... join him?" my face paled, and I felt as though I might be sick again. I had not minded when Fergus was running around with Murtagh and the Regulators in Wilmington, or even hunting that scoundrel Bonnet, but a manhunt for Murtagh through the backcountry of an unknown land terrified me. Tryon was no idiot; it would not take much digging to reveal Jamie's, or Fergus', connection to the wanted traitor.

"If Milord asks me to, I must." Fergus tapped his wooden hand against his thigh. "I owe him my life."

"Do you want to join him?" I asked, changing the question. His blue eyes locked onto mine.

"Yes. I do." And so it was settled. Fergus would give Jamie the answer he could not give Murtagh months ago in Wilmington.

I wrapped my arms around Fergus' neck. He was hesitant to return the embrace. I felt the hard wood of his hand press into my back, a bleak reminder of the risk he faced taking up arms with the Redcoats, when his sentiments lied elsewhere.

"So what was this about Murtagh and Jocasta?" 

Fergus let out a laugh from deep in his throat. "The sly old fox. I thought Murtagh was dead and gone for a long time, and now here he is pestering Redcoats and sneaking around with women like a thief in the night. Some things never change," he tutted.

"I thought Jocasta was with Ulysses."

"Ulysses? What makes you say that?" Fergus shot me a puzzled look. I rolled my eyes. I thought their connection was quite obvious.

"They're always together."

"Well, naturally. She's blind and needs assistance."

"Mhmm. Anyone could assist the woman. But there's something between her and Ulysses. You don't spend a life with someone, learn everything about them-- their mannerisms, their habits-- and not feel something."

"I do not know, my love, this seems like a bold claim."

"I saw her touching him," I blurted out.

"Marsali, she's blind," he chuckled again at what I realized sounded insane.

"She was feeling him. Not just using his arm as a guide."

"I think you're still feeling the effects of the drink. Why don't you go lie down?" I stuck my tongue out at Fergus. I was convinced I was right.

"I thought you Frenchmen were supposed to be more attuned to romance. Clearly you still have a lot to learn." Fergus chased me into the bedroom and wrapped his arms around me. We toppled onto the bed together. I let out a shriek that startled Germain and Joan.

Germain climbed onto the bed and clung to Fergus' back. "Get him, Germain," I cheered him on. Fergus pretended to struggle under the boy's weight. 

"Papa, no more wrestling with maman." Fergus and I exchanged a knowing glance that made me blush scarlet. Germain was getting too old to share a room with us. Fergus' next project would have to be sorting out the bairns' room and putting a lock on our bedroom door.