The Recalcitrant Wife

Chapter 8: A Refuge of Sorts

"There—all done." I held up the last suture in my forceps, to show Jamie, then dropped it in an earthen bowl with the rest of the silken threads. Wiping the suture line with a swab soaked in alcohol, I re-wrapped his leg, winding the bandage so that it covered the whole of the appendage.

Jamie's brows knit together. "Ye told me it was healed, Sassenach. Why do I havta stomp 'bout with my leg trussed op like a mummy?"

"I am not taking any chances of that wound opening, so you'll just have to bear with it."

He made one of those rude Scottish noises, and rolled those beautiful lake-blue eyes.

Jenny entered the room, carrying a tray of breakfast. "It'd be wise o' ye to listen to yer wife. I dinna think she'd steer ye wrong."

"I am listenin', that's no to say as I like what I'm hearin', mind."

"Weel, ye'd best eat op. Young Ian and Fergus have gone to fetch Murtagh, so we can decide what's to be done with the lot o' ye."

"Good. Murtagh will have some grand ideas."

It was my turn to give him an eye roll. "Perish the thought."

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"Are ye daft, lad? Ye canna bring a pregnant woman to live wi' ye in a dark, and might I add, cold cave."

"Tell that to my wife. It wasna my idea."

Murtagh, scratched at his beard. "Ne'er be it said as yer wife were a shrinkin' violet."

"Nay. So what say ye? Will ye help us?"

My godfather jumped op from the settle, clearly insulted. "What? Ye're an affront to my honor. D'ye suppose ye havta ask for my help? Ye ken as I'd lay down my life for ye, Jamie."

"I'm sorry to have offended yer sensibilities."

"Weel, be that as it may, I ken as The Watch might weel be suspicious, so it's best as ye'd be gone from this place. We'll need a story to explain why Claire here, is nay longer lodgin' here tho'."

"The Watch doesn't know much about me, so I imagine it could be said that some relatives in Edinburgh came and whisked me away."

Ian chimed, "That sounds reasonable enough. It would seem as she'd be more comfortable amongst her own kin."

Murtagh rubbed his brow wi' two fingers. "So, if that's settled, I'll see 'bout hirin' a boat to take ye to the Isle o' Skye. I doubt as the Sassenachs—beggin' yer pardon, Claire—or The Watch will follow ye there. It'd be too much o' a nuisance to be toolin' 'bout searchin' out one man, I expect."

"Should we leave t'day, d'ye think?" I asked.

"Aye. Nay tellin' when those filthy ruffians will show their ugly mugs agin."

Ian leaned forward in his chair, interjectin', "We can see as ye have blankets and such, sufficient for yer stay. It wouldna do to have ye found half-frozen on the hill."

My sister added, "Or starved ... I'll pack op enough victuals to last two days or so. Will that be enough to tide them o'er 'til ye can return wi' good news?"

With a shrug, Murtagh answered, "I canna say for sure. I'll do my best."

Fergus, not to be discounted, supplied, "Young Ian and I can bring you more if need be, père."

Clappin' my hands, I declared, "All right then." I picked op Ian's crutches, ready to begin the packin' when Claire scolded, "And where, pray tell, do you think you're going?"