A Voice from the Past

Chapter 13: Proof Positive

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Jamie's eyes were on fire when he met up with me in our bedroom. It didn't take an Einstein to predict that a lecture from Fraser, the Omnipotent, was ready to proceed from his mouth. Perhaps I should've stayed with the British dragoons!

He stood there with arms akimbo, glaring at me. "Stars and stones, ye left the safety o' Leoch to go traipsin' 'bout in an enemy encampment."

Unhitching my skirt, I let it fall hastily to the floor. "Yes, I went to Randall's camp. I couldn't very well let the man die of a bloody fever when I had the means to treat him. And for your information, the British are not my enemy. They're my countrymen."

He pulled off his bandoleer, and tossed his weapons aside, clearly frustrated with my actions. "Och ... but ye didna care to think on the danger o' itall. Supposin' he was puttin' on and didna have a fever, but said as much to get ye in his clutches, aye? What then?"

"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! It was Hawkins that came to get me. Now I ask, would that man harm a fly? He is perfectly trustworthy, I assure you. The corporal was appalled at the way Randall treated me in the past. Why would he lie about this? I don't believe that man has a deceitful bone in his entire body."

"Weel, that may be so, but—"

Sighing, I put up a finger to stop his blathering, and offered, "There's something else I need to tell you, if you're through with your tirade. I think maybe I was right in my assumption that it wasn't the captain whom I initially saw after the melee with the deserters. And it wasn't Randall who visited here the other day, nor he who fell ill at the encampment."

"Are ye sayin' as it's Frank, then?"

"It seems that way. I just don't know, Jamie. I tried to rationalize it to myself—that the man was in a fever-induced delirium, but today, he straight out told me that he was my husband, Frank. That, in itself, should clarify—in my mind at least—that this is not a delusional state on his part, but is in fact, reality."

"So, ye're tellin' me ye're convinced as Black Jack is bein' impersonated by yer ... husband?"

"Yes, I suppose I am."

Jamie sat down gingerly on the bed, a worried frown on his face. "That bein' the case, where is the real Black Jack?"

"How should I know? Perhaps he's dead, or captured and imprisoned somewhere."

"No bluidy likely. It may be as Black Jack sent Frank here to set me at ease, so's he could trick me into fallin' into a trap, and haul me back to Wentworth. Supposin' he ordered this Corporal Hawkins to lie to yer face, to entice ye to come to him?"

I shook my head, "No, I could tell he wasn't lying."

He leaned over, tugging off his boots, then gazed up at me. "I didna mean to scold ye, Lass. I'm only worrit 'bout yer safety, ye ken. That man is capable o' any number o' diabolical acts."

I pulled off my stockings, and groaned, "Let's not talk about this anymore. I'm tired, and I want to go to bed."

Jamie stood up, and wiggling his fingers, spouted, "Aye, me as weel, but no to sleep. Turn 'bout, Sassenach, and I'll undo yer laces."

"Oh, Jamie ... I am undone every time you're near me."

Smirking, he added, "Good."

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