Infatuation. It was common, among the nurses and the doctors, the nurses and the patients, among any gathering of people thrown for long periods into one another’s company.

Some acted on it, and brief, intense affairs were frequent. If they were lucky, the affair flamed out within a few months and nothing resulted from it. If they were not… well. Pregnancy, divorce, here and there the odd case of venereal disease. Dangerous thing, infatuation.

I had felt it, several times, but had had the good sense not to act on it. And as it always does, after a time the attraction had lessened, and the man lost his golden aura and resumed his usual place in my life, with no harm done to him, to me, or to Frank.

And now. Now I had been forced to act on it. And God only knew what harm might be done by that action. But there was no turning back from this point.

He lay at ease, sprawled on his stomach. The sun glinted off his red mane and lit the tiny soft hairs that crested his spine, running down to the reddish-gold fuzz that dusted his buttocks and thighs, and deepened into the thicket of soft auburn curls that showed briefly between his spread legs.

I sat up, admiring the long legs, with the smooth line of muscling that indented the thigh from hip to knee, and another that ran from knee to long, elegant foot. The bottoms of his feet were smooth and pink, slightly callused from going barefoot.

My fingers ached, wantingto trace the line of his small, neat ear and the blunt angle of his jaw. Well, I thought, the action had been taken, and it was far past the time for restraint. Nothing I did now could make matters worse, for either of us. I reached out and gently touched him.

He slept very lightly. With a suddenness that made me jump, he flipped over, bracing himself on his elbows as though to leap to his feet. Seeing me, he relaxed, smiling.

“Madam, you have me at a disadvantage.”

He made a very creditable courtly bow, for a man stretched at full length in a patch of ferns, wearing nothing but a few dappled splotches of sunlight, and I laughed. The smile stayed on his face, but it altered as he looked at me, naked in the ferns. His voice was suddenly husky.

“In fact, Madam, you have me at your mercy.”

“Have I, then?” I said softly.

He didn’t move, as I reached out once more and drew my hand slowly down his cheek and neck, over the gleaming slope of his shoulder, and down. He didn’t move, but he closed his eyes.

“Dear Holy Lord,” he said.

He drew his breath in sharply.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “It doesn’t have to be rough.”

“Thank God for small mercies.”

“Keep still.”

His fingers dug deeply into the crumbling earth, but he obeyed.

“Please,” he said after a time. Glancing up, I could see that his eyes were open now.

“No,” I said, enjoying myself. He closed his eyes again.

“You’ll pay for this,” he said a short time later. A fine dew of sweat shone on the straight bridge of his nose.

“Really?” I said. “What are you going to do?”

The tendons stood out in his forearms as he pressed his palms against the earth, and he spoke with an effort, as though his teeth were clenched.

“I don’t know, but… by Christ and St. Agnes… I will… th-think of s-something! God! Please!”

“All right,” I said, releasing him.

And I uttered a small shriek as he rolled onto me, pinning me against the ferns.

“Your turn,” he said, with considerable satisfaction.

We returned to the inn at sunset, pausing at the top of the hill to be sure that the horses of the Watch were no longer hobbled outside.

The inn looked welcoming, light already shining through the small windows, and through the chinks in the walls. The last of the sun glowed behind us as well, so that everything on the hillside threw a double shadow. The breeze rose with the cooling of the day, and the fluttering leaves of the trees made the multiple shadows dance on the grass. I could easily imagine that there were fairies on the hill, dancing with those shadows, threading their way through the slender trunks to blend into the depths of the wood.

“Dougal’s not back yet, either,” I observed as we came down the hill. The large black gelding he customarily rode was not in the inn’s small paddock. Several other beasts were missing as well; Ned Gowan’s for one.

“No, he shouldna come back for another day at least – maybe two.” Jamie offered me his arm and we descended the hill slowly, careful of the many rocks that poked through the short grass.

“Where on earth has he gone?” Caught in the rush of recent events, I had not thought to question his absence – or even to notice it.

Jamie handed me over the stile at the back of the inn.

“To do his business wi’ the cottars nearby. He’s got but a day or two before he’s supposed to produce you at the Fort, ye ken.” He squeezed my arm reassuringly. “Captain Randall willna be best pleased when Dougal tells him he’s not to have ye, and Dougal would as soon not linger in the area afterward.”

“Sensible of him,” I observed. “Also kind of him to leave us here to, er… get acquainted with each other.”

Jamie snorted. “Not kindness. That was one of the conditions I set for takin’ ye. I said I’d wed if I must, but damned if I’d consummate my marriage under a bush, wi’ twenty clansmen lookin’ on and offering advice.”

I stopped, staring at him. So that was what the shouting had been about.

“One of the conditions?” I said, slowly. “And what were the others?”

It was growing too dark to see his face clearly, but I thought he seemed embarrassed.

“Only two others,” he said finally.

“Which were?”

“Well,” he said, kicking a pebble diffidently out of the way, “I said ye must wed me proper, in kirk, before a priest. Not just by contract. As for the other – he must find ye a suitable gown to be wed in.” He looked away, avoiding my gaze, and his voice was so soft I could scarcely hear him.

“I – I knew ye didna wish to wed. I wanted to make it… as pleasant as might be for you. I thought ye might feel a bit less… well, I wanted ye to have a decent dress, is all.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but he turned away, toward the inn.

“Come along, Sassenach,” he said gruffly. “I’m hungry.”

The price of food was company, as was obvious from the moment of our appearance at the door of the inn’s main room. We were greeted by raucous cheers, and hurriedly pushed into seats at the table, where a hearty supper was already in progress.

Having been somewhat prepared this time, I didn’t mind the rough jests and crude remarks at our expense. For once, I was pleased to be modestly self-effacing, scrunching back into the corner and leaving Jamie to deal with the rough teasing and bawdy speculations about what we had been doing all day.

“Sleeping,” said Jamie, in answer to one question of this sort. “Didna catch a wink last night.” The roars of laughter that greeted this were topped by louder ones as he added in confidential tones, “She snores, ye ken.”

I obligingly cuffed his ear, and he gathered me to him and kissed me soundly, to general applause.

After supper there was dancing, to the accompaniment of the landlord’s fiddle. I had never been much of a dancer, being rather prone to trip over my own feet in times of stress. I scarcely expected that I would do better, attired in long skirts and clumsy footgear. Once I had shed the clogs, though, I was surprised to find that I danced with no difficulty and great enjoyment.

Women being in short supply, the innkeeper’s wife and I tucked up our skirts and danced jigs and reels and strathspeys without ceasing, until I had to stop and lean against the settle, red-faced and gasping for breath.

The men were absolutely indefatigable, whirling about like plaid tops, by themselves or with each other. Finally, they stood back against the wall, watching, cheering and clapping, as Jamie took both my hands and led me through something fast and frantic called “The Cock o’ the North.”