Free Virgins: An Outlander Novella by Diana Gabaldon

number of new and interesting acquaintances. When he opened his eyes some time later, Ian and Rebekah were gone.
    At one point he heard Ian give a sort of strangled cry and wondered dimly what had happened, but it didn’t seem important, and the thought drifted away. He slept.
    —
    He woke feeling limp as a frostbitten cabbage leaf, but the pain in his head was gone. He just lay there for a bit, enjoying the feeling. It was dark in the room, and it was some time before he realized from the smell of brandy that Ian was lying beside him.
    Memory came back to him. It took a little while to disentangle the real memories from the memory of dreams, but he was quite sure he’d seen Ian embracing Rebekah—and her, him. What the devil had happened
then
?
    Ian wasn’t asleep; he could tell. His friend lay rigid as one of the tomb figures in the crypt at Saint Denis, and his breathing was rapid and shaky, as though he’d just run a mile uphill. Jamie cleared his throat, and Ian jerked as though stabbed with a brooch pin.
    “Aye, so?” he whispered, and Ian’s breathing stopped abruptly. He swallowed audibly.
    “If ye breathe a word of this to your sister,” he said in an impassioned whisper, “I’ll stab ye in your sleep, cut off your heid, and kick it to Arles and back.”
    Jamie didn’t want to think about his sister, and he did want to hear about Rebekah, so he merely repeated, “Aye. So?”
    Ian made a small grunting noise, indicative of thinking how best to begin, and turned over in his plaid, facing Jamie.
    “Aye, well. Ye raved a bit about the naked she-devils ye were havin’ it away with, and I didna think the lass should have to be hearing that manner o’ thing, so I said we should go into the other room, and—”
    “Was this before or after ye started kissing her?” Jamie asked.
    Ian inhaled strongly through his nose. “After,” he said tersely. “And she was kissin’ me back, aye?”
    “Aye, I noticed that. So then…?” He could feel Ian squirming slowly, like a worm on a hook, but Jamie waited. It often took Ian a moment to find words, but it was usually worth waiting for. Certainly in this instance.
    He was a little shocked—and frankly envious—and he did wonder what might happen when the lass’s affianced discovered she wasn’t a virgin, but he supposed the man might not find out; she seemed a clever lass. It might be wise to leave D’Eglise’s troop, though, and head south, just in case…
    “D’ye think it hurts a lot to be circumcised?” Ian asked suddenly.
    “I do. How could it not?” His hand sought out his own member, protectively rubbing a thumb over the bit in question. True, it wasn’t a very big bit, but…
    “Well, they do it to wee bairns,” Ian pointed out. “Canna be that bad, can it?”
    “Mmphm,” Jamie said, unconvinced, though fairness made him add, “Aye, well, and they did it to Christ, too.”
    “Aye?” Ian sounded startled. “Aye, I suppose so—I hadna thought o’ that.”
    “Well, ye dinna think of Him bein’ a Jew, do ye? But He was, to start.”
    There was a momentary, meditative silence before Ian spoke again.
    “D’ye think Jesus ever did it? Wi’ a lass, I mean, before he went to preachin’?”
    “I think Père Renault’s goin’ to have ye for blasphemy, next thing.”
    Ian twitched, as though worried that the priest might be lurking in the shadows.
    “Père Renault’s nowhere near here, thank God.”
    “Aye, but ye’ll need to confess yourself to him, won’t ye?”
    Ian shot upright, clutching his plaid around him.
    “What?”
    “Ye’ll go to hell, else, if ye get killed,” Jamie pointed out, feeling rather smug. There was moonlight through the window and he could see Ian’s face drawn in anxious thought, his deep-set eyes darting right and left from Scylla to Charybdis. Suddenly Ian turned his head toward Jamie, having spotted the possibility of an open channel between the threats of hell and Père Renault.
    “I’d only go