Free Drums of Autumn by Diana Gabaldon Page B

heavily, like the ghost of a crippled bear.
    The creek’s rushing masked most of the ordinary night sounds. I saw a bat blink through a patch of moonlight over the water, in pursuit of insects too small to see, and vanish into the night. If anything else lurked in the dark, it was quiet.
    Jamie grunted softly to himself.
    “Well, I’ve my doubts of the man,” he said, as though answering a question I hadn’t asked. “I must hope I’ve only been softhearted, and not softheaded, by helpin’ him.”
    “You couldn’t leave him to hang, after all,” I said.
    “Oh, aye, I could,” he said, surprising me. He saw me look up at him, and smiled, the wry twist of his mouth barely visible in the dark.
    “The Crown doesna always pick the wrong man to hang, Sassenach,” he said. “More often than not, the man on the end of a rope deserves to be there. And I shouldna like to think I’ve helped a villain to go free.” He shrugged, and shoved his hair back out of his face.
    “Aye, well, it’s done. Go and have your bath, Sassenach; I’ll come to ye so soon as I may.”
    I stood on tiptoe to kiss him, and felt him smile as I did so. My tongue touched his mouth in delicate invitation, and he bit my lower lip gently, in answer.
    “Can ye stay awake a wee bit longer, Sassenach?”
    “As long as it takes,” I assured him. “But do hurry, won’t you?”
----
    There was a patch of thick grass edging the point below the willows. I undressed slowly, enjoying the feel of the water-borne breeze through the damp cloth of shift and stockings, and the final freedom as the last bits of clothing fell to the ground, leaving me naked to the night.
    I stepped gingerly into the water. It was surprisingly cool—cold, by contrast to the hot night air. The bottom under my feet was mostly silt, but it yielded to fine sand within a yard of shore.
    Though it was a tidal creek, we were far enough upstream that the water was fresh and sweet. I drank and splashed my face, washing away the dust in throat and nose.
    I waded in up to mid-thigh, mindful of Jamie’s cautions about channels and currents. After the staggering heat of the day and the smothering embrace of the night, the sensation of coolness on bare skin was an overwhelming relief. I cupped handfuls of cold water and splashed them on my face and breasts; the droplets ran down my stomach and tickled coldly between my legs.
    I could feel the slight push of the tide coming in, shoving gently against my calves, urging me toward shore. I wasn’t ready to come in yet, though. I had no soap, but knelt and rinsed my hair over and over in the clear dark water, and scrubbed my body with handfuls of fine sand, until my skin felt thin and glowing.
    Finally, I climbed out onto a rocky shelf and lay languid as a mermaid in the moonlight, the heat of the air and the sun-warmed stone now a comfort to my chilled body. I combed out my thick curly hair with my fingers, scattering drops of water. The wet stone smelled like rain, dusty and tingling.
    I felt very tired, but at the same time, very much alive, in that state of half consciousness where thought is slowed and small physical sensations magnified. I moved my bare foot slowly over the sandstone rock, enjoying the slight friction, and ran a hand lightly down the inside of my thigh, a ripple of goose bumps rising in the wake of my touch.
    My breasts rose in the moonlight, cool white domes spangled with clear droplets. I brushed one nipple and watched it slowly stiffen by itself, rising as if by magic.
    Quite a magical place at that, I thought. The night was quiet and still, but with a languid atmosphere that was like floating in a warm sea. So near the coast, the sky was clear, and the stars shone overhead like diamonds, burning with a fierce, bright light.
    A faint splash made me look toward the stream. Nothing moved on the surface but faint coruscations of starlight, caught like fireflies in a spider’s web.
    As I watched, a great head broke