Chapter Text
My heart stopped to see him. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and straight-backed atop a large sorrel horse, red and gold as an autumn leaf with a green-and-brown plaid thrown negligently across his shoulder and affixed with a running stag broach that I recognized all too well.
He grinned, a flash of white teeth in that wide, sensuous mouth, slanted blue eyes sparkling and I was in Scotland again. At Leoch. At Lallybroch. At Preston and Falkirk, and Culloden. Fifty years fell away in an instant and I was falling in love again with a young warrior that I never should have met, and it was all beginning again.
Then, with a brush of wind and the sound of birdsong, those years returned in a rush with all the pain, loneliness, and the wondrous, bitter joy of them and I grinned back at my grandson.
“Hello, Darling,” I said, lifting my cheek for him to lean down and kiss once he swung down from the saddle to stand beside me. “And how was Salem?” He and Germaine had left for the Moravian settlement a week before. Germaine was not with him, but I thought he had probably gone straight back to his new wife, Frances, before looking in on Jamie and I.
“Salem was just fine, Granny,” he said, laying a hand on my shoulder. “Your soaps fetched a fine price, and I was able to get everything you asked for, and a gift for Mandy’s birthday besides.”
“Oh?” I said, interested. Mandy would turn thirteen the next day, and Bree, Rachel, Amy, and I had been cooking up a storm in preparation.
“Aye, see here.” He opened the saddle bag he’d been holding and withdrew a wooden device for my perusal.
It was a small wooden dulcimer, painted fancifully with birds. Thrushes, I realized, drawing my spectacles from my pocket to fully appreciate the item.
Mandy, in addition to her father’s dark colouring, had inherited his musical gift. She had a lovely voice, sweet as a songbird, and her interest in learning to play had finally forced Roger (who had avoided it for years) to pick up his guitar and bodhran again.
“It’s wonderful, darling!” I cried, completely honestly. I glanced at him from under my lashes, however, shrewedly assessing. “And was your time in Salem spent entirely in buying and selling then?” I asked, keeping my voice as innocent as possible.
Jem’s eyes narrowed at me. “Da and Granda sent me with a mission. What else might I spend my time doing, Grandmother?”
“Nothing at all, I’m quite sure. You’re such a dedicated lad. Is the Holst family well? Miss Miriam in particular?”
Jemmy’s ears flamed and I grinned up at him in delight. The growing romance between our Jeremiah and the lovely Miss Holst had been a topic of teasing (by his cousins and siblings) and interest (among his parents, aunts, uncles, and grandparents) for months.
Jem made a Scottish noise in the back of his throat, and with a narrow blue glare at me, snatched the dulcimer from my hands, shoved it back into its bag, and stalked away toward the stable.