Virgins: An Outlander Novella Read Online Free PDF Page A

thoughts and, closing his eyes briefly, felt his father walk beside him and Brian Fraser’s last kiss soft as the wind on his cheek.
    —
    They reached Bordeaux just before sunset, and D’Eglise took the wagon off with a small guard, leaving the other men free to explore the delights of the city—though such exploration was somewhat constrained by the fact that they hadn’t yet been paid. They’d get their money after the goods were delivered next day.
    Ian, who’d been in Bordeaux before, led the way to a large, noisy tavern with drinkable wine and large portions.
    “The barmaids are pretty, too,” he observed, as he stood watching one of these creatures wend her way deftly through a crowd of groping hands.
    “Is it a brothel upstairs?” Jamie asked, out of curiosity, having heard a few stories.
    “I dinna ken,” Ian said, with what sounded like regret, though Jamie was almost sure he’d never been to a brothel, out of a mixture of penury and fear of catching the pox. “D’ye want to go and find out later?”
    Jamie hesitated.
    “I—well. No, I dinna think so.” He turned his face toward Ian and spoke very quietly. “I promised Da I wouldna go wi’ whores, when I went to Paris. And now…I couldna do it without…thinkin’ of him, ken?”
    Ian nodded, his face showing as much relief as disappointment.
    “Time enough another day,” he said philosophically, and signaled for another jug. The barmaid didn’t see him, though, and Jamie snaked out a long arm and tugged at her apron. She whirled, scowling, but seeing Jamie’s face, wearing its best blue-eyed smile, chose to smile back and take the order.
    Several other men from D’Eglise’s band were in the tavern, and this byplay didn’t pass unnoticed.
    Juanito, at a nearby table, glanced at Jamie, raised a derisive eyebrow, then said something to Raoul in the Jewish sort of Spanish they called Ladino; both men laughed.
    “You know what causes warts, friend?” Jamie said pleasantly—in biblical Hebrew. “Demons inside a man, trying to emerge through the skin.” He spoke slowly enough that Ian could follow this, and Ian in turn broke out laughing—as much at the looks on the two Jews’ faces as at Jamie’s remark.
    Juanito’s lumpy face darkened, but Raoul looked sharply at Ian, first at his face, then, deliberately, at his crotch. Ian shook his head, still grinning, and Raoul shrugged but returned the smile, then took Juanito by the arm, tugging him off in the direction of the back room, where dicing was to be found.
    “What did you say to him?” the barmaid asked, glancing after the departing pair, then looking back wide-eyed at Jamie. “And what tongue did you say it in?”
    Jamie was glad to have the wide brown eyes to gaze into; it was causing his neck considerable strain to keep his head from tilting farther down in order to gaze into her décolletage. The charming hollow between her breasts drew the eye…
    “Oh, nothing but a little
bonhomie,
” he said, grinning down at her. “I said it in Hebrew.” He wanted to impress her, and he did, but not the way he’d meant to. Her half smile vanished, and she edged back a little.
    “Oh,” she said. “Your pardon, sir, I’m needed…” and with a vaguely apologetic flip of the hand, she vanished into the throng of customers, pitcher in hand.
    “Eejit,” Ian said. “What did ye tell her that for? Now she thinks ye’re a Jew.”
    Jamie’s mouth fell open in shock. “What, me? How, then?” he demanded, looking down at himself. He’d meant his Highland dress, but Ian looked critically at him and shook his head.
    “Ye’ve got the lang neb and the red hair,” he pointed out. “Half the Spanish Jews I’ve seen look like that, and some of them are a good size, too. For all yon lass kens, ye stole the plaid off somebody ye killed.”
    Jamie felt more nonplussed than affronted. Rather hurt, too.
    “Well, what if I was a Jew?” he demanded. “Why should it matter? I wasna