Outlander aka Cross Stitch - Gabaldon Diana (читать книгу онлайн бесплатно полностью без регистрации .TXT) 📗

“I – I don’t know anything about it. Perhaps the… whatever it is… closed behind me. Maybe it only works at certain times of the year. It was near Beltane when I came through last.”

Jamie glanced over his shoulder at the sun, a flat disc hanging in mid-sky behind a thin screen of cloud.

“It’s almost Samhain now,” he said. “All Hallows’ Eve. Seems suitable, no?” He shivered involuntarily, in spite of the joke. “When you… came through. What did ye do?”

I tried to remember. I felt ice-cold, and I folded my hands under my armpits.

“I walked round the circle, looking at things. Just randomly, though; there was no pattern. And then I came near to the split rock, and I heard a buzzing, like bees-”

It was still like bees. I drew back as though it had been the rattle of a snake.

“It’s still here!” I reared in panic, throwing my arms around Jamie, but he set me firmly away from him, his face white, and turned me once again toward the stone.

“What then?” The keening wind was sharp in my ears, but his voice was sharper still.

“I put my hand on the rock.”

“Do it, then.” He pushed me closer, and when I did not respond, he grasped my wrist and planted my hand firmly against the brindled surface.

Chaos reached out and grabbed me.

The sun stopped whirling behind my eyes at last, and the shriek faded out of my ears. There was another persistent noise, Jamie calling my name.

I felt too sick to sit up or open my eyes, but I flapped my hand weakly, to let him know I was still alive.

“I’m all right,” I said.

“Are ye then? Oh, God, Claire!” He clasped me against his chest then, holding me tightly. “Jesus, Claire. I thought ye were dead, sure. You… you began to… go, somehow. You had the most awful look on your face, like ye were frightened to death. I – I pulled ye back from the stone. I stopped ye, I shouldna have done so – I’m sorry, lassie.”

My eyes were open enough now to see his face above me, shocked and frightened.

“It’s all right.” It was still an effort to speak, and I felt heavy and disoriented, but things were coming clearer. I tried to smile, but felt nothing more than a twitch.

“At least… we know… it still works.”

“Oh, God. Aye, it works.” He cast a glance of fearful loathing at the stone.

He left me long enough to wet a kerchief in a puddle of rainwater that stood in one of the stony depressions. He wet my face, still muttering reassurances and apologies. At last I felt well enough to sit up.

“You didn’t believe me after all, did you?” Groggy as I was, I felt somehow vindicated. “It’s true, though.”

“Aye, it’s true.” He sat next to me, staring at the stone for several minutes. I rubbed the wet cloth over my face, feeling still faint and dizzy. Suddenly he sprang to his feet, walked to the rock and slapped his hand against it.

Nothing whatsoever happened, and after a minute his shoulders slumped and he came back to me.

“Maybe it’s only women it works on,” I said fuzzily. “It’s always women in the legends. Or maybe it’s only me.”

“Well, it isna me,” he said. “Better make sure, though.”

“Jamie! Be careful!” I shouted, to no avail. He marched to the stone, slapped it again, threw himself against it, walked through the split and back again, but it remained no more than a solid stone monolith. As for myself, I shuddered at the thought of even approaching that door to madness once again.

And yet. Yet when I had begun to pass into the realm of chaos this time, I had been thinking of Frank. And I had felt him, I was sure of it. Somewhere in the void had been a tiny pinprick of light, and he was in it. I knew. I knew also that there had been another point of light, one that sat still beside me, staring at the stone, cheeks gleaming with sweat in spite of the chill of the day.

At last he turned to me and grasped both my hands. He raised them to his lips and kissed each one formally.

“My lady,” he said softly. “My… Claire. It’s no use in waiting. I must part wi’ ye now.”

My lips were too stiff to speak, but the expression on my face must have been as easily readable as usual.

“Claire,” he said urgently, “it’s your own time on the other side of… that thing. You’ve a home there, a place. The things that you’re used to. And… and Frank.”

“Yes,” I said, “there’s Frank.”

Jamie caught me by the shoulders, pulling me to my feet and shaking me gently in supplication.

“There’s nothing for ye on this side, lass! Nothing save violence and danger. Go!” He pushed me slightly, turning me toward the stone circle. I turned back to him, catching his hands.

“Is there really nothing for me here, Jamie?” I held his eyes, not letting him turn away from me.

He pulled himself gently from my grasp without answering and stood back, suddenly a figure from another time, seen in relief upon a background of hazy hills, the life in his face a trick of the shadowing rock, as if flattened beneath layers of paint, an artist’s reminiscence of forgotten places and passions turned to dust.

I looked into his eyes, filled with pain and yearning, and he was flesh again, real and immediate, lover, husband, man.

The anguish I felt must have been reflected in my face, for he hesitated, then turned to the east and pointed down the slope. “Do ye see behind the small clump of oak down there? About halfway.”

I saw the clump, and saw what he was pointing at, the half-ruined crofter’s cottage, abandoned on the haunted hill.

“I shall go down to the house, and I shall stay there ’til the evening. To make sure – to be sure that you’re safe.” He looked at me, but made no move to touch me. He closed his eyes, as though he could no longer bear to look at me.

“Goodbye,” he said, and turned to go.

I watched him, numb, and then remembered. There was something that I had to tell him. I called after him.

“Jamie!”

He stopped and stood motionless for a moment, fighting to control his face. It was white and strained and his lips were bloodless when he turned back to me.

“Aye?”

“There’s something… I mean, I have to tell you something before… before I go.”

He closed his eyes briefly, and I thought he swayed, but it might have been only the wind tugging at his kilts.

“There’s no need,” he said. “No. Do ye go, lass. Ye shouldna tarry. Go.” He made to turn away, but I clutched him by the sleeve.

“Jamie, listen to me! You must!” He shook his head helplessly, lifting a hand as though to push me away.

“Claire… no. I can’t.” The wind was bringing the moisture to his eyes.

“It’s the Rising,” I said urgently, shaking his arm. “Jamie, listen. Prince Charlie – his army. Colum is right! Do you hear me, Jamie? Colum is right, not Dougal.”

“Eh? What d’ye mean, lass?” I had his attention now. He rubbed his sleeve across his face and the eyes that looked down at me were sharp and clear. The wind sang in my ears.

“Prince Charlie. There will be a Rising, Dougal’s right about that, but it won’t succeed. Charlie’s army will do well for a bit, but it will end in slaughter. At Culloden, that’s where it will end. The – the clans…” In my mind’s eye I saw the clanstones, the grey boulders that would lie scattered on the field, each stone bearing the single clan name of the butchered men who lay under it. I took a breath and gripped his hand to steady myself. It was cold as a corpse’s. I shuddered and closed my eyes to concentrate on what I was saying.

“The Highlanders – all the clans that follow Charlie – will be wiped out. Hundreds and hundreds of the clansmen will die at Culloden; those that are left will be hunted and killed. The clans will be crushed… and they’ll not rise again. Not in your time – not even in mine.”

I opened my eyes to find him staring at me, expressionless.

“Jamie, stay out of it!” I begged him. “Keep your people out of it if you can, but for the Lord’s sake… Jamie, if you-” I broke off. I had been going to say “Jamie, if you love me.” But I couldn’t. I was going to lose him forever, and if I could not speak of love to him before, I could not do it now.