"It's no what ye think, Ian," Jamie said shortly. "Oh, it's not, aye? And Jenny worrying that ye'd make yourself ill, living without a woman so long!" Ian snorted. "I'll tell her she needna concern herself wi' your welfare. And where's my son, then, down the hall with another o' the harlots?" "Your son?" Jamie's surprise was evident. "Which one?" Ian stared at Jamie, the anger on his long, half-homely face fading into alarm. "Ye havena got him? Wee Ian's not here?" "Young Ian? Christ, man, d'ye think I'd bring a fourteen-year-old lad into a brothel?" Ian opened his mouth, then shut it, and sat down on the stool. "Tell ye the truth, Jamie, I canna say what ye'd do anymore," he said levelly. He looked up at his brother-in-law, jaw set. "Once I could. But not now." "And what the hell d'ye mean by that?" I could see the angry flush rising in Jamie's face. Ian glanced at the bed, and away again. The red flush didn't recede from Jamie's face, but I saw a small quiver at the corner of his mouth. He bowed elaborately to his brother-in-law. "Your pardon, Ian, I was forgettin' my manners. Allow me to introduce ye to my companion." He stepped to the side of the bed and pulled back the quilts. "No!" Ian cried, jumping to his feet and looking frantically at the floor, the wardrobe, anywhere but at the bed. "What, will ye no give your regards to my wife, Ian?" Jamie said. "Wife?" Forgetting to look away, Ian goggled at Jamie in horror. "Ye've marrit a whore?" he croaked. "I wouldn't call it that, exactly," I said. Hearing my voice, Ian jerked his head in my direction. "Hullo," I said, waving cheerily at him from my nest of bedclothes. "Been a long time, hasn't it?" I'd always thought the descriptions of what people did when seeing ghosts rather exaggerated, but had been forced to revise my opinions in light of the responses I had been getting since my return to the past. Jamie had fainted dead away, and if Ian's hair was not literally standing on end, he assuredly looked as though he had been scared out of his wits. Eyes bugging out, he opened and closed his mouth, making a small gobbling noise that seemed to entertain Jamie quite a lot. "That'll teach ye to go about thinkin' the worst of my character," he said, with apparent satisfaction. Taking pity on his quivering brother-in-law, Jamie poured out a tot of brandy and handed him the glass. "Judge not, and ye'll no be judged, eh?" I thought Ian was going to spill the drink on his breeches, but he managed to get the glass to his mouth and swallow. "What?" He wheezed, eyes watering as he stared at me. "How?" "It's a long story," I said, with a glance at Jamie. He nodded briefly. We had had other things to think about in the last twenty-four hours besides how to explain me to people, and under the circumstances, I rather thought explanations could wait. "I don't believe I know Young Ian. Is he missing?" I asked politely. Ian nodded mechanically, not taking his eyes off me. "He stole away from home last Friday week," he said, sounding rather dazed. "Left a note that he'd gone to his uncle." He took another swig of brandy, coughed and blinked several times, then wiped his eyes and sat up straighter, looking at me. "It'll no be the first time, ye see," he said to me. He seemed to be regaining his self-confidence, seeing that I appeared to be flesh and blood, and showed no signs either of getting out of bed or of putting my head under my arm and strolling round without it, in the accepted fashion of Highland ghosts. Jamie sat downGabaldon, Diana is the author of 'Voyager', published 2001 under ISBN 9780385335997 and ISBN 0385335997.