He groaned and opened his eyes a little more.

“Like someone’s stepped on my cock.”

“Really? Who?” I asked lightly.

He closed his eyes again. “I dinna ken, but it feels like it was someone heavy.”

“Mmm.” I put a hand to his forehead; he was warm, but warm from bed, not feverish. I fetched a cup of beef tea and put it into his hand. He breathed in the steam, then took a sip, but set it aside and stretched himself slowly, groaning.

I eyed him for a moment, then knelt down on the floor in front of him and took hold of the hem of his shirt. “Let me see about that,” I said.

His eyes opened all the way and fixed on me. “Ye do ken what a metaphor is, Sassenach …” he began, making an abortive effort to catch my hands, but my touch, very warm from the teacups, made him exhale and lean back a little.

“Hmm …” I rubbed a little with both hands, slowly. “I think your circulation is in order …. Any bruising?”

“Well, not yet,” he said, sounding mildly apprehensive. “Sassenach. Would ye—”

I pushed the shirt back and bent down, and he stopped speaking abruptly. I reached farther under, making him spread his thighs by reflex, and saw the small curly hairs rise.

“Would ye let go my balls, Sassenach?” he said, stirring restively. “It’s not that I dinna trust ye, but—”

“I’m checking for any sign of an incipient hernia,” I told him, and ran two fingers well up, probing gently into the deep heat of the flesh between his legs. His thighs were lean and chilly, but …

“Oh, I’ve got an incipience,” he said, squirming a little. “But I’m sure it’s no a hernia. Now what the devil are ye doing?”

I’d let go. Turning, I reached over to the small bedside table where I’d left a scatter of things—things turned out of my apron pockets at night and not always retrieved in the mornings. The bluestone Corporal Jackson had sent me was there, and I picked it out of the litter, rubbing it between my hands to warm it. There was a little bottle of sweet oil on the table, too, and I dribbled a bit onto the stone. Jamie was watching this process, still apprehensive.

“If ye mean to stick that up my arse, Sassenach,” he said, “I’d be very much obliged if ye didn’t.”

“You might enjoy it,” I suggested, and took hold of him with one hand, applying the warm, oiled stone in a therapeutic manner with the other.