Virgins: An Outlander Novella by Diana Gabaldon

him, and round him. Seven times she circled him, and the hairs rose a little on the back of Jamie’s neck; it had the faint sense of magic about it—or witchcraft. Something she did to bind the man.
    She came face-to-face with Jamie as she made each turn and plainly could see him in the light of the torches, but her eyes were fixed straight ahead; she made no acknowledgment of anyone—not even Pierre.
    But then the circling was done and she came to stand by the vicomte’s side. The rabbi said a few words of welcome to the guests and then, turning to the bride and groom, poured out a cup of wine, and said what appeared to be a Hebrew blessing over it. Jamie made out the beginning—
“Blessed are you, Adonai our God”
—but then lost the thread.
    Pierre reached into his pocket when Reb Cohen stopped speaking, removed a small object—clearly a ring—and, taking Rebekah’s hand in his, put it on the forefinger of her right hand, smiling down into her face with a tenderness that, despite everything, rather caught at Jamie’s heart. Then Pierre lifted her veil, and Jamie caught a glimpse of the answering tenderness on Rebekah’s face in the instant before her husband kissed her.
    The congregation sighed as one.
    The rabbi picked up a sheet of parchment from a little table nearby. The thing he’d called a
ketubah,
Jamie saw—the wedding contract.
    The rabbi read the thing out, first in a language Jamie didn’t recognize, and then again in French. It wasn’t so different from the few marriage contracts he’d seen, laying out the disposition of property and what was due to the bride and all—though he noted with disapproval that it provided for the possibility of divorce. His attention wandered a bit then; Rebekah’s face glowed in the torchlight like pearl and ivory, and the roundness of her bosom showed clearly as she breathed. In spite of everything he thought he now knew about her, he experienced a brief wave of envy toward Pierre.
    The contract read and carefully laid aside, the rabbi recited a string of blessings; Jamie kent it was blessings because he caught the words “Blessed are you, Adonai…” over and over, though the subject of the blessings seemed to be everything from the congregation to Jerusalem, so far as he could tell. The bride and groom had another sip of wine.
    A pause then, and Jamie expected some official word from the rabbi, uniting husband and wife, but it didn’t come. Instead, one of the witnesses took the wineglass, wrapped it in a linen napkin, and placed it on the ground in front of Pierre. To the Scots’ astonishment, he promptly stamped on the thing—and the crowd burst into applause.
    For a few moments, everything seemed quite like a country wedding, with everyone crowding round, wanting to congratulate the happy couple. But within moments, the happy couple was moving off toward the house, while the guests all streamed toward tables that had been set up at the far side of the garden, laden with food and drink.
    “Come on,” Jamie muttered, and caught Ian by the arm. They hastened after the newly wedded pair, Ian demanding to know what the devil Jamie thought he was doing. “I want to talk to her—alone. You stop him, keep him talking for as long as ye can.”
    “I—how?”
    “How would I know? Ye’ll think of something.”
    They had reached the house, and ducking in close upon Pierre’s heels, Jamie saw that by good luck the man had stopped to say something to a servant. Rebekah was just vanishing down a long hallway; he saw her put her hand to a door.
    “The best of luck to ye, man!” Jamie said, clapping Pierre so heartily on the shoulder that the groom staggered.
    Before Pierre could recover, Ian, very obviously commending his soul to God, stepped up and seized him by the hand, which he wrung vigorously, meanwhile giving Jamie a private
“Hurry the bloody hell up!”
sort of look.
    Grinning, Jamie ran down the short hallway to the door where he’d seen Rebekah