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“You’re drooling over my rain pants.”

“I am not.”

“You’ve been fondling them for thirty seconds.”

“I’m examining them.”

“With longing.”

Jamie laughed and held them out to her. “It’s a toss-up between these and the boots.”

“I knew it.” When she smiled, her whole face lit up, and she looked much too young to be a widow.

“The boots may still win.”

“They should. They cost enough.” She took the waterproof trousers from him, stepped into them, and pulled them up over her jeans before fastening the waist. The thin material made a faint swishing sound when she moved.

“Waterproof. Wind-resistant. Designed for hiking.”

He rubbed his chin. “I wonder if one of the merchant ships could bring back such a fabric from Boston. Cloth that keeps the wind and rain away would be verra useful.”

She flinched. “It’s a new fabric. You can ask but I’m not sure if you can get it yet.”

He tore his eyes from her odd clothing as she looked around the chamber. Her gaze traveled to the door, the far corner, the hearth, and finally back to him as she fidgeted.

Pink bloomed across her cheeks. “Where is the bathroom?”

“A room for bathing?” He glanced toward the basin and ewer, wondering whether folk in Boston had dedicated rooms for every task.

“No.” She closed her eyes briefly, as if asking the saints for patience and finding none.

“Not exactly. I mean, yes, sometimes, but right now I mean the toilet.” The pink on her cheeks turned red.

Jamie leaned one shoulder against the mantel, careful to keep his face as solemn as Iseabail at kirk. “The privy is outside.”

“Outside.” She stopped pacing, peering out through the hole in the wall.

“Aye.”

“In the rain?”

“If the rain troubles ye, there’s the chamber pot.” He nodded toward the small screen near the side chamber where the pot sat, half-hidden beside the small washstand.

She turned toward it slowly, suspicion turning into horror by degrees. “No way.”

Jamie blinked. “No?”

“You expect me to use a bowl? Where you can hear me?”

“It isna a bowl. It has a lid so it’s a pot, hence the name chamber pot.”

As much as he wanted to, he pressed his lips together and took care not to laugh. “If ye wish, I’ll cover my ears or step outside.”

“Wonderful.” She crossed the room with the stiff composure of a queen approaching an executioner.

“Would ye like me to stand guard?”

The look she gave him could have curdled milk.