A Breath of Snow and Ashes - Diana Gabaldon [591]
“I see.” A trickle of sweat ran down Brianna’s cheek, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. Her mouth felt dry, and she sucked the inside of her cheek for moisture. “The woman—what happened to her?”
Hepzibah looked blank for a moment.
“Oh, the whore? Why, she died, of course, poor cow. Stephen said as how he was struggling to get into his wet breeches, all soused with blood like they were, and he looked up and saw her layin’ still as stone on the floor, but with her belly still wriggling and twitching like a bag full o’ snakes. Said it come to him sudden that the babe meant to come out and take its revenge on him, and he fled the house right then in his shirt, leavin’ his breeches behind.”
She chortled at this amusing vision, then snorted and settled herself, brushing down her skirts. “But then, Stephen’s Irish,” she added tolerantly. “They take morbid fancies, the Irish, especially when they’re gone in drink.” The tip of her tongue came out and passed reminiscently over her lower lip, tasting the lingering traces of Bonnet’s liquor.
Brianna leaned closer, holding out her hand.
“Look.”
Hepzibah glanced into her hand, then looked again, riveted. The thick gold band with its big cabochon ruby winked and glowed in the lantern light.
“I’ll give it to you,” Brianna said, lowering her voice, “if you’ll do something for me.”
The whore licked her lips again, a sudden look of alertness coming into her heavy face.
“Aye? Do what?”
“Get word to my husband. He’s in Edenton, at the Reverend McMillan’s house—anyone will know where it is. Tell him where I am, and tell him—” She hesitated. What should she say? There was no telling how long the Anemone would stay here, or where Bonnet would choose to go next. The only clue she had was what she had overheard in his conversation with his mate, just before he came in.
“Tell them I think he has a hiding place on Ocracoke. He means to rendezvous with someone there at the dark of the moon. Tell him that.”
Hepzibah cast an uneasy glance at the cabin door, but it stayed shut. She looked back at the ring, longing for it warring in her face with an obvious fear of Bonnet.
“He won’t know,” Brianna urged. “He won’t find out. And my father will reward you.”
“He’s a rich man, then, your father?” Brianna saw the look of calculation in the whore’s eyes, and felt a moment’s misgiving—what if she should simply take the ring and betray her to Bonnet? Still, she hadn’t taken more money than her due; perhaps she was honest. And there was no choice, after all.
“Very rich,” she said firmly. “His name is Jamie Fraser. My aunt is rich, too. She has a plantation called River Run, just above Cross Creek in North Carolina. Ask for Mrs. Innes—Jocasta Cameron Innes. Yes, if you don’t find Ro—my husband, send word there.”
“River Run.” Hepzibah repeated it obediently, eyes still fixed on the ring.
Brianna twisted it off and dropped it into the whore’s palm before she could change her mind. The woman’s hand closed tight around it.
“My father’s name is Jamie Fraser; my husband is Roger MacKenzie,” she repeated. “At the Reverend McMillan’s house. Can you remember?”
“Fraser and MacKenzie,” Hepzibah repeated uncertainly. “Oh, aye, to be sure.” She was already moving toward the door.
“Please,” Brianna said urgently.
The whore nodded but without looking at her, then sidled through the door, shutting it behind her.
The ship creaked and swayed underfoot, and she heard the rattle of wind through the trees on the shore, over the shouts of drunken men. Her knees gave way then and she sat down on the bed, careless of the sheets.
THEY LEFT WITH the tide; she heard the