A Breath of Snow and Ashes - Diana Gabaldon [595]
Undoing the twist of paper, he found himself holding a large brooch in the shape of a bunch of flowers, done in garnets and silver. It was a good piece of workmanship, but rather ugly. Its impression on Forbes, though, was substantial.
“You wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.” The lawyer was staring at the brooch in Roger’s hand, his heavy face gone pale.
“Oh, I expect he would, if ye mean Uncle Jamie,” Ian Murray said. “He’s fond of his daughter, aye?”
“Nonsense.” The lawyer was making a game attempt to bluff it out, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off the brooch. “Fraser is a gentleman.”
“He’s a Highlander,” Roger said brutally. “Like your father, aye?” He’d heard stories about the elder Forbes, who by all accounts had escaped Scotland just ahead of the hangsman.
Forbes chewed his lower lip.
“He would not harm an old woman,” he said, with as much bravado as he could summon.
“Would he not?” Ian’s sketchy brows lifted. “Aye, perhaps not. He might just send her awa’, though—to Canada, maybe? Ye seem to ken him fair weel, Mr. Forbes. What d’ye think?”
The lawyer drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, breathing through his teeth, evidently reviewing what he knew of Jamie Fraser’s character and reputation.
“All right,” he said suddenly. “All right!”
Roger felt the tension running through him snap like a cut wire. He’d been strung like a puppet since Jamie had come to fetch him last night.
“Where?” he said, feeling breathless. “Where is she?”
“She’s safe,” Forbes said hoarsely. “I wouldn’t have her harmed.” He looked up, wild-eyed. “For God’s sake, I wouldn’t harm her!”
“Where?” Roger clamped the brooch tight, not caring that its edges cut into his hand. “Where is she?”
The lawyer sagged like a half-filled bag of meal.
“Aboard a ship called Anemone, Captain Bonnet.” He swallowed hard, unable to keep his eyes away from the brooch. “She—I told—they are bound for England. But she is safe, I tell you!”
Shock tightened Roger’s grip, and he felt the sudden slick of blood on his fingers. He flung the brooch onto the floor, wiping his hand on his breeches, struggling for words. The shock had tightened his throat, as well; he felt as though he were strangling.
Seeing his trouble, Ian stood abruptly and pressed his knife against the lawyer’s throat.
“When did they sail?”
“I—I—” The lawyer’s mouth opened and closed at random, and he looked helplessly from Ian to Roger, eyes bulging.
“Where?” Roger forced the word past the blockage in his throat, and Forbes flinched at the sound.
“She—she was put aboard here. In Edenton. Two—two days ago.”
Roger nodded abruptly. Safe, he said. In Bonnet’s hands. Two days, in Bonnet’s hands. But he had sailed with Bonnet, he thought, trying to steady himself, keep a grip on his rationality. He knew how the man worked. Bonnet was a smuggler; he would not sail for England without a full cargo. He might—might—be going down the coast, picking up small shipments before turning to the open sea and the long voyage for England.
And if not—he might still be caught, with a fast ship.
No time to be lost; people on the docks might know where the Anemone was headed next. He turned and took a step toward the door. Then a red wave washed through him and he whirled back, smashing his fist into Forbes’s face with the full weight of his body behind it.
The lawyer gave a high-pitched scream, and clutched both hands to his nose. All noises in the inn and in the street seemed to stop; the world hung suspended. Roger took a short, deep breath, rubbing his knuckles, and nodded once more.
“Come on,” he said to Ian.
“Oh, aye.”
Roger was halfway to the door when he realized that Ian was not with him. He looked back, and was just in time to see his cousin-by-marriage take Forbes gently by one ear and cut it off.
104
SLEEPING WITH A SHARK
STEPHEN BONNET was as good as his word—if that’s how one would describe it. He made no sexual advances toward her, but did insist that she share his