Dragonfly in Amber - Diana Gabaldon [296]
There was no moon, and the only clue to what was happening was a tremendous scuffling sound in the dry alder leaves, and the noise of men locked in effortful but silent conflict, with grunts, gasps, and the occasional muffled curse. There was a short, sharp cry, and then complete quiet. It lasted, I suppose, only a few seconds, though it seemed to go on forever.
I was still standing by the fire, frozen in my original position, when Jamie reemerged from the Stygian dark of the forest, a captive before him, one arm twisted behind its back. Loosing his grip, he whirled the dark figure around and gave it an abrupt shove that sent it crashing backward into a tree. The man hit the trunk hard, loosing a shower of leaves and acorns, and slid slowly down to lie dazed in the leaf-meal.
Attracted by the noise, Murtagh, Ross, and a couple of the other Fraser men materialized by the fire. Hauling the intruder to his feet, they pulled him roughly into the circle of firelight. Murtagh grabbed the captive by the hair and jerked his head backward, bringing his face into view.
It was a small, fine-boned face, with big, long-lashed eyes that blinked dazedly at the crowding faces.
“But he’s only a boy!” I exclaimed. “He can’t be more than fifteen!”
“Sixteen!” said the boy. He shook his head, senses returning. “Not that that makes any difference,” he added haughtily, in an English accent. Hampshire, I thought. He was a long way from home.
“It doesn’t,” Jamie grimly agreed. “Sixteen or sixty, he’s just made a verra creditable attempt at cutting my throat.” I noticed then the reddened handkerchief pressed against the side of his neck.
“I shan’t tell you anything,” the boy said. His eyes were dark pools in the pale face, though the firelight shone on the gleam of fair hair. He was clutching one arm tightly in front of him; I thought perhaps it was injured. The boy was clearly making a major effort to stand upright among the men, lips compressed against any wayward expression of fear or pain.
“Some things you don’t need to tell me,” said Jamie, looking the lad over carefully. “One, you’re an Englishman, so likely you’ve come with troops nearby. And two, you’re alone.”
The boy seemed startled. “How do you know that?”
Jamie raised his eyebrows. “I suppose that ye’d not have attacked me unless you thought that the lady and I were alone. If you were with someone else who also thought that, they would presumably have come to your assistance just now—is your arm broken, by the way? I thought I felt something snap. If you were with someone else who knew we were not alone, they would ha’ stopped ye from trying anything so foolish.” Despite this diagnosis, I noticed three of the men fade discreetly into the forest in response to a signal from Jamie, presumably to check for other intruders.
The boy’s expression hardened at hearing his act described as foolish. Jamie dabbed at his neck, then inspected the handkerchief critically.
“If you’re tryin’ to kill someone from behind, laddie, pick a man who’s not sitting in a pile of dry leaves,” he advised. “And if you’re using a knife on someone larger than you, pick a surer spot; throat-cutting’s chancy unless your victim will sit still for ye.”
“Thank you for the valuable advice,” the boy sneered. He was doing a fair job at maintaining his bravado, though his eyes flicked nervously from one threatening, whiskered face to another. None of the Highlanders would have won any beauty prizes in broad daylight; by night, they weren’t the sort of thing you wanted to meet in a dark place.
Jamie answered courteously, “You’re quite welcome. It’s unfortunate that ye won’t get the chance to apply it in future. Why did you attack me, since I think to ask?”
Men, attracted by the noise, had begun filtering in from the surrounding campsites, sliding wraithlike out of the woods. The boy’s glance flickered around the growing