Dragonfly in Amber - Diana Gabaldon [399]
“They canna very well hang me more than once,” he’d said. Once would be more than enough. I glanced at the window. Night had fallen half an hour ago, and lanterns glowed in the street below, carried by soldiers passing to and fro. Jamie would be at Callendar House, searching for the window where I should be waiting.
I had the absurd certainty, all of a sudden, that he had followed me, had known somehow where I was going, and would be waiting in the street below, for me to show myself.
I rose abruptly and went to the window. The street below was empty, save for a seller of pickled herrings, seated on a stool with his lantern at his feet, waiting for the possibility of customers. It wasn’t Jamie, of course. There was no way for him to find me. No one in the Stuart camp knew where I was; I was entirely alone. I pressed my hands hard against the glass in sudden panic, not caring that I might shatter it.
“Mistress Beauchamp! Are ye well?” The Colonel’s voice behind me was sharp with alarm.
I clamped my lips tight together to stop them shaking and took several deep breaths, clouding the glass so the street below vanished in mist. Outwardly calm, I turned back to face the Colonel.
“I’m quite well,” I said. “If you’ve finished asking questions, I’d like to go now.”
“Would ye? Mmm.” He looked me over with something like doubt, then shook his head decidedly.
“Ye’ll stay the night here,” he declared. “In the morning, I shall be sendin’ ye southward.”
I felt a spasm of shock clench my insides. “South! What the hell for?” I blurted.
His fox-fur eyebrows rose in astonishment and his mouth fell open. Then he shook himself slightly, and clamped it shut, opening it only a slit to deliver himself of his next words.
“I have orders to send on any information pertaining to the Highland criminal known as Red Jamie Fraser,” he said. “Or any person associated with him.”
“I’m not associated with him!” I said. Unless you wanted to count marriage, of course.
Colonel Campbell was oblivious. He turned to his desk and shuffled through a stack of dispatches.
“Aye, here it is. Captain Mainwaring will be the officer who escorts you. He will come to fetch ye here at dawn.” He rang a small silver bell shaped like a goblin, and the door opened to reveal the inquiring face of his private orderly. “Garvie, ye’ll see the lady to her quarters. Lock the door.” He turned to me and bowed perfunctorily. “I think we shall not meet again, Mrs. Beauchamp; I wish ye good rest and God-speed.” And that was that.
* * *
I didn’t know quite how fast God-speed was, but it was likely faster than Captain Mainwaring’s detachment had ridden. The Captain was in charge of a supply train of wagons, bound for Lanark. After delivery of these and their drivers, he was then to proceed south with the rest of his detachment, delivering nonvital dispatches as he went. I was apparently in the category of nonurgent intelligence, for we had been more than a week on the road, and no sign of reaching whatever place I was bound for.
“South.” Did that mean London? I wondered, for the thousandth time. Captain Mainwaring had not told me my final destination, but I could think of no other possibility.
Lifting my head, I caught one of the dragoons across the fire staring at me. I stared flatly back at him, until he flushed and dropped his eyes to the bowl in his hands. I was accustomed to such looks, though most were less bold about it.
It had started from the beginning, with a certain reserved embarrassment on the part of the young idiot who had taken me to Livingston. It had taken some little time for me to realize that what caused the attitude of distant reserve on the part of the English officers was not suspicion, but a mixture of contempt and horror, mingled with a trace of pity and a sense