Dragonfly in Amber - Diana Gabaldon [416]
“Sorry, cully,” I said without sympathy. “If you think that’s bad, just wait ’til he gets back on.”
Glancing around for the “he” in question, I found him under one of the trees, hand on the shoulder of a strange boy of about fourteen.
“Who’s that?” I asked, leaning over to attract the attention of Geordie Paul Fraser, who was busy tightening his girth next to me.
“Eh? Oh, him.” He glanced at the boy, then back at his reluctant girth, frowning. “His name’s Ewan Gibson. Hugh Munro’s eldest stepson. He was wi’ his da, seemingly, when the Duke’s keepers came on ’em. The lad got awa’, and we found him near the edge o’ the moor. He brought us here.” With a final unnecessary tug, he glared at the girth as though daring it to say something, then looked up at me.
“D’ye ken where the lad’s da is?” he asked abruptly.
I nodded, and the answer must have been plain in my face, for he turned to look at the boy. Jamie was holding the boy, hugged hard against his chest, and patting his back. As we watched, he held the boy away from him, both hands on his shoulders, and said something, looking down intently into his face. I couldn’t hear what it was, but after a moment, the boy straightened himself and nodded. Jamie nodded as well, and with a final clap on the shoulder, turned the lad toward one of the horses, where George McClure was already reaching down a hand to him. Jamie strode toward us, head down, and the end of his plaid fluttering free behind him, despite the cold wind and the spattering rain.
Geordie spat on the ground. “Poor bugger,” he said, without specifying whom he meant, and swung into his own saddle.
Near the southeast corner of the park we halted, the horses stamping and twitching, while two of the men disappeared back into the trees. It cannot have been more than twenty minutes, but it seemed twice as long before they came back.
The men rode double now, and the second horse bore a long, hunched shape bound across its saddle, wrapped in a Fraser plaid. The horses didn’t like it; mine jerked its head, nostrils flaring, as the horse bearing Hugh’s corpse came alongside. Jamie yanked the rein and said something angrily in Gaelic, though, and the beast desisted.
I could feel Jamie rise in the stirrups behind me, looking backward as though counting the remaining members of his band. Then his arm came around my waist, and we set off, on our way north.
* * *
We rode all night, with only brief stops for rest. During one of these, sheltering under a horse-chestnut tree, Jamie reached to embrace me, then suddenly stopped.
“What is it?” I said, smiling. “Afraid to kiss your wife in front of your men?”
“No,” he said, proving it, then stepped back, smiling. “No, I was afraid for a moment ye were going to scream and claw my face.” He dabbed gingerly at the marks Mary had left on his cheek.
“Poor thing,” I said, laughing. “Not the welcome you expected, was it?”
“Well, by that time, actually it was,” he said, grinning. He had taken two sausages from one of Murtagh’s strings, and now handed me one. I couldn’t remember when I had last eaten, but it must have been quite some time, for not even my fears of botulism kept the fatty, spiced meat from being delicious.
“What do you mean by that? You thought I wouldn’t recognize you after only a week?”
He shook his head, still smiling, and swallowed the bite of sausage.
“Nay. It’s only, when I got in the house to start, I kent where ye were, more or less, because of the bars on your windows.” He arched one brow. “From the looks of them, ye must have made one hell of an impression on His Grace.”
“I did,” I said shortly, not wanting to think about the Duke. “Go on.”
“Well,” he said, taking another bite and shifting it expertly to his cheek while he talked, “I kent the room, but I needed the key, didn’t I?”
“Oh, yes,” I said. “You were going to tell me about that.”
He chewed briefly and swallowed.
“I got it from the housekeeper, but not without trouble.