Drums of Autumn - Diana Gabaldon [489]
He rolled to the side and swung his pole wildly. It crashed against the Indian’s head, and the man stumbled and went down, falling over Roger.
Whisky. The man reeked of whisky. Not stopping to wonder, Roger wriggled out from under the squirming body, staggering to his feet, pole still in his hand.
A scream came from behind him and he whirled, stabbing with all his strength as he pivoted on the ball of his foot. The shock of impact shuddered up his arms and through his chest. The man he had struck was clawing at the pole; it jerked and quivered, then was wrenched from his grasp as the man fell over.
He staggered, caught himself, then whirled toward the fire. It was an immense pyre; flames billowing in a wall of pure and ardent scarlet, vivid against the night. Through the bobbing heads of the watchers, he saw the black figure in the heart of the flame, arms spread in a gesture of benediction, lashed to the pole from which he hung. Long hair fluttered up, strands catching fire with a burst of flame, surrounding the head with a halo of gold, like Christ in a missal. Then something crashed down on Roger’s head, and he dropped like a rock.
He didn’t quite lose consciousness. He couldn’t see or move, but he could still hear, dimly. There were voices near him. The yelling was still there, but fainter, almost a background noise, like the roar of the ocean.
He felt himself rise in the air, and the crackle of the flames got louder, it matched the roar in his ears … Christ, they were going to throw him into the fire! His head spun with effort and light blazed behind his shut lids, but his stubborn body wouldn’t move.
The roar diminished, but paradoxically he felt warm air brush his face. He struck the ground, half bounced, and rolled, ending up on his face, his arms flung out. Cool earth was under his fingers.
He breathed. Mechanically, one breath at a time. Very slowly, the spinning sensation began to ebb.
There was noise, a long way away, but he couldn’t hear anything near him but his own loud breathing. Very slowly, he opened one eye. Firelight flickered on poles and bark panels, a dim echo of the brilliance outside. Longhouse. He was inside again.
His breathing was loud and ragged in his ears. He tried to hold his breath, but couldn’t. Then he realized that he was holding his breath; the gasping noise was coming from someone else.
It was behind him. With immense effort, he got his hands under him, and rose onto hands and knees, swaying, eyes squinted against the pain in his head.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered to himself. He rubbed a hand hard over his face and blinked, but the man was still there, six feet away.
Jamie Fraser. He was lying on his side in a huddle of limbs, a crimson plaid tangled round his body. Half his face was obscured with blood, but there wasn’t any mistaking him.
For a moment, Roger just looked at him blankly. For months the greater part of his waking moments had been devoted to imagining a meeting with this man. Now it had happened, and it seemed simply impossible. There was room for no feeling beyond a sort of dull amazement.
He rubbed his face again, harder, forcing aside the fog of fear and adrenaline. What … what was Fraser doing here?
When thought and feeling connected again, his first recognizable feeling was neither fury nor alarm, but an absurd burst of joyful relief.
“She didn’t,” he muttered, and the words sounded queer and hoarse to his ears, after so long without spoken English. “Oh, God, she didn’t do it!”
Jamie Fraser could be here for only one reason—to rescue him. And if that was so, it was because Brianna had made her father come. Whether it was misunderstanding or malevolence that had put him through the hell of the last few months, it had not been hers.
“Didn’t,” he said again. “She didn’t.” He shuddered, both with nausea from the blow and with relief.
He had thought he would be hollow forever, but suddenly there was something there; something small, but very solid. Something he could hold in the cup of his heart. Brianna. He had her back.
There was another set