Drums of Autumn - Diana Gabaldon [502]
“For God’s sake!” I burst out. “Give him a moment to think, Jamie! Can’t you see that he hasn’t had a chance even to take it in, yet?”
Roger’s fist closed tight over the jewel, then opened. I could hear him breathing, harsh and ragged.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know!”
Jamie stooped and picked up the stone, where Roger had dropped it. He flung it hard between Roger’s feet.
“Then go!” he said. “Take yon cursed stone and find your wicked circle. Get ye gone—for my daughter doesna need a coward!”
He had not yet unsaddled the horses; he seized his saddlebags and heaved them across the horse’s back. He untied both his horse and mine, and mounted in one fluid motion.
“Come,” he said to me. I looked helplessly at Roger. He was staring up at Jamie, green eyes glinting with firelight, bright as the emerald in his hand.
“Go,” he said softly to me, not taking his eyes off Jamie. “If I can—then I’ll come.”
My hands and feet seemed not to belong to me; they moved smoothly, without my direction. I walked to my horse, put my foot in the stirrup, and was up.
When I looked back, even the light of the fire had disappeared. There was nothing behind us but the dark.
62
THREE-THIRDS OF A GHOST
River Run, April 1770
“They have captured Stephen Bonnet.”
Brianna dropped the game box on the floor. Ivory counters exploded in every direction, and rolled off under the furniture. Speechless, she stood staring at Lord John, who set down his glass of brandy and came hastily to her side.
“Are you all right? Do you require to sit down? I apologize most profoundly. I should not have—”
“Yes, you should. No, not the sofa, I’ll never get out of it.” She waved away his offered hand, and made her way slowly toward a plain wooden chair near the windows. Once solidly on it, she gave him a long, level look.
“Where?” she said. “How?”
He didn’t trouble asking whether he ought to send for wine or burnt feathers; she plainly wasn’t going to swoon.
He drew up a stool beside her, but then thought better, and went to the parlor door. He glanced out into the dark hallway; sure enough, one of the maids was dozing on a stool in the curve of the staircase, available in case they should want anything. The woman’s head snapped up at his step, eyes showing white in the dimness.
“Go to bed,” he said. “We shall not require anything further this evening.”
The slave nodded and shuffled off, relief in the droop of her shoulders; she would have been awake since dawn, and it was near midnight now. He was desperately tired himself, after the long ride from Edenton, but it wasn’t news that could wait. He had arrived in the early evening, but this had been his first opportunity to make an excuse to see Brianna alone.
He closed the double doors and placed a footstool in front of them, to prevent any interruptions.
“He was taken here, in Cross Creek,” he said without preamble, sitting down beside her. “As to how, I could not say. The charge brought was smuggling. Once they discovered his identity, of course, there were others added.”
“Smuggling what?”
“Tea and brandy. At least this time.” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to relieve the stiffness caused by hours in the saddle. “I heard of it in Edenton; evidently the man is notorious. His reputation extends from Charleston to Jamestown.”
He looked closely at her; she was pale, but not ghastly.
“He is condemned,” he said quietly. “He will hang next week, in Wilmington. I thought you would wish to know.”
She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, but said nothing. He stole a closer look at her, not wanting to stare, but amazed at the sheer size of her. By God, she was immense! In the two months since their engagement, she had doubled in size, at least.
One side of her enormous abdomen bulged suddenly out, startling him. He was having second thoughts about the wisdom of having told her; if the shock of his news brought on her confinement prematurely, he would never forgive himself. Jamie wouldn’t forgive him, either.
She was staring off into space, her brow wrinkled in concentration.