The Fiery Cross - Diana Gabaldon [399]
“Oh,” I said, comforted at having such an explanation. “That must be it.”
“Must be what?” The setting sun bathed his face in gold, softening the lines of strain as he looked down at me.
“I was thinking of other times and places, too,” I said, and leaned my head against his shoulder. “Just now, though . . . I can’t think of anything but this.”
“Oh?” He hesitated for a moment, but then said, carefully, “I dinna much mention it, Sassenach, for if the answer’s ‘yes,’ there’s nay so much I can do to mend it—but do ye often long for . . . the other times?”
I waited for the space of three heartbeats to answer; I heard them, Jamie’s heart beating slow under my ear, and I curled my left hand closed, feeling the smooth metal of the gold ring on my finger.
“No,” I said, “but I remember them.”
61
ULTIMATUMS
Great Alamance Camp
May 16th 1771
To the People now Assembled
in Arms, who Style themselves
Regulators
In Answer to your Petition, I am to acquaint you that I have ever been attentive to the true Interest of this Country, and to that of every Individual residing within it. I lament the fatal Necessity to which you have now reduced me, by withdrawing yourselves from the Mercy of the Crown, and the Laws of your Country, to require you are assembled as Regulators, to lay down your Arms, Surrender up the outlawed Ringleaders, and Submit yourselves to the Laws of your Country, and then rest on the lenity and Mercy of Government. By accepting these Terms in one Hour from the delivery of this Dispatch, you will prevent an effusion of Blood, as you are at this time in a state of War and Rebellion against your King, your Country, and your Laws.
Wm. Tryon
JAMIE HAD GONE before I woke; his blanket lay neatly folded beside me, and Gideon was gone from the pin-oak to which Jamie had tethered him the night before.
“Colonel’s gone to meet with the Governor’s Council of War,” Kenny Lindsay told me, yawning widely. He blinked, shaking himself like a wet dog. “Tea, ma’am, or coffee?”
“Tea, please.” I supposed it was the tenor of current events that was causing me to think of the Boston Tea Party. I couldn’t recall for sure when that brouhaha and its subsequent events were due to occur, but had an obscure feeling that I ought to seize every opportunity of drinking tea while it was still obtainable, in hopes of saturating my tissues—like a bear tucking into the grubs and berries in anticipation of winter.
The day had dawned still and clear, and while it was cool for the moment, there was already a hint of mugginess in the air from the rain the day before. I sipped my tea, feeling small tendrils of hair escape from bondage to curl round my face, sticking to my cheeks in the steam from my cup.
Tissues restored for the moment, I fetched a couple of buckets and set off for the stream. I hoped it wouldn’t be needed, but it would be as well to have a quantity of boiled sterile water on hand, just in case. And if it wasn’t needed for medical purposes, I could rinse my stockings, which were much in need of attention.
Despite its name the Great Alamance was not a particularly impressive river, being no more than fifteen or twenty feet across for most of its length. It was also shallow, mud-bottomed, and kinked like a wool-raveling, with multiple small arms and tributaries that wandered all over the landscape. I supposed it was a decent military demarcation, though; while a body of men could certainly ford the stream without much trouble, there was no chance of them doing so by stealth.
Dragonflies darted over the water, and over the heads of a couple of militia-men, chatting companionably as they relieved themselves into the murky waters of the stream. I paused tactfully behind a bush until they had left, reflecting as I made my way down the sloping bank with my buckets how fortunate it was that most of the