The Fiery Cross - Diana Gabaldon [623]
I opened my eyes, to see the ocean falling away before me into a bank of floating mist. It was vast and beautiful—and empty. One might well fall off the end of the world, I thought.
“YE SAILED WI’ our Stephen, aye? For what, two months, three?”
“Near on three,” Roger answered.
Our Stephen, was it? And what did Jamie mean by that homely usage, then?
Jamie nodded, not turning his head. He looked out over the rolling wash of the sea, the breeze whipping strands of hair loose from their binding to dance like flames, pale in daylight.
“Ye’ll have kent the man well enough, then.”
Roger leaned his weight against the rail. It was solid, but wet and sticky with half-dried spray, where spume from the rocks below had reached it.
“Well enough,” he echoed. “Aye. Well enough for what?”
Jamie turned then, to look him in the face. His eyes were narrowed against the wind, but straight and bright as razors.
“Well enough to ken he is a man—and no more.”
“What else would he be?” Roger felt the edge in his own voice.
Jamie turned back toward the sea, shading his eyes with his hand as he looked toward the sinking sun.
“A monster,” he said softly. “Something less than a man—or more.”
Roger opened his mouth to reply, but found he could not. For it was a monster that shadowed his own heart with fear.
“How did the sailors see him?” Claire’s voice came from Jamie’s other side; she leaned over the rail to look around him, and the wind seized her hair and shook it out in a flying cloud, stormy as the distant sky.
“On the Gloriana?” Roger took a deep breath, a whiff of dead whale mingling with the fecund scent of the salt marsh behind. “They . . . respected him. Some of them were afraid of him.” Like me. “He had the reputation of a hard captain, but a good one. Competent. Men were willing to ship with him, because he always came safe into port, his voyages were always profitable.”
“Was he cruel?” Claire asked. A faint line showed between her brows.
“All captains are cruel sometimes, Sassenach,” Jamie said, with a slight tinge of impatience. “They need to be.”
She glanced up at him, and Roger saw her expression change, memory softening her eyes, a wry thought tightening the corner of her mouth. She laid a hand on Jamie’s arm, and he saw her knuckles whiten as she squeezed.
“You’ve never done other than you had to,” she said, so quietly that Roger could scarcely hear her. No matter; the words were plainly not meant for him. She raised her voice then, slightly. “There’s a difference between cruelty and necessity.”
“Aye,” Jamie said, half under his breath. “And a thin line, maybe, between a monster and a hero.”
102
THE BATTLE OF WYLIE’S LANDING
THE SOUND WAS CALM and flat, the surface barely ruffled by tiny wind-driven waves. And a bloody good thing, too, Roger thought, looking at his father-in-law. Jamie had his eyes open, at least, fixed on the shore with a sort of desperate intensity, as though the sight of solid land, however unreachable, might yet impart some comfort. Droplets of sweat gleamed on his upper lip, and his face was the same nacreous color as the dawn sky, but he hadn’t vomited yet.
Roger wasn’t seasick, but he felt nearly as ill as Jamie looked. Neither of them had eaten any breakfast, but he felt as though he’d swallowed a large mass of parritch, liberally garnished with carpet-tacks.
“That’s it.” Duff sat back on his oars, nodding toward the wharf ahead. It was cool on the water—almost cold at this hour—but the air was thick with moisture, and sweat ran down his face from his efforts. Peter sat silent on his own oars, dark face set in an expression indicating that he wanted nothing to do with this enterprise, and the sooner their unwelcome cargo disembarked, the better.
Wylie’s Landing seemed like a mirage, floating in a layer of mist above the water amid a thick growth of needlerush and cord grass. Marshland, clumps of stunted coastal forest, and broad stretches of open water surrounded it, under an overwhelming arch of pale gray sky. By comparison to the green enclosures of the mountains, it seemed