The Fiery Cross - Diana Gabaldon [644]
I edged backward a little; Bonnet saw it, and smiled. He wasn’t bothered. Obviously he didn’t think I could escape, and just as obviously, he was waiting for something. Of course—he had told me, himself. He was waiting for Brianna. I realized belatedly that he had clearly followed us out here from town; he knew that Marsali and Brianna were somewhere nearby—much easier simply to wait until they revealed themselves.
My best hope was that someone else would happen along; the weather was muggy and damp, but not raining yet, and this was a well-known spot for picnicking, according to Mrs. Burns. If someone did come along, how could I take advantage of it? I knew that Bonnet would not have the slightest compunction in simply shooting anyone who got in his way—he was boasting about the rest of his bloodthirsty plans.
“Mrs. Cameron—Mrs. Innes, she’ll be now—seemed willin’ enough to talk, when I suggested that her husband might soon be lackin’ a few of his treasured parts, though as it happens, she was lyin’, then, too, deceitful old trout. But it came to me, ponderin’ the matter afterward, that she might be more obligin’, were it a matter of her heir.” He nodded toward Jemmy, and clicked his tongue at the boy. “So, lad, will we be goin’ to see your great-auntie, then?”
Jemmy looked suspiciously at Bonnet, cuddling back against me.
“Whozat?” he asked.
“Oh, it’s a wise child that knows its father, isn’t it? I’m your Da, lad—was your mother not after telling you so?”
“Daddy?” Jemmy looked at Bonnet, then at me. “At’s not Daddy!”
“No, he isn’t your daddy,” I assured Jemmy, shifting my hold. My arms were beginning to ache under the strain of holding him. “He’s a bad man; we don’t like him.”
Bonnet laughed.
“Is there no shame with you at all, dear one? Of course he’s mine—it’s your daughter has said so, to my face.”
“Nonsense,” I said. I had maneuvered my way into a narrow gap between two of the evergreen wax-myrtle bushes. I’d try to distract him back into conversation, then seize a moment to whirl round, set Jemmy down, and urge him to run. With luck, I could block the gap long enough to prevent Bonnet grabbing him before he could get away—if he would run.
“Lillywhite,” I said, taking hold of the conversation. “What did you mean, Lillywhite and the Sheriff were going to—to attend to my husband and Mr. MacKenzie?” Merely mentioning the possibility made me feel sick; sweat was running down my sides, but my face felt cold and clammy.
“Oh, that? What I said, Mrs. Fraser. Your husband is dead.” He had started looking past me, pale green eyes flicking through the shrubbery. He was clearly expecting Brianna to show up at any moment.
“What happened at the wedding showed us clear enough that it wouldn’t do, to leave Mrs. Cameron with so much protection. No, if we meant to try again, the thing to do was to see that she’s no manfolks to call upon, either for help, or vengeance. So when your husband suggested to Mr. Lyon that he fetch me along to a private meeting, I thought that might be a suitable opportunity to dispose of him and Mr. MacKenzie—two birds with one whisky keg, as ye might be sayin’—but then I thought best if Lillywhite were the lad to handle that end of things, him and his tame sheriff.” He smiled. “I thought best I come to be fetchin’ my son and his mother along, so as not to risk anything goin’ amiss, ye see. We’ll—”
I shifted weight, spun on my heel, and plunked Jemmy on the ground on the far side of the bushes.
“Run!” I said urgently to him. “Run, Jem! Go!” There was a flash of red as he scampered away, whimpering with fear, and then Bonnet crashed into me.
He tried to shove me aside, but I was ready for that, and grabbed for the pistol at his belt. He felt me snatch, and jerked back, but I had my fingers on the butt. I got it free and flung it behind me, as I fell to the ground with him on top of me.
He rolled off me and up on to his knees, where he froze.
“Stay there, or by the Holy Virgin, I’ll blow your head off!”
Gasping