The Outlandish Companion - Diana Gabaldon [52]
Thanks to his earlier experiences in Edinburgh, Ian no longer qualified for this distinction—a failing that had saved his life, so far. A thrifty Scot, though, Geillis saw no reason for waste; first taking him to her bed, she had then saved him for later use as a sacrifice to protect her travel.
AT THE BEACH, the Frasers find not only their friends, but a scene of desperate pursuit; the rebellious slaves of the Yallahs River had swarmed aboard the ship Bruja, taking it for their escape. Succeeding in reaching the open sea, they were spied— and pursued—by the Porpoise, on watch for any such attempt.
Unskilled in navigation and seamanship, the slaves have managed to reach Hispaniola, but panicked by the Porpoise’s pursuit, have run the Bruja aground. The man-of-war is shelling the wreck and its fugitives; fleeing slaves disappear into the jungle, others are blown to bloody fragments on the sand.
The melee is taking place some distance from the Frasers’ rendezvous, but they cannot escape unseen. Their only hope is to run for it, hoping that the Porpoise will be delayed sufficiently by its engagement to allow them to get away. Too late, though; the Bruja has been destroyed, and the man-of-war seeks other prey.
FLEEING BEFORE A rising wind, the smaller boat is more agile, and manages to stay ahead of the Porpoise for some time. They cannot outrun the man-of-war, though; especially with the increased wind filling the big ship’s sails. More than bad weather is in store; the greenish sky and howling wind portend a Caribbean hurricane. In the maelstrom, the Porpoise is swamped; losing her topmast, she heels over and is dragged down, with the loss of all hands.
The smaller boat does not escape unscathed, though; coming through the hurricane, she limps along with a damaged superstructure. A broken spar falls from above, knocking Claire overboard, unconscious. She comes to herself, choking and gagging, with Jamie supporting her, clinging to a bit of drifting spar. Injured, and drifting in and out of consciousness, Claire has no idea where they are, and no means of saving herself—save Jamie’s grip on her hands.
The wave subsided and the wood rose slightly, bringing my nose above water. I breathed, and my vision cleared slightly. A foot away was the face of Jamie Fraser, hair plastered to his head, wet features contorted against the spray.
“Hold on!” he roared. “Hold on, God damn you!”
I smiled gently, barely hearing him. The sense of great peace was lifting me, carrying me beyond the noise and chaos. There was no more pain. Nothing mattered. Another wave washed over me, and this time I forgot to hold my breath.
The choking sensation roused me briefly, long enough to see the flash of terror in Jamie’s eyes. Then my vision went dark again.
“Damn you, Sassenach!” his voice said, from a very great distance. His voice was choked with passion. “Damn you! I swear if ye die on me, I’ll kill you!”
Fortunately, Claire’s waking impression that she is in fact dead is quickly dispelled; regaining consciousness in a white room filled with light, she finds Jamie by her side. They have been washed ashore, where they were found and rescued, taken to a nearby house and cared for. But where are they?
The appearance of their hostess, Mrs. Olivier, doesn’t help; an Englishwoman married to a Frenchman, she tells them they are on a plantation called Les Perles. But is Les Perles on Martinique? On Jamaica or one of the other English-owned islands, where they will be in danger from the Crown? On St. Thomas, on the Dutch-owned Eleuthera?
Mrs. Olivier kindly inquires what their names might be, causing Jamie and Claire to exchange cautious glances; just where they are will determine who they are—that is, which island they are on will determine which of Jamie’s various identities will be safest. But—
Mrs. Olivier smiled indulgently. “You are not on an island at all. You are on the mainland; in the Colony of Georgia.”
“Georgia, ”Jamie