The Scottish Prisoner - Diana Gabaldon [32]
The soldiers didn’t tell him, and he wouldn’t ask.
To his amazement, they took him up the marble steps to the front door, where they made him wait while the lieutenant banged at the knocker, then spoke to the butler who answered it. The butler was a small, neat man, who blinked in disbelief at sight of Jamie, then turned to the lieutenant, plainly about to remonstrate.
“His Grace said bring him, and I’ve brought him,” said the lieutenant impatiently. “Show us in!”
His Grace? A duke? What the devil might a duke want with him? The only duke he knew of was … God … Cumberland? His heart had already been in his throat; now his wame tried to follow it. He’d seen the Duke of Cumberland only once. When he’d left the battlefield at Culloden, wounded, hidden under a load of hay in a wagon. The wagon had passed through the edge of the government lines, just at evening, and he’d seen the big tent, a squat, vigorous figure outside it irritably waving away clouds of smoke with a gold-laced hat. The smoke of burning bodies—the smoke of the Jacobite dead.
He felt the soldiers jerk and glance at him, startled. He froze, fists at his side, but the chill and the fear were gone, burned away by the sense of rage that rose abruptly, drawing him upright with it.
His heart beat painfully, eager, for all at once the future had a shape to it. No more long days of mere survival. He had purpose, and the glow of it lit his soul.
The butler was falling back, reluctant, but unable to resist. Aye, fine. All he need do was behave circumspectly until he got within grip of the duke. He flexed his left hand briefly. There might be a knife, a letter opener, something … but it didn’t matter.
The lieutenant jerked his head, and he moved, just in time to keep the privates from grasping his arms. He saw the butler’s eyes fix on his feet, mouth twisted in a sneer of contempt. A door opened in the hallway and a woman’s face appeared for a moment. She caught sight of him, gasped, and closed the door.
He would in fact have wiped his sandals, had they given him time; he’d no desire either to foul the house nor to look like the barbarian they plainly thought him. The men hastened him along, though, one on either side, and he had even less wish to give them an excuse to lay their hands on him, so he went, leaving dusty prints crumbled with dry mud and caked manure along the polished floor of the hallway.
The door to the room was open, and they propelled him inside without ceremony. He was looking everywhere at once, gauging distances, estimating the possibilities of objects as weapons, and it was a long instant before his eyes met those of the man seated at the desk.
For a moment longer, his mind refused to grasp the reality, and he blinked. No, it wasn’t Cumberland. Not even the passage of years could have transformed a stout German prince into the slender, fine-featured man frowning at him across the polished wood.
“Mr. Fraser.” It wasn’t quite a question, nor was it quite a greeting, though the man inclined his head courteously.
Jamie was breathing as though he’d run a mile, hands shaking slightly as his body tried to burn away anger that now had no outlet.
“Who are you?” he asked rudely.
The man shot a sharp glance at the lieutenant.
“Did you not tell him, Mr. Gaskins?”
Gaskins. It was a minor relief to know the bugger’s name. And a distinct pleasure to see him go red and then white.
“I … er … I … no, sir.”
“Leave us, Lieutenant.” The man didn’t raise his voice, but it cut like a razor. He’s a soldier, Jamie thought, and then, I ken him. But where …?
The man stood up, ignoring Lieutenant Gaskins’s hasty departure.
“My apologies, Mr. Fraser,” he said. “Were you mistreated on your journey?”
“No,” he replied automatically, scrutinizing the face before him. It was remarkably familiar, and yet he would swear he didn’t … “Why am I here?”
The man drew a deep breath, the frown easing, and as it did, Jamie saw the shape of the man’s face, fine-boned and beautiful, though showing the marks of a hard life. He felt as though someone had punched