The Fiery Cross 29
"The last Highland regiment?" I asked.
"No, mum, the last of the Crown's regular troops. There are the garrisons here and there, I suppose, but all of the standing regiments have been recalled to England or Scotland. We're the last-and behind our time, too. We meant to sail from Charleston, but things went agley there, and so we're bound for Portsmouth now, so fast as we can make speed. It's late in the year, but the Lieutenant's had word of a ship that may risk passage to take us. If not-" He shrugged, glumly philosophic. "Then we shall winter in Portsmouth, I suppose, and make shift as we can."
"So England means to leave us unprotected?" Marsali looked rather shocked at the thought.
"Oh, I shouldna think there's any great danger, mum," Private Ogilvie assured her. "We've dealt wi' the Frenchies for good and all, and the Indians willna be up to much without the frogs to stir them up. Everything's been quite peaceful for a good time now, and doubtless it'll stay so." I made a small noise in the back of my throat, and Jamie squeezed my elbow lightly.
"Have ye not thought perhaps to stay, then?" Lizzie had been peeling and grating potatoes while listening to this; she put down the bowl of glistening white shreds by the fire and began to smear grease on the griddle. "Stay in the Colonies, I mean. There's plenty of land still to be had, to the west."
"Oh." Private Ogilvie glanced down at her, her white kerch modestly bent over her work, and his color deepened again. "Well, I will say I've heard worse prospects, miss. But I am bound to go wi' my regiment, I'm afraid."
Lizzie picked up two eggs and cracked them neatly against the side of the bowl. Her own face, usually pale as whey, bore a faint pink echo of the Private's rich blush.
"Ah. Well, it's a great pity that ye should go awa so soon," she said. Her pale blond lashes swept down against her cheeks. "Still, we'll not send ye away on an empty stomach."
Private Ogilvie went slightly pinker round the ears. "That's ... verra kind of ye, miss. Verra kind indeed." Lizzie glanced up shyly, and blushed more deeply.
Jamie coughed gently and excused himself, leading me away frorn,the fire. "Christ," he said in an undertone, bending down so I could hear him. "And she's been a woman less than a full day, too! Have ye been givin' her lessons, Sassenach, or are women just born wi' it?"
"Natural talent, I expect," I said circumspectly.
The unexpected advent of Lizzie's menarche after supper last night had in fact been the straw that broke the camel's back, with regard to clean clouts, and the precipitating event that had caused me to sacrifice my petticoat. Lizzie naturally had no menstrual cloths with her, and I didn't want to oblige her to share the children's diapers.
"Mmphm. I suppose I'd best begin looking for a husband for her, then," Jamie said in resignation.
"A husband! Why, she's scarcely fifteen!"
"Aye, so?" He glanced at Marsali, who was rubbing Fergus's dark hair dry with the towel, and then back at Lizzie and her soldier, and raised a cynical brow at me.
30 Diana Gabaldon
"Aye, so, yourself," I said, a little crossly. "All right, Marsali bad been only fifteen when she married Fergus. That didn't mean-"
"The point being," Jamie went on, dismissing Lizzie for the moment, "that the regiment leaves for Portsmouth tomorrow; they havena got either time nor disposition to trouble with this business in Hillsborough-that's Tryon's concern.5
"But what Hayes said-"
"Oh, if anyone tells him anything, I'm sure he'll send the depositions along to New Bern-but as for himself, I imagine he'd not much care if the Regulators set fire to the Governor's Palace, so long as it doesna delay his sailing."
I heaved a deep sigh, reassured. If Jamie was right, the last thing Hayes would do was take prisoners, no matter what the evidence to hand, MacLennan was safe, then.
"But what do you suppose Hayes wants with you and the others, then?" I asked, bending to rummage in one of the wicker hampers for another loaf of bread. "He is hunting you-in person. 15
Jamie glanced back over his shoulder, as though expecting the Lieutenant to appear at any moment through the holly bushes. As the screen of prickly green remained intact, he turned back to me, frowning slightly.
"I dinna ken," he said, shaking his head, "but it's naught to do with this business of Tryon's. If it was that, he might have told me last night-for that matter, if he cared himself about the matter, he would have told me last night," he added. "No, Sassenach, depend upon it, the rioters are no more than a matter of duty to wee Archie Hayes.
"As for what he wants wi' me-" He leaned over my shoulder to swipe a finger round the top of the honey pot. "I dinna mean to trouble about it until I must. I've three kegs of whisky left, and I mean to turn them into a plowshare, a scythe blade, three ax-heids, ten pound of sugar, a horse, and an astrolabe before this evening. Which is a conjuring trick that might take some attention, aye?" He drew the sticky tip of his finger gently across my lips, then turned my head toward him and bent to kiss me.
"An astrolabe?" I said, tasting honey. I kissed him back. "Whatever for?" "And then I want to go home," he whispered, ignoring the question. His forehead was pressed against mine, and his eyes very blue.
"I want to take ye to bed-in my bed. And I mean to spend the rest of the day thinking what to do to ye once I've got ye there. So wee Archie can just go and play at marbles with his ballocks, aye?"
"An excellent thought," I whispered back. "Care to tell him that yourself?" My eye had caught the flash of a green-and-black tartan on the other side of the clearing, but when Jamie straightened up and whirled round, I saw that the visitor was in fact not Lieutenant Hayes but rather John Quincy Myers, who was sporting a soldier's plaid wrapped round his waist, the ends fluttering gaily in the breeze.
This added a fiirther touch of color to Myers's already striking sartorial rorn the top down with a slouch hat splendor. Extremely tall, and decorated f
stuck through with several needles and a turkey quill, two ragged pheasant feathers knotted into his long black hair, a vest of dyed porcupine quills worn
The Fiery Cross 31
over a beaded shirt, his usual breecliclout, and leggings wrapped with strings of small bells, the mountain man was hard to miss.
"Friend James! " John Quincy smiled broadly at sight of Jamie, and hastened forward, hand extended and bells chiming. "Thought I should find you at your breakfast! "
Jamie blinked slightly at this vision, but gamely returned the mountain man's encompassing handshake.
"Aye, John. Will ye join us?"
"Er ... yes," I chimed in, with a surreptitious look into the food hamper. "Please do!"
John Quincy bowed ceremoniously to me, sweeping off his hat.
"Your servant, ma'am, and I'm much obliged. Maybe later. Right now, I come to fetch away Mr. Fraser, though. He's wanted, urgent-like."
"By whom?" Jamie asked warily.
"Robbie McGillivray, he says his name is. You know the man?"
"Aye, I do." Whatever Jamie knew about McGillivray, it was causing him to delve into the small chest where he kept his pistols. "What's the trouble?"
, "Well." John Quincy scratched meditatively at his bushy black beard. f"Twas his wife as asked me to come find you, and she don't speak what you'd call right good English, so may be as I've muddled the account of it a bit. But what I think she said to me was as how there was a thief-taker who'd grabbed holt of her son, sayin' as how the boy was one o' the ruffians who broke up Hillsborough, and meanin' to take him to the gaol in New Bern. Only Robbie, he says no one's takin' a son of his anywhere, and-well, after that, the poor Woman got right flustered and I couldn't make out but one word to the dozen. But I do believe Robbie would 'preciate it if you'd come by and lend a hand with the proceedings."
. Jamie grabbed Roger's bloodstained green coat, which was hung on a bush waiting to be cleaned. Shrugging into it, he thrust the newly loaded pistol through his belt.
"Where?" he said.
Myers ge
stured economically with one large thumb, and pushed off into the holly bushes, Jamie at his heels.
: Fergus, who had been listening to this exchange, Germain in his arms, set the boy down at Marsali's feet.
, "I must go help Grand-pre," he told Germain. He picked up a stick of firewood and put it into the little boy's hands. "You stay; protect Mama" and little Joan from bad people."
Iroui, Papa." Germain scowled fiercely under his blond ftinge and took a firm grip on his stick, settling himself to defend the camp.
Marsali, MacLennan, Lizzie, and Private Ogilvie had been watching the byplay with rather glazed looks. As Fergus picked up another length of firewood and plunged purposefully into the holly bushes, Private Ogilvie came to life, stirring uneasily.
. . should I go for my sergeant, do ye think, "Er. . ." he said. "Perhaps I
ma'am? If there's like to be any trouble . . .'
"No, no," I said hurriedly. The last thing we needed was for Archie Hayes
32 Diana Gabaldon
and his regiment to show up en masse. This struck me as the sort of situation which would benefit strongly from being kept unofficial.
"I'm sure everything will be quite all right. It's sure to be nothing but a misunderstanding. Mr. Fraser will sort it directly, never fear." Even as I spoke, I was sidling round the fire toward the spot where my medical supplies lay, sheltered from the drizzle under a sheet of canvas. Reaching under the edge, I grabbed my small emergency kit.
"Lizzie, why don't you give Private Ogilvie some of the strawberry preserves for his toast? And Mr. MacLennan would like a bit of honey in his coffee, I'm sure. Do excuse me, won't you, Mr. MacLennan, I must just go and ... er. . ." Smiling inanely, I sidled through the holly leaves. As the branches swished and crackled behind me, I paused to take my bearings. A faint chime of bells reached me on the rainy wind; I turned toward the sound, and broke into a run.
IT WAS SOME WAY; I was out of breath and sweating from the exercise by the time I caught them up near the competition field. Things were just getting under way; I could hear the buzz of talk from the crowd of men gathering, but no shouts of encouragement or howls of disappointment as yet. A few brawny specimens stamped to and fro, stripped to the waist and swinging their arms to limber up; the local "strongmen" of various settlements.
The drizzle had started up again; the wetness gleamed on curving shoulders and plastered swirls of dark body hair flat against the pale skins of chests and forearms. I had no time to appreciate the spectacle, though; John Quincy threaded his way adroitly through the knots of spectators and competitors, waving cordially to this and that acquaintance as we passed. On the far side of the crowd, a small man detached himself from the mass and came hurrying to meet us.
"Mac Dubb! Ye've come, then-that's good."
"Nay bother, Robbie," Jamie assured him. "What's to do, then?" McGillivray, who looked distinctly harried, glanced at the strongmen and their supporters, then jerked his head toward the nearby trees. We followed him, unnoticed by the crowd gathering round two large stones wrapped with rope, which I assumed some of the strongmen present were about to prove their prowess by lifting.
"It's your son, is it, Rob?" Jamie asked, dodging a water-filled pine branch. "Aye," Robbie answered, "or it was."
That sounded sinister. I saw Jamie's hand brush the butt of his pistol; mine went to my medical kit.
"What's happened?" I asked. "Is he hurt?"
"Not him," McGillivray replied cryptically, and ducked ahead, beneath a drooping chestnut bough hung with scarlet creeper.
Just beyond was a small open space, not really big enough to be called a clearing, tufted with dead grass and studded with pine saplings. As Fergus and I ducked under the creeper after Jamie, a large woman in homespun whirled
r
The Fiery Cross 33
toward us, shoulders hunching as she raised the broken tree limb she clutched in one hand. She saw McGillivray, though, and relaxed fractionally.
'Wer ist das?" she asked suspiciously, eyeing us. Then John Quincy appeared from under the creeper, and she lowered the club, her solidly handsome features relaxing fiirther.
"Ha, Myersl You brung me den Jamie, oder?" She cast me a curious look, but was too busy glancing between Fergus and Jamie to inspect me closely. "Aye, love, this is Jamie Roy-Sbeumais Mac Dubb." McGillivray hastened
to take credit for Jamie's appearance, putting a respectful hand on his sleeve. "My wife, Ute, Mac Dubb. And Mac Dhub's son," he added, waving vaguely at Fergus.
Ute McGillivray looked like a Valkyrie on a starchy diet; tall, very blond, and broadly powerful.
"Your servant, ma'am," Jamie said, bowing. 'Madame,' Fergus echoed, making her a courtly leg.
Mrs. McGillivray dropped them a low curtsy in return, eyes fixed on the prominent bloodstains streaking the front of Jamie's-or rather, Roger's---coat. 'Mein Herr," she murmured, looking impressed. She turned and beckoned
to a young man of seventeen or eighteen, who had been lurking in the background. He bore such a marked resemblance to his small, wiry, dark-haired father that his identity could scarcely be in doubt.
"Manfred," his mother announced proudly. "Mein laddie." Jamie inclined his head in grave acknowledgment.
"Mr. McGillivray."
"Ah ... your s-servant, sir?" The boy sounded rather dubious about it, but put out his hand to be shaken.
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir," Jamie assured him, shaking it. The courtesies duly observed, he looked briefly round at the quiet surroundings, raising one eyebrow.
"I had heard that you were suffering some inconvenience wi' regard to a thief-taker. Do I take it that the matter has been resolved?" He glanced in question from McGillivray Junior to McGillivray Senior.
The three McGillivrays exchanged assorted glances among themselves, Robin McGillivray gave an apologetic cough.
"Well, not to say resolved, quite, Mac Dubb. That is to say. . . " He trailed off, the harried look returning to his eyes.
Mrs. McGillivray gave him a stern look, then turned to Jamie.
"1st kcin bother," she told him. "Icb baf den wee ball of shite safe put. But only we want to know, how we best den Korpus hide?"
"The ... body?" I said, rather faintly. Even Jamie looked a bit disturbed at that. "Ye've killed him, Rob?"
"Me?" McGillivray looked shocked. "Christ's sake, Mac Dubb, what d'ye take me for?",
Jamie raised the eyebrow again; evidently the thought of McGillivray committing violence was scarcely far-fetched. McGillivray had the grace to look abashed.
34 Diana Gabaldon
"Aye, well. I suppose I might have-and I did-well, but, Mac Dubb! That business at Ardsmuir was all long ago and done AT, aye?"
"Aye," Jamie said. "It was. What about this business wi' the thief-taker, though? Where is he?"
I heard a muffled giggle behind me, and swung round to see that the rest of the family McGillivray, silent 'til now, was nonetheless present. Three teenaged girls sat in a row on a dead log behind a screen of saplings, all immaculately attired in clean white caps and aprons, only slightly wilted with the rain.
"Meine lassies," Mrs. McGillivray announced, with a wave in their direction-unnecessarily, since all three of the girls looked like smaller versions of herself. "Hilda, Inga, und Senga."
Fergus bowed elegantly to the three. 'Enchanti, mesdemoiselles."
The girls giggled and bobbed their heads in response, but without rising, which struck me as odd. Then I noticed some disturbance taking place under the skirt of the oldest girl; a sort of heaving flutter, accompanied by a muffled grunt. Hilda swung her heel sharply into whatever it was, all the time smiling brightly at me.
There was another grunt-much louder this time-from under the skirt, which caused Jamie to start and turn in her direction.
Still smiling brightly, Hilda bent and delicately picked up the edge of her skirt, under which I could see a frantic face, bisected by a dark strip of cloth tied round his mouth.
>
"That's him," said Robbie, sharing his wife's talent for stating the obvious.
41 see." Jamie's fingers twitched slightly against the side of his kilt. "Ah ... perhaps we could have him out, then?"
Robbie motioned to the girls, who all stood up together and stepped aside, revealing a small man who lay against the base of the dead log, bound hand and foot with an assortment of what looked like women's stockings, and gagged with someone's kerchief He was wet, muddy, and slightly battered round the edges.
Myers bent and hoisted the man to his feet, holding him by the collar. "Well, he ain't much to look at," the mountain man said critically, squinting at the man as though evaluating a substandard beaver skin. "I guess thief-takin' don't pay so well as ye might think."
The man was in fact skinny and rather ragged, as well as disheveled, ftirious-and frightened. Ute sniffed contemptuously.
'Saukerl!" she said, and spat neatly on the thief-taker's boots. Then she turned to Jamie, fiffl of charm.
"So, mein Herr. How we are to kill him best?"
The thief-taker's eyes bulged, and he writhed in Myers's grip. He bucked and twisted, making frantic gargling noises behind the gag. Jamie looked him over, rubbing a knuckle across his mouth, then glanced at Robbie, who gave a slight shrug, with an apologetic glance at his wife.
Jamie cleared his throat.
"Mmphm. Ye had something in mind, perhaps, ma'am?"
Ute beamed at this evidence of sympathy with her intentions, and drew a long dagger from her belt.
The Fiery Cross 35
"I thought maybe to butcher, wic ein Scbwein, ja? But see She poked the thief-taker gingerly between the ribs; he yelped behind the gag, and a small spot of blood bloomed on his ragged shirt.
"Too much Blut," she explained, with a moue of disappointment. She waved at the screen of trees, behind which the stone-lifting seemed to be proceeding well. "Die Leute will schmell."
"Schmell?" I glanced at Jamie, thinking this some unfamiliar German expression. He coughed, and brushed a hand under his nose. "Oh, smell. " I said, enlightened. "Er, yes, I think they might."
"I dirma suppose we'd better shoot him, then," Jamie said thoughtfully. "If ye're wanting to avoid attention, I mean."
"I say we break his neck," Robbie McGillivray said, squinting judiciously at the trussed thief-taker. "That's easy enough."
"You think?" Fergus squinted in concentration. "I say a knife. If you stab in the right spot, the blood is not so much. The kidney, just beneath the ribs in back ... eh?"
The captive appeared to take exception to these suggestions, judging from the urgent sounds proceeding from behind the gag, and Jamie rubbed his chin dubiously.
"Well, that's no verra difficult," he agreed. "Or strangle him. But he will lose his bowels. If it were to be a question of the smell, even crushing his skull ... but tell me, Robbie, how does the man come to be here?"
"Eh?" Robbie looked blank.
"You're no camped nearby?" Jamie waved a hand briefly at the tiny clearing, making his meaning clear. There was no trace of hearthfire; in fact, no one had camped on this side of the creek. And yet all the McGillivrays were here.
"Oh, no," Robbie said, comprehension blossoming on his spare features. "Nay, we're camped some distance up. Only, we came to have a wee keek at the heavies"-he jerked his head toward the competition field-"and the ftiggin' vulture spied our Freddie and took hold of him, so as to drag him off." He cast an unfriendly look at the thief-taker, and I saw that a coil of rope dangled snakelike from the man's belt. A pair of iron manacles lay on the ground nearby, the dark metal already laced with orange rust from the damp.
"We saw him grab aholt of Brother," Hilda put in at this point. "So we grabbed aholt of him and pushed him through here, where nobody could see. When he said he meant to take Brother away to the sheriff, me and my sisters knocked him down and sat on him, and Mama kicked him a few times."
Ute patted her daughter fondly on one sturdy shoulder.
"They are gut, strong MAdcben, meine lasses," she told Jamie. "Ve komm see bier die Wettkdmpfer, maybe choose husband for Inga or Senga. Hilda hat einen Mann already promised," she added, with an air of satisfaction.
She looked Jamie over frankly, her eye dwelling approvingly on his height, the breadth of his shoulders, and the general prosperity of his appearance.