wouldn't need stitching. I pressed a clean pad to the wound and moved in front of him, to fasten the linen strip that bound it in place.
"A miracle you survived," I said.
"It was that," he agreed. "I was lyin' on the ground, and Murchison's face over me, and I-"
"Murchison!" The exclamation popped out of me, and I saw a flicker of satisfaction cross Hayes's face. I had a brief premonitory qualm, remembering what Jamie had said about Hayes the night before. He thinks more than be says, does wee Archie-and be talks quite a lot. Be careful ofbim, Sassenacb. Well, a little late for caution-but I doubted it could matter; even if it bad been the same Murchison-
"You'll ken the name, I see," Hayes observed pleasantly. "I had heard in
The Fiery Cross 79
England that a Sergeant Murchison of the 26th was sent to North Carolina. But the garrison at Cross Creek was gone when we reached the town-a fire, was it?"
"Er, yes," I said, rather edgy at this reference. I was glad that Bree had left; only two people knew the whole truth of what had happened when the Crown's warehouse on Cross Creek burned, and she was one of them. As for the other-well, Stephen Bonnet was not likely to cross paths with the Lieutenant anytime soon-if Bonnet himself was still alive.
"And the men of the garrison," Hayes pursued, "Murchison and the restwhere have they gone, d'ye know?"
-Sergeant Murchison is dead," said a deep, soft voice behind me. "Alas." Hayes looked beyond me and smiled. wife, ccA Sbeumais ruaidh," he said. 111 did think ye might come to your
sooner or later. I've been seekin' ye the morn - "
I was startled at the name, and so was Jamie; a look of surprise flashed across his features, then disappeared, replaced by wariness. No one had called him "Red Jamie" since the days of the Rising. s. "Let's "I heard," he said dryly. He sat down on my extra stool, facing Haye
have it, then. What is it?" maged Hayes pulled up the sporran that dangled between his knees, rum
for a moment, and pulled out a square of folded paper, secured with a red wax seal, marked with a crest I recognized. My heart skipped a beat at the sight; I somehow doubted that Governor Tryon was sending me a belated birthday wish.
Hayes turned it over, checked careffilly to see that the name inscribed on the front was Jamie's, and handed it across. To my surprise, Jamie didn't open it at once, but sat holding it, eyes fixed on Hayes's face.
"What brought ye here?" he asked abruptly.
"Ah, duty, to be sure," Hayes answered, thin brows arched in innocent astonishment. "Does a soldier do aught for any other reason?"
"Duty," Jamie repeated. He tapped the missive idly against his leg. "Aye, well. Duty might take ye from Charleston to Virginia, but there are quicker ways to get there." arred the Hayes started to shrug, but desisted at once, as the movement j
shoulder I was bandaging.
"I had the Proclamation to bring, from Governor Tryon." "The Governor's no authority over you or your men."
"True," Hayes agreed, "but why should I not do the man a service, and I could?" . >5 "Aye, and did he ask ye to do him the service, or was it your own notionJamie said, a distinct tone of cynicism in his voice.
"Ye've grown a bit suspicious in your auld age, Sheumais ruaidh,5' Hayes said, shaking his head reprovingly.
"That's how i've lived to grow as auld as I have," Jamie replied, smiling slightly. He paused, eyeing Hayes. ,ye say it was a man named Murchison who shot ye on the field at Drumossie?"
I had finished the bandaging; Hayes moved his shoulder experimentally, testing for pain.
80 Diana Gabaldon
"Why, ye kent that, surely, a Sheumais ruaidh. D'ye not recall the day, man? 15 Jamie's face changed subtly, and I felt a small tremor of unease. The fact was that Jamie had almost no memory of the last day of the clans, of the slaughter that had left so many bleeding in the rain-him among them. I knew that small scenes from that day came back to him now and again in his sleep,
nightmare-but whether it was f fragments of rom trauma, injury, or simple force of Arifl, Battle of Culloden was lost to him the
-or had been, until now. I didn't think he wanted it back.
"A great deal happened then," he said. "I dinna remember everything, no." He bent his head abruptly, and thrust a thumb beneath th f
e old of the letter, opening it so roughly that the wax seal shattered into fragments.
"Your husband's a modest man, Mistress Fraser." Hayes nodded to me as he summoned his aide with a flip of the hand. "Has he never told ye what he did that day?"
"There was a good bit of gallantry on that field," Jamie muttered, head bent over the letter. "And quite a bit of the reverse." I didn't think he was reading; his eyes were fixed, as though he were seeing something else, beyond the paper that he held.
"Aye, there was," Hayes agreed. "But it does seem worth remark, when a man's saved your life, no?"
Jamie's head jerked up at that, startled. I moved across to stand behind him, a hand laid lightly on his shoulder. Hayes took the shirt from his aide and put it slowly on, smiling in an odd, half-watchful way.
"Ye dinna recall how ye struck Murchison across the head, just as he was set to bayonet me on the ground? And then ye picked me up and carried me from the field, awa to a bittie well nearby? One of the chiefs lay on the grass there, and his men were bathin' his heid in the water, but I could see he was deid, he lay so still. There was someone there to tend me; they wished ye to stay, too, for ye were wounded and bleeding, but ye would not. Ye wished me well, in the name of St. Michael-and went back then, to the field."
Hayes settled the chain of his gorget, adjusting the small silver crescent beneath his chin. Without his stock, his throat looked bare, defenseless.
"Ye looked fair wild, man, for there was blood runnin' doon your face and your hair was loose on the wind. Ye'd sheathed your sword to carry me, but ye pulled it again as ye turned away. I didna think I should see ye again, for if ever I saw a man set to meet his death . . ."
He shook his head, his eyes half-closed, as though he saw not the sober, stalwart man before him, not the Fraser of Fraser's Ridge-but Red Jamie, the young warrior who had not gone back from gallantry, but because he sought to throw his life away, feeling it a burden-because he had lost me.
"Did I?" Jamie muttered. "I had ... forgotten." I could feel the tension in him, singing like a stretched wire under my hand. A pulse beat quick in the artery beneath his ear. There were things he had forgotten, but not that. Neither had 1.
, Hayes bent his head, as his aide fastened the stock around his neck, then straightened and nodded to me.
"I thank ye, ma'am, 'twas most gracious of ye."
"Think nothing of it," I said, dry-mouthed. "My pleasure." It had come on
The Fiery Cross
81
to rain again; the cold drops struck my hands and face, and moisture glimmered on the strong bones of Jamie's face, caught trembling in his hair and thick lashes. his coat. and fastened the loop of his plaid with Hayes shrugged himself into
a small gilt brooch-the brooch his father had given him, before Culloden.
55 "So Murchison is dead," he said, as though to himself. "I did hear -his
fingers fumbled for a moment with the clasp of the brooch-"as how there were two brothers of that name, alike as peas in the pod."
"There were," Jamie said. He looked up then, and met Hayes's eyes. The t's face showed no more than mild interest.
Lieutenan )w then, which it was? . - ." "Ah. And would ye kn( ,
"No. But it is no matter; both are dead." nt as though thinking, then "Ah," Hayes said again. He stood a mome, I
bowed to Jamie, formally, bonnet held against his chest. Blessed Michael defend "Buidbcachas dbut, a Sheumais mac Brian. And May ed to you." He lifted the bonnet briefly to me, clapped it on his head, and turn
go, his aide following in silence.
A gust of wind blew through the clearing, with a chilly burst of rain upon it, so like the freezing April rain of cutloden. Jamie shivered suddenly beside me, his hand. with a deep, convulsive shudder that crumpled the letter he still held in
,How much do you remember)" I asked5 looking after Hayes, as he picked his way across the blood-soaked ground.
"Almost nothing," he replied. He stood up and turned to look down at me, kis above. "And that is still too much."
his eyes as dark as the clouded s he rain had blotted and smeared the He handed me the crumpled letter. T the Proclamaink here and there, but it was still quite readable. By contrast to dilute its tion, it contained two sentences-but the additional period didn't
impact. New Berny 20 October
Coloncljamcs Fraser
Whereas the Peace andgood order of this Government has been lately violated and much Injury done to the persons and Properties of many
;f People who Stile themselves Requinhabitants of this Province by a Body i Order and direct you lators, I do by the Advice of his Majesty's Council
forthwith to call a General Muster ofso many Men as YOU Judge suitable to serve in a Regiment of Militia3 and make Report to me as soon as possibie of the Number of Volunteers that are willing to turn out in the Service Of
upon, and also what Number of cffectheir King and Country, when called out in case of an
tive Men belong to your Regiment who can be ordered
Emergency, and in case anyfurther Violence should be attempted to be comYour Dili I obedience to these mitted by the Insurgents. gent and punctua
orders will be well received by
Your Obed1t. Servant, William Tryon
82 Diana Gabaldon
I folded the rain-spotted letter neatly up, noticing remotely that my hands were shaking. Jamie took it from me, and held it between thumb and forefinger, as though it were some disagreeable object-as indeed it was. His mouth quirked wryly as he met my eyes.
"I had hoped for a little more time," he said.
A FTER BRIANNA LEFT To RETRIEVE JemmY from Jocasta's tent, Roger made his way slowly up the hill toward their own campsite
1A He exchanged greetings and accepted congratulations from people h' e passed, but scarcely heard what was said to him,
7bere'll be a next time, she'd said. He held the words close, turning them over in his mind like a handful Of coins in his pocket. She hadn't been just saying it. She meant it, and it was a promise that at the moment meant even more to him than the ones she'd made on their first wedding night.
The thought of weddings reminded him, finally, that there was in fact another coming. He glanced down at himself, and saw that Bree hadn't been exaggerating about his appearance. Damn, and it was Jamie's coat, too.
He began to brush off the pine needles and streaks of mud, but was interrupted by a halloo from the path above. He looked up, to see Duncan Innes making his way carefully down the steep slope, body canted to compensate for his missing arm. Duncan had put on his splendid coat, scarlet,vith blue facings and gold buttons, and his hair was plaited tight under a stylish new black hat. The transformation from Highland fisherman to prosperous landowner was startling; even Duncan's attitude seemed changed, more confident by half.
Duncan was accompanied by a tall, thin, elderly gentleman, very neat but threadbare in appearance, his scanty white locks tied back from a high and ba ding brow. His mouth had collapsed f I
rom lack of teeth, but retained its humorOus curve, and his eyes were blue and bright, set in a long face whose skin was stretched so tight across the bone as scarce to leave enough to wrinkle round the eyes, though deep lines carved the mouth and brow. With a long-beaked nose, and clad in rusty, tattered black, he looked like a genial vulture.
`A Sme6raicb, " Duncan hailed Roger, looking pleased. "The very man I hoped to find! And I trust you're Weel-fettled against your marriage?" he added, his eyes falling quizzically on Roger's stained coat and leaf-strewn hair.
"Oh, aye.', Roger cleared his throat, converting his coat-brushing to a b ef thump of his chest, as though to loosen phlegm. ri ding, though, eh?,, "Damp weather for a wed-
"Happy the corpse the rain falls on," Duncan agreed, and laughed, a little
The Fiery Cross 83
nervously. -Still, we'll hope not to die o' the pleurisy before we're wed, eh, lad?" He settled the fine crimson coat more snugly On his shoulders, flicking an torn the cuff.
11,vimaginary speck of dust f torn "You're very fine, Duncan," Roger said, hoping to distract attention f jis own disreputable state with a bit of raillery. "Quite like a bridegroom!"
Duncan flushed a little behind his drooping mustache, and his one hand itwiddled with the crested buttons on his coat.
,j_ "Ah, well," he said, seeming mildly embarrassed. "Miss To did say as she ,,,didna wish to stand up wi' a scarecrow." He coughed, and turned abruptly to his companion, as though the word had suddenly reminded him of the man's ..jntsence.
"Mr. Bug, here's Himself's good-son, Roger Mac, him I telit ye of." He turned back toward Roger, waving vaguely at his companion, who stepped for ward, extending his hand with a stiff but cordial bow. "This will be Arch Bug, a S, Smebraich."
"Your servant, Mr. Bug," Roger said politely, slightly startled to observe that ik the"IaUrgmep,b"onMyrhaBnudggrriepppiiiendg, his was missing its first two fingers.
his manner indicating that he reciprocated the nt sincerely. He might have intended to expand on the subject, but senttme
tavghee,nseheemoepdetnoedemhiesrgmeofurtohm, aithigh-pitched feminine voice, a little cracked with "ies that kind, sir, of Mr. Fraser, and I'm sure as he'll have nay reason to reI canna tell ye what a blessing it gret it, indeed he'll not, as I said to hirri myself
is, and us not sure where our next bite was comin' from or how to keep a roof -above- our heads! I said to Arch, I said, now we must just trust in Christ and Our Lady, and if we mun starve, we shall do it in a state of grace, and Arch, he says to me . . ."
A small, round woman, threadbare and elderly as her husband, but likewise neatly mended, emerged into view, still talking. Short as she was, Roger hadn't seen her, hidden behind the voluminous skirts of her husband's ancient coat.
"Mistress Bug," Duncan whispered to him, unnecessarily.
". . . and no but a silver ha'penny to bless ourselves with, and me a-wondering whatever was to become of us, and then that Sally McBride was sayin' as how she'd heard that Jamie Fraser had need of a good-"
Mr. Bug smiled above his wife's head. She hatted in mid-sentence, eyes widening in shock at the state of Roger's coat.
"Why, look at that! Whatever have ye been up to, lad? Have ye had an accident? It looks as though someone's knocked ye down and dragged ye by your heels through the dung heap!"
Not waiting for answers, she whipped a clean kerchief from the bulging pocket tied at her waist, spat liberally on it, and began industriously cleaning the muddy smears from the breast of his coat.
"Oh, you needn't ... I mean ... er ... thanks." Roger felt as though he'd been caught in some kind of machinery. He glanced at Duncan, hoping for rescue.
"Jamie Roy's asked Mr. Bug to come and be factor at the Ridge." Duncan seized the momentary lull afforded by Mrs. Bug's preoccupation to give a word of explanation.
84 Diana Gabaldon
"Factor?" Roger felt a small jolt at the word, as though someone had punched him just beneath the breastbone.
"Aye, for times when Himself must be abroad or occupied with other business. For it's true enough-fields and tenants dinna tend themselves."
Duncan spoke with a certain note of ruefulness; Once a simple fisherman from Coigach, he frequently found the responsibilities of running a large plantation onerous, and he glanced now at Mr. Bug with a small gleam of covetousness, as though he thought momentarily of tucking this useful person into his pocket and taking him home to River Run. Of course, Roger reflected, that would have meant taking Mrs. Bug, too.
"And just the thing it is, too, such good fortune, and me telling Arch just yesterday that the best'47e might hope for was to find work in Edenton or Cross Creek, with Arch maybe takin' to the boats, but that's such a perilous living, is it no? Wet to the skin half the time and deadly agues risin' up from the swamps like ghoulies and the air sae thick wi' the miasma as it's not fit to breathe, and me perhaps to be takin' in laundry in the toon whilst he was gone abroad on the water, though I'm sure I should hate that, for we havena been apart one night since we married, have we, my dearie,
She cast a glance of devotion upward at her tall husband, who smiled gently down at her. Perhaps Mr. Bug was deaf, Roger thought. Or perhaps they had only been married a week?
Without his needing to inquire, though, he was informed that the Bugs had been husband and wife for more than forty years. Arch Bug had been a minor tacksman to Malcolm Grant of Glenmoriston
, but the years after the Rising had been hard. The estate he had held for Grant having been confiscated by the English Crown, Bug had made do for some years as a crofter, but then had been obliged by hardship and starvation to take his wife and their little remaining money and seek a new life in America.
"We had thought to try in Edinburgh-- the old gentleman said, his speech slow and courtly, with a soft Highland lilt. So he wasn't deaf, Roger thought. Yet.
-for I had a cousin there as was to do Wil one of the banking houses, and we thought that perhaps it would be that he could speak a word in someone,s car-11
"But I was far too ancient and lacked sUfficient skill-,,
49-
and lucky they would have been to have him, too! But nay, such fools as they were, they wouldna think of it, and so we had to come awa and try if we might ...
Duncan met Roger's eye and hid a smile beneath his drooping mustache as the tale Of the Bugs' adventures Poured out in this Syncopated fashion. Roger returned the smile, trying privately to dismiss a niggling sense of discomfort.
Factor. Someone to oversee matters on the Ridge, to
tend the harvest, deal with the concerns of tenants when Jar mind the planting, nie Fraser was away Or busy, An Obvious necessity, with the recent influx of new tenants and the knowledge of what the next few years would bring.
It wasn't until this moment, though, that Roger realized that he had subconsciously assumed that he would be Jamie's right hand in such affiim Or the left, at least.
The Fiery Cross 85
Fergus assisted Jamie to some extent, riding on errands and fetching back infDrmation. Fergus's lack of a hand limited what he could do physically, though, and he couldn't be dealing with the paperwork or accounts; Jenny Murray had
-after a fashionOught the French orphan her brother had adopted to read
'but had failed utterly to give him a grasp of numbers.
Roger stole a glance at Mr. Bug's hand, resting now in affection on his wife's plump shoulder. It was broad, work-worn) and strong-looking despite the mutilation, but the remaining fingers were badly twisted with arthritis, the joints knobby and painful in appearance -
I So Jamie thought that even an elderly, half-crippled man would be better equipped than Roger to handle the affairs of Fraser's Ridge? That was an unexpectedly bitter thought.
He knew his father-in-law had doubts of his ability, beyond any father's natWal mistrust of the man bedding his daughter. Totally tone-deaf himself, Jamie would naturally not value Roger's musical gift. And while Roger was decently sized and hardworking, it was unfortunately true that he had little practical knowledge of animal husbandry, hunting, or the use of deadly weapons. And granted, he had no great experience in farming or in running a large estatewhich Mr. Bug plainly did-, Rogerovould be the first to admit these things.
I But he was Jamie's son in-law, r about to be. Damn it, Duncan had just introduced him that way! He might have been raised in another time-but he was a Highland Scot, for all that, and he was well aware that blood and kinship counted for more than anything.
I The husband of an only daughter would normally be considered as the son of the house, coming only second to the head of the household in authority and respect. Unless there was something drastically wrong with him. If he were commonly known to be a drunkard, for instance-or criminally dissolute. Or feeble-minded ... Christ, was that what Jamie thought of him? A hopeless numpty?
"Sit ye doon, young man, and I'll attend to this fine boorachie," Mrs. Bug