"Hector Cameron told someone; my brother Dougal told someone; or the third man told someone. And knowing them as I did, I should lay odds it wasna either Hector nor Dougal." She shrugged and took a bite of toast.
"But I'll tell ye one thing," she added, swallowing. "The second man in my room, the one who reeked of drink. I said he didna speak, aye? Well, that's plain enough, no? He was someone I ken, whose voice I should have known, if he spoke."
"Lieutenant Wolff?" Roger suggested.
Jamie nodded, a crease forming between his brows.
"Who better than the navy, to find a pirate when one's wanted, aye?" "Would one want a pirate?" Brianna murmured. The port had restored her composure, but she was still pale.
"Aye," Jamie said, paying little attention to her. "No small undertaking, ten thousand pound in gold. It would take more than one man to deal with such a sum-Louis of France and Charles Stuart kent that much; they sent six to deal with thirty thousand." Little wonder, then, if whoever learned of the gold had enlisted the help of Stephen Bormet-a well-known smuggler and pirate, and one with not only the means of transport but the connections to dispose of the gold.
"A boat," I said slowly. "The Lieutenant left by boat, during the supper. Suppose that he went downriver, and met Stephen Bonnet. They came back together, and waited for the opportunity to sneak into the house and try to terrorize Jocasta into telling them where the gold was."
Jamie nodded.
"Aye, that could be. The Lieutenant has had dealings here for years. Is possible, Aunt, that he saw something that made him suspect ye had the gold here? Ye said Hector had three bars; is any of it left?"
Jocasta's lips pressed tight, but after a moment's hesitation, she gave a grudging nod.
"He would keep a lump of it on his desk, to weight his papers. Aye, Wolff might have seen-but how would he have kent what it was?"
The Fiery Cross 545
"Perhaps he didn't at the time," Brianna suggested, "but then later heard about the French gold, and put two and two together."
There was a nodding and murmuring at this. As a theory, it fitted wen enough. I didn't see quite how one would go about proving it, though, and said so. Jamie shrugged, and licked a smear of jam off his knuckle.
"I shouldna think proving what's happened is so important, Sassenach. It's maybe what comes next." He looked at Duncan, straight on.
"They'll come back, a charaid," he said quietly. "Ye ken that, aye?" Duncan nodded. He looked unhappy, but determined.
"Aye, I ken." He reached out a hand and took Jocasta's-the first gesture of the sort I had ever seen him make toward her. "We shall be ready, Mac Dubh." Jamie nodded, slowly.
"I must go, Duncan. The planting wilIna wait. But I shall send word to those I ken, to have a watch of some sort kept upon Lieutenant Wolff."
Jocasta had sat silent, her hand unmoving in Duncan's. She sat up taller in her chair at this.
"And the Irishman?" she said. Her other hand rubbed slowly across her knee, pressing lightly with the heel of her hand, where the knife blade had cut. Jamie exchanged a glance with Duncan, then with me.
"He'll come back," he said, grim certainty in his voice.
I was looking at Brianna as he said it. Her face was calm, but I was her mother, and I saw the fear move in her eyes, like a snake through water. Stephen Bonnet, I thought, with a sinking heart, was already back.
WE LEFT NEXT DAY for the mountains. We were no more than five miles on our journey, when I caught the sound of hoofbeats on the road behind us, and saw a flash of scarlet, through the spring-green of the chestnut trees.
It was Major MacDonald, and the look of delight upon his face as he spurred toward us told me all I needed to know.
"Oh, bloody bell!" I said.
The note bore Tryon's scarlet seal, bloodred as the Major's coat.
"It came this morning to Greenoaks," the Major said, reining up to watch as Jamie broke the seal. "I offered to bring it, as I was bound this way, in any case." He knew already what the note contained; Farquard Campbell would already have opened his.
I watched Jamie's face as he read. His expression didn't change. He finished reading, and handed me the note.
19th March, 1771
To the Commanding Officers of the Militia:
Sirs:
I Yesterday determined by Consent of His Majesty's Council to march with a Body of Forces taken from several Militia Regiments, into the
546 Diana Gabaldon
Settlements of the Insurgents to reduce them to Obedience, who by their Rebellious Acts and Declarations have set the Government at defiance and interrupted the Course ofJustice by obstructing, overturning and shutting up the Courts of Law. Tbat some ofyour Regiment therefore may have a Share in the Honor of serving their Country in this important Service, I am to require you to make a choice of thirty men, who shalljoin the Body of my Force in this Endeavor.
It is not intended to move the Troops bcforc the twentieth of next Month before which time you shall be informed of the day you arc to assemble your Men, the time of march and the Road you are to take.
It is recommended as a Christian Duty incumbent on every Planter that remains at Home, to take care of, and assist to the utmost of his Abilities the Families of those Men wbogo on this Service that neither their Families nor plantations may sufficr while they are employed on a Service where the Interest of the whole is concerned.
For the Expenditures ordered on this Expedition I sballgive printed Warrantspayable to the Bearers, nese Warrants will become negotiable, until the Treasury can pay them out of the contingent Fund in case there is not a sufficiency of Money in the Treasury to answer the necessary Services of this Expedition.
I am &c. &c, William Tryon
Had Hermon Husband and James Hunter known, when they left River Run? I thought they must. And the Major, of course, was bound for New Bern now, to offer his services to the Governor. His boots were filmed with the dust of his ride, but the hilt of his sword gleamed in the sun.
"Bloody, bloody, fucking hell," I said softly, again, with emphasis. Major MacDonald blinked. Jamie glanced at me, and the corner of his mouth twitched up.
"Aye, well," he said. "Nearly a month. Just time to get the barley in."'
PART SIX
The War of the Regulation
V1... AND FIGHT THEM, SAYING THEY HAD MIEN ENOUGH TO KILL THEM 7
WE CAN KILL THEM"
Deposition of Waightstill Avery, Witness
North Carolina Mecklenburg County
Waigbtstill Avery Testifteth and saith that on the sixth Day of March Instant about nine or Ten OClock in the Morning He this Deponcnt was at the now dwelling house of one Hudgins who lives at the lower end of the long Island.
And He this Deponcnt there saw Thirty or Forty of those People who style themselves Regulators, and was then and there arrested andforceably detained a prisoner by one of them (who said his Name wasJobn McQuiston) in the Name of them all, and that soon after oneJames Graham (or Grimes) spoke to this Deponent these Words "You are now a Prisoner and You must notgo any where without a Guard.' immediately after adding that 'You must keep with Your Guard and You shan't be hurt."
This Deponent was then conducted under Guard of two Men to the regulating Camp (as they termed it) about a Mile distant, where were many more persons of the same Denomination and others came there some Hours after, in the whole as this Deponent supposes and imagines about two bundred and Thirty.
7hatfrom themselves He this Deponent learned the Names offive of their Captains or leading Men then present (Viz., Thomas Hamilton and one other Hamilton, James Hunter, Joshua Teague one Gillespie and the aforesaidjames Grimes (or Graham). He this Deponent beard many of them whose Names are to Him unknown say approbrious Things against the Governor, the Judges of the Superior Court, against the House o Assembly and other persons in Office. While a surrounding Crowd were uttering Things still more approbrious the said Thomas Hamilton stood in the Midst and spoke Words of thefollowing Tenor and purport (the Crowd still assentin
g to and affirming the Truth of what was said):
'What Business has Maurice Moore to be judge, He is no judge, be was not appointed by the King He nor Henderson neither, Tbey'll neither of them bold Court. The Assembly bavegone and made a Riotous Act, and the people ari more inraged than ever, it was the best thing that could befor the Countryfor now We shall beforced to kill all the Clerks and Lawyers, and We will kill them and I'll be damned if they are not put to Death. If they bad not made that Act We might have suffered some of them to live. A
550 Diana Gabaldon
Riotous Act! there never was any such Act in the 1aws ofEngland or any other Country but France, they brought itfrom France, and they'll bring the Inquisition."
Many of them said the Governor was a Friend to the Lawyers and the Assembly had worsted the Regulators in making LawsJor Fees. Tbey shut Husband up in Gaol that He might not see their roguish proceedings and then the Governor and the Assembly made just such Laws as the Lawyers wanted. The Governor is a Friend to the Lawyers, the Lawyers carry on
gnorantJustices ofPeacefor their own purevery 2-bing, they appoint weak i
Poses. nere should be no Lawyers in the province, they damned themselves if there should. Fanning was outlawed as of the Twcnty-Sccond of March and any Regulator that saw Him after that Time would kill him and some said
y -wore they he would not waitfor that, wished they could see him, and s
t f they couldfind him at Salisburywould kill him before they returned i
Some wished they could see judge Moore at Salisbury that they mightflog him, others that they might kill him. One Robert Yhomson said Maurise Moore was purjured and called him by approbrious Names as Rascal, Rogue, Villian, Scoundral, etc. others assented to it.
W%cn News was brought that Captain Rutherford at the head of His Company was parading in the Streets of Salisbury, this Deponcnt heard Sundry of them urge very hard and strenuously that the whole Body of the Regulators then present should March into Salisbury with their Arms and fight them saying ney bad Men enough to kill them, We can kill them We'll teach them to oppose Us.
Taken sworn to & Subscribed this eighth Day of March 1771 bcfore Me
(signed) Waightstill Avery
(witnessed) Wm. Harris, Justice of the Peace
The Fiery Cross 551
William Tryon to General 7bomas Gage North Carolina New Bern yc 19th March 1771
Sir,
It was Yesterday determined in His Majestys Council of this Province to Raise a Body of Forcesfrom the Militia Regiments and Companies to
rgents, who by their Rebellious Acts March into the Settlements of the Insu
and Declarations have set this Government at defiance.
As we have few Military Engines or implements in this Country, I am to request your assistance in procuring mcfor this Service the Articles (cannon, shot, colours, drums, etc.) listed hereby.
My Marcbfrom this Town about the Twentieth of next I intend to begin
Month, and assemble the Militia as I march through the Counties. My Plan is to form fifteen Hundred men, tboughfrom the Spirit that now appears on the Side of Government that Number may be considerably increased.
I am with much Respect and Esteem Sir Your Most Obcdt. Scrvt.,
Wm. Tryon
NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLIEEP
Fraser's Ridge
15 April, 1771
ER LAY IN BEE), listening for the intermittent whine of an invisible mosquito that had squeezed past the hide covering the cabin R"O
window. Jem's cradle was covered by gauze netting, but he and Brianna had no such shielding. If the damn thing would just light on him, he'd get itbut it seemed to circle tirelessly above their bed, occasionally swooping down to sing taunting little neeeee songs into his ear, before zooming off again into the dark.
He should have been tired enough to fall asleep in the face of an assault by airborne squadrons of mosquitoes, after the last few days of frantic activity. Two days of fast tiding through the mountain coves and ridges, spreading the word to the nearer settlements, whose inhabitants would in turn alert those militia members farther away. The spring planting had been accomplished in record time, all the available men spending the hours from dawn to dusk in the fields.
552 Diana Gabaldon
His system was still charged with adrenaline, and little jolts of it zapped through mind and muscle, as though he'd been taking coffee intravenously. He'd spent all day today helping to ready the farm for their departure, and
fragmented images of the round of chores scrolled behind his closed lids whenever he shut his eyes. Fence repair, hay hauling, a hasty excursion to the mill for the bags of flour needed to feed the regiment on the march. Fixing a split rim on the wagon's wheel, splicing a broken harness trace, helping to catch the white sow, who had made an abortive escape attempt from the stable, woodchopping, and finally, a brisk hour's digging just before supper so Claire could plant her wee patch of yams and peanuts before they left.
In spite of the hurry and labor, that dusk-lit digging had been a welcome respite in the organized frenzy of the day; the thought of it made him pause now, reliving it in hopes of slowing his mind and calming himself enough to sleep.
It was April, warm for the season, and Claire's garden was rampant with growth: green spikes and sprouting leaves and small brilliant flowers, climbing vines that twisted up the palisades and opened silent white trumpets slowly above him as he worked in the gathering twilight.
The smells of the plants and the fresh-turned earth rose round him as the air cooled, strong as incense. The moths came to the trumpet flowers, soft things driffing out of the wood in mottled shades of white and gray and black. Clouds of midges and mosquitoes came too, drawn to his sweat, and after them, the mosquito-hawks, dark fierce creatures with narrow wings and furry bodies, who whirred through the hollyhocks with the aggressive attitude of football hooligans.
He stretched long toes out against the weight of the quilts, his leg just touching his wife's, and felt in memory the chunk of the spade, hard edge beneath his foot, and the satisfying feeling of cracking earth and snapping roots as another spadeful yielded, the black earth moist and veined with the blind white rhizomes of wild grass and the fugitive gleam of earthworms writhing frantically out of sight.
A huge cecropia moth had flown past his head, lured by the garden scents. Its pale brown wings were the size of his hand, and marked with staring eyespots, unearthly in their silent beauty.
Mo makes a garden works with God. That had been written on the edge of the old copper sundial in the garden of the manse in Inverness where he had grown up. Ironic, in view of the fact that the Reverend had neither time nor talent for gardening, and the place was a jungle of uninown grass and ancient rosebushes run wild and leggy with neglect. He smiled at the thought, and made his mental good-night to the Reverend's shade.
Good-night, Dad. God bless you.
It had been a long time since he'd lost the habit of bidding good-night in this fashion to a brief list of family and friends; the hangover of a childhood of nightly prayers that ended with the usual list of, "God bless Nana, and Grandpa Guy in heaven, and my best ftiend Peter, and Lillian the dog, and the grocer's cat. .
He hadn't done it in years, but a memory of the peace of that small ritual
The Fiery Cross 553
viade him draw up a new list, now. Better than counting sheep, he supposedhe wanted the sense of peace he remembered, more than he wanted sleep. Good-nighty Mrs. Grabamy he thought, and smiled to himself, summoning a cf, vivid image of the Reverend's old housekeeper, dipping her hand in a
and flicking water onto a hot griddle, to see if the drops would dance. d bless.
rid, Mrs. Graham, her granddaughter Fiona and Fiona's husband The Revere
his parents, though that was a pro forma nod toward two faceless es. Claire, up at the big house, and, with a slight hesitation, Jamie. Then ,11is own small family. He warmed at the thought of them.
ee lad, he thought, turning his head in the direction of the cra , i Good night, w
my slept. God bless. And Brianna. &C where Jem
rned his head the other way, and opened his eyes, seeing the dark oval He tu.
g face turned toward his, no more than a foot away on the pillow. ,.of her sleepin
as possible onto his side, and lay watching her. They He eased himself as quietly e leaving early in the morning; it was had let the fire go out, since they would b
$,p dark in the room he could make out no more of her features than the faint markings of brows and lips
i, Brianna never lay wakefiil. She rolled onto her back, stretched and sett ed with a sigh of content, took three deep breaths and was out like a light. Maybe exhaustion, maybe just the blessings of good health and a clear consciencebut he sometimes thought it was eagerness to escape into that private dreamscape of hers, that place where she roamed free at the wheel of her car, hair snapping in the wind.
What was she dreaming now? he wondered. He could feel the faint warmth of her breath on his face.
Last night, I dreamed I made love with Roger. The memory of that particular entry still rankled, hard as he'd tried to dismiss it. He had been driffing toward skep, lulled by his litany, but the memory of her dreambook pulled him back to wakefulness. She had damn well better not be dreaming such a thing now! Not after the time he'd just given her. ating on the regular pulse of her breathHe closed his eyes again, concentr
ing. His forehead was mere inches from hers. Perhaps he could catch the echo e bones of her skull? What he felt, though, was the of her dream, through th
echo of her flesh, and the reverberations of their farewell, with all its doubts and pleasures.
She and the lad would leave in the morning, too; their things were packed and stood with his own bundle beside the door. Mr. Wemyss would drive them lyand gainfiilly--cmto Hillsborough, where she would presumably be safe
ployed in painting Mrs. Sherston's portrait.
he'd said to her, for the third time in an evening. You be bloody careffil, the center of the Regulators' territory, and he had Hillsborough was smack in
considerable reservations about her going at all. She had dismissed his concern, v, though, scoffijjg at the notion that she or Jem might be in any danger. She was sn't so sure that she would act differently if there was
likely right-and yet he wa. mission, he danger. She was so excited at the prospect of her damn com
thought, she'd walk straight through armed mobs to get to Hillsborough.
554 Diana Gabaldon
She was singing softly to herself-"Loch Lomond," of all bloody things. "Oh, you'll take the high road, and I'll take the low road, and I'll be in Loch Lomond aforrrrrrre ye . .
"Did ye hear me?" he'd asked, catching hold of her arm as she folded the last of Jemmy's dresses.
"Yes, dear," Bree had murmured, lashes fluttering in mocking submission. That had irritated him into grabbing her wrist and pulling her round to face him.
"I mean it," he said. He stared into her eyes, wide open now, but with a hint of mockery still glinting in dark blue triangles. He tightened his grip on her wrist; tall and well-built as she was, her bones felt delicate, almost frail in his grasp. He had a sudden vision of the bones beneath Brianna's skin-high, wide cheekbones, domed skull, and long white teeth; all too easy to imagine those teeth exposed to the root in a permanent rictus of bone.
He had pulled her to him then with sudden violence, kissed her hard enough to feel her teeth against his own, not caring if he bruised either of them.
She wore only a shift and he hadn't bothered to take it off, merely shoving her backward onto the bed and pushing it above her thighs. She'd lifted her hands toward him, but he hadn't let her touch him; he'd pinned her arms at first, then later, borne her into the hollow of the mattress with the weight of his body, grinding, grasping, seeking reassurance in the thin padding of flesh that kept her bones from his.
They had done it in silence, half-aware of the sleeping child nearby. And yet somewhere in the midst of it, her body had answered him, in some deep and startling way that went beyond words.
"I mean it," he'd repeated, moments later, speaking softly into the tangle of