“Er … we’re … um …” The young man—he couldn’t be much more than twenty—exchanged a panicked look with his older companion. “I am Lieutenant Felix Summers, sir. Of—of His Majesty’s ship Revenge.”
Tom made a noise that might have been either menace or amusement.
“Who’s your friend, then?” he asked, nodding at the older gentleman, who might have been anything from a town vagrant to a backwoods hunter, but who looked somewhat the worse for drink, his nose and cheeks webbed with broken capillaries.
“I—believe his name is Voules, sir,” the lieutenant said. “He is not my friend.” His face had gone from a shocked white to a prim pink. “I hired him in Salisbury, to assist with—with my baggage.”
“I see,” Jamie said politely. “Are ye perhaps … lost, Lieutenant? I believe the nearest ocean is roughly three hundred miles behind you.”
“I am on leave from my ship,” the young man said, regaining his dignity. “I have come to visit … someone.”
“No prize for guessing who,” Tom said to Jamie, and lowered his rifle. “What d’ye want to do with ’em, Jamie?”
“My wife and I will take the lieutenant and his … man … down to the house for some refreshment,” Jamie said, bowing graciously to Summers. “Would ye maybe help Ian with—” He nodded toward the chaos scattered among the rocks. “And, Ian, once ye’ve got things in hand, go up and bring Captain Cunningham down to join us, will ye?”
Summers picked up the subtle difference between “invite” and “bring” just as well as Ian did, and stiffened, but he had little choice. He did have a pistol and an officer’s dirk in his belt, but I could see that the former wasn’t primed and therefore likely wasn’t loaded, either, and I doubted that he’d ever drawn his dirk with any motive beyond polishing it. Jamie didn’t even glance at the weapons, let alone ask for their surrender.
“I thank you, sir,” Summers said, turned on his heel, and shying only slightly as he passed me and my scythe, started down the trail, back stiff.
IT WAS NEARLY suppertime when Captain Cunningham arrived, not quite in Young Ian’s custody, but definitely in his company and not that pleased about it.
I’d fortunately had time to wash, comb oak leaves and spruce needles out of my hair, and generally put myself to rights while Jamie sat Lieutenant Summers and Mr. Voules down in the parlor and offered them beer. Voules accepted eagerly, Summers reluctantly—but they drank it. And now, two hours and four quarts of beer later, they were, if not happy, somewhat more relaxed.
“Who are those men?” Fanny whispered to me, coming back to the kitchen after another beer delivery. “They don’t theem—seem to like Mr. Fraser much.”
“Friends of Captain Cunningham,” I said. “I think the captain will be joining them shortly. Do we have anything they can eat? Men are always easier to handle if their stomachs are full.”
“That’s true,” she said, nodding sagely. “A first-rate brothel hath—has a good cook. But you can’t let a man eat too much if you want him to do anything. Mother Abbott thaid if a man’s belly sticks out so far he can’t see his cock, you’d best give him enough wine that he falls asleep and then tell him he had a good time when he wakes up. He—”
“How about the game pie Mrs. Chisholm sent down?” I interrupted hastily. “Is there any of that left?” I’d told Fanny she could tell me anything, and I’d meant it, but I was occasionally still disconcerted by the vivid detail of her recollections.
The captain definitely had a lean and hungry look.
“Such men are dangerous,” I murmured, watching as he strode into the parlor, Young Ian at his heels like a genial wolf.
Then I caught a glimpse of Jamie, rising to greet Cunningham, and thought, And he’s not the only one …
I left Fanny to deal with the game pie, and followed the men into the parlor with a tray holding a bottle of the JFS whisky, a small pitcher of water, and five of our best glasses, these being the heavy-bottomed small glasses known as shot glasses, as they made a sound strongly resembling a pistol shot when slammed on the table following a toast. I hoped there would still be five of them after this little social gathering.
“Captain,” I said, smiling pleasantly as I set the tray down. “How nice to see you.”
He glared at me but was too well bred to say what he was patently thinking. I wasn’t sure whether my presence would make things better or worse, but Jamie cut his eyes briefly sideways, indicating that said presence wouldn’t be required, so I curtsied to the assembled and walked down the hall to the kitchen, where I took my shoes off and crept back quietly in my stocking feet, much to Fanny’s amusement.
“I imagine my nephew told ye the circumstances in which we encountered your—acquaintances this afternoon?” Jamie was saying, in a pleasant tone of voice. There was a splashing sound and the clink of glasses.
“Circumstances,” Cunningham repeated sharply. “Lieutenant Summers is—was—a close friend of my late son. We have remained in correspondence since Simon’s death, and I hold Felix in the same regard as I would were he my son as well. I take considerable exception to your treatment of him and his servant, sir!”
“A dram wi’ ye, sir? Slàinte mhath!”
From my vantage spot, flattened against the wall, I couldn’t see Jamie, but I could see the captain, who looked startled at this reply to his statement.
“What?” he said sharply, and looked down into his whisky glass as though it might be poisoned. “What did you say, sir?”
“Slàinte mhath,” Jamie repeated mildly. “It means, ‘to your health.’”
“Oh.” The captain looked at Summers, who by this point resembled a pig who has just been struck on the head with a maul. “Er … yes. To—your health, Mr. Fraser.”
“Colonel Fraser,” Ian put in helpfully. “Slàinte mhath!”
The captain threw back his dram, swallowed, and turned purple.
“Perhaps a bit o’ water, Captain.” I saw Jamie’s arm stretch out, pitcher in hand. “It’s said to open the flavor of the whisky. Ian?”
Ian took the pitcher and deftly mixed a fresh drink—half water, this time—for the captain, who took it, eyes watering.
“I repeat … sir …” he said hoarsely. “I take exception …”
“Well, so do I, sir,” Jamie said, in the same amiable tone. “And I think any self-respecting man would do the same, at discovering a martial enterprise taking place under his nose, upon his land, without warning or notice. D’ye not agree?”
“I do not pretend to understand what you mean by ‘a martial enterprise,’ Colonel.” Cunningham had got hold of himself and sat up straight as a poker. “Lieutenant Summers has had the kindness to bring me some supplies I had requested from friends in the navy. They—”
“I did wonder, ken, why a Lowlander, and especially one who’s a naval captain, should choose Fraser’s Ridge to settle,” Jamie said, interrupting him. “And why ye should have wanted land so far up the Ridge, for that matter. But of course, your place is nay more than ten miles from the Cherokee villages, isn’t it?”