Poor things, I thought, but at least they could wait a few moments.
The bedroom door was shut, and I rapped lightly. Before I could open it, though, a firm male voice from the other side called out, “I’m havin’ a pish, Frances, and I dinna want help with it! Go up to the springhouse and fetch down some milk, aye?”
Young Ian turned the knob and opened the door, revealing Jamie, who was sitting on the side of the bed in his shirt, the bed linens rumpled and shoved aside. He was in fact not using the chamber pot, but was pale and sweating, fists pushed hard into the mattress on either side, apparently having tried to rise but been unable to gain his feet.
“Lyin’ to wee lassies, is it, Uncle?” Ian said with a grin. “Ye can go to hell for that sort o’ thing, I hear.”
“And where the bloody hell do you think you’re going?” I demanded of Jamie. He didn’t answer. I didn’t think he’d even heard me. His face suffused with delight at sight of Ian and he stood up. Then his eyes rolled up and he turned dead white and fell with a crash that shook the floor.
JAMIE CAME ROUND again in his bed, surrounded by a number of women, all frowning at him. There was a sharp pain in his chest, where Claire was repairing some stitches that had apparently torn loose when he fell over, but he was too happy to be bothered about either the needle or the scolding he was plainly about to get.
“Ye’re back, then,” he said, smiling at his sister, and then at Rachel, standing beside her. “How’s the wee mannie?”
“Bonnie,” she assured him. “Or ought it to be ‘braw,’ if it’s a boy we’re speaking of?”
“I suppose it could be both,” he said, waggling one hand in equivocation. “Braw’s more a question of fine character—brave, ken? Which I’m sure the laddie must be, wi’ such parents—and bonnie means he’s well favored to look at. And if he still looks like you, lass— Ach, Jesus!” Claire had reached the end of her stitching and without a word of warning had sloshed a cupful of her disinfectant solution over the raw wound.
Wordless only because he couldn’t say the words that came to his tongue in front of Rachel, Frances, and Agnes, he panted through the blinding sting. The women were looking at him with expressions ranging from sympathy to strong condemnation, but all with faces—even Rachel’s—tinged with the sort of smugness women were apt to display when they thought they had the upper hand of a man.
“Where’s Ian?” he said, forestalling the rebuke he saw rising to his wife’s lips. An odd shimmer of some feeling he couldn’t name ran through the women. Amusement? He frowned, looking from face to face, and raised his brows at his sister. She smiled at him, and he saw relief and happiness in her face, though it was lined with tiredness and her hair was straggling out of her wilted cap.
“He went outside to talk to a man who came lookin’ for you,” she told him. “I dinna ken what he—”
He heard Ian’s footsteps running up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time, and struggled to sit up, causing cries of alarm from the women.
“Let it bide, Sassenach,” he said, taking the cloth out of Claire’s hand. “I’ll do.”
Ian came in, a letter in his hand, and a bemused look on his face.
“Were ye expecting a visit from Mr. Partland, Uncle?” he asked.
“I was,” Jamie replied guardedly. “Why?”
“I dinna think he’s coming.” Ian handed over the letter, which was written on decent paper and sealed with someone’s thumb and a glob of candle wax. Jamie broke the seal, what was left of his blood prickling along his jaw as his heart sped up.
To Colonel James Fraser of Fraser’s Ridge, North Carolina
Dear Sir,
I write to tell you that when I received your Instruction of the 10th inst., I assembled a Party of some twenty Men and rode toward Ninety-Six without Delay, to see if the Gentleman you named should be abroad there and in a Way of causing Mischief.
The Gentleman was known to me by Sight, and when I perceived him riding down the Powder Mill Road with some Men, I accosted him and desired to know his Errand. He curst me with some Heat and desired me to go to Hell before he would tell me Anything that was not my Business to know. I said any Business involving a Group of armed Men a-horse near my Land was mine to know and he had best tell me the Truth of the Matter at once.
At this, one of his Men, whom I also recognized, drew his Pistol and fired at one of my Men, with whom he had a long-standing Disagreement over a Woman. His shot missed its Mark, but several of the Horses were unsettled by the Noise and began to dance, so it was hard to come at the Fellows and engage with them. The Gentleman, attempting to raise his Rifle and fire upon me, had the Misfortune to be unseated when his own Horse collided with Another, and he was dragged some little Way, his Horse taking Fright and himself trapped by his Bootheel having become entangled with his Stirrup.
Seeing this, his Minions mostly fled, and my Boys rounded up three that were slower than the Rest, as well as the Gentleman, whom we rescued from his Predicament.
I have sent these Men under Guard to Mr. Cleveland, who acts as Constable of the District, with a Note informing him of your Interest.
I remain, sir, Your Most Obedient Servant,
John Sevier, Esq.
Jamie took a long, slow breath, folding the letter neatly, and closed his eyes, silently thanking God. So it was over. For the moment, the Ridge was safe, Ian and Rachel and Jenny had come back, and while it would seem that there were a few loose ends to tidy up … He opened his eyes; Ian had just said something to him.
“What?”
“I said,” Ian repeated patiently, “that there’s someone who wants to pay her respects, Uncle.” His eye passed critically over Jamie, assessing. “If ye’re fit to meet her.”
TO JAMIE, SILVIA Hardman looked like a splinter of rock maple: a lovely subtle grain, but thin, sharp, and hard enough to serve as a needle, could one poke a hole in her for thread. He didn’t think anyone could, and smiled at the thought.
The smile seemed to ease her slightly, though she went on looking as though she expected to be eaten by a bear at any moment. Without her daughters around her, she seemed terribly alone, and he stretched out a hand to her in impulse.
“I’m glad to see ye, Friend Silvia,” he said gently. “Will ye not come and sit by me, and take a little wine?”
She glanced to and fro in indecision, but then nodded abruptly and came and sat by his bed, though she didn’t meet his eyes until he took her hand in his.
They sat, he propped up on his pillows and she on her stool, and looked at each other for some moments.
“Thee does not seem in much better case than thee did when last I saw thee, Friend,” she said at last. Her voice was hoarse, and she cleared her throat.
“Ach,” he said comfortably, “I’ll do. It’s no but a few drops of blood spilled. Are your wee lassies well?”
At last she smiled, though tremulously.
“They are awash in pancakes with butter and honey,” she said. “I expect they will have burst themselves by now.” She hesitated for a moment, but then burst out herself, “I cannot thank thee enough, Friend, for sending thy nephew to me. Has he told thee of—of the straits in which he found us?”