She reached the edge of the path, stopped dead, and lifted her chin toward Jamie.
“You are all,” she said evenly, sweeping her hat in an arc that encompassed me, Jamie, Mandy, and the house, “undoubtedly going to Hell.” With which pronouncement, she tossed a small package onto the porch, turned her back upon us, and sailed away like a bird of ill omen.
“WHO THE DEVIL was that?” Jamie asked.
“Da Wicked Witch,” Mandy answered promptly. Her face was still red, and her lower lip pushed out as far as it would go. “I hates her!”
“Quite possibly,” I said. I bent and gingerly picked up the small package. It was wrapped in oiled silk, tied with an odd-looking cord, with a number of extraneous knots. I lifted it to my nose and sniffed cautiously.
Even through the murky scent of the oiled silk, the bitter smell of quinine was strong enough that I could taste it at the back of my mouth.
“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” I said, looking at Jamie in wonder. “She’s brought me Jesuit bark.”
“Well, I did tell ye, Sassenach, that if ye mentioned your need of it to Roger Mac and Brianna, likely ye’d get some. And in that case,” he said slowly, looking at the direction in which our visitor had disappeared, “I think perhaps yon woman is maybe Mrs. Cunningham.”
16
Hound of Heaven
Two weeks later
I WAS SOMEWHERE DEEPER than dreams, and came to the surface like a fish hauled out of water, thrashing and flapping.
“Whug—” I couldn’t remember where I was, who I was, or how to speak. Then the noise that had roused me came again, and every hair on my body stood on end.
“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!” Words and sense came back in a rush and I flung out both hands, groping for some physical anchor.
Sheets. Mattress. Bed. I was in bed. But no Jamie; empty space beside me. I blinked like an owl, turning my head in search of him. He was standing naked at the glassless window, bathed in moonlight. His fists were clenched and every muscle visible under his skin.
“Jamie!” He didn’t turn, or seem to hear—either my voice, or the thump and agitation of other people in the house, also roused by the howling outside. I could hear Mandy starting to wail in fear, and her parents’ voices running into each other in the rush to comfort her.
I got out of bed and came up cautiously beside Jamie, though what I really wanted to do was dive under the covers and pull the pillow over my head. That noise … I peered past his shoulder, but bright as the moonlight was, it showed nothing in the clearing before the house that shouldn’t be there.
Coming from the wood, maybe; trees and mountain were an impenetrable slab of black.
“Jamie,” I said, more calmly, and wrapped a hand firmly round his forearm. “What is it, do you think? Wolves? A wolf, I mean?” I hoped there was only one of whatever was making that sound.
He started at the touch, swung round to see me, and shook his head hard, trying to shake off … something.
“I—” he began, voice hoarse with sleep, and then he simply put his arms around me and drew me against him. “I thought it was a dream.” I could feel him trembling a little, and held him as hard as I could. Sinister Celtic words like ban-sithe and tathasg were fluttering round my head, whispering in my ear. Custom said that a ban-sithe howled on the roof when someone in the house was about to die. Well … it wasn’t on the bloody roof, at least, because there wasn’t one …
“Are your dreams usually that loud?” I asked, wincing at a fresh ululation. He hadn’t been out of bed long; his skin was cool, but not chilled.
“Aye. Sometimes.” He gave a small, breathless laugh and let go of me. A thunder of small feet came down the hallway, and I hastily flung myself back into his arms as the door burst open and Jem rushed in, Fanny right behind him.
“Grandda! There’s a wolf outside! It’ll eat the piggies!”
Fanny gasped and clapped a hand to her mouth, eyes round with horror. Not at thought of the piglets’ imminent demise, but at the realization that Jamie was naked. I was shielding as much of him from view as I could with my nightgown, but there wasn’t a great deal of nightgown and there was a great deal of Jamie.
“Go back to bed, sweetheart,” I said, as calmly as possible. “If it’s a wolf, Mr. Fraser will deal with it.”
“Moran taing, Sassenach,” he whispered out of the corner of his mouth. Thanks a lot. “Jem, throw me my plaid, aye?”
Jem, to whom a naked grandfather was a routine sight, fetched the plaid from its hook by the door.
“Can I come and help kill the wolf?” he asked hopefully. “I could shoot it. I’m better than Da, he says so!”
“It’s no a wolf,” Jamie said briefly, swathing his loins in faded tartan. “The two of ye go and tell Mandy it’s all right, before she brings the roof down about our ears.” The howling had grown louder, and so had Mandy’s, in hysterical response. From the look on her face, Fanny was all set to join them.
Bree appeared in the door, looking like the Archangel Michael, all flowing white robe and ferocious hair, with Roger’s sword in her hand. Fanny let out a small whimper at the sight.
“What were ye planning to do wi’ that, a nighean?” Jamie inquired, nodding at the sword as he prepared to pull his shirt over his head. “I dinna think ye can run a ghost through.”
Fanny looked goggle-eyed from Bree to Jamie, then sat down on the floor with a thump and buried her head in her knees.
Jem was goggle-eyed, too. “A ghost,” he said blankly. “A ghost wolf?”
I glanced uneasily at the window. Jemmy was old enough to have heard of werewolves … and the word conjured up an unpleasantly vivid picture in my own mind, as a particularly desolate and penetrating moan pierced the momentary silence.
“I told ye, it’s no a wolf,” Jamie said, sounding both cross and resigned. “It’s a dog.”
“Rollo?” Jemmy exclaimed, in tones of horror. “He’s come back?”
Fanny jerked her head up, wide-eyed, Bree made an involuntary noise, and just as involuntarily I grabbed Jamie’s arm again.
“Jesus Christ,” he said, rather mildly under the circumstances, and detached my grip. “I doubt it.” But I’d felt the wiry hairs on his arm bristling at the thought, and my own skin rippled into gooseflesh.
“Stay here,” he said briefly, and turned toward the door. Callously abandoning Bree to deal with the children’s conniptions, I followed him. Neither of us had paused to light a candle, and the stairwell was dark and cold as an actual well. The howling was muffled here, though, which was a slight relief.
“You’re sure it’s a dog?” I said to Jamie’s back.
“I am,” he said. His voice was firm, but I heard him swallow, and a thread of uneasiness tightened down my back. He turned left at the foot of the stair and went into the kitchen.
I let out my breath as the stored warmth of the big room flowed over me. The smoored hearth glowed faintly, showing the comfortably rounded, solid shapes of cauldron and kettle, hanging in their places, the faint gleam of pewter on the sideboard. The door was bolted. Despite the snug feeling of the kitchen, my scalp stirred uneasily. The sound was louder now, rising and falling in a rhythm much at odds with my own breathing. I couldn’t tell for sure, but I thought it was louder, closer than it had been.