“Nor will I.” Jamie said something soft in Gaelic to the horses, and they slowed in response. “I once lived through such a night, knowing I would hang, come morning. And yet I lived, through the grace of one who risked much to save me.”
“I see,” Bonnet said softly. “So you are an asgina ageli, are you?”
“Aye? And what will that be?”
There was a sound of scraping and brushing leaves against the side of the wagon, and the spicy sap-scent of the trees grew suddenly stronger. Something light touched my face—leaves, falling from above. The horses slowed, and the rhythm of the wagon changed markedly, the wheels finding an uneven surface. We had turned into the small road that led to Bonnet’s creek.
“Asgina ageli is a term that the red savages employ—the Cherokee of the mountains; I heard it from one I had as guide one time. It means ‘half-ghost,’ one who should have died by right, but yet remains on the earth; a woman who survives a mortal illness, a man fallen into his enemies’ hands who escapes. They say an asgina ageli has one foot on the earth and the other in the spirit world. He can talk to the spirits, and see the Nunnahee—the Little People.”
“Little People? Will that be like the faeries?” Jamie sounded surprised.
“Something of the kind.” Bonnet shifted his weight and the seat creaked as he stretched. “The Indians do say that the Nunnahee live inside the rocks of the mountains, and come out to help their people in time of war or other evil.”
“Is that so? It will be something like the tales they tell in the Highlands of Scotland, then—of the Auld Folk.”
“Indeed.” Bonnet sounded amused. “Well, from what I have heard of the Scotch Highlanders, there is little to choose between them and the red men for barbarous conduct.”
“Nonsense,” said Jamie, sounding not the least offended. “The red savages eat the hearts of their enemies, or so I have heard. I prefer a good dish of oatmeal parritch, myself.”
Bonnet made a noise, hastily stifled.
“You are a Highlander? Well, I will say that for a barbarian, I have found ye passing civil, sir,” he assured Jamie, the laughter quivering in his voice.
“I am exceedingly obliged for your kind opinion, sir,” Jamie replied, with equal politeness.
Their voices faded into the rhythmic squeaking of the wheels, and I was asleep again before I could hear more.
* * *
The moon hung low over the trees by the time we came to a halt. I was roused by the movements of Young Ian, clambering sleepily over the wagon’s edge to help Jamie tend to the horses. I poked my head up to see a broad stretch of water flowing past shelving banks of clay and silt, the stream a shiny black glittering with silver where riffles purled on the rocks near shore. Bonnet, with customary New World understatement, might call it a creek, but it would pass for a decent river among most boatmen, I thought.
The men moved to and fro in the shadows, carrying out their tasks with no more than an occasional muttered word. They moved with unaccustomed slowness, seeming to fade into the night, made insubstantial by fatigue.
“Do ye go and find a place to sleep, Sassenach,” Jamie said, pausing to steady me as I dropped down from the wagon. “I must just see our guest provisioned and set on his way, and the beasts wiped down and put to grass.”
The temperature had dropped scarcely at all since nightfall, but the air seemed fresher here near the water, and I found myself reviving somewhat.
“I can’t sleep until I’ve bathed,” I said, pulling the soaked bodice of my gown away from my breasts. “I feel terrible.” My hair was pasted to my temples with sweat, and my flesh felt grimed and itchy. The dark water looked cool and inviting. Jamie cast a longing look at it, plucking at his crumpled stock.
“I canna say I blame ye. Go careful, though; Bonnet says the channel in midstream is deep enough to float a ketch, and it’s a tide-creek; there’ll be a strong current.”
“I’ll stay near the shore.” I pointed downstream, where a small point of land marked a bend in the river, its willows shining dusky silver in the moonlight. “See that little point? There should be an eddy pool there.”
“Aye. Go careful, then,” he said again, and squeezed my elbow in farewell. As I turned to go, a large pale shape loomed up before me; our erstwhile guest, one leg of his breeches stained dark with dried blood.
“Your servant, ma’am,” he said, making me a creditable bow, despite the injured leg. “Do I bid you now adieu?” He was standing a bit closer to me than I quite liked, and I repressed the urge to step backward.
“You do,” I said, and nodded to him, brushing back a dangling lock of hair. “Good luck, Mr. Bonnet.”
“I thank ye for your kind wishes, ma’am,” he answered softly. “But I have found that a man most often makes his own luck. Good night to ye, ma’am.” He bowed once more and turned away, limping heavily, like the ghost of a crippled bear.
The creek’s rushing masked most of the ordinary night sounds. I saw a bat blink through a patch of moonlight over the water, in pursuit of insects too small to see, and vanish into the night. If anything else lurked in the dark, it was quiet.
Jamie grunted softly to himself.
“Well, I’ve my doubts of the man,” he said, as though answering a question I hadn’t asked. “I must hope I’ve only been softhearted, and not softheaded, by helpin’ him.”
“You couldn’t leave him to hang, after all,” I said.
“Oh, aye, I could,” he said, surprising me. He saw me look up at him, and smiled, the wry twist of his mouth barely visible in the dark.
“The Crown doesna always pick the wrong man to hang, Sassenach,” he said. “More often than not, the man on the end of a rope deserves to be there. And I shouldna like to think I’ve helped a villain to go free.” He shrugged, and shoved his hair back out of his face.
“Aye, well, it’s done. Go and have your bath, Sassenach; I’ll come to ye so soon as I may.”
I stood on tiptoe to kiss him, and felt him smile as I did so. My tongue touched his mouth in delicate invitation, and he bit my lower lip gently, in answer.
“Can ye stay awake a wee bit longer, Sassenach?”
“As long as it takes,” I assured him. “But do hurry, won’t you?”
* * *
There was a patch of thick grass edging the point below the willows. I undressed slowly, enjoying the feel of the water-borne breeze through the damp cloth of shift and stockings, and the final freedom as the last bits of clothing fell to the ground, leaving me naked to the night.
I stepped gingerly into the water. It was surprisingly cool—cold, by contrast to the hot night air. The bottom under my feet was mostly silt, but it yielded to fine sand within a yard of shore.
Though it was a tidal creek, we were far enough upstream that the water was fresh and sweet. I drank and splashed my face, washing away the dust in throat and nose.
I waded in up to mid-thigh, mindful of Jamie’s cautions about channels and currents. After the staggering heat of the day and the smothering embrace of the night, the sensation of coolness on bare skin was an overwhelming relief. I cupped handfuls of cold water and splashed them on my face and breasts; the droplets ran down my stomach and tickled coldly between my legs.