THE LOOK OF MOMENTARY startlement faded from the mans face, almost as quickly as Jamies own surprise. This must be MacDonald, the half-pay soldier Farquard Campbell had mentioned to him. Evidently Farquard had described him to MacDonald, as well; he could see the man had put a name to him.
MacDonald held a cup of punch, as well; the slaves had been busy. He drained the cup deliberately, then set it down on the stone bench, wiping his lips on the back of his hand.
Colonel Fraser, I presume?
Major MacDonald, he replied, with a nod that mingled courtesy with wariness. Your servant, sir.
MacDonald bowed, punctilious.
Colonel. If I might command a moment of your time? He glanced over Jamies shoulder; there were giggles on the riverbank behind them, and the excited small screams of very young women pursued by very young men. In private?
Jamie noted the usage of his militia title with a sour amusement, but nodded briefly, and discarded his own cup, still half-full, alongside the Majors.
He tilted his head toward the house in inquiry; MacDonald nodded and followed him out of the willows, as loud rustlings and squealings announced that the bench and its sheltering trees had now become the province of the younger element. He wished them good luck with it, privately noting the location for his own possible use, after dark.
The day was cold but still and bright, and a number of guests, mostly men who found the civilized atmosphere within too suffocating for their tastes, were clustered in argumentative groups in the corners of the terrace, or strolling round the paths of the newly-sprouting garden, where their tobacco pipes might fume in peace. Assessing the latter venue as the best means of avoiding interruption, Jamie led the Major toward the brick-lined path that curved toward the stables.
Have you seen Wylies Friesians? the Major asked as they rounded the house, making casual conversation til they should be safely out of earshot.
Aye, I have. The stallions a fine animal, is he not? By reflex, Jamies eyes turned toward the paddock by the barn. The stallion was browsing, nibbling at the weeds by the trough, while the two mares head-and-tailed it companionably near the stable, broad backs shining in the pale sun.
Aye? Well, perhaps. The Major squinted toward the paddock, one eye half-shut in dubious agreement. Sound enough, I daresay. Good chest. All that hair, thoughwouldnt do in a cavalry horse, though I suppose if it were proper shaved and dressed...
Jamie suppressed the urge to ask whether MacDonald liked his women shaved as well. The image of the loosened curl spiraling down that bare white neck was still in his mind. Perhaps the stables might afford a better opportunity.... He pushed that thought aside, for later reference.
You had some matter with which ye were concerned, Major? he asked, more abruptly than hed meant to.
Not so much my own concern, MacDonald replied equably. I had been told that you have some interest in the whereabouts of a gentleman named Stephen Bonnet. Am I reliably informed, sir?
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He felt the name like a blow to the chest; it took his wind for a moment. Without conscious thought, his left hand curled over the hilt of his dirk.
Iyes. You know his whereabouts?
Unfortunately, no. MacDonalds brow lifted, seeing his response. I ken where he has been, though. A wicked lad, our Stephen, or so I gather? he inquired, with a hint of jocularity.
Ye might say so. He has killed men, robbed meand raped my daughter, Jamie said bluntly.
The Major drew breath, face darkening in sudden understanding.
Ah, I see, he said softly. He lifted his hand briefly, as though to touch Jamies arm, but let it fall to his side. He walked a few steps further, brows puckered in concentration.
I see, he said again, all hint of amusement gone from his voice. I hadnt realized... yes. I see. He lapsed into silence once again, his steps slowing as they neared the paddock.
I trust you do intend to tell me what ye know of the man? Jamie said politely. MacDonald glanced up at him, and appeared to recognize that regardless of his intentions, Jamies own intent was to gain what knowledge he had, whether by conversation or more direct methods.
I have not met the man myself, MacDonald said mildly. What I know, I learnt in the course of a social evening in New Bern last month.
It was an evening of whist tables hosted by Davis Howell, a wealthy shipowner and a member of the Governors Royal Council. The party, small but select, had begun with an excellent supper, then moved on to cards and conversation, well marinated with rum punch and brandy.
As the hour grew late and the smoke of cigarillos heavy in the air, the conversation grew unguarded, and there were jocular references to the recent improvement in one Mr. Butlers fortunes, with much half-veiled speculation as to the source of his new riches. One gentleman, expressing envy, was heard to say, If one could but have a Stephen Bonnet in ones pocket... before being elbowed into silence by a friend whose discretion was not quite so much dissolved in rum.
Was Mr. Butler among those present at this soiree? Jamie asked sharply. The name was unfamiliar, but if Butler was known to members of the Royal Council... well, the circles of power in the colony were small; someone in them would be known to his aunt, or to Farquard Campbell.
No, he wasnt. They had reached the paddock; MacDonald rested his folded arms atop the rail, eyes fixed on the stallion. He resides, I believe, in Edenton.
As did Phillip Wylie. The stallionLucas, that was his namesidled toward them, soft black nostrils flaring in curiosity. Jamie stretched out his knuckles mechanically and, the horse proving amiable, rubbed the sleek jawline. Beautiful as the Friesian was, he scarcely noticed it, his thoughts spinning like a whirligig.
Edenton lay on the Albemarle Sound, easily accessible by boat. Likely, then, that Bonnet had returned to his sailors tradeand with it, piracy and smuggling.
Ye called Bonnet a wicked lad, he said, turning to MacDonald. Why?
Much of a hand at whist, Colonel Fraser? MacDonald glanced at him inquiringly. I recommend it particularly. It shares some advantage with chess, in terms of discovering the mind of ones opponent, and the greater advantage, in that it can be played against a greater number. The hard-bitten lines of his face relaxed momentarily in a faint smile. And the still greater advantage that it is possible to earn a living by it, which is seldom the case with chess.
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I am familiar with the game, sir, Jamie returned, with extreme dryness.
MacDonald was a half-pay officer, with neither official duties nor an active regiment. It was by no means unusual for such men to eke out their meager salary by the acquisition of small bits of intelligence, which might be sold or traded. No price was being askednowbut that didnt mean that the debt would not be called in later. Jamie gave a brief nod in acknowledgment of the situation, and MacDonald nodded in turn, satisfied. He would say what he wanted, in good time.
Well, sir. I was, as ye might suppose, intrigued to learn who this Bonnet might beand if he were indeed a golden egg, which gooses arse hed dropped out of.
MacDonalds companions had regained their caution, though, and he could learn nothing further of the mysterious Bonnetsave the effect he had on those who had met him.
Youll ken that often enough, ye learn as much from what men dont say, as what they do? Or from how they say it? Without waiting for Jamies nod, he went on.
There were eight of us at play. Three were making free with their speculations, but I could see they kent nay more of Mr. Bonnet than I did myself. Two more seemed neither to know nor to care, but the last two He shook his head. They became very quiet, sir. Like those who will not speak of the devil, for fear of summoning him.
MacDonalds eyes were bright with speculation.
You are familiar with the fellow Bonnet yourself?
I am. The two gentlemen who knew him?
Walter Priestly and Hosea Wright, MacDonald responded promptly. Both particular friends of the Governor.
Merchants?
Among other things. Both have warehouses; Wright in Edenton and Plymouth, Priestly in Charleston, Savannah, Wilmington, and Edenton. Priestly has business concerns in Boston, as well, MacDonald added as an afterthought. Though I know little of their nature. Ohand Wrights a banker.
Jamie nodded. His hands were folded together beneath the tails of his coat as he walked; no one could see how tightly his fingers clenched.
I believe I have heard of Mr. Wright, he said. Phillip Wylie mentioned that a gentleman of that name owns a plantation near his own.
MacDonald nodded in affirmation. The end of his nose had gone quite red, and small broken blood vessels stood out in his cheeks, mementoes of years spent campaigning.
Aye, that would be Four Chimneys. He glanced sidewise at Jamie, tongue probing a back tooth as he thought.
Ye mean to kill him, then?
Of course not, Jamie replied evenly. A man so well-connected wi those in high places?
MacDonald looked at him sharply, then away with a brief snort.
Aye. Just so.
They paced side by side for several moments without speech, each occupied with his private calculationsand each aware of the others.
The news of Bonnets associations cut both ways; on the one hand, it would likely make the man easier to find. On the other, those associations would complicate matters quite a bit, when it came to the killing. It wouldnt stop Jamieand MacDonald clearly perceived thatbut it was a matter for thought, to be sure.
MacDonald himself was a considerable complication. Bonnets business associates would be interested to hear that someone meant to cut off their source of profitand would be more than likely to take action to prevent it. They would also pay well for the news that their golden goose was threatened; a prospect MacDonald would naturally appreciate.
There was no immediate way of corking up MacDonald, though; Jamie lacked the means for bribery, and that was a poor recourse in any case, as a man who could be bought once was always for sale.
He glanced at MacDonald, who met his eye, smiled slightly, then turned his head away. No, intimidation wouldnt serve, even had he a mind to threaten one whod done him a service. What, then? He could scarcely knock MacDonald on the head, only to prevent his spilling to Wright, Priestly, or Butler.
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Well, and if it could not be bribery or force, the only thing left to stop the mans mouth was blackmail. Which presented its own complications, insofar as he knew nothingfor the momentto MacDonalds discredit. A man who lived as the Major did almost certainly had weak spots, but finding them... how much time might he have?
That thought triggered another.
How did ye hear that I sought news of Stephen Bonnet? he demanded abruptly, breaking in on MacDonalds own contemplations.
MacDonald shrugged, and settled his hat and wig more firmly.
I heard it from a half dozen different sources, sir, in places from taverns to magistrates courts. Your interest is well known, I fear. But not, he added delicately, with a sideways glance, its reason.
Jamie grunted, deep in his throat. It seemed he had no knife with but a single edge. Casting a wide net had brought him his fishbut without doubt, it had also caused ripples that might warn away the whale. If the whole coast knew he sought Bonnetthen so did Bonnet.
Perhaps this was a bad thing; or perhaps it was not. If Brianna were to hear of itshe had been outspoken in her desire that he leave Bonnet to his own fate. That was nonsense, of course, but he hadnt argued with her; only listened with every appearance of consideration. She need know nothing until the man was safely dead, after all. If an unwary word were to reach her before that, though... He had only begun to turn the possibilities over in his mind when MacDonald spoke again.
Your daughter... that would be Mrs. MacKenzie, would it?
Does it matter? He spoke coldly, and MacDonalds lips tightened briefly.
No. To be sure. Twas onlyI had some conversation of Mrs. MacKenzie, and found her most... charming. The thought of He broke off, clearing his throat. I have a daughter, myself, he said abruptly, stopping and turning to face Jamie.
Aye? Jamie had not heard that MacDonald was married. Quite possibly he wasnt. That would be in Scotland?
In England. Her mothers English. The chill had painted streaks of color on the soldiers weathered skin. They deepened, but MacDonalds pale blue eyes stayed steady on Jamies, the same color as the hazy sky behind him.
Jamie felt the tightness down his backbone ease. He lifted his shoulders in a shrug, and let them fall. MacDonald nodded infinitesimally. The two men turned, without discussion, and started back toward the house, conversing casually of the price of indigo, the latest news from Massachusetts, and the surprising clemency of the weather for the season.
I had spoken with your wife, a little earlier, MacDonald remarked. A charming woman, and most amiableyou are a fortunate man, sir.
I am inclined to think so, Jamie replied, darting a glance at MacDonald.
The soldier coughed, delicately.
Mrs. Fraser was so kind as to suggest that you might consider providing me with a letter of introduction to his Excellency, the Governor. In light of the recent threat of conflict, she thought that perhaps a man of my experience might be able to provide something in the way of... you see?
Jamie saw fine. And while he doubted that Claire had suggested any such thing, he was relieved to find the price asked so cheap.
It shall be done at once, he assured MacDonald. See me after the wedding this afternoon, and I shall have it in hand for ye.
MacDonald inclined his head, looking gratified.
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As they reached the path that led to the necessary houses, MacDonald nodded farewell and took his leave with a raised hand, passing by Duncan Innes, who was coming from that direction, looking drawn and haggard as a man will whose bowels are tied in sheepshank knots.
Are ye well, Duncan? Jamie asked, eyeing his friend with some concern. Despite the coolness of the day, a faint sheen of sweat shone on Inness brow, and his cheeks were pale. Jamie hoped that if it were an ague, it wasnt catching.
No, Innes said, in answer to his question. No, I am... Mac Dubh, I must speak to ye.
Of course, a charaid. Alarmed by the mans appearance, he took hold of Duncans arm, to support him. Shall I fetch my wife to ye? Dye need a wee dram? From the smell of him, hed had several already, but nothing out of the ordinary for a bridegroom. He didnt appear to be the worse for drink, but was plainly the worse for something. Perhaps a bad mussel at last nights supper....
Innes shook his head. He swallowed, and grimaced, as though something hard was stuck in his throat. He drew air through his nose then, and set his shoulders, steeling himself to something.
No, Mac Dubh, its yourself I am needing. A bit of counsel, if ye might be so kind...
Aye, Duncan, surely. More curious than alarmed now, he let go of Duncans arm. What is it, man?
Aboutabout the wedding night, Duncan blurted. Ithat is, I have He broke off abruptly, seeing someone turning into the path before them, heading for the necessary.
This way. Jamie turned toward the kitchen gardens, which were safely enclosed in sheltering brick walls. Wedding night? he thought, both reassured and curious. Duncan had not been married before, he knew, and when they were in Ardsmuir together, Duncan had never spoken of women as some men did. He had thought it only a modest constraint at the time, but perhaps... but no, Duncan was well past fifty; surely the opportunity had occurred.
That left buggery or the clap, he thought, and hed swear Duncan had no taste for boys. A bit awkward, to be sure, but he had full faith that Claire could deal with it. He did hope it was only drip, and not the French disease, though; that was a cruel plague.
Here, a charaid, he said, drawing Duncan after him into the shelter of the onion beds. Well be quite private here. Now, then, whats your trouble?
DUNCANS SECRET
FATHER LECLERC SPOKE NO ENGLISH, with the exception of a jolly Tally-ho! which he used alternately as a greeting, an interjection of amazement, and an exclamation of approbation. Jocasta was still at her toilette, so I introduced the priest to Ulysses, then escorted him to the main parlor, saw him provided with suitable refreshment, and sat him down to make conversation with the Sherstons, who were Protestant and rather bug-eyed at meeting a Jesuit, but so eager to show off their French that they were willing to overlook Father LeClercs unfortunate profession.
Mentally wiping my brow after this bit of delicate social rapprochement, I made my excuses and went out to the terrace, to see whether Jamie had succeeded in retrieving Duncan. Neither man was in sight, but I met Brianna, coming up from the lawn with Jemmy.
Hallo, darling, how are you? I reached for Jemmy, who seemed restless, squirming and smacking his lips like someone sitting down to a six-course meal after a trek through the Sahara. Hungry, are we?
Hak! he said, then feeling this perhaps an insufficient explanation, repeated the syllable several times, with increasing volume, bouncing up and down by way of emphasis.
Hes hungry; Im about to explode, Brianna said, lowering her voice and plucking gingerly at her bosom. Im just going to take him upstairs and feed him. Auntie Jocasta said we could use her room.
Oh? Thats good. Jocastas just gone up herselfto rest a bit and change, she said. The weddings set for four oclock, now the priest is here. I had just heard the case clock in the hall chime noon; I did hope Jamie had got Duncan safely in hand. Perhaps he should be shut up somewhere, to prevent his wandering away again.
Bree reached to take Jemmy back, sticking a prophylactic knuckle in his mouth to muffle his remarks.
Do you know the Sherstons? she asked.
Yes, I replied warily. Why, what have they done?
She raised one eyebrow at me.
Theyve asked me to paint a portrait of Mrs. Sherston. A commission, I mean. Evidently Auntie Jocasta sang my praises to them, and showed them some of the things I did when I stayed here last spring, and now they want a picture.
Really? Oh, darling, thats marvelous!
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Well, it will be if they have any money, she said practically. What do you think?
It was a good question; fine clothes and appointments didnt always reflect actual worth, and I didnt know much about the Sherstons circumstances; they were from Hillsborough, not Cross Creek.
Well, theyre rather vulgar, I said dubiously, and dreadful snobs, but I think hes legitimately rich. He owns a brewery, I think. But ask Jocasta; shell know for sure.
Rah-tha vul-gah, she drawled, mocking my own accent, and grinned. Whos a snob, then?
I am not a snob, I said with dignity. I am a keen observer of social nuance. Have you seen your father and Duncan anywhere?
Not Duncan, but Das down there by the trees with Mr. Campbell. She pointed helpfully, and I spotted Jamies bright hair and crimson tartan, a fiery gleam at the bottom of the lawn. Not a sign of Duncans scarlet coat, though.
Damn the man, I said. Where has he got to?
Went to the necessary, and fell in, Bree suggested. All right, hold your horses, were going! Addressing this last to Jemmy, who was uttering plaintive cries suggestive of imminent starvation, she disappeared into the house.
I settled my shawl and strolled down the lawn to join Jamie. A picnic lunch was being served to accommodate the guests, and I snatched a biscuit and a slice of ham as I passed the refreshment tables, improvising a hasty snack in order to stave off my own hunger pangs.
The air was still cool, but the sun was high and hot on my shoulders; it was a relief to join the men in the shade of a small grove of oaks that stood near the bottom of the lawn. They were pin oaks, and had begun to leaf out already, the unfolding leaves peeping out like a babys fingers. What had Nayawenne told me about oaks? Oh, yes; one planted corn when the oak leaves were the size of a squirrels ear.
Judging by that, the slaves could be planting corn in the River Run kitchen garden any day now. It would be weeks before the oak leaves were out on the Ridge, though.
Jamie had evidently just said something humorous, for Campbell made the low, creaking noise that passed with him for laughter, nodding to me in greeting.
I shall leave ye to the practice of your own affairs, then, he said to Jamie, recovering his composure. Call upon me, though, at need. He shaded his eyes, looking up toward the terrace.
Ah, the prodigal returns. In shillings, sir, or bottles of brandy?
I turned to look as well, in time to see Duncan crossing the terrace, nodding and smiling shyly to well-wishers as he passed. I must have looked bewildered, for Mr. Campbell bowed to me, dry mouth crooked with amusement.
Id laid your husband a small wager, maam.
Five to one on Duncan, the night, Jamie explained. That he and my aunt will share a bed, I mean.
Goodness, I said, rather crossly. Is anyone here talking of anything else? Minds like sewers, the lot of you.
Campbell laughed, then turned aside, distracted by the urgencies of a small grandson.
Dont tell me ye werena wondering the same thing. Jamie nudged me gently.
Indeed I was not, I said primly. I wasntbut only because I already knew.
Oh, indeed, he said, one corner of his mouth curling up. And you wi lechery as plain on your face as whiskers on a cat.
Whatever do you mean by that? I demanded. Just in case he was right, I flicked the fan open and covered the lower half of my face. I peered over its ivory lacework, batting my eyelashes in mock innocence.
He made a derisive Scottish noise in his throat. Then, with a quick glance round, he bent low and whispered in my ear.
It means ye look as ye do when ye want me to come to your bed. A warm breath stirred the hair over my ear. Do you?
I smiled brilliantly at Mr. Campbell, who was viewing us with interest over his grandsons head, snapped the fan open, and using it as a shield, stood on tiptoe to whisper in Jamies ear. I dropped back on my heels and smiled demurely at him, fanning away for all I was worth.
Jamie looked mildly shocked, but definitely pleased. He glanced at Mr. Campbell, who had fortunately turned away, drawn into conversation elsewhere. Jamie rubbed his nose and regarded me with intense speculation, his dark blue gaze lingering on the scalloped neckline of my new gown. I fluttered the fan delicately over my décolletage.
Ah... we could... His eyes flicked up, assessing our surroundings for possible prospects of seclusion, then down again, ineluctably drawn to the fan as though it were a magnet.
No we couldnt, I informed him, smiling and bowing to the elderly Misses MacNeil, who were strolling past behind him. Every nook and cranny in the house is filled with people. So are the barns and stables and outbuildings. And if you had in mind a rendezvous under a bush on the riverbank, think again. This dress cost a bloody fortune. A fortune in illegal whisky, but a fortune nonetheless.
Oh, I ken that well enough.
His eyes traveled slowly over me, from the coils of upswept hair to the tips of my new calf-leather shoes. The dress was pale amber silk, bodice and hem embroidered with silk leaves in shades of brown and gold, and if I did say so myself, it fit me like a glove.
Worth it, he said softly, and leaned down to kiss me. A chilly breeze stirred the oak branches overhead, and I moved closer to him, seeking his warmth.
What with the long journey from the Ridge and the crush of guests caused by the impending celebration, we hadnt shared a bed ourselves in more than a week.
It wasnt so much an amorous encounter I wantedthough I would certainly not say no, if the opportunity offered. What I missed was simply the feel of his body next to mine; being able to reach out a hand in the dark and rest it on the long swell of his thigh; to roll toward him in the morning and cup his round, neat buttocks in the curve of thigh and belly; to press my cheek against his back and breathe the scent of his skin as I slipped into sleep.
Damn, I said, resting my forehead briefly in the folds of his shirt ruffle, and inhaling the mingled scents of starch and man with longing. You know, if your aunt and Duncan dont need the bed, perhaps...
Oh, so ye were wondering.
No, I wasnt, I said. Besides, what business is it of yours?
Oh, none at all, he said, unperturbed. Only Ive been asked by four men this morning if I think they willor have done already. Which is rather a compliment to my aunt, no?
It was true; Jocasta MacKenzie must be well into her sixties, and yet the thought of her sharing a mans bed was by no means unthinkable. I had met any number of women who had gratefully abandoned all notion of sex, directly the cessation of childbearing made it possiblebut Jocasta wasnt one of them. At the same time
They havent, I said. Phaedre told me yesterday.
I know. Duncan told me, just now. He was frowning slightly, but not at me. Toward the terrace, where the bright splotch of Duncans tartan showed between the huge stone vases.
Did he? I was more than a little surprised at that. A sudden suspicion struck me. You didnt ask him, did you?
He gave me a slightly reproachful look.
I did not, he said. What dye take me for, Sassenach?
A Scot, I said. Sex fiends, the lot of you. Or so one would think, listening to all the talk around here. I gave Farquard Campbell a hard look, but he had turned his back, engrossed in conversation.
Jamie regarded me thoughtfully, scratching the corner of his jaw.
Sex fiends?
You know what I mean.
Oh, aye, I do. Im only wonderingis that an insult, would ye say, or a compliment?
I opened my mouth, then paused. I gave him back the thoughtful look.
If the shoe fits, I said, wear it.
He burst out laughing, which made a number of those nearby turn and look at us. Taking my arm, he steered me across the lawn and into the patchy shade of the elms.
I did mean to ask ye something, Sassenach, he said, checking over his shoulder to be sure we were out of earshot. Can ye find occasion to speak wi my aunt, alone?
In this madhouse? I glanced toward the terrace; a swarm of well-wishers surrounded Duncan like bees round a flower patch. Yes, I suppose I could catch her in her room, before she comes down for the wedding. Shes gone up to rest. I wouldnt mind a lie-down, either; my legs ached with hours of standing, and my shoes were new and slightly too tight.
Thatll do. He nodded pleasantly to an approaching acquaintance, then turned his back, shielding us from interruption.
All right, I said. Why?
Well, its to do wi Duncan. He looked at once amused and slightly worried. Theres a wee difficulty, and he canna bring himself to speak to her about it.
Dont tell me, I said. He was married before, and he thought his first wife was dead, but hes just seen her here, eating cullen skink.
Well, no, he said, smiling. Not so bad as that. And perhaps its nay so troublesome as Duncan fears. But hes worrit in his mind about it, and yet he canna bring himself to speak to my aunt; hes a bit shy of her, aye?
Duncan was a shy and modest man altogether; an ex-fisherman pressed into service during the Rising, he had been captured after Culloden, and spent years in prison. He had been released, rather than transported, only because he had contracted blood poisoning from a scratch, and had lost one arm, making him unfit for labor and unsalable as an indenture. I didnt have to wonder whose idea this marriage had been; such lofty aspirations would never have occurred to Duncan in a million years.
I can see that. Whats he worried about, though?
Well, he said slowly, its true that Duncan hasna been wed before. Did ye not wonder why?
No, I said. Id just assumed that the Rising hadoh, dear. I stopped, catching a notion of what this might be about. Its notgoodness. You mean... he likes men? My voice rose involuntarily.
