"You needn't blame yourself," I assured him. "From what I heard, it was only ill luck that you were caught. Don't worry; Jamie has gone to see the Prince at Stirling; he'll have you out of here in no time."
He nodded, tiredly brushing back a lock of hair. He was filthy and unkempt, and a good bit diminished from the burly, robust craftsman he had been a few months before. Still, he smiled at me, and thanked me for the food.
"It willna come amiss," he said frankly. "It's little we get but slops. D'ye think…" He hesitated. "D'ye think ye might manage a few blankets, my lady? I wouldna ask, only four of the men have the ague, and…"
"I'll manage," I said.
I left the prison, wondering exactly how I would manage. While the main army had gone south to invade England, Edinburgh was still an occupied city. With soldiers, lords, and hangers-on drifting constantly in and out, goods of all sorts were high-priced and in short supply. Blankets and warm clothes could be found, but they would cost a lot, and I had precisely ten shillings left in my purse.
There was a banker in Edinburgh, a Mr. Waterford, who had in the past handled some of Lallybroch's business and investments, but Jamie had removed all his funds from the bank some months before, fearing that bank-held assets might be seized by the Crown. The money had been converted to gold, some of it sent to Jared in France for safekeeping, the rest of it hidden in the farmhouse. All of it equally inaccessible to me at the moment.
I paused on the street to think, passersby jostling past me on the cobbles. If I didn't have money, I had still a few things of value. The crystal Raymond had given me in Paris—while the crystal itself was of no particular value, its gold mounting and chain were. My wedding rings—no, I didn't want to part with those, even temporarily. But the pearls…I felt inside my pocket, checking to see that the pearl necklace Jamie had given me on our wedding day was still safely sewn into the seam of my skirt.
It was; the small, irregular beads of the freshwater pearls were hard and smooth under my fingers. Not as expensive as oriental pearls, but it was still a fine necklace, with gold pierced-work roundels between the pearls. It had belonged to Jamie's mother, Ellen. I thought she would have liked to see it used to comfort his men.
"Five pounds," I said firmly. "It's worth ten, and I could get six for it, if I cared to walk all the way up the hill to another shop." I had no idea whether this was true or not, but I reached out as though to pick up the necklace from the counter anyway, pretending that I was about to leave the pawnbroker's shop. The pawnbroker, Mr. Samuels, placed a quick hand over the necklace, his eagerness letting me know that I should have asked six pounds to start with.
"Three pound ten, then," he said. "It's beggaring me own family to do it, but for a fine lady like yourself…"
The small bell over the shop door chimed behind me as the door opened, and there was the sound of hesitant footsteps on the worn boards of the pawnshop floor.
"Excuse me," began a girl's voice, and I whirled around, pearl necklace forgotten, to see the shadow of the pawnbroker's balls falling across the face of Mary Hawkins. She had grown in the last year, and filled out as well. There was a new maturity and dignity in her manner, but she was still very young. She blinked once, and then fell on me with a shriek of joy, her fur collar tickling my nose as she hugged me tight.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, disentangling myself at last.
"Father's sister lives here," she replied. "I'm st-staying with her. Or do you mean why am I here?" She waved a hand at the dingy confines of Mr. Samuels's emporium.
"Well, that too," I said. "But that can wait a bit." I turned to the pawnbroker. "Four pound six, or I'll walk up the hill," I told him. "Make up your mind, I'm in a hurry."
Grumbling to himself, Mr. Samuels reached beneath his counter for the cash box, as I turned back to Mary.
"I have to buy some blankets. Can you come with me?"
She glanced outside, to where a small man in a footman's livery stood by the door, clearly waiting for her. "Yes, if you'll come with me afterward. Oh, Claire, I'm so glad to see you!"
"He sent a message to me," Mary confided, as we walked down the hill. "Alex. A friend brought me his letter." Her face glowed as she spoke his name, but there was a small frown between her brows as well.
"When I found he was in Edinburgh, I m-made Father send me to visit Aunt Mildred. He didn't mind," she added bitterly. "It m-made him ill to look at me, after what happened in Paris. He was happy to get me out of his house."
"So you've seen Alex?" I asked. I wondered how the young curate had fared, since I had last seen him. I also wondered how he had found the courage to write to Mary.
"Yes. He didn't ask me to come," she added quickly. "I c-came by myself." Her chin lifted in defiance, but there was a small quiver as she said, "He.…he wouldn't have written to me, but he thought he was d-dying, and he wanted me to know…to know…" I put an arm about her shoulders and turned quickly into one of the closes, standing with her out of the flow of jostling street traffic.
"It's all right," I said to her, patting her helplessly, knowing that nothing I could do would make it right. "You came, and you've seen him, that's the important thing."
She nodded, speechless, and blew her nose. "Yes," she said thickly, at last. "We've had…two months. I k-keep telling myself that that's more than most people ever have, two months of happiness…but we lost so much time that we might have h-had, and…it's not enough. Claire, it isn't enough!"
"No," I said quietly. "A lifetime isn't enough, for that kind of love." With a sudden pang, I wondered where Jamie was, and how he was faring.
Mary, more composed now, clutched me by the sleeve. "Claire, can you come with me to see him? I know there's n-not much you can do…" Her voice faltered, and she steadied it with a visible effort. "But maybe you could…help." She caught my look at the footman, who stood stolidly outside the wynd, oblivious to the passing traffic. "I pay him," she said simply. "My aunt thinks I go w-walking every afternoon. Will you come?"
"Yes, of course." I glanced between the towering buildings, judging the level of the sun over the hills outside the city. It would be dark in an hour; I wanted the blankets delivered to the prison before night made the damp stone walls of the Tolbooth still colder. Making a sudden decision, I turned to Fergus, who had been standing patiently next to me, watching Mary with interest. Returned to Edinburgh with the rest of the Lallybroch men, he had escaped imprisonment by virtue of his French citizenship, and had survived hardily by reverting to his customary trade. I had found him faithfully hanging about near the Tolbooth, where he brought bits of food for his imprisoned companions.
"Take this money," I said, handing him my purse, "and find Murtagh. Tell him to get as many blankets as that will buy, and see they're taken to the gaolkeeper at the Tolbooth. He's been bribed already, but keep back a few shillings, just in case."
"But Madame," he protested, "I promised milord I would not let you go alone…"
"Milord isn't here," I said firmly, "and I am. Go, Fergus."
He glanced from me to Mary, evidently decided she was less a threat to me than my temper was to him, and departed, shrugging his shoulders and muttering in French about the stubbornness of women.
The little room at the top of the building had changed considerably since my last visit. It was clean, for one thing, with polish gleaming on every horizontal surface. There was food in the hutch, a down quilt on the bed, and numerous small comforts provided for the patient. Mary had confided on the way that she had been quietly pawning her mother's jewelry, to ensure that Alex Randall was as comfortable as money could make him.
There were limits to what money could manage, but Alex's face glowed like a candle flame when Mary came through the door, temporarily obscuring the ravages of illness.
"I've brought Claire, dearest." Mary dropped her cloak unheeded onto a chair and knelt beside him, taking his thin, blue-veined hands in her own.
"Mrs. Fraser." His voice was light and breathless, though he smiled at me. "It's good to see a friendly face again."
"Yes, it is." I smiled at him, noting half-consciously the rapid, fluttering pulse visible in his throat, and the transparency of his skin. The hazel eyes were soft and warm, holding most of the life left in his frail body.
Lacking medicine, there was nothing I could do for him, but I examined him carefully, and saw him tucked up comfortably afterward, his lips slightly blue from the minor exertion of the examination.
I covered the anxiety I felt at his condition, and promised to come next day with some medicine to help him sleep more easily. He hardly noticed my assurances; all his attention was for Mary, sitting anxiously by him, holding his hand. I saw her glance at the window, where light was fading rapidly, and realized her concern; she would have to return to her aunt's house before nightfall.
"I'll take my leave, then," I told Alex, removing myself as tactfully as I could, to leave them a few precious moments alone together.
He glanced from me to Mary, then smiled back at me in gratitude.
"God bless you, Mrs. Fraser," he said.
"I'll see you tomorrow," I said, and left, hoping that I would.
I was busy over the next few days. The men's arms had been confiscated, of course, when they were arrested, and I did my best to recover what I could, bullying and threatening, bribing and charming where necessary. I pawned two brooches that Jared had given me as a farewell present, and bought enough food to ensure that the men of Lallybroch ate as well as the army in general—poorly as that might be.
I talked my way into the cells of the prison, and spent some time in treating the prisoners' ailments, ranging from scurvy and the more generalized malnutrition common in winter, to chafing sores, chilblains, arthritis, and a variety of respiratory ailments.
I made the rounds of those chieftains and lords still in Edinburgh—not many—who might be helpful to Jamie, if his visit to Stirling should fail. I didn't think it would, but it seemed wise to take precautions.
And among the other activities of my days, I made time to see Alex Randall once a day. I took pains to come in the mornings, so as not to use up his time with Mary. Alex slept little, and that little, ill; consequently, he tended to be tired and drooping in the morning, not wanting to talk, but always smiling in welcome when I arrived. I would give him a light mixture of mint and lavender, with a few drops of poppy syrup stirred in; this would generally allow him a few hours of sleep, so that he could be alert when Mary arrived in the afternoon.
Aside from me and Mary, I had seen no other visitors at the top of the building. I was therefore surprised, coming up the stairs to his room one morning, to hear voices behind the closed door.
I knocked once, briefly, as was our agreed custom, and let myself in. Jonathan Randall was sitting by his brother's bed, clad in his captain's uniform of red and fawn. He rose at my entrance and bowed correctly, face cold.
"Madam," he said.
"Captain," I said. We then stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, staring at each other, each unwilling to go further.
"Johnny," said Alex's hoarse voice from the bed. It had a note of coaxing, as well as one of command, and his brother shrugged irritably when he heard it.
"My brother has summoned me to give you a bit of news," he said, tightlipped. He wore no wig this morning, and with his dark hair tied back, his resemblance to his brother was startling. Pale and frail as Alex was, he looked like Jonathan's ghost.
"You and Mr. Fraser have been kind to my Mary," Alex said, rolling onto his side to look at me. "And to me as well. I…knew of my brother's bargain with you"—the faintest of pinks rose in his cheeks—"but I know, too, what you and your husband did for Mary…in Paris." He licked his lips, cracked and dry from the constant heat in the room. "I think you should hear the news Johnny brought from the Castle yesterday."
Jack Randall eyed me with dislike, but he was good as his word.
"Hawley has succeeded Cope, as I told you earlier that he would," he said. "Hawley has little gift for leadership, bar a certain blind confidence in the men under his command. Whether that will stand him in better stead than did Cope's cannon—" He shrugged impatiently.
"Be that as it may, General Hawley has been directed to march north to recover Stirling Castle."
"Has he?" I said. "Do you know how many troops he has?"
Randall nodded shortly. "He has eight thousand troops at the moment, thirteen hundred of them cavalry. He is also in daily expectation of the arrival of six thousand Hessians." He frowned, thinking. "I have heard that the chief of clan Campbell is sending a thousand men to join with Hawley's forces as well, but I cannot say whether that information is reliable; there seems no way of predicting what Scots will do."
"I see." This was serious; the Highland army at this point had between six and seven thousand men. Against Hawley, minus his expected reinforcements, they might manage. To wait until his Hessians and Campbells arrived was clearly madness, to say nothing of the fact that the Highlanders' fighting skills were much better suited to attack than defense. This news had best reach Lord George Murray at once.
Jack Randall's voice called me back from my ruminations.
"Good day to you, Madam," he said, formal as ever, and there was no trace of humanity on the hard, handsome features as he bowed to me and took his leave.
"Thank you," I said to Alex Randall, waiting for Jonathan to descend the long, twisting stair before leaving myself. "I appreciate it very much."
He nodded. The shadows under his eyes were pronounced; another bad night.
"You're welcome," he said simply. "I suppose you'll be leaving some of the medicine for me? I imagine it may be some time before I see you again."
I halted, struck by his assumption that I would go myself to Stirling. That was what every fiber of my being urged me to do, but there was the matter of the men in the Tolbooth to be considered.
"I don't know," I said. "But yes; I'll leave the medicine."
I walked slowly back to my lodgings, my mind still spinning. Obviously, I must get word to Jamie immediately. Murtagh would have to go, I supposed. Jamie would believe me, of course, if I wrote him a note. But could he convince Lord George, the Duke of Perth, or the other army commanders?
I couldn't tell him where I had come by this knowledge; would the commanders be willing to believe a woman's unsupported, written word? Even the word of a woman popularly supposed to have supernatural powers? I thought of Maisri suddenly, and shivered. It's a curse, she had said. Yes, but what choice was there? I have no power but the power not to say what I know. I had that power, too, but dared not risk using it.
To my surprise, the door to my small room was open, and there were clashing, banging noises coming from inside it. I had been storing the recovered arms under my bed, and stacking swords and assorted blades by the hearth once the space under the bed was filled, until there was virtually no floor space left, save the small square of floorboards where Fergus laid his blankets.
I stood on the stair, amazed at the scene visible through the open door above. Murtagh, standing on the bed, was overseeing the handing-out of weaponry to the men who crowded the room to overflowing—the men of Lallybroch.
"Madame!" I turned at the cry, to find Fergus at my elbow, beaming up at me, a square-toothed grin on his sallow face.
"Madame! Is it not wonderful? Milord has received pardon for his men—a messenger came from Stirling this morning, with the order to release them, and we are ordered at once to join milord at Stirling!"
I hugged him, grinning a bit myself. "That is wonderful, Fergus." A few of the men had noticed me, and were beginning to turn to me, smiling and plucking at each other's sleeves. An air of exhilaration and excitement filled the small room. Murtagh, perched on the bedstead like the Gnome King on a toadstool, saw me then, and smiled—an expression which rendered him virtually unrecognizable, so much did it transform his face.
"Will Mr. Murtagh take the men to Stirling?" Fergus asked. He had received a whinger, or short sword, as his share of the weaponry, and was practicing drawing and sheathing it as he spoke.
I met Murtagh's eye and shook my head. After all, I thought, if Jenny Cameron could lead her brother's men to Glenfinnan, I could take my husband's troops to Stirling. And just let Lord George and His Highness try to disregard my news, delivered in person.
"No," I said. "I will."
43
FALKIRK
I could feel the men close by, all around me in the dark. There was a piper walking next to me; I could hear the creak of the bag under his arm and see the outline of the drones, poking out behind. They moved as he walked, so that he seemed to be carrying a small, feebly struggling animal.
I knew him, a man named Labhriunn MacIan. The pipers of the clans took it in turns to call the dawn at Stirling, walking to and fro in the encampment with the piper's measured stride, so that the wail of the drones bounced from the flimsy tents, calling all within to the battle of the new day.
Again in the evening a single piper would come out, strolling slow across the yard, and the camp would stop to listen, voices stilling and the glow of the sunset fading from the tents' canvas. The high, whining notes of the pibroch called down the shadows from the moor, and when the piper was done, the night had come.
Evening or morning, Labhriunn MacIan played with his eyes closed, stepping sure and slow across the yard and back, elbow tight on the bag and his fingers lively on the chanters' holes. Despite the cold, I sat sometimes to watch in the evenings, letting the sound drive its spikes through my heart. MacIan paced to and fro, ignoring everything around him, making his turns on the ball of his foot, pouring his being out through his chanter.
There are the small Irish pipes, used indoors for making music, and the Great Northern pipes, used outdoors for reveille, and for calling of clans to order, and the spurring of men to battle. It was the Northern pipes that MacIan played, walking to and fro with his eyes shut tight.
Rising from my seat as he finished one evening, I waited while he pressed the last of the air from his bag with a dying wail, and fell in alongside him as he came in through Stirling's gate with a nod to the guard.
"Good e'en to ye, Mistress," he said. His voice was soft, and his eyes, now open, softer still with the unbroken spell of his playing still on him.