Dawn on a Distant Shore (58 page)

He pushed open the
door.

In the dim light of a
smoky fire men bent their heads together over tankards. Some of them looked to
be farmers, but most had tarry hands and a sea squint. A few played cards in
the farthest corner, but he could make out nothing familiar about any of them.

A man who sat with his
bare feet on the hearthstones let out a long stream of tobacco juice into the
flames. "Mump!" he shouted over his shoulder. "Custom for ye,
man!"

The tavernkeeper came
sideways through a low door at the back of the room. He was no taller than a
boy of ten, but as wide around as a keg-- a cork of a man, bobbing along on
feet too small to bear his weight. His hair was clubbed but his beard flowed
and twisted, black and gray to his waist. Under his arm he carried a bottle.

He wiped his mouth on
the sleeve of his jerkin. "What'll it be?"

Nathaniel raised his
voice, although the room was dead quiet. "A word."

"Oh-ho,"
said the little man, the round cheeks flushed. "Did ye hear, lads? It's a
word he's wantin'. A word." He drew himself up to his full height as he
came toward Nathaniel. "At Mump's Ha' ye'll get barley-broo, sae lang as
ye can pay for it. There's a subscription library doon the road in Dumfries,
gin it's words ye want."

It wouldn't be wise to
flash gold guineas in a room full of men who made their living smuggling, and
he had only a few pounds in silver coin that he did not like to throw away. But
there was no help for it: Nathaniel knew these men would not talk unless he
drank with them.

"Whisky,
then."

The little man's
expression softened. "Aye, whisky. There's nae better road tae start a conversation."

He hopped up onto a
stool and gestured with an open palm for Nathaniel to take the one next to him.
When the long bottle under his arm had been uncorked and the whisky had been
poured, Nathaniel tipped it in one blazing stream down his throat. Satisfied,
the tavernkeeper climbed back down off his stool and stood there chewing
thoughtfully on a twist of beard.

"Dandie Mump is
ma name. And ye are?"

Nathaniel considered.
He could not pass himself off as a Scot for long here, and still he was not foolish
enough to forget Moncrieff's warnings about the Campbells. "I'm American.
Came off the
Isis
this morning," he said.

"The
Isis
!"

He might have offered
to slit their throats for the reaction he got. Stools screeched as men came to their
feet.

Mump narrowed his eyes
at him. "Ye came aff yon great merchantman sittin' there in the firth?"

Nathaniel did not like
the way the room was closing around him, but he kept his expression even. He
nodded. "I did."

From the back of the
crowd a tall man with a lump of tobacco in his cheek said, "Is it true
that there's typhoid on board?"

Nathaniel jerked in
surprise. "It is not. When I left her this morning there wasn't a sick man
on the
Isis
. Who speaks of typhoid?"

Mump poured more
whisky in Nathaniel's cup, and then drank it himself. "The captain willna
allow the crew on land because o' the typhoid, so we've heard."

"Ma Nan's brither
Charlie is on the
Isis
," said a man at Nathaniel's elbow. He was of
middle years, windburned and gaunt. He smelled of fish and tar and weariness
and his hands trembled a little. "She's aye worrit for him. Do ye ken the
lad?"

"A cabin
boy?" Nathaniel asked. "About twelve, fair-haired?"

"Aye, that's oor
Charlie Grieve. Did ye see him this morn?"

"I did,"
said Nathaniel. "And he was healthy and looking forward to seeing his folks."

There was a thick
muttering among the men, questions asked that had no answers. And Nathaniel
could not help them: on the face of it, it made no sense for Pickering to keep
the crew on board. But then there was Moncrieff, who had proved himself capable
of worse things. He looked at the sailors gathered round, and they looked back
at him with faces closed or curious. All of them waiting for word of sons or
brothers or nephews on the
Isis
, and fearing the worst.

"Sam Lun, ye'd
best get ye hame tae
Nancy
," said Mump. "The puir lass could use
same guid tidings. Ye've lost Mungo, but Charlie will be hame soon."

Nathaniel's head came
up with a snap. "What do you know about Mungo?"

Mump threw back his head
to look at Nathaniel down the long slope of his nose. "The
Osiris
gaed doon near the Grand Banks," he said gruffly. "Mungo Grieve was
amang the crew."

But he didn't die with
the rest of them
,
Nathaniel thought.
Why don't you know that as well?

"How is it that
ye ken Mungo?" asked Sam Lun, suspicion clear on his face.

"He was brought
on board after the French sunk the
Osiris
," Nathaniel said, and
quickly, before hope could take root in the man's thin face: "Mungo died
of a fever after he came on board. But his brother was with him, and he slipped
away quiet."

Sam Lun blinked twice,
his eyes suddenly red rimmed. "Is that true? It wad be a comfort tae ma
Nan, tae ken that the lad died easy."

"It's true,"
Nathaniel said. "I swear it."

There was a little
silence in the room, broken only by the sound of the fire in the hearth.
Finally Mump let out a great sigh.

"Weel, then. And
what brings ye tae ma door, besides sad tidings?"

"I'm looking for
Mac Stoker or any man of his crew."

The friendly
expression on Dandie Mump's round face melted away. "Mac Stoker, is it?
And why do ye think ye'll find that auld whoremaster here?"

"Because only
somebody who was on the
Jackdaw
could tell you what happened to the
Osiris
."
Nathaniel spoke to Mump, but he watched the room. All around him men were
exchanging glances he did not like, and did not know how to read.

"I mean Stoker no
harm," he said.

One of the cardplayers
in the corner spoke up for the first time. "That's a pity," he said,
pushing himself up from the table. "I masel' wad like naethin' better than
tae see the man deid."

Mump scowled.
"Haud yer tongue, Jock Bleek."

"And why should I
haud ma tongue, Dandie? Is it no' true that Stoker left his crew tae the
dragoons so he could chase after a woman?"

Sam Lun shook his head
so that his dewlaps trembled. "And his granny, too! Dinna forget his
granny, Jock. Carted aff tae gaol like a sack o' oats."

Nathaniel's breath
hitched. "All of them in gaol?"

"Aye, ever' one
o' them sittin' in the Dumfries tollbooth," said Mump. "I canna
understan' it. Mac Stoker nivver was a mannie tae lose his heid ower a
woman."

"Did you see this
happen?" Nathaniel asked, looking around the room. "Did anyone here see
the crew taken away?"

"Georgie here saw
it, did ye no', Georgie. Come and tell the American what passed."

A young man pushed
through the crowd to stand near Mump. He had a shock of red hair on his head,
more of it growing out of his ears, up his neck, and over the back of his
hands. The sight of him made Nathaniel's own skin itch.

"Aye, I saw
it," said Georgie. "Yestereen."

"Yesterday
evening?" Nathaniel frowned. "Just this morning one of the excisemen
told me he hadn't seen the
Jackdaw
."

Mump let out a great
laugh, so that his beard danced on his chest. "And ye believed an exciseman?
Are aa Americans sae simple?"

Sam Lun nudged
Georgie. "Tell the rest o' it."

Georgie nodded and
cleared his throat. "On the road fra Corbelly, it was, at dusk. A whole
pack o' redcoats wi' baig'nets at the ready, marchin' the crew o' the
Jackdaw
up the road tae Dumfries. One o' the redcoats was carryin' Granny Stoker on his
back, tied han' and fit like a calf. A mair crankit auld chuckie ye'll nivver see,
swearin' and skirlin' and screechin'. It was a wonder tae behold."

"Did you notice
two strangers among them?" Nathaniel asked Georgie. "Older men, tall
and well built, both of them?"

The boy's brow furled
itself down low. "I couldna say. Granny Stoker was makin' such a fuss
cursin' Mac tae the de'il that I hardly looked at the rest o' them."

"And aa for a
wallydraigle!" Mump moaned, rocking back and forth on his heels and
hugging his bottle to himself.

"What of the
woman? What do you know of her?"

Jock Bleek snorted.
"What does it matter wha she is? Stoker's run aff tae find her, and he'll
pay dear for it in the end."

That he will
, Nathaniel thought.
But
first Giselle will lead him a fine chase.

He stood and tossed
the last of his silver coin on the table. "A drink for every man
here," he said. "And my thanks."

"Where are ye aff
tae, man? Will ye find Stoker and bring him back here?"

Nathaniel shook his
head. "I'm on my way to Dumfries," he said. "To pay a visit to
the gaol."

When the bonfire was
nothing more than a few dull embers and Tom Paine's ashes had floated away on
the night breeze, Elizabeth could fight her weariness no longer. She climbed
into the great ship of a bed hung about with curtains furled like sails, and
for all her misgivings she fell away into a deep sleep without dreams.

When she woke suddenly
the moon was close to setting and Lily was whimpering softly. Nathaniel had not
yet returned.

Elizabeth wrapped a
shawl around herself and found her way to the babies' baskets. Daniel slept
soundly, suckling his fist in an easy rhythm, but Lily looked up at her
round-eyed and held out her arms to be picked up.

She was glad of the
distraction. Walking up and down the room with Lily's solid warmth under her
shawl was much preferable to lying awake, listening for the sound of
Nathaniel's step while she reckoned out for herself all the things that might
have kept him so long: difficult roads, poor directions, lamed horses. Other
things she would not put a name to.

The wind had risen. It
whistled down the chimney and rattled the windows. "Like the night you were
born," she whispered against her daughter's ear. Lily had already drifted
off to sleep, but she made a humming sound in response to her mother's voice.

From the corner of her
eye Elizabeth caught movement in the square below the window, but when she turned
to look again, there was nothing but debris from the bonfire skittering
aimlessly over the cobblestones. And still she watched, because if she had learned
anything from her time in the endless forests, it was to trust her senses.

And there, a wolf.

The skin on the back
of her neck rose in a shiver even as her rational mind corrected her in a prim
tone:
There have been no wolves in Scotland for a hundred
years or
more.

It trotted out of the
shadows and into the middle of the square, silver-gray in the moonlight, long legged,
with a tail curled upward. Elizabeth's breath came to her again. No wolf, but a
wolfhound, and now a second one came louping out of the shadows.

Then a man stepped
into the open square, and Elizabeth's breath caught in her throat again.

Hawkeye. She blinked,
and there he was still, walking in a long, steady gait directly toward the inn.
His head uncovered, his hair flowing, rising and falling white in the wind. He
stopped and raised his face to the night sky and for one second Elizabeth
thought that her father-in-law was going to howl at the moon.

He looked up at her in
the window as if he knew exactly where to find her, and touched a hand to his
brow.

Not Hawkeye, but the
Earl of Carryck, come to claim his own.

And what choice did
she have but to open the door to him when he knocked?

He brought in the
smell of horses and the night air. Plainly dressed, tall and straight with a deeply
lined face and an energy at odds with his age. In the light of a hastily lit candle
his eyes were a deep, pure bronze in color, not the hazel that was Hawkeye's.

"Madam." He
bowed from the shoulders.

Elizabeth drew her
shawl more tightly around herself. Some part of her mind marveled at her own calm
in these strange circumstances. She stood barefoot in her nightdress before
Alasdair Scott, the fourth Earl of Carryck. This man had caused her children to
be taken from her, and now she faced him while behind her the twins slept, at peace
and unaware.

"Ye ken who I
am?" His voice was familiar and strange all at once: deep and melodious
and Scots, with a rough edge to it.

"I do."

Elizabeth studied the
earl as he studied her. He was perhaps two inches shorter and a little broader in
the shoulder than Hawkeye, and the line of his nose was slightly out of kilter,
as if it had been broken more than once. Certainly the resemblance was very
strong, but she would never mistake this man for her father-in-law again. This realization
gave her new calm.