Dawn on a Distant Shore (66 page)

From the courtyard
below them came a voice Hannah recognized: Angus Moncrieff. A shudder ran up
her spine at the sound, and she touched a finger lightly to Jennet's sleeve. "I
had better go back. I would like to be there when Hakim Ibrahim visits my
father."

Jennet had stepped
back from the window, her arms wound around herself. Her complexion had gone suddenly
pale beneath her suntanned skin. "Aye," she said. "I'll come,
too, gin ye dinna mind."

Nathaniel dreamed of
Angus Moncrieff. They were in the Montréal gaol again, alone this time, and
Moncrieff was singing in the strong, echoing beat of a Kahnyen'kehâka war song.

were I more'self
sixteen years old,

were I as I would fain
be,

were I more'self
sixteen years old

I'd gang more'self
with Charlie.

Outside a human form
hung heavy from the gallows on a rope that creaked in the wind. In the way of
dreams the wall was no barrier at all, and Nathaniel watched as the body turned
to show him his father's face: slack in death, familiar and strange at once. Moncrieff
watched, too, the brown eyes quick and eager under heavy lids.

In his fist was his
grandfather's war club and it seemed to move on its own, up and through the air
to meet Moncrieff's skull just above the left eye, the shock of bone giving way
shooting up his arm and into his own skull with a dull crack. And then
Nathaniel saw that it wasn't Moncrieff at all but Adam MacKay, grinning at him
with bloodied teeth.

He woke in a sweat.
His head hurt, and the wounds in his shoulder and leg throbbed with the beat of
his heart.

Hakim Ibrahim stood
next to the bed, and beside him Elizabeth in a gown he had never seen, some
strange fabric that seemed to float around her. Curiosity's hand was on his
cheek, long and cool.

"Hannah?"
His voice cracked and wobbled like an old man's.

"I just saw her
in the courtyard. She should be here any moment."

"I dreamed of
Moncrieff."

"He's just come
from the village," said Elizabeth. "We could hear his voice below the
window. Perhaps you heard him in your sleep."

"I dreamed of
him," Nathaniel repeated dully.

"Fever
dreams," said the Hakim. "It was to be expected."

He closed his eyes
against the light. "My father?"

"No word yet. I
did speak with the earl."

Curiosity made a noise
in her throat. "Drink this tea, now. The earl ain't goin' nowhere, and
neither are you until this fever has settled."

He took the cup from
her and swallowed the bitter tea, and then she filled it again and he emptied
that too. His stomach roiled in protest and for a moment he thought he would
bring it all up again. When it settled, he lay back against the pillows and
reached out to touch Elizabeth.

"Tell me about
Carryck."

"Yes, go on and
tell him," said Curiosity. "Take his mind off what we got to do
here."

What Elizabeth had to
report was quickly told, and none of it good.

The Hakim's attentions
to his shoulder made him break into a new sweat, but he kept his gaze focused
on Elizabeth. "You think this Walter Campbell is the daughter's
husband?"

"Yes. It makes
sense, and explains quite a lot. Perhaps the Hakim can tell us for certain ..."

The surgeon did not
look up from his work, but he nodded. "Lady Isabel eloped to marry Walter
Campbell, Curator to Lady Flora of Loudoun."

"And thus the
earl decided to send Moncrieff to find Hawkeye." Elizabeth supplied the rest
of it.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you
tell us this before?" Nathaniel asked.

Hakim Ibrahim met his
gaze. "Would it have made any difference?"

Nathaniel's tongue
felt suddenly thick in his mouth, and it was hard to focus on Elizabeth's face
although she was close enough to touch. Outside the window the murmur of voices
rose and fell again.

"What's that
noise?"

"The earl's
men," said Elizabeth. "The dragoons who shot you are dead. Apparently
he means to send a message to the Campbells."

"And to us,"
said Curiosity. "The man don't like to be crossed. As if we didn't know
that ourselves."

Nathaniel was more
tired now than he could ever remember being but he reached out and took Curiosity's
wrist. It was cool to his touch and solid and when she looked at him he saw
that she was pleased with herself.

"What was in that
tea besides willow bark for fever?"

She lifted one brow.
"What you need."

"I need to get us
away from this place."

"That's true
enough. I expect you to get me home, and right quick. But you cain't do it
dead, Nathaniel Bonner. Now sleep."

"You haven't left
me any say in it." His own voice was thick in his ears.

Elizabeth leaned over
him and her smell-- milky sweet and summer flowers--came to him. At this moment
he could think of nothing else in the world that he wanted except to pull her down
beside him and keep her there. He could think of it, but his arms were suddenly
too heavy to lift.

"I'm here,"
she said. "I'll stay with you."

Hannah was disappointed
to find her father asleep, and then immediately ashamed of herself when she stood
beside his bed. His color was bad, and the sheen of sweat on his brow told her
something she had not wanted to contemplate.

"Fever."

"Yes. But he is
very strong." The Hakim sat beside the bed, and he gave her the kind of reassuring
smile she had seen him give before, when there were no promises he could make.

"I should have
been here."

From her spot near the
door Jennet said, "I shouldna ha' kept ye sae lang."

Hannah jerked in
surprise as Elizabeth took her by the elbow and steered her away from the bed.

"Hannah
Bonner," she said in her primmest schoolmistress voice. There was a line
between her brows that Hannah had not often seen, and did not care to see now.
"What is this foolishness?"

In her surprise,
Hannah glanced at Curiosity. But there was no help to be had from her; she
looked quite in agreement with Elizabeth.

"But--"

"Do not interrupt
me. Do you think that hand-wringing will help your father? When he wakes he
will want to hear all about the castle. Will you be ready to answer his
questions?"

Hannah blinked hard,
and then she nodded. "Yes."

"Yes?"

It was not like
Elizabeth to be unfair, and Hannah felt herself flush with frustration. "We've
only been here a few hours," she said. "By tomorrow I'll know
more."

"Aye,"
volunteered Jennet, coming to her aid. "I'll show her whatever she cares
tae see."

"Good," said
Elizabeth, more calmly. "Your father will be very glad of it." She
pushed out a long breath and Hannah saw suddenly how very worried Elizabeth
was. She saw too that nothing she could say would help.

"The two of you
might take the twins out into the garden for an hour. I will manage here well enough."

Curiosity said,
"That's a fine idea. I'll come along, too."

There was a bit of
sloping lawn that ran from the gardens down toward the dairy, and they settled
there in the shifting shadows of a rowan tree.

"A pretty
place," Curiosity said, spreading her skirts out around herself.
"Cain't deny that."

Jennet sat beside her
with Daniel in her lap. She was studying Curiosity's hand where it lay on the
grass, palm up and fingers slightly curved. Hannah wondered what Jennet found
so interesting, and so did Curiosity.

"Ain't you ever
seen an African before?"

Jennet leaned over to
look more closely at Curiosity's palm. "The Marquis o' Montrose came tae
call on the laird, last summer it was, and he had a Moor for a footman. But I
dinna see him sae close," she said. "Why are ye broon on one side and
pale on the ither?"

Curiosity shrugged,
and examined her own hand. "I have wondered that myself. When I get to the
other side I'll be sure to ask the Lord what He had in mind."

Jennet propped Daniel
on the ground beside Lily, and steadied him with one hand to see if he might
sit on his own. He would not, but he found it a good game, and chuckled with
great satisfaction each time she caught him and brought him back upright. She
said, "I like your idea o' heaven. Imagine, askin' any question."

"I guess you'd
keep the Almighty busy talkin' for a good while," said Curiosity, but
there was real affection in her tone. Then she looked over at Hannah.

"You mighty
quiet, Squirrel. Worried about your daddy?"

"A little. And
about Elizabeth."

"No need,"
Curiosity said, holding up her face to the sun. "She'll settle, soon as
his fever breaks." And then, without turning her head, she said,
"Jennet, child. Now tell me, ain't that Mrs. Hope your mama?"

Hannah pulled up in
surprise. It was true that Jennet had never mentioned her own family beyond her
brother, Simon, and now she wondered why she would have been silent on that subject.
Curiosity had come to the same question, and she was after something--Hannah
had seen her at work too many times to mistake her tone.

"Aye."
Jennet was preoccupied with Daniel, and she did not seem to mind Curiosity's
questions.

"And she's a
widow woman?"

"Aye," said
Jennet. "Widowed young."

"Now that's too
bad," Curiosity said, ignoring Hannah's pointed frown and moving right ahead
to what she wanted to know.

"So it's just you
and your mama."

"Granny Laidlaw's
doon the village," said Jennet. "She's like you."

Curiosity drew up in
surprise. "How is that?"

"Canny,"
said Jennet.

"I thank you
kindly for the compliment," Curiosity said. "Now I suppose as young
as you are, you wouldn't remember nothing 'bout this Isabel I hear tell
about."

Jennet turned to look
at Curiosity, and something much older than her years was there in her eyes.
"Ye want tae hear how it is she ran off wi' a Breadalbane?"

Hannah gave Curiosity
a triumphant look. Jennet was too clever to be wheedled out of a story, and
Curiosity had underestimated her. But she wasn't displeased to have been
outmaneuvered, and she gave Jennet a wide smile.

"Why, yes. I
would."

"They'd beat me
for even sayin' her name. The earl forbids it. Auld Nick was sent awa' oot o'
service for talkin' aboot her in MacQuiddy's hearin'."

"Then we won't
ask." Hannah met Curiosity's raised brow with a furrowed one of her own.

"Och, I'll tell
ye what I ken," said Jennet with an easy shrug. "It's no' verra much.
A summer's night, it was. He was waitin' for her below--" She pointed with
her chin toward the village. "I dinna ken how it was that she ever came
tae meet a Breadalbane. My mither could tell ye, but she willna speak o' it."

"Were they good friends,
then?" Hannah asked, drawn into this story almost against her will.

"Aye," said
Jennet. "As close as sisters ever were. The earl sent his men oot tae
bring her hame, but it was too late. Nae sign o' the lady until the spring,
when she sent word that she was wi' child. The marriage couldna be undone, then,
ye see."

"And I suppose
these Campbell-Breadalbane folk all got tails and horns," Curiosity said.

Jennet fixed her with
a serious expression. "Horns and tails, aye. I wadna doubt it. They like
tae cut men's throats and leave them for the corbies."

"Bad blood,"
said Hannah. "The kind that starts wars."

"O' course,"
said Jennet, with a little bit of a smile. "We're Scots, aye?"

There was the sound of
cart wheels on the gravel path that came around the corner of the castle, and Jennet's
whole face broke into a smile. She jumped up so that Daniel tumbled over with an
insulted squawk. In a quick swoop she grabbed him up and handed him to Hannah.

"It's Monsieur
Dupuis," Jennet said, turning to wave. "And the Hakim."

It was not a cart, as
Hannah had thought, but a cross between a cushioned chair and a wheelbarrow. In
it sat an old man hunched forward, his legs covered with a rug. The Hakim had
been pushing, but he stopped to return Jennet's greeting.

"He's come out
tae take the fresh air. Come along, I must introduce ye." And she skipped off
ahead.

By the time they had
gathered up the babies and made their way to the little group, Jennet was deep in
conversation. She broke off in mid-sentence to make the introductions.

Monsieur Dupuis was a
friend of the earl's and --if Hannah understood Jennet correctly-- a permanent
houseguest. But Hannah found it hard to concentrate on what Jennet had to say, because
she could not look away from the stranger. This must be the man Elizabeth had
seen in the garden. She had spoken of him as a very old man, and Hannah had
seen him that way, too, at first, but now she saw she had been mistaken. He was
middle-aged, but worn thin by pain--a man bent close to breaking. He was the kind
of pale O'seronni who suffered most in the sun, burning again and again. Now,
between his eyes a nest of dark moles seethed like milling wasps. There was
another cluster on his jaw, and a larger one wrapping around his neck and
reaching down into his clothing. They were like nothing she had ever seen
before: black as tar, ulcerated and ragged, and she understood somehow that they
would be the death of him. A cancer, one that grew inward from the skin rather
than beginning deep inside the body.