Go Tell the Bees That I Am Gone (26 page)

Two weeks later

I WAS SOMEWHERE DEEPER
than dreams, and came to the surface like a fish hauled out of water, thrashing and flapping.

“Whug—” I couldn’t remember where I was, who I was, or how to speak. Then the noise that had roused me came again, and every hair on my body stood on end.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!” Words and sense came back in a rush and I flung out both hands, groping for some physical anchor.

Sheets. Mattress. Bed. I was in bed. But no Jamie; empty space beside me. I blinked like an owl, turning my head in search of him. He was standing naked at the glassless window, bathed in moonlight. His fists were clenched and every muscle visible under his skin.

“Jamie!” He didn’t turn, or seem to hear—either my voice, or the thump and agitation of other people in the house, also roused by the howling outside. I could hear Mandy starting to wail in fear, and her parents’ voices running into each other in the rush to comfort her.

I got out of bed and came up cautiously beside Jamie, though what I really wanted to do was dive under the covers and pull the pillow over my head. That
noise…
I peered past his shoulder, but bright as the moonlight was, it showed nothing in the clearing before the house that shouldn’t be there.

Coming from the wood, maybe; trees and mountain were an impenetrable slab of black.

“Jamie,” I said, more calmly, and wrapped a hand firmly round his forearm. “What is it, do you think? Wolves? A wolf, I mean?” I
hoped
there was only one of whatever was making that sound.

He started at the touch, swung round to see me, and shook his head hard, trying to shake off…something.

“I—” he began, voice hoarse with sleep, and then he simply put his arms around me and drew me against him. “I thought it was a dream.” I could feel him trembling a little, and held him as hard as I could. Sinister Celtic words like
ban-sithe
and
tathasg
were fluttering round my head, whispering in my ear. Custom said that a
ban-sithe
howled on the roof when someone in the house was about to die. Well…it wasn’t on the bloody roof, at least, because there wasn’t one…

“Are your dreams usually that loud?” I asked, wincing at a fresh ululation. He hadn’t been out of bed long; his skin was cool, but not chilled.

“Aye. Sometimes.” He gave a small, breathless laugh and let go of me. A thunder of small feet came down the hallway, and I hastily flung myself back into his arms as the door burst open and Jem rushed in, Fanny right behind him.

“Grandda! There’s a wolf outside! It’ll eat the piggies!”

Fanny gasped and clapped a hand to her mouth, eyes round with horror. Not at thought of the piglets’ imminent demise, but at the realization that Jamie was naked. I was shielding as much of him from view as I could with my nightgown, but there wasn’t a great deal of nightgown and there was a great deal of Jamie.

“Go back to bed, sweetheart,” I said, as calmly as possible. “If it’s a wolf, Mr. Fraser will deal with it.”

“Moran taing,
Sassenach,
”
he whispered out of the corner of his mouth. Thanks a lot. “Jem, throw me my plaid, aye?”

Jem, to whom a naked grandfather was a routine sight, fetched the plaid from its hook by the door.

“Can I come and help kill the wolf?” he asked hopefully. “I could shoot it. I’m better than Da, he says so!”

“It’s no a wolf,” Jamie said briefly, swathing his loins in faded tartan. “The two of ye go and tell Mandy it’s all right, before she brings the roof down about our ears.” The howling had grown louder, and so had Mandy’s, in hysterical response. From the look on her face, Fanny was all set to join them.

Bree appeared in the door, looking like the Archangel Michael, all flowing white robe and ferocious hair, with Roger’s sword in her hand. Fanny let out a small whimper at the sight.

“What were ye planning to do wi’ that,
a nighean
?” Jamie inquired, nodding at the sword as he prepared to pull his shirt over his head. “I dinna think ye can run a ghost through.”

Fanny looked goggle-eyed from Bree to Jamie, then sat down on the floor with a thump and buried her head in her knees.

Jem was goggle-eyed, too. “A ghost,” he said blankly. “A
ghost
wolf?”

I glanced uneasily at the window. Jemmy was old enough to have heard of werewolves…and the word conjured up an unpleasantly vivid picture in my own mind, as a particularly desolate and penetrating moan pierced the momentary silence.

“I told ye, it’s no a wolf,” Jamie said, sounding both cross and resigned. “It’s a dog.”

“Rollo?” Jemmy exclaimed, in tones of horror. “He’s come
back
?”

Fanny jerked her head up, wide-eyed, Bree made an involuntary noise, and just as involuntarily I grabbed Jamie’s arm again.

“Jesus Christ,” he said, rather mildly under the circumstances, and detached my grip. “I doubt it.” But I’d felt the wiry hairs on his arm bristling at the thought, and my own skin rippled into gooseflesh.

“Stay here,” he said briefly, and turned toward the door. Callously abandoning Bree to deal with the children’s conniptions, I followed him. Neither of us had paused to light a candle, and the stairwell was dark and cold as an actual well. The howling was muffled here, though, which was a slight relief.

“You’re sure it’s a dog?” I said to Jamie’s back.

“I am,” he said. His voice was firm, but I heard him swallow, and a thread of uneasiness tightened down my back. He turned left at the foot of the stair and went into the kitchen.

I let out my breath as the stored warmth of the big room flowed over me. The smoored hearth glowed faintly, showing the comfortably rounded, solid shapes of cauldron and kettle, hanging in their places, the faint gleam of pewter on the sideboard. The door was bolted. Despite the snug feeling of the kitchen, my scalp stirred uneasily. The sound was louder now, rising and falling in a rhythm much at odds with my own breathing. I couldn’t tell for sure, but I thought it was louder, closer than it had been.

Jamie had thrust a faggot into the embers of the hearth; he pulled it out now and blew carefully on the ragged end of the torch until a small flame rose from the glowing wood. His frown relaxed as the fire took, and he smiled briefly at me.

“Dinna fash,
a nighean,
” he said. “It’s no but a dog. Truly.”

I smiled back, but there was still an uncertain note in his voice, and I quietly picked up the stone rolling pin as I followed him to the door. He lifted the heavy bar and set it down, then lifted the latch without hesitation and pulled the door open. The cold damp of a mountain night swept in, fluttering my nightdress and reminding me that I ought to have put on my cloak. There wasn’t time for that, though, and I bravely followed Jamie out onto the back stoop.

The noise was louder out here, but suddenly seemed less agitated—it settled into something like an owl’s cry. I scanned the hillside that rose behind the house, but couldn’t see anything in the faint flicker of the torch. Despite being so exposed, I felt steadier. Jamie might have his own doubts, but he didn’t think this mysterious dog was dangerous, or he wouldn’t be letting me stand here with him.

He sighed deeply, put two fingers in his mouth, and gave a piercing whistle. The noise stopped.

“Well, come on, then,” he said, raising his voice a little, and gave a second, softer whistle.

The woods were silent, and nothing happened for the space of a minute or more. Then something moved. A blot detached itself from the tomato vines around the privy and came slowly toward us. I heard feet coming down the distant stairs and the muffled sound of voices, but all my attention was focused on the dog.

For a dog it was; I caught a glimpse of golden eyes glowing in the dark, and then it was close enough to see the shambling, long-legged gait and the sinuous curve of backbone and tail.

“A hound?” I said.

“It is.” Jamie handed me the torch, sank onto his haunches, and stretched out a hand. The dog—it was what they called a bluetick hound, with a heavy dappling of blue-black spots over most of its coat—seemed to sink a little as it came to him, head low.

“It’s all right,
a nighean,
” he said to the dog, his voice low and husky.

“You
know
this dog?”

“I do,” he said, and I thought there was a note of regret in his voice. He stroked her head, though, and she came up close, tail wagging tentatively.

“She’s starving, poor thing,” I said. The hound’s ribs were visible even by torchlight, her belly drawn up like a purse string.

“Have we a bit of meat, Sassenach?”

“I’m sure we do.” The others were in the kitchen but had stopped talking, hearing our voices outside. They’d be out here in a moment.

“Jamie,” I said, and laid a hand on his bare back. “Where did you see this dog before?”

I felt him swallow.

“I left her howling on her master’s grave,” he said quietly. “Dinna mention it to the bairns, aye?”

THE DOG SEEMED
visibly taken aback at sight of so many people flooding out onto the back porch, and turned away as though to flee back into the bushes. But she couldn’t bring herself to leave the smell of food, and kept turning in circles, with small apologetic wags of her long, feathered tail.

At length, Jamie succeeded in quelling the hubbub and making everyone go into the kitchen while he lured the hound close with small pieces of leftover corn bread soaked in bacon grease. I stayed, hovering behind him with the torch. The hound came willingly for the food, ducking her head submissively, and when Jamie reached tentatively to scratch her behind the ears, she let him, picking up the tempo of her wagging.

“There’s a good lass,” he murmured to her and gave her another bit of bread. Despite her hunger, she took it delicately from his hand, not snapping.

“She’s not afraid of you,” I said quietly. I didn’t mean to ask him; never would ask him. But that didn’t mean I didn’t wonder.

“No,” he said, just as softly. “No, she’s not. She only saw me bury him.”

“You’re not…bothered by her? Her coming here, I mean.” Plainly he
had
been disturbed by the howling; who wouldn’t have been? But I couldn’t tell now; his face was calm in the flicker of the torchlight.

“No,” he said, and glanced over his shoulder to be sure the children were out of earshot. “I was, when I saw her—but…” His greasy hand paused, resting for a moment on the dog’s rough coat. “I think it’s maybe absolution—that she should ha’ come to me.”

INSIDE, THE DOG
ate ravenously, but with an odd delicacy, nibbling up the scraps of bread and meat with tiny darts of her head. It didn’t seem quite right, somehow, and I began to watch more closely. The children were entranced, taking turns to hold bits of food in their palms for her to take, but I saw Jamie frown slightly, watching.

“There’s summat amiss with her mouth, I think,” he said after a moment. “Shall we have a look?”

“Oh, let her finish eating, please, Mr. Fraser,” Fanny said, looking up at him, earnest. “She’s
so
hungry!”