Into the Wilderness (133 page)

They
wanted Robbie's news of Hawkeye, but Nathaniel had already silenced Hannah's
questions on this with a small shake of the head: not in front of the stranger.
Not until they knew his purpose. Moncrieff, on the other hand, could have
talked but seemed content to eat. He was of middle height with a narrowness to
him, from forehead to shoulders, but with strong hands and dark eyes that were
both keen and intelligent. Once,
Elizabeth
thought, he had been a very handsome youth: even now there was something about
the way he held himself that set him apart.

Moncrieff
seemed to have recovered fully from his earlier difficulties. Enough, at any
rate, to ask about ale and to look both surprised and disappointed to find
there was none.
Elizabeth
filled his cup with cider as quickly as he could empty it, in the hope of
giving him reason to go out of doors so that they might have a few minutes
alone.

In
the meantime they gave Robbie news of the village, and the things that had
passed over the summer and fall. Moncrieff listened as closely as Robbie did,
but his commentary was limited to an occasional raised brow.

"Had
I known, Nathaniel, I wad hae stayed. Ye've had a hard time o' it."

"We
would have been glad of your help," Nathaniel conceded with a grim smile. "But
we managed."

"Aye,
ye always do." He cast a shy glance at Elizabeth's shape, and smiled. "There's
guid news, too, for which tae be thankful on the Yule."

"That
there is," Nathaniel agreed, following the line of his gaze.

"Wait!"
Hannah cried, jumping up so suddenly that she sent her empty cup clattering to
the floor. And then she disappeared into the shadows underneath her sleeping
loft, to appear again with her hands behind her back. She ran back to Robbie,
and stood before him with a tremendous smile.

"Wha'
have ye got there, lassie? A surprise?"

"Aye,
a surrrrprise," she agreed, happily mimicking his burr. "Close your
eyes and don't touch, please."

After
a bit of teasing, he complied. Hannah produced one of the pairs of spectacles
purchased in
Albany
, and with a conspiratorial
grin in
Elizabeth
's
direction, she slipped them carefully onto Robbie's face, hooked them gently
behind his ears, and stood back with a triumphant cry.

Robbie
touched his fingers carefully to the metal frames.

"Open
your eyes!" Hannah demanded, thrusting a book into his chest.

The
blue of his eyes blazed sharply, magnified by glass and perhaps by a little
dampness.
Elizabeth
blinked hard, herself, seeing the look on his face.

Robbie
lifted the book up and opened it.

"Holy
Mary," he said reverently. "They work."

There
was laughter all around, but Robbie kept his gaze fixed on the book in his
hands, turning the pages with one great splayed thumb as if he thought that the
clarity of the words, black on white, might turn out to be a trick of his mind.

"I
dinna ken how tae thank ye for a generous act such as this," he said,
looking up finally. Gently he took the spectacles from his face and held them
on his open palm like a treasure.

"No
thanks needed," Nathaniel said. "Not between us."

"Now
you can read to us," Liam said hopefully, brushing the matted red hair out
of his eyes and stifling a yawn.

"But
not tonight," amended
Elizabeth
.

Moncrieff
had been watching the conversation with some interest, but he stood now,
clearing his throat quietly to get their attention.

"I
ken it's late," he said. "But if I could have just a half hour o'
your time, Mr. Bonner, I would be thankful. I've been a year looking for you,
and it will be difficult to sleep if I dinna first say a few words. But if
you'll excuse me for just a moment

And
with the resigned look of anyone who had to leave the warm cabin for the
realities of the Necessary, Moncrieff finally went off to relieve himself of
the effects of Elizabeth's generosity with the cider.

Hannah
fell on Robbie like a plague, fairly climbing up his arm in her curiosity.

"Where's
my grandfather?" she demanded, without niceties. "And when he is
coming home?"

Robbie
laughed, shaking her off like a wet leaf. "When last I saw him he was in
guid health, and he bid me tell ye that when next I came tae call. He doesna
ken that Kirby's deid—" He nodded to Liam, in acknowledgment of his loss. "And
that there's no sheriff tae put him back in gaol. Elizabeth, yer fait her is
no' o' a mind tae see Hawkeye's sentence completed? Well, then. I suspect he
wad be here his el if he kent that. But he's in
Montreal
, or should soon be."

"
Montreal
?" echoed
Nathaniel, leaning forward. "Why?"

"Otter,"
said Robbie, simply.

Hannah
was on her feet instantly, but Nathaniel caught her up and kept her still.

"Yer
faither went tae extricate him from some difficulties," Robbie continued. "We
had word o' young Otter when Spotted—Fox came through ma part o' the
bush."

"But
he was supposed to be fighting with Little—Turtle," Hannah said. Liam
started visibly at this, but Hannah's whole attention was on Robbie.

The
little girl's expression, half terror, half hope, made
Elizabeth
's heart clench. She went to her and
put a hand on her shoulder. "Well, at least we know where Otter is, and
that your grandfather is nearby." Elizabeth said this calmly, trying to
force the idea into Hannah's head, and her own.

Nathaniel
rubbed a hand over his face, as if to wake himself up. "What's this all
about, Robbie?"

"It
has tae do wi' a lass, as I under stan it." He grinned lopsidedly. "As
trouble oft does when a man is Otter's age." But there was something
uneasy about his smile, and Elizabeth wished desperately to be alone with
Nathaniel and Robbie so that they might have the whole story.

There
was the sound of a step on the porch, and Robbie leaned toward Nathaniel with a
sense of urgency. "Moncrieff seems a guid mannie tae me," he said. "But
the tale he has tae tell ye is gey strange. I didna think I should tell him
aboot yer fait her or where tae find him, wi'oot yer permission."

"What—"
began Nathaniel, but Moncrieff was already halfway in the room, and the
conversation turned back to less sensitive matters.

* * *

Hannah
and Liam were sent back to bed, and the adults settled around the fire. In
spite of the late hour,
Elizabeth
was curiously awake, and aware of the smallest details: the fact that Nathaniel
had a cut on his thumb, the shape of the pine knot she had lit on the
hearthstones for more light, and the large, neatly turned ears of Angus
Moncrieff, still almost purple from the cold at their outer edges. Behind them
the room was in shadows, but the fire glowed white and amber, pulsing
slowly.
 

"We
had some word of you from a trapper we know," Nathaniel began. "But
he's simpleminded and he had things confused."

"A
big man, in need of a wash?"

"Yes,"
Elizabeth confirmed. "He told us that you were the Earl of Carrick."

"No,"
said Moncrieff, his eyes narrowed slightly. "The Earl of Carrick would be
Daniel Bonner's first cousin. Alasdair Scott."

There
was a sudden silence. Beside
Elizabeth
,
Nathaniel tensed as if he had heard a trigger cocked.

Robbie
cleared his throat.
 
"Speak plain,
man. Spit it oot."

Moncrieff
turned his hands over to stare at his own palms. Then he looked up steadily and
met Nathaniel's gaze.

"I
have verra strong reason to believe that your fait her is the only son of James
Scott, who was the younger brother of Roderick Scott, the last Earl of
Carrick."

James Scott. Jamie Scott.

The
hot August day in
Albany
; it seemed almost like
a dream to
Elizabeth
.

Who is this James Scott?

I am. I do the banking for Bears. It's
just a name, Boots.

Elizabeth
was
holding Nathaniel's hand; the tension humming in him said this was not a simple
coincidence. She swallowed hard and tried to keep her face as expressionless as
his, although she could not stop the color from rising on her neck and cheeks.

"I
think you've got the wrong man," Nathaniel said. "But if you were
right and you had proof, what of it, then? The younger brother of an earl has
nothing to claim, as far as I understand it. His son even less."

Moncrieff
grunted. "It's true, Jamie Scott came awa' to the New World with neither
title nor lands. When he left, his brother Roderick already had a son and heir.
That was Alasdair, the current earl, who is my employer. A man of eighty—two
years, this summer past. In good health when last I saw him, but feeling his
age.

Elizabeth
squeezed Nathaniel's hand and he sat back to let her speak. "Why would his
lordship send you so far to find a cousin he did not know existed? Unless the
present Lord Carrick has no heir of his own?"

Moncrieff
shifted in his chair. "You've got to the heart of it, Mrs. Bonner. The
earl has no son, and so he sent me off to find Jamie Scott's son, or grandson.
The last of the line, you see."

"And
if Jamie Scott never had a son?" Nathaniel asked.

"But
he did," said Moncrieff, taking a bundle of papers out of his vest and
putting them on his knee. "There was nae trouble tracing Jamie Scott's
movements. There are ship rosters, and land changed hands, after all. He took a
guidwife, a young lady who emigrated from
Edinburgh
on the same ship as he. There's plentifu' information about his early dealings
in the Colonies, including a letter hame to his brother announcing the birth o'
a son, in 1718." The strong, slender hand rested on the papers. "But
there's no detail at all about Jamie's death. Just a letter written by a priest
in
Albany
to
his lordship to notify him of the massacre, in '21, and the fact that a child
had survived. A son called Daniel."

"It's
a common enough name," said Nathaniel.

Robbie
cleared his throat. "If the laird kent the lad had survived, why did they
no' come tae find him then?"

Moncrieff
leaned forward. "In fact, a great deal o' money was spent to find the
child, wi'oot success.

"You've
got no proof of any of this," Nathaniel said shortly.

The
keen brown eyes turned to him, and examined Nathaniel's features closely and
without apology. "There's proof," he said. "I see what I see.
The lairds of Carrick have always marked their get, and you're the verra
likeness of Jamie Scott."

"And
how would you know that?" Nathaniel said testily. "You would not have
been born when he set sail for the Americas."

Moncrieff
seemed not at all perturbed by Nathaniel's irritation. From a purse he wore
under his arm he drew a pendant which he opened with small snap. Then he held
it up by its chain so that it spun lazily, catching the light to cast it out
again, before it came to a stop.

Elizabeth
inhaled sharply, for it might as well have been Hawkeye as a young man: the
same strong bones and coloring, piercing dark eyes under straight brows. And
because it might have been Hawkeye, it was enough like Nathaniel to make him
look away.

"James
Scott?" She heard her voice crack.

"No,"
said Angus Moncrieff, snapping the pendant shut again to tuck it away. "Roderick,
Earl of Carrick. Jamie's twin. They were born ten minutes apart.

"That
proves nothing," Nathaniel said, the muscle in his cheek fluttering in a
distinctly disturbing way.

"Let
me ask you this, then. Have you nivver heard your grandfather's name spoke by
your faither

"My
grandfather's name was Chingachgook," said Nathaniel, his eyes flashing a
warning that
Elizabeth
hoped Mr. Moncrieff could read. "We buried him on the rise at the back of
the gorge in the late summer, near my mother."

There
was a small silence.

"O'
course. But have you no knowledge of your fait her natural parents?"

"They
had a farm on the
Hudson
.
They were killed in a raid, is all know. A French trapper by the name of Bonner
picked up my father wandering around afterward. Chingachgook offered to take
the boy and raise him up, and the trapper was glad of it."

"He
called himself Daniel when—Chingachgook, have I got that right?
 
when Chingachgook adopted him?" asked
Moncrieff.