hands of a trained surgical nurse to help, but didn't have them, so made do with my own. I had a fine surgeon's needle, though, and thin boiled-silk sutures; the stitches showed small and neat, a stark black zigzag that marked a sturdy hold on the slippery, gleaming tissue. I would normally have used the cat-gut sutures for internal work like this, as those would gradually dissolve and be absorbed by the body. Tendons healed so slowly, though-if at all-that I couldn't risk that. The silk stitches would simply stay permanently in place, and I prayed would cause no problems of their own.
Then the hard part was done, and time started again. I was able to talk soothingly to David, who had come through it gallantly; he nodded and made a feeble attempt to smile when I told him it was done, though his teeth were clenched and his cheeks wet with tears. He screamed when I washed the wounds with diluted alcohol-they always did; they couldn't help it, poor things-but then sagged back, trembling, while I stitched the surgical incisions and bandaged the wounds.
That took no great skill, though; I had attention to spare now, and gradually became aware that some of the men behind me were discussing the recent battle, full of praise for Governor Tryon.
"Did you see it, then?" one was asking eagerly. "Did he really do as they said?" "Hope I may be gutted and ftied for breakfast if it ain't so," his companion replied sententiously. "Saw him with my own eyes, didn't I? He rode up within a hundred yards of the swine, and ordered 'em face-to-face to surrender. They wasn't much answer for a minute, only them kind of lookin' to and fro amongst themselves to see who might speak, and then somebody shouts out that no, damn it all, they ain't a-going to surrender nohow. So the Governor, he's a-scowtin' fit to fright a thundercloud, and he rears up and lifts his sword high, then brings it down and shouts, 'Fire on them!'
"And did they do so straight offl"
"No, we didn't," put in another voice, more educated, and rather dry in tone. "Do you blame us? A forty-shilling bounty for joining the Militia is one thing, but to fire in cold blood on folk you know is something else. I looked across and who should I see on the other side but my wife's own cousin, grinning back at me! Now, I'm not saying that the rascal is any great favorite with me or the family, but how am I to go home and tell my Sally as I've just shot her cousin Millard fall of holes?"
"Better than Cousin Millard doin' the same service by you," said the first voice, with an audible grin, and the third man laughed.
"True enough," he said. "But we didn't wait to see if it might come to that. The Governor, he went red as a turkey-cock when the men there with him hesitated. He stood up in his stirrups with his sword held on high, glared round at us all, and he hollered out, 'Fire, Goddamn you! Fire on them, or on me!' "
The Fiery Cross 613
The narrator put a good deal of enthusiasm into this re-enactment, and there was a murmur of admiration from his hearers.
one voice, followed by a general rumble Now there's a soldier for yel" said
of agreement. r a faint shrug in his voice. "Didn't take so -So we fired," said the narrator, it seems, once he's started long, once it started. Cousin Millard is right fast,
running. Bastard got clean away." ng David's shoulder. He was listenMore laughter at this, and I smiled, Patti
ing, too, the conversation a welcome distraction.
46NO sir," another agreed. "I reckon Tryon means to make sure of his victory this time. Heard he's gone to hang the leaders of the._B-egulation on the field." "He what?" I whirled round at this, bandage still in hand.
The small group of men blinked UP at me, surPr's"- e brim of his hat. "A
4yes, ma'am," said one man, with an awkward tug at th
fellow from Lillington's brigade told me so; he was off to see the fun." "Fun," muttered another of the men, and crossed himself.
"Shame if he hangs the Quaker," another opined, face shadowed. "Old Husband's a right terror in print, but he ain't a ruffian. Nor are James Hunter or Ninian Hamilton." er suggested, nudging his neigh-
"Perhaps he'll hang Cousin Millard," anOth lame the Govbor with a grin. "Then you'll be rid of him and your wife can b
ernor!" at this, but the tone was subdued. I turned There was a chorus of laughter blot out the picture of what was back to my work, concentrating fiercely to
now happening on the field on war. ry. Cold-blooded revenge- by War was bad enough, even when it was necessa of view, that the victor was one degree beyond. And yet from Tryon's point
might be necessary, too. As battles went, this one had been both quick, and relatively minor in terms of casualty. I had only twenty or so wounded in my keeping, and had seen only one fatality. There would be more elsewhere, of course, yet from the comments of those nearby, it had been a rout, but not a slaughter, the militiamen being largely unenthusiastic about butchering their fellow citizens, cousins or not. en of the Pe-gulation survived unharmed. I
That meant that most of the in . d, to supposed that the Governor might feel that a drastic gesture was require
seal his victory, intimidate the survivors, and stamp once and for all on the long-smoldering wick of that dangerous movement.
There was a stir, and the sound of a horse's hooves. I looked up-next to me, Bree's head jerked up, her body tense-to see Jamie returning, riding dOuble with Murdo Lindsay. Both men slid off, and he sent Murdo away with a word to care for Gideon, then came at once to me.
i could see from the anxious look of his face that he had no word of Roger; . there. His shoulhe glanced at my face and saw the answer to his own question
ti e i ders dropped slightly in discouragement, then straightened, s ff n ng
,I will go to search the field," he said to me, low-voiced. ',I have sent word already, through the companies. if he is brought in anywhere, someone will bring us word."
614 Diana Gabaldon
"I'm going with you." Brianna was already taking off her grubby apron, wadding it into a ball.
Jamie glanced at her, then nodded.
"Aye, lass, of course. Just a moment, then-I'll fetch wee Josh to help your mother.
"I'll get-get the horses ready." Her movements were quick and jerky, without her usual athletic grace, and she dropped the water bottle she was holding, fumbling several times before she succeeded in retrieving it. I took it from her before she could drop it again, and squeezed her hand, hard.
The corner of her mouth trembled as she looked at me; I thought she meant it for a smile.
"He'll be all right," she said. "We'll find him." "Yes," I said, and let go her hand. "I know you wilP,
I watched her hurry across the clearing, hands clenched in her raised skirts, and felt the counterweight of fear come loose, plunging like a stone into my belly.
EXECUTION OF ORDERS
OGER WOKE SLOWLY, to throbbing pain and a sense of dreadful urgency. He had no idea where he was, or how he came to be there, but R
there were voices, lots of voices, some talking just beyond the range of comprehension, some singing like harpies, in shrill discord. For a moment, he felt the voices were inside his head. He could see them, little brown things with leather wings and sharp teeth, banging into each other in paroxysms of interruption that set off small bombs of light behind his eyes.
He could feel the seam along which his head must surely split under the pressure, a burning streak across the top of his skull. He wanted someone to come and unzip it, to let out all the flying voices and their racket, to leave his skull an empty bowl of shining bone,
He had no real sense of opening his eyes, and stared numbly for some minutes, thinking that the scene on which he looked was still part of the confusion inside his skull. Men swarmed before him in a sea of colors, sNAirling blues and reds and yellows, mixediArith blobs of green and brown.
A defect in his vision deprived him of perspective and caused him to see them in fragments-a distant cluster of heads floating like a bobble of hairy balloons, a waving arm that held a crimson banner, seemingly severed from its body. Several pairs of legs
that must be close by ... was he sitting on the ground? He was. A fly droned past his ear and landed, buzzing, on his upper
The Fiery Cross 615
lip, and he moved by reflex to swat it, only then realizing that he was indeed awake-and still bound.
His hands had gone numb beyond any sense of pain, but the ache now throbbed through the straining muscles of his arms and shoulders. He shook his head to clear it, a terrible mistake. Blinding pain shot through his head, bringing water to his eyes.
He blinked hard and breathed deep, willing himself to grasp some shred of reality, to come to himself. Focus, he thought. Hold on. The singing voices had faded away, leaving only a faint ringing in his ears. The others were still talking, though, and now he knew that the sound was real, he was able to seize on a word here and there, and pin it down, flapping, to examine for meaning.
"Example.".. "Governor.
44 51
Rope. "Piss. "Regulators," "Stew." "Foot." "Hang." "Hillsborough." "Water.:,5 That one made sense. He knew water. He wanted water; wanted it "Water.
badly. His throat was dry, his mouth felt as though it was stuffed with ... it was stuffed with something; he gagged as his tongue moved in an unconscious attempt at swallowing.
"Governor." The repeated word, spoken just above him, made him look up. He fixed his floating vision on a face. Uan, dark, frowning with a fierce intent. "You are sure?" the face said, and he wondered dimly, Sure of wbat? He was sure of nothing, save that he was in a bad way.
"Yessir," said another voice, and he saw another face swim into view alongside the first. This one seemed familiar, fringed with thick black beard. "I saw him in Hermon Husband's camp, palavering with Husband. You ask amongst the prisoners, sir-they'll say so."
The first head nodded. It turned to the side, and up, addressing someone taller. Roger's eyes drifted up, seeking, and he jerked upright with a muffled exclamation, as he saw the green eyes looking down on him, dispassionate.
"He's James MacQuiston," said the green-eyed man, nodding confirmation. "From Hudgin's Ferry."
"You saw him in the battle?" The first man was coming into complete focus, a soldierly-looking fellow in his late thirties, dressed in uniform. Something else was coming into focus-James MacQuiston. He'd heard of MacQuiston ... what ... ?
"He killed a man in my company," Green-eyes said, his voice rough with anger. "Shot him in cold blood as he lay wounded on the ground."
The Governor-that was who it must be, Governor ... Tryon! That was the name! The Governor was nodding, the frown etched deep on his face.
616 Diana Gabaldon
"Take him, too, then," he said, and turned away. "Three are enough for
now.,
Hands gripped Roger's arms and jerked him upright, supporting him for a moment, then pulling him so that he stumbled, off-balance, and found himself half-walking, his weight supported by two men dressed in uniform. He pulled against them, wanting to turn and find Green-eyes--damn, what was the man's name?-but they yanked him round, compelling him to stumble toward a small rise, topped with a huge white oak.
The rise was surrounded by a sea of men, but they fell back, making way for Roger and his escorts. The sense of urgency was back, a feeling like ants beneath the surface of his brain.
MacQuiston, he thought, the name suddenly clear in his memory. James MacQuiston. MacQuiston was a minor leader of the Regulation, a rabble-rouser from Hudgin's Ferry whose fiery speech of threat and denunciation had been published in the Gazette; Roger had seen it.
Why in hell had Green-eyes-Buccleigh! It was Buccleigh
. His sense of relief at remembering the name was succeeded instantly by shock as he realized that Buccleigh had told them he was MacQuiston. Whys
He had not even time to f
orm the question when the last ranks broke before him, and he saw the horses beneath the tree, the looped nooses hanging above the empty saddles from its branches.
THEY HELD THE horses by the heads, while the men were put upon them. Leaves brushed his cheek; twigs caught in his hair, and he ducked, turning his head by instinct to save his eyes being put out.
Some way across the clearing, he saw a woman's figure, half-hidden in the crowd; indistinct but with the unmistakable curve of a child in her arm, a small brown Madonna. The sight brought him upright with a jolt through chest and belly, the memory of Bree with Jemmy in her arms searing through his mind.
He threw himself to the side, back arched, felt himself slide and had no hands to save himself Other hands caught him, pushed him back, one struck him hard across the face. He shook his head, eyes watering, and through Lhe blur of tears saw the brown Madonna thrust her burden into someone's hands, pick up her skirts and run as though the devil chased her.
Something dropped upon his breast with the heavy slither of a serpent. Prickly hemp touched his neck, drew tight about his throat, and he screamed behind the gag.
He struggled without thought for consequence or possibility, impelled by the desperation of the instinct to survive. Heedless of bleeding wrists and wrenching muscle, thighs clenched so hard about the horse's body that it jerked under him in protest, he strained at his bonds with a strength beyond what he had ever imagined he possessed.
Across the clearing, the child had begun to shriek for his mother. The crowd had fallen silent and the baby's cries rang loud. The dark soldier sat on his
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horse, arm lifted, sword upraised. He seemed to speak, but Roger heard nothing for the roar of blood in his ears.
The bones of his hands popped and a line of liquid heat ran down one arm as a muscle tore. The sword fell, a flash of sunlight from its blade. His buttocks slid back over the horse's rump, legs trailing helpless, and his weight fell free in an empty-bellied plunge.
A wrenching jerk ...
And he was spinning, choking, fighting for air, and his fingers scrabbled, -_ It nails tearing at the rope sunk deep in his flesh. His hands had come loose, bu -it was too late, he couldn't feel them, couldn't manage. His fingers slipped and slid on the twisted strands, futile, numb and unresponsive as wood.
He dangled, kicking, and heard a far-off rumble from the crowd. He kicked strained, and bucked, feet pawing empty air, hands clawing at his throat. Chest
back arched, and his sight had gone black, small lightnings flickering in the corners of his eyes. He reached for God and heard no plea for mercy deep within himself but only a shriek of no! that echoed in his bones.
And then the stubborn impulse left him and he felt his body stretch and d he felt loosen, reaching, reaching for the earth. A cool wind embraced him an
the soothing warmth of his body's voidings. A brilliant light blazed up behind his eye s, and he heard nothing more but the bursting of his heart and the distant cnes of an orphaned child.
HIDEOUS EMERGENCY
AMIE AND BREE were nearly ready to leave. Smoke-stained and weary as they were, a number of the men had offered to join the search-party, an offer that made Bree bite her lip and nod thanks. She was grateful for the
ffer of help, I knew-but it takes time to move a larger group, and I could see the impatience flare up in red blotches under her skin as weapons were cleaned) canteens refilled, cast-off shoes located.
"Wee josh" had been mildly apprehensive regarding his new position as surgeon's assistant, but he was a groom, after all, and thus accustomed to tending the ills of horseflesh. The only difference, as I told him-making him grin-was that human patients could tell you where it hurt. en I beI had paused to wash my hands before stitching a lacerated scalp, wh
came aware of some disturbance taking place at the edge of the meadow behind me. Jamie, hearing it too, turned his head-and then came swiftly back across the clearing, eyebrows raised. n evidently in a ,What is it?" I turned to look, and saw a young woma ,
618 Diana Gabaldon
dreadful state, heading toward us at a lopsided trot. She was slight of build and limping badlyshe had lost a shoe s
omewhere-but still half-running, supported on one side by Murdo Lindsay, who seemed to be expostulating with her even as he helped her along.
"Fraser," I heard her gasp. "Fraser!" She let go of Murdo and pushed her way through the waiting men, her eyes raking the faces as she passed, searching. Her brown hair was tangled and hill of leaves, her face scratched and bloody.
or breath, "James ... Fraser ... I must ... are you ... rl She was Panting f
her chest heaving and her face so red it looked as though she might have an apoplexy on the spot.
Jamie stepped forward and took her by the arm.
"Is it me ye want?" "I'm Jamie Fraser, lass," he said,
She nodded, gasping, but had no breath for words. I hastily poured a cup of water and offered it to her, but she shook her head violently, instead waving her arms in agitation, gesturing Aildly toward the creek.
"R09 ... er," she got out, gulping air like a landed fish. "Roger. MacKen zie." Before the final syllable left her mouth, Brianna was at the young woman's side.
"Where is he? Is he hurt?" She seized the young woman's arm, as much to compel answers as to provide support.
The girl's head bobbed up and down, shook back and f
orth, and she gasped out, "Hang . .
- they ... they are ... hanging him! Gov-ner!" Brianna let go of her and ran for the horses. Jamie was already there,
reins with the same swift intensity he had shown when th untying e fighting began. Without a word, he stooped, hands cupped; Brianna stepped up and swung into the saddle, kicking the horse into motion before Jamie had reached his own. Gideon caught the mare up within moments, though, and both horses disappeared into the willows, as though swallowed up.
I said Something under my breath, with no consciousness of whether I'd uttered a curse or a prayer. I thrust needle and suture into Josh's startled hands, caught up the sack with my emergency kit, and ran for my own horse, leaving
rom her effort. e brown-haired woman collapsed on the grass, vomiting f
th
I CAUGHT THEM UP within a few moments. We didn't know precisely where Tryon was holding his drumhead court, and valuable time was lost as
time and again, and lean from his horse to ask diJamie was compelled to stop,
rections-these often muddled and contradictory. Bree was gathered into hers or flight, but lacking direction.
elf, quivering like a nocked arrow, ready f
I tried to ready myself for anything, including the worst. I had no idea what Preliminaries Tryon might have engaged in, or flow much time might elapse between condemnation and execution. Not bloody long, I thought. I'd known Tryon long enough to see that he acted with thought, but also with dispatchand he would know that if such things were done, 'twas best they were done quickly.
As to the why of it ... imagination failed completely. I could only hope that the woman was wrong; that she had mistaken someone else f
or Roger. And yet
The Fiery Cross 619
I didn't think so; neither did Brianna, urging her horse through a boggy patch ahead with an intensity that suggested she would be better pleased to leap off the horse and drag it bodily through the mud.
The afternoon was fading, and clouds of small gnats surrounded us, but jamie made no move to brush them away. His shoulders were set like stone, braced to bear the burden of knowledge. It was that as much as my own fears that told me Roger was, likely dead.
ainst me like a small, sharp hammer, the sort meant for The thought beat ag
elt only brief, recurrent shocks of imagine
breaking rocks. So far, I f d loss, each time I glanced at Brianna's white face, thought of tiny lemmy orphaned, heard the echo of Roger's soft, deep voice, laughing in the distance, singing through my heart. I did not try to push the hammering thoughts aside; it would do no good. And I would not truly break, I knew, until I saw his body.
Even then, the break would be internal. Brianna would need me. Jamie would stand like a rock for her, would do what must be done-but he, too, would need me, later. No one could absolve him of the guilt I knew he felt, but I could at least be confessor for him, and his intercessor with Brianna. My own mourning could wait-a long time, I hoped.
The ground opened, flattening into the edge of a wide meadow, and Jamie kicked Gideon into a gallop, the other horses streaming after him. Our shadows flew like bats across the grass, the sound of our hoofbeats lost in the sounds of a Crowd of men who filled the field.
On a rise at the far end of the meadow stood a huge white oak, its spring leaves bright in the slanting sun. My horse moved suddenly, dodging past a group
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