The Fiery Cross

by Diana Gabaldon

  They worked well together, he and Jamie. Much of a size, each had an instinct for the other's moves. When a hand was needed, it was there. No need for it just now, though-this part of the job was the worst, for there was no interest to soften the tedium, no skill to ease the labor. Only rocks, hundreds of rocks, to be hoisted from the loamy soil and carried, dragged, wrestled to the field, to be piled and fitted into place -

  Often they talked as they worked, but not this morning. Each man worked alone with his thoughts, tramping to and fro with the endless load. The morning passed in silence, broken only by the far-off calling of the disgruntled crows, and by the thunk and grate of stones, dropped on the growing pile.

  744 Diana Gabaldon

  It had to be done. There was no choice. He'd known that for a long time, but now that the dim prospect had hardened into reality

  ... Roger eyed his father-in-law covertly. Would Jamie agree to it, though?

  From a distance, the scars on his back were barely visible, masked by the gleam of sweat. Constant hard work kept a man trim and taut, and no one seeing Fraser in outline--or close enough to see the deep groove of his backbone, the flat belly and long clean lines of arm and thigh-would have taken him for a man in middle age.

  Jamie had showed him the scars, though, the first day they went out to work together, after he had come back from the surveying. Standing by the half-built dairy-shed, Jamie had pulled the shirt off and turned his back, saying casually, "Have a keek, then."

  Up close, the scars were old and well-healed, thin white crescents and fines for the most part, with here and there a silvery net or a shiny lump, where a whipstroke had flayed the skin in too wide a patch for the edges of the wound to draw cleanly together. There was some skin untouched, showing fair and smooth among the weals-but not much.

  And what was he to say? Roger had wondered. I'm sorry for it? Thanks for the viewing privileges?

  In the event, he had said nothing. Jamie had merely turned around, handed Roger an ax with complete matter-of-factness, and they had begun their work, bare-chested. But he had noticed that Jamie never stripped to work, if the other men were with them.

  All right. Of all men, Jamie would understand the need, the necessity-the burden of Brianna's dreaming, that lay in Roger's belly like a stone. Certainly he would help. But would he consent to allow Roger to finish it alone? Jamie, after all, had some stake in the matter, too.

  The crows were still calling, but farther off, their cries thin and desperate, like those of lost souls. Perhaps he was foolish even to think of acting alone. He flung an armload of stones onto the pile; small rocks clacked and rolled away.

  "Preacher's lad." That's what the other lads at school had called him, and that's what he was, with all the ambiguity the term implied. The initial urge to prove himself manly by means of force, the later awareness of the ultimate moral weakness of violence. But that was in another country

  He choked off the rest of the quotation, grimly bending to lever a chunk of rock free of moss and dirt. Orphaned by war, raised by a man of peace-how was he to set his mind to murder? He trundled the stone down toward the field, rolling it slowly end over end.

  "You've never killed anything but fish," he muttered to himself "What makes you think. . . " But he knew all too well what made him think,

  BY MID-MORNING, there were enough rocks collected to begin the first pillar; with a nod and a murmur, they set to work, dragging and heaving, stacking and fitting, with -now and then a muffled exclamation at a smashed finger or bruised toes.

  The Fiery Cross 745

  Jamie heaved a big stone into place, then straightened up, gasping for ath.

  Roger drew his own deep breath. it might as well be now; no better opporty was likely to come.

  'Pve a favor to ask," he said abruptly-

  Jamie glanced up, breathing heavily, one eyebrow raised. He nodded, waitfor the request.

  , Teach me to fight." ng face, and blew out a deep breath, ,,,Jamie wiped a sleeve across his streamt he said. One corner of his mouth -ye ken well enough how to fight,"

  ked up. "Dye mean will I teach ye to handle a sword without cutting Off foot?" into the pile.

  -,Foger kicked a stone back

  "That will do, to start." over. It was a thoroughly dispassionJamie stood for a moment, looking him ght to buy.

  - given a bullock he. thou

  examination , much as he would have down the groove of his back, and ger stood still, feeling the sweat stream ize-with ught that once more, he was being compared-to his disadvanta,,absent Ian Murray.

  "You're auld for it, inind," Jamie said at last. -most swordsmen start when 're boys." He paused. "I had MY first sword at five."

  ,Roger had had a train when he was five. With a red engine that tooted its and smiled pleasantly. stle when you Pulled the cord. He met Jamie's eye,

  "Old for it, maybe," he said. "But not dead."

  _r answered. "A little learning is a dangerous thing-a ,ye could be," Frase foot who thinks he kens f in a scabbard is safer than a

  , ool wi' a blade by his side

  -what to do with it." aDrink deep, or taste "'A little learning is a dangerous thing," Roger quoted.

  a fool?" g- Do you think me

  not the Pierian sprin

  Jamie laughed, surprised into amusement. plied, finishing the verse, *4 117here shallow draughts intoxicate the brain," he rel st be drunk on 'rAnd drinking largely sobers us again. As for foolish-ye'll no ju

  the thought of it, I supposel .sed by the Roger smiled slightly in reply; he had given up being surP11

  breadth of Jamie's reading.

  ,1,1l drink deep enough to stay sober," he said. "Will ye teach me?"

  Jamie squinted, then lifted one shoulder slightly. "Ye've size to your credit, and a good reach, forbYe." He looked Roger head to toe once more and nodded. "Aye, ye,11 maybe do."

  alked away, toward the next heap of stones. Roger folHe turned and w fied, as though he had passed some small but imporlowed, feeling oddly grati

  tant test. t hadn't yet begun, though. it was only partway through the buildThe tes Jamic, spoke again.

  ing of the new pillar that stone he Was slowly heaving, into place. ,Why?" he asked, eyes on the huge ed clumps Of grass roots It was too heavy to lift, the size of a whisky keg- Knott slow and brutal stuck out from under it, ripped out of the earth by the stone's

  round. passage across the 9

  746 Diana Gabaldon

  Roger bent to lend his own weight to the task. The lichens on the rock's Surface were rough under his palms, green and scabby with age.

  "I've a family to protect," he said. The rock moved grudgingly, sliding a few inches across the uneven ground. Jamie nodded, once, twice; on the silent "three," they shoved together, with an echoed grunt of effort. The monster half-rose, paused, rose altogether and overbalanced, chunking down into place with a thunk! that quivered through the ground at their feet.

  "Protect from what?" Jamie stood and wiped a wrist across his jaw. lie glanced up and away, gesturing with his chin at the hanging pig. "I shouldna care to take on a panther wi' a sword, myself."

  "Oh, aye?" Roger bent his knees and maneuvered another large rock into his arms. "I hear you've killed two bears-one with a dirk."

  "Aye, well," Jamie said dryly. "A dirk's what I had. As for the other-if it was a sword, it was Saint Michael's, not mine."

  "Aye, and if ye'd known ahead of time that you might-ugh-meet itwould you not have armed yourself-better?" Roger bent his knees, lowering the stone carefully into place. He let it drop the last few inches, and wiped stinging hands on his breeks.

  "If I'd known I should meet a damn bear," Jamie said, grunting as he lifted another stone into place, "I would have taken another path."

  Roger snorted and wiggled the new stone, casing its fit against the others. There was a small gap at one side that left it loose; Jamie eyed it, walked to the stone pile and picked up a small chunk of granite, tapered at one end. It
fit the gap exactly, and the two men smiled involuntarily at each other.

  "D'ye think there's another path to take, then?" Roger asked. Fraser rubbed a hand across his mouth, considering.

  "If it's the war ye mean-then, aye, I do." He gave Roger a stare. "Maybe I'll find it and maybe I won't-but aye, there's another path."

  "Maybe so." He hadn't meant the oncoming war, and he didn't think Jamie had, either.

  "As to bears, though. . ." Jamie stood still, eyes steady. "There's a deal of difference, ye ken, between meeting a bear unawares-and hunting one."

  THE SUN STILL WASN'T VISIBLE, but it wasn't necessary, either. Noon came as a rumbling in the belly, a soreness of the hands; a sudden awareness of the weariness of back and legs as timely as the chiming of a grandfather's clock. The last large rock fell into place, and Jamie straightened up, gasping for breath.

  By unspoken but mutual consent, they sat down with the packet of food, clean shirts draped across bare shoulders, against the chill of drying sweat. Jamie chewed industriously, washing down a large bitewrith a gulp of ale. He

  made an involuntary face, pursed his lips to spit, then changed his mind and swallowed.

  "Ach! Mrs. Lizzie's been at the mash again." He grimaced and took a remedial bite of biscuit, to erase the taste.

  Roger grinned at his father-in-law's face.

  The Fiery cross 747

  "What's she put in it this time?" Lizzie had been trying her hand at flavored

  - i indifferent success.

  jarnie sniffed warily at the mouth of the stone bottle. "Anise?" he suggested, passing the bottle to Roger.

  Roger smelt it, wrinkling up his nose involuntarily at the alcoholic whiff.

  le He made se and ginger," he said. Neverthe ss, he took a cautious sip.

  Ani er a compliant blackberry same face Jamie had, and emptied the bottle ov

  C. want not, but. - - "

  "Waste not, from poisoning ourselves." Jamie heaved himself up, "It's nay waste to keep oward the small stream on the far side of pok the emptied bottle, and set Off t

  the field.

  He came back, sat down, and handed Roger the bottle of water. "I've had word of Stephen BonneC the, meaning of the words at it was said so casually that Roger didn't register

  t. "Have you?" he said at last, Piccalilli relish was oozing over his hand. Roger from his wrist with a finger, and Put it into his mouthl but swiped the relish petite had vanished.

  didn't take another bite of sandwich; his ap n where he'll be come next "Aye. I dinna ken where he is now-but I kc n We kill April--or rather, where I can cause him to be. Six months, and the

  bim. Do ye think that will give ye tirnO"

  He was looking at Roger, calm as though he had suggested an appointment with a banker, rather than an appointment with death. t dreamed poger could believe in netherworlds-and demons, too. He hadn'

  _d always at the edge of his mind, just out last night, but the demon's face floate You had to of sight, Time to summon him, perhaps, and bring him into view.

  call a dernon up, didn't you, before you could exorcise him? pen. He There were preparations to make, though, before that could hap

  flexed his shoulders and his arms once more, this time in anticipation. The soreness had mostly gone-

  -nere's mony an anefor him maks mane but nane shall ken where he isgane.

  0,er his white banes when they are bare, Yhe wind shall blawforever mair, 0-

  7be wind shall blawforever mail"

  he said. "That'll do." "Aye,

  EN GARDE

  OR A MOMENT, he didn't think he was going to be able to lift his hand to the latch-string. Both arms hung as though weighted with lead, F

  and the small muscles of his forearm jumped and trembled with exhaus tion. It took two tries, and even then,

  he could do no more than catch the string clumsily between two middle fingers; his thumb wouldn't close.

  Brianna heard him fumbling; the door opened suddenly and his hand fell nerveless from the latch. He had no more than a glimpse of tumbled hair and a beaming f

  ace with a smear of soot down one cheek, and then she had her arms around him, her mouth on his, and he was home.

  "You're back!" she said, letting go.

  "I am." And glad of it, too. The cabin smelt of hot f

  clean, ood and lye soap, with a faint tang ofjuniper overlaying the smoke of reed candles and the muskier scents Of human occupation. He smiled at her, suddenly a little less tired.

  "Dadee, Dadee!" Jemmy was bouncing up and down in excitement, cling ing to a low stool for balance. "Da-deeee!"

  "Hallo, hallo," Roger said, reaching down to pat the boy's fluffy head, "Who's a good lad, then?" He missed his mark and his hand brushed a soft cheek instead, but Jemmy didn't care,

  "Me! Me!" he shouted, and grinned with a huge expanse of pink gum, showing off all his small white teeth, Brianna echoed the grin, with substantially more enamel butri. less delight,

  "We have a surprise for you. Watch this!" She went swif

  d sank to one knee, a pace f tly toward the table, an rom jemmy. She stretched out her arms, her hands no more than a few inches from his. "Come to Mama, sweetie. Come here, baby, come to Mama."

  JeMMY swayed precariously, loosed one hand, reached f

  let go and took one drunken step, Or his mother, then ell shrieking into her arms. then two, and f

  She clutched him, giggling in delight, then turned him toward Roger. "Go to Daddy,- Brianna encouraged. "Go on, go to Daddy." Jemmy screwed up his face in doubtful concentration,

  time Parachutist at the open door of a circling plane looking like a firstand fro. He swayed dangerously to Roger squatted, hands held out, firedness forgotten for the moment. "Come on, mate, come on, you can do it!"

  Jemmy clung a moment,

  leaning, leaning, then let go his mother's hand and staggered drunkenly toward Roger, faster and faster and f

  steps, aster through three failing headlong into Roger's saving grasp.

  ross 749 The Fiery C

  He hugged Jemmy tight against him, the little boy wriggling and crowing in triumph.

  "Good lad! Be into everything now, won't your"

  "Like he's not already"' Brianna said, rolling her eyes in resignation. As -though in illustration, Jemmy wriggled loose from Roger's grasp, dropped to hands and knees, and crawled off at a high rate of speed, heading for his basket ,of toys -

  "And what else have ye been doing today?" Roger asked, sitting down at the table.

  "What e1sc?" Her eyes went wide, then narrowed. "You don't think learning so walk is enough for one day?"

  "Of course; it's wonderful, it's marveloust" he assured her hastily. "I was lDnly making conversation."

  IShe relaxed, appeased.

  "Well, then. We scrubbed the floor-not that anybody could tell the difference-" She glanced down with some distaste at the rough, discolored boards underfoot, "-and we made bread and set it to rise, only it didn't, so that's why you're having flat-bread with your dinner."

  "Love flat-bread," he assured her hastily, catching the gimlet gleam in her eye.

  "Sure you do," she said, liffing one thick red brow. "Or at least you know which side it's buttered on."

  He laughed. Here in the warm, the chill was wearing off, and his hands were starting to throb, but he felt good, nonetheless. Tired enough to fall off his stool, but good. Good and hungry. His stomach growled in anticipation.

  "Flat-bread and butter is a start," he said. "What else? I smelt something good." He looked at the bubbling cauldron and sniffed hopefully. "Stewp" "No, laundry." Bree glowered at the kettle. "The third bloody batch today. I

  can't fit much in that dinky thing, but I couldn't take the wash up to the big kettle at the house, because of washing the floor and spinning, When you do wash outside, you have to stay there, to tend the fire and stir it, so you can't do much else at the same time." Her lips clamped -and thinned. "Very inefficient."

  "Sh
ame." Roger passed lightly over the logistics of laundry, in favor of more pressing issues. He lifted his chin toward the hearth.

  "I do smell meat. You don't think a mouse has fatten into the pot?"

  Jemmy, catching this, let go his hold on a rag-ball and crawled eagerly toward the fire. "Mouzee? See mouzeO"

  Brianna. grabbed the collar of Jemmy's smock and turned the glower on Roger.

  "Certainly not. No, baby, no mousie. Daddy's being silly, Here, Jemmy, come eat." Letting go the- collar, she seized the little boy by the waist and lifted him-kicking and struggling- into his high chair. "Eat, I said! You stay put." Jemmy arched his back, grunting and squealing in protest, then suddenly relaxed, sliding down out of the chair and disappearing into the folds of his mother's skirt.

  Brianna grappled for him, going red in the face with laughter and cxasperation.

  "Alt riSht!" she said, hauling him upright. "Don't eat, then. See if I care."

  750 Diana Gabaldon

  She reached for the litter of toys, spilled out of their basket, and plucked a battered corn-husk doll from the rubble. "Here, see dolly? Nice dolly."

  Jemmy clasped the doll to his bosom, sat down abruptly on his bottom, and began to address the doll in earnest tones, shaking it now and then f or emphasis.

  "Eat!" he said sternly, poking it in the stomach. He laid the doll on the floor, picked up the basket and carefully turned it over on top of the dolly. "Say putp, Brianna rubbed a hand down her face, and sighed. She gave Roger a ianCe. "And you want to know what I do all day."

  The glance sharpened, as she truly looked at him for the first time.

  "And what have you been doing, Mr. MacKenzie? You look like you've been in the wars," She touched his f

  ace gently; there was a knot forming on his fore head; he could feel the skin tightening there, and the tiny stab of pain when she touched it.

  "Something like. Jamie's been showing me the rudiments of swordsmanship."

  Her brows went up, and he laughed self-consciously, keeping his hands in his lap.

  "Wooden swords, aye?"

  Several wooden swords. They'd broken three so far, though the makeshift weapons were stout lengths of wood; not twigs, by any means,

  "He stabbed you in the head?" Brianna's voice had a slight edge, though Roger couldn't tell whether it was meant for him or for her father.

  "Ah ... no. Not exactly,"

  With hazy memories of swashbuckling films and university fencing matches, he'd been unprepared for the sheer brutal force involved in hand-to-hand combat with swords. Jamie's first blow had knocked Roger's sword from his hand and sent it flying; a later one had split the wood and sent a large chunk of it rocketing past his ear.