“Thank you,” I said. “It was very kind of you. I’m sorry I stepped on you.”
He smiled then, his face changing from a forbidding mask to its usual expression of good humor.
“No harm done, Sassenach,” he said. “As soon as the headache goes away and the cracked rib heals, I’ll be good as new.”
He turned back and pushed open the door of my room, which had swung shut in the wake of my hasty exit, owing to the fact that the builder had apparently constructed the inn without benefit of a plumb line. There wasn’t a right angle in the place.
“Go back to bed, then,” he suggested. “I’ll be here.”
I looked at the floor. Besides its essential hardness and coldness, the oaken boards were blotched with expectorations, spills, and forms of filth I didn’t wish even to contemplate. The builder’s mark in the door lintel had said 1732, and that was plainly the last time the boards had been cleaned.
“You can’t sleep out here,” I said. “Come in; at least the floor in the room isn’t quite this bad.”
Jamie froze, hand on the doorframe.
“Sleep in your room with ye?” He sounded truly shocked. “I couldna do that! Your reputation would be ruined!”
He really meant it. I started to laugh, but converted it into a tactful coughing fit. Given the exigencies of road travel, the crowded state of the inns, and the crudity or complete lack of sanitary facilities, I was on terms of such physical intimacy with these men, Jamie included, that I found the idea of such prudery hilarious.
“You’ve slept in the same room with me before,” I pointed out, when I had recovered a bit. “You and twenty other men.”
He sputtered a bit. “That isna at all the same thing! I mean, it was a quite public room, and…” He paused as an awful thought struck him. “You didna think I meant that you were suggesting anything improper?” he asked anxiously. “I assure ye, I-”
“No, no. Not at all.” I made haste to reassure him that I had taken no offense.
Seeing that he could not be persuaded, I insisted that at the least he must take the blankets from my bed to lie upon. He agreed to this reluctantly, and only upon my repeated assurances that I would not use them myself in any case, but intended to sleep as usual in the cover of my thick traveling cloak.
I tried to thank him again, as I paused by the makeshift pallet before returning to my fetid sanctuary, but he waved away my appreciation with a gracious hand.
“It isna entirely disintested kindness on my part, ye ken,” he observed. “I’d as soon avoid notice myself.”
I had forgotten that he had his own reasons for keeping away from English soldiery. It did not escape me, however, that this could have been much better accomplished, not to say more comfortably, by his sleeping in the warm and airy stables, rather than on the floor before my door.
“But if anyone does come up here,” I protested, “they’ll find you then.”
He reached a long arm out to grasp the swinging shutter and pulled it to. The hall was plunged in blackness, and Jamie appeared as no more than a shapeless bulk.
“They canna see my face,” he pointed out. “And in the condition they’re in, my name would be of no interest to them, either, even were I to give them the right one, which I dinna mean to do.”
“That’s true,” I said, doubtfully. “Won’t they wonder, though, what you’re doing up here in the dark?” I could see nothing of his face, but the tone of his voice told me he was smiling.
“Not at all, Sassenach. They’ll just think I’m waiting my turn.”
I laughed and went in then. I curled myself on the bed and went to sleep, marveling at the mind that could make such ribald jokes even as it recoiled at the thought of sleeping in the same room with me.
When I awoke, Jamie was gone. Going down to breakfast, I met Dougal at the foot of the stairs, waiting for me.
“Eat up quickly, lass,” he said. “You and I are riding to Brockton.”
He declined to tell me anything further, but he seemed a bit uneasy, I thought. I ate quickly, and we soon found ourselves trotting through the misty early morning. Birds were busy in the shrubbery, and the air gave promise of a warm summer day to come.
“Who are we going to see?” I asked. “You may as well tell me, since if I don’t know, I’ll be surprised, and if I do, I’m intelligent enough to act surprised, anyway.”
Dougal cocked an eye at me, considering, but decided that my argument was sound.
“The garrison commander from Fort William,” he said.
I felt a minor shock. I wasn’t quite ready for this. I had thought we had three days yet until we reached the Fort.
“But we’re nowhere near Fort William!” I exclaimed.
“Mmphm.”
Apparently this garrison commander was an energetic sort. Not content to stay at home minding his garrison, he was out inspecting the countryside with a party of dragoons. The soldiers who had come to our inn the night before were part of this group, and had told Dougal that the commander was presently in residence at the inn at Brockton.
This presented a problem, and I was silent for the rest of the ride, contemplating it. I had counted on being able to extract myself from Dougal’s company at Fort William, which I thought to be within a day’s travel of the hill of Craigh na Dun. Even unprepared for camping, and lacking food or other resources, I thought I could cover that much ground alone, and find my way to the stone circle. As to what would happen then – well, there was no way to tell except by going there.
But this development threw an unexpected spanner into my plans. If I parted company with Dougal here, as I well might, I would be four days’ ride from the hill, not one. And I did not have sufficient faith in my sense of direction, let alone my endurance, to risk it alone on foot among the wild crags and moors. The last weeks of rugged travel had given me a wary respect for the jagged rocks and crashing burns of the Highlands, let alone the occasional wild beast. I had no particular desire to meet a boar, for example, face-to-face in some deserted glen.
We reached Brockton at mid-morning. The mist had burned away, and the day was sunny enough to give me a sense of optimism. Perhaps it would be a simple matter, after all, to persuade the garrison commander to provide me with a small escort who could see me to the hill.
I could see why the commander had chosen Brockton as his temporary headquarters. The village was large enough to boast two taverns, one of them an imposing three-story edifice with attached stable. Here we stopped, turning our horses over to the attention of a hostler, who moved so slowly as to seem ossified. He had barely succeeded in reaching the stable door by the time we were inside and Dougal was ordering refreshment from the innkeeper.
I was left below, contemplating a plate of rather stale-looking oatcakes, while Dougal mounted the stair to the commander’s sanctum. It felt a bit strange to see him go. There were three or four English soldiers in the taproom, who eyed me speculatively, chatting to each other in low voices. After a month among the Scots of clan MacKenzie, the presence of English dragoons made me unaccountably nervous. I told myself I was being silly. After all, they were my own countrymen, out of time or not.
Still, I found myself missing the congenial company of Mr. Gowan and the pleasant familiarity of Jamie whatever-his-name-was. I was feeling rather sorry that I had had no chance to bid farewell to anyone before leaving that morning, when I heard Dougal’s voice calling from the stair behind me. He was standing at the top, beckoning me upward.
He looked somewhat more grim than usual, I thought, as he stood aside without speaking and gestured me into the room. The garrison commander stood by the open window, his slim, straight figure silhouetted by the light. He gave a short laugh when he saw me.
“Yes, I thought so. It had to be you, from MacKenzie’s description.” The door closed behind me, and I was alone with Captain Jonathan Randall of His Majesty’s Eighth Dragoons.
He was dressed this time in a clean red-and-fawn uniform, with a l
ace-trimmed stock and a neatly curled and powdered wig. But the face was the same – Frank’s face. My breath caught in my throat. This time, though, I noticed the small lines of ruthlessness around his mouth, and the touch of arrogance in the set of his shoulders. Still, he smiled affably enough, and invited me to sit down.
The room was plainly furnished, with no more than a desk and chair, a long deal table, and a few stools. Captain Randall motioned to a young corporal who stood to attention near the door, and a mug of ale was clumsily poured and set before me.
The Captain waved the corporal back and poured his own ale, then sank gracefully onto a stool across the table from me.
“All right,” he said pleasantly. “Why don’t you tell me who you are, and how you come to find yourself here?”
Having little choice at this point, I told him the same story I had given Colum, omitting only the less tactful references to his own behavior, which he knew about in any case. I had no idea how much Dougal had told him, and didn’t wish to risk being tripped up.
The captain appeared polite but skeptical throughout my recital. He took less trouble to hide it than Colum had, I reflected. He rocked back on his stool, considering.
“Oxfordshire, you say? There are no Beauchamps in Oxfordshire that I know of.”
“How would you know?” I snapped. “You’re from Sussex yourself.”
His eyes popped open in surprise. I could have bitten my tongue.
“And may I ask just how you know that?” he asked.
“Er, your voice. Yes, it’s your accent,” I said hastily. “Clearly Sussex.”
The graceful dark brows nearly touched the curls of his wig.
“Neither my tutors nor my parents would be much obliged to hear that my speech so clearly reflects my birthplace, Madam,” he said dryly. “They having gone to considerable trouble and expense to remedy it. But, being the expert at local speech patterns that you are” – he turned to the man standing against the wall – “no doubt you can also identify my corporal’s place of origin. Corporal Hawkins, would you oblige me by reciting something? Anything at all will do,” he added, seeing the confusion on the man’s face. “Some popular verse, perhaps?”
The corporal, a young man with a stupid, beefy face and broad shoulders, glanced wildly about the room seeking inspiration, then drew himself up to attention and intoned,
Buxom Meg, she washed my clothes,
And took them all away.
I waited thus in sore distress,
And then I made her pay.
“Er, that will do, Corporal, thank you.” Randall made a dismissive motion, and the corporal subsided against the wall, sweating freely.
“Well?” Randall turned to me, questioning.
“Er, Cheshire,” I guessed.
“Close. Lancashire.” He eyed me narrowly. Putting his hands together behind his back, he strolled over to the window and peered out. Checking to see whether Dougal had brought any men with him? I wondered.
Suddenly he whirled back to me with an abrupt “Parlez-vous français?”
“Très bien,” I promptly replied. “What of it?”
Head to one side, he looked me over carefully.
“Damme if I think you’re French,” he said, as though to himself. “Could be, I suppose, but I’ve yet to meet a Frenchie could tell a Cockney from a Cornishman.”
His neatly manicured fingers tapped the wood of the tabletop. “What was your maiden name, Mrs. Beauchamp?”
“Look, Captain,” I said, smiling as charmingly as I could, “entertaining as it is to play Twenty Questions with you, I should really like to conclude these preliminaries and arrange for the continuation of my journey. I’ve already been delayed for some time, and-”
“You do not help your case by adopting this frivolous attitude, Madam,” he interrupted, narrowing his eyes. I had seen Frank do that when displeased about something, and I felt a little weak in the knees. I put my hands on my thighs to brace myself.
“I have no case to help,” I said, as boldly as I could. “I’m making no claims on you, the garrison, or for that matter, on the MacKenzies. All I want is to be allowed to resume my journey in peace. And I see no reason why you ought to have any objection to that.”
He glared at me, lips pressed tight together in irritation.
“Oh, you don’t? Well, consider my position for a moment, Madam, and perhaps my objections will become clearer. A month ago I was, with my men, in hot pursuit of a band of unidentified Scottish bandits who had absconded with a small herd of cattle from an estate near the border, when-”
“Oh, so that’s what they were doing!” I exclaimed. “I wondered,” I added lamely.
Captain Randall breathed heavily, then decided against whatever he had been going to say, in favor of continuing his story.
“In the midst of this lawful pursuit,” he went on, in measured tones, “I encounter a half-dressed Englishwoman – in a place where no Englishwoman should be, even with a proper escort – who resists my inquiries, assaults my person-”
“You assaulted mine first!” I said hotly.
“Whose accomplice renders me unconscious by a cowardly attack, and who then flees the area, plainly with some assistance. My men and I searched that area most thoroughly, and I assure you, Madam, there was no trace of your murdered servant, your plundered baggage, your discarded gown, nor the merest sign that there is the slightest truth to your story!”
“Oh?” I said, a little weakly.
“Yes. Furthermore, there have been no reports of bandits in that area within the last four months. And now, Madam, you turn up in company with the war chieftain of clan MacKenzie, who tells me that his brother Colum is convinced you are a spy, presumably working for me!”
“Well, I’m not, am I?” I said, reasonably. “You know that, at least.”
“Yes, I know that,” he said with exaggerated patience. “What I don’t know is who the devil you are! But I mean to find out, Madam, have no doubts as to that. I am the commander of this garrison. As such, I am empowered to take certain steps in order to secure the safety of this area against traitors, spies, and any other persons whose behavior I consider suspicious. And those steps, Madam, I am fully prepared to take.”
“And just what might those steps be?” I inquired. I honestly wanted to know, though I suppose the tone of my question must have sounded rather baiting.
He stood up, looked down at me consideringly for a moment, then walked around the table, extended his hand, and drew me to my feet.
“Corporal Hawkins,” he said, still staring at me, “I shall require your assistance for a moment.”
The youth by the wall looked profoundly uneasy, but sidled over to us.
“Stand behind the lady, please, Corporal,” Randall said, sounding bored. “And take her firmly by both elbows.”
He drew back his arm and hit me in the pit of the stomach.
I made no noise, because I had no breath. I sat on the floor, doubled over, struggling to draw air into my lungs. I was shocked far beyond the actual pain of the blow, which was beginning to make itself felt, along with a wave of giddy sickness. In a fairly eventful life, no one had ever purposely struck me before.
The Captain squatted down in front of me. His wig was slightly awry, but aside from that and a certain brightness to his eyes, he showed no change from his normal controlled elegance.
“I trust you are not with child, Madam,” he said in a conversational tone, “because if you are, you won’t be for long.”
I was beginning to make a rather odd wheezing noise, as the first wisps of oxygen found their way painfully into my throat. I rolled onto my hands and knees and groped feebly for the edge of the table. The corporal, after a nervous glance at the captain, reached down to help me up.
Waves of blackness seemed to ripple over the room. I sank onto the stool and closed my eyes.
“Look at me.” The voice was as light and calm as though he were about to offer me tea. I opened my
eyes and looked up at him through a slight fog. His hands were braced on his exquisitely tailored hips.
“Have you anything to say to me now, Madam?” he demanded.
“Your wig is crooked,” I said, and closed my eyes again.
Chapter 13. A MARRIAGE IS ANNOUNCED
I sat at a table in the taproom below, gazing into a cup of milk and fighting off waves of nausea.
Dougal had taken one look at my face as I came downstairs, supported by the beefy young corporal, and strode purposefully past me, up the stairs to Randall’s room. The floors and doors of the inn were stout and well constructed, but I could still hear the sound of raised voices upstairs.
I raised the cup of milk, but my hands were still shaking too badly to drink it.
I was gradually recovering from the physical effects of the blow, but not from the shock of it. I knew the man was not my husband, but the resemblance was so strong and my habits so ingrained, that I had been half-inclined to trust him, and had spoken to him as I would have to Frank, expecting civility, if not active sympathy. To have those feelings abruptly turned inside out by his vicious attack was what was making me ill now.
Ill, and frightened as well. I had seen his eyes as he crouched next to me on the floor. Something had moved in their depths, just for a moment. It was gone in a flash, but I did not want ever to see it again.
The sound of a door opening above brought me out of my reverie. The thud of heavy footsteps was succeeded by the rapid appearance of Dougal, followed closely by Captain Randall. So closely indeed, that the Captain appeared to be in pursuit of the Scot, and was brought up short when Dougal, catching sight of me, halted suddenly at the foot of the stairs.
With a glare over his shoulder at Captain Randall, Dougal came swiftly over to where I was seated, tossed a small coin on the table in payment, and jerked me to my feet without a word. He was hustling me out the door before I had time to do more than register the extraordinary look of speculative acquisitiveness on the face of the redcoat officer.
Outlander aka Cross Stitch Page 25
