She closed her eyes, wishing, not for the first time, that a great hole would open up in the floor and just swallow Wayne Sinclair.
“In the meantime,” he said cheerily, turning his back to her, “I have business to attend to. There’s to be a hanging. Stay by the window, you’ll have a fabulous view.” He opened it for them effortlessly, and left the room with a bow. They heard the key turn in the lock once again.
Cam turned on Wanda, who was by now looking quite serious once more. “Why didn’t you kill him?” she shouted. “Why?”
Wanda began rummaging through the desk, and with a smile of triumph pulled out a pipe. She rooted around a bit more, and found some tobacco, which she carefully packed into the bowl. Not looking at Cam, she replied, “Well, I had to let him live just a bit longer.”
Cam swept her hand across the desk, nearly knocking the pipe out of Wanda’s grasp. “Stop saying that,” she spat. “Stop trying to be all mysterious and melodramatic and secretive. For once, Wanda, just tell me the truth!”
Wanda lit the pipe and leaned back in Sinclair’s chair. She propped her muddy boots on his desk and wiggled them around a bit, so that large clumps of dirt dropped onto his pile of papers. “For the last time, Cam, it’s really not something you should know about.”
“Tell me!” Cam screamed.
Wanda blew smoke out of her nose. “Honey, you’re not going to like it.”
Cam waited, fuming. She glanced out the window to the scaffold. There was no activity yet.
“Do you remember Tom Kerr’s daughter, Betsy?”
Cam looked at her, confused. “What’s she got to do with anything?”
“Not her. Well, not directly. Her baby.”
Cam was incredulous. “Her baby? Little Thomas Jefferson Kerr? What about him?”
Wanda rolled her eyes. “Well, think about it. Do the math. Betsy’s baby was born in February of this year.”
It finally hit Cam what Wanda was telling her. “Wayne? Wayne Sinclair is that baby’s father?” she practically shrieked.
Wanda nodded.
Cam sat down with a thud. “Did Betsy… I mean, did he…”
“He raped her,” Wanda said bluntly. “After I shot him, he went back to the ridge and raped Betsy. Then he came here. It wasn’t Betsy’s fault.”
Cam shook her head. “You let him live so he could rape poor Betsy Kerr,” she whispered. She turned away from Wanda. “What kind of woman are you?” she asked softly.
“It’s not about me, and it’s not about Wayne or Betsy. I didn’t rape her,” Wanda reminded her.
“You let him! Betsy would be alive if it hadn’t happened! She wouldn’t have killed herself if she hadn’t given birth to that baby!” Cam yelled. A flicker of color caught her eye through the window, and she saw that a group of soldiers were leading a small teenage boy towards the gallows. “Dear God,” she murmured. A thought occurred to her. “What was that phrase you said to Wayne?”
“I called him a son of a bitch. I can also tell him to kiss my ass in Gaelic.” Wanda watched, interested, as the boy climbed the steps. He was sobbing. “Well, he’s done for sure,” she said matter-of-factly.
Cam closed her eyes for a moment. “You are a cold, heartless bitch.”
Wanda chuckled softly under her breath. “You don’t know nearly as much as you think you do, Cameron Clark.”
As they looked on, they heard a shout.
“Bhalaich!”
It seemed to be coming from the prison wing on the far side of the courtyard. The boy froze, and glanced back towards the barracks behind him.
“Cha toir an mi’earbsach iat Sassenach cu tlachd, bhalaich!” roared a voice, thundering so loud that even Cam and Wanda, on the far side of the yard, could make out the words.
It was a voice she had heard in her dreams for a year now.
“My God, that’s Rob,” Cam stammered, shaking as though ice was running through her veins. The boy stopped crying instantly, and held his head high as the noose was placed around his neck. “He’s still alive. What – what did he say to him?”
“I’m not sure precisely, but something about not giving the English dogs the satisfaction. There’s Wayne,” said Wanda as Sinclair strode into view.
The two of them watched as he offered the boy a blindfold. He moved as if to take it, and then hesitated, looking back towards the prison windows. His hand dropped to his side, and he shook his head.
“Sin thu fhein, a bhailach, sin thu fhein!” came Rob’s voice again.
“Good for you, boy,” Wanda translated quietly.
Sinclair shrugged, read something from a scroll he held, and then waved his hand. The noose was tightened around the boy’s neck, and Cam recognized the dragoon, Stave, who had brought them in that morning. There was a fatter one beside him, who was apparently in charge of pulling the lever that would drop the boy through the platform.
Cam shivered. She didn’t want to watch, and turned away. She heard a thunk as the panel gave way, and roars of approval from the British soldiers.
“You can look now. It’s over,” said Wanda.
Cam refused to look out the window, and moved away from it. She sat on the desk and said nothing.
“He at least managed to die with some semblance of dignity,” Wanda said conversationally.
“Shut up, would you?” snarled Cam. She was still thinking about the fact that Wanda had allowed Wayne to survive and rape Betsy Kerr. Poor Betsy, banished from her father’s house because old Tom thought her a whore, so despondent about the resulting pregnancy that she had thrown herself off a cliff after her son was born. A sudden thought struck her.
“Wanda? What’s so important about Betsy’s baby?” she asked curiously.
“He goes on to do many wonderful things,” Wanda intoned solemnly.
“Oh, horseshit, Wanda. Come on. What does he do?” Cam asked scornfully. “It must be something special if you had to let him exist in the first place, right? Does he save Abe Lincoln’s granny from drowning or something?”
Before she could get an answer, although she wasn’t really expecting one in the first place, the lock turned again and Wayne Sinclair entered the room. In an odd contrast to his powdered wig, his face was flushed.
“Did you watch the show?” he asked with a grin. The scarred tissue on his face was an angry scarlet.
Cam turned away from him, sickened. Wanda tapped the remnants of her pipe out on his desk. If he noticed, he gave no sign.
Sinclair glanced at his pocket watch, and smiled broadly. “And now, for your viewing pleasure, we shall adjourn to the courtroom, if you don’t mind.”
Cam’s heart was pounding in her chest as they were led across the courtyard and up the steps to another building, and Wayne ushered them in. They were in a narrow room with wooden plank benches.
“It doubles as our church,” Wayne said by way of explanation.
“Right. Like you even go,” muttered Wanda.
Cam suddenly remembered the cryptic remark of Man Who Sees Far – she couldn’t think of him as Otto Ruehle, really – as they were leaving the Mohawk village. If you need to get out of Fort Wyndham, go to the church and pray. She looked around as discreetly as possible, but saw nothing that might indicate a possible escape route.
The benches were not yet full, but several members of the dragoon corps were milling about, and Cam’s eyes swept the room, looking for Robert. He was nowhere in sight.
“Sit,” ordered Sinclair. They obeyed, and parked on a bench in the front row. Sinclair wandered up to the pulpit to speak to a pudgy middle-aged officer who looked, quite frankly, bored. His elaborately curled wig was slightly askew.
“That’s Fraser,” whispered Wanda. “I’m willing to bet on it.”
“He looks mean.”
“He’s an asshole. But that’s okay. He’ll be dead in October at the battle of Saratoga,” Wanda said flippantly.
Cam looked at her. “Has it occurred to you that we are in an incredible amo
unt of danger? Could you at least have the decency to act like you’re scared?”
Wanda rolled her eyes and turned away, and Cam decided she just wasn’t going to talk to Wanda anymore unless she absolutely had to. Every time she had a conversation with the woman it made her mad, and she needed to keep a level head if she was going to get out of Fort Wyndham in one piece. For an instant, she remembered Basham and Meador, locked in the prison wing. I’ll have to find a way to get them out too… I owe Ambrose Meador that much.
Robert MacFarlane’s entire body ached. He had spent a good part of the night being beaten by Stave and Tumblesby, who had pummeled him mercilessly until he lost consciousness. They had dragged him back to his cell, where a weeping Ralph Fitzralph – the only one left in the cell -- had bathed his face with rancid water.
Ralph had received a visit himself from Stave while Rob was meeting with Lieutenant Clarendon, and could not stop crying.
When Ralph was led to the gallows that morning, Robert watched him helplessly. The only thing he could offer the boy was the chance to die like a man, and so he had shouted at him, called to him in Gaelic, even though he knew the boy couldn’t understand him. But he had understood the tone, if not the words themselves, and for the last moments of his short life, Ralph Fitzralph allowed himself a little bit of honor.
Tumblesby came to get him right before noon, once Ralph’s body had been cleared away from the gallows. Stave was practically dancing with glee.
“Sorry about your little friend Ralph,” he smirked. “Squealin’ like a girl, he was.”
Rob looked past him wordlessly as he was led across the square into the courtroom. As he was shoved through the door, he squinted, eyes adjusting to the dim light. There, in the front he caught a flash of vivid red… Wanda Mabry, what in the name of God are you doing here?
And then, to Wanda’s left, he saw the back of another woman’s head, and caught his breath. He would have known the dark blonde hair anywhere; it had tormented him in his sleep thousands of times over. The curve of her neck above the collar of the shabby dress she wore… and then she turned around to face him.
Robert,” she whispered.
Although his appearance had changed a bit, she recognized him instantly. He had several days’ growth of beard, and his hair, although still pulled back in a queue, hadn’t been combed for a while. His once-respectable clothes were shabby, and his linen shirt was torn in several spots. There were bloodstains on it, and she realized in horror that his face was bruised in more than a few places. His bottom lip had a nasty gash through it, and a streak of dried blood darkened his chin. She felt a sudden ache in her chest.
“Cameron Clark,” he mouthed, staring at her in shock. The fat dragoon shoved Rob past her unceremoniously and pushed him into a nearby chair.
“Robert,” she repeated, tears welling in her eyes. Cam reached over and clutched Wanda’s hand, forgetting her vow not to have anything to do with the woman.
“I know,” said Wanda gently.
“All rise!” called Wayne Sinclair. Everyone in the courtroom did so, except for Fraser, who was ogling Wanda with a great deal of interest. Since Fraser was in charge of this particular proceeding, Cam figured he didn’t have to stand if he didn’t feel like it.
“Alexander MacFarland, also known as Robert MacFarlane, you will face the court,” ordered Sinclair. Robert turned so that his body was facing Fraser, but his eyes never left Cam. “This twenty-second day of June, 1777, this court of His Majesty King George, held at Fort Wyndham, Pennsylvania, before the honorable Brigadier General Simon Fraser, charges that the Defendant, one Alexander MacFarland – also known as Robert MacFarlane -- is guilty of acts of piracy against British cargo ships. The court also maintains that he is part of a most insidious ring of spies,” Sinclair continued, his gaze flickering to Wanda, “who have engaged in rebellious activities against His Majesty King George.”
Fraser peered at Robert. “And what have ye to say for yourself, MacFarlane?”
Robert pulled his gaze from Cam and stared straight back at Fraser. “I say that King George and the Crown of Great Britain are no legitimate governing body, and therefore have no legal jurisdiction over any of my activities, however insidious they may be.”
The brigadier general scowled at him. “You realize, of course, that such statements in and of themselves are considered a treasonous act, punishable by death?”
“Aye, well, then I should welcome it proudly,” Rob said defiantly. “The English crown has been tryin’ to keep men from being free for far too long now. I would rather hang as a free man than live as one o’ Geordie’s puppets.”
Cam stifled a gasp. He’s committing suicide…
“You realize, as well, laddie, that ye could save your own neck,” murmured Fraser softly, “by giving up this foolish charade, and swearing loyalty to the Crown.” He leaned across the table. “All you have to do, MacFarlane, is testify against the others.”
Rob glanced at Cam one last time. “I would rather ye hang me,” he said with a wistful smile. “The alternative is simply unthinkable.”
Fraser goggled at him, obviously perturbed by the course of events. Wayne Sinclair jumped up again.
“Sir? May I speak frankly?” he asked.
“Aye, get on with it, Clarendon.”
“This man is indeed a traitor to the crown and is involved in a ring of spies and rebels, and should be treated accordingly. Furthermore,” he said smiling at Cam and Wanda, “one of his associates is here in the courtroom at this very moment.” He made a sweeping motion with his hand. “I present you Mrs. Wanda Duncan.”
Fraser had apparently not realized that the lovely woman he had been staring at was Wanda. Startled, he frowned and pointed at her.
“You, lass, stand up!” he bellowed.
Wanda rose smoothly, and once again Cam was reminded of how catlike her movements were, as though at any moment she could pounce. Or, perhaps, just vanish into thin air.
“Are you Wanda Duncan? Where is your husband?”
She blinked. “I am. As to Angus, he is not here.”
He peered at Sinclair. “Clarendon, did she no’ come in with two men?”
“Yes, sir, and although they are both spies, neither one of them is her husband.”
Fraser snorted, and turned his attention to Cam. “Well, and who are you, then, missy?”
Cam jumped to her feet before addressing him. “I’m Cameron Clark. Sir,” she added belatedly.
“What sort o’ name is that? Dinna you have a Christian name, like Mary or Isobel or something?” asked Fraser.
“I asked her the same thing when I first met her,” pointed out Robert politely.
“Silence from you, lad,” Fraser snapped. “If I want to hear anything out o’ ye I’ll be sure to let ye know.” He looked back at Cam. “And you, Mrs. Clark, if ye associate with spies, that would rather imply that you’re a traitor as well, aye? What manner o’ business brings ye to be out in the woods with the likes of Mrs. Duncan?”
He seemed genuinely interested, and Cam though she saw just the slightest trace of a smile on his face. Taking a chance, she glanced over to Rob and said, “Well, sir, I was looking for him.”
“For MacFarlane? The pirate? What in the devil for?” Fraser exclaimed, quite shocked.
Wayne Sinclair interrupted. “Sir, might I remind you that this court has two other men to try – specifically Ambrose Meador and Peyton Basham – and we are running a bit late. You did say, sir, that you have places to be.”
“Aye, thank you, Lieutenant. Miss Clark, Mrs. Duncan, ye may be seated. Alexander MacFarland, also known by the name Robert MacFarlane, I give you one final opportunity,” he squinted at Rob, “to swear fealty to the Crown of Great Britain and testify against those who would try to usurp said Crown. What say ye, lad?”
Rob looked at Cam once more, and she closed her eyes and nodded, ever so slightly.
“I say no, Fraser. If its Colonial blood you’re wanting, you�
��ll have to take it without help from me,” he finished.
Fraser was thoroughly exasperated, and banged his fist on the table before him. “Verra well, then, MacFarlane. This court finds you guilty and deems that ye shall be hung by the neck until dead. This session is adjourned,” he growled, and pulled himself to his feet. Fraser pointed a knobbly finger at Wanda. “And you, lassie, shall be kept here until the Lieutenant can gather more evidence against ye, since he doesna seem to have any at the present time!”
With that, he turned and stomped out a side door.
Cam felt someone behind her, and saw Rob’s eyes widen in alarm. Rough hands grabbed her arm, and Stave pulled her to her feet. “What about this one, Lieutenant?” he leered, staring pointedly at the bodice of her dress.
“Well, good Lord, Stave,” replied Sinclair, sounding a bit annoyed. “There’s two cells, isn’t there? Put the women in one, and throw MacFarlane in the other until we can hang him, for God’s sake.”
“But, Lieutenant,” the man whined, “Fraser didn’t say nothing about keepin’ this one in a cell. Just the redheaded one.”
With lightning speed, Sinclair whirled on him, pulling his sword from his belt. “Put her in the bloody cell now, or so help me, Stave, I will run you through,” he said hoarsely.
Stave weighed his options, and decided, with good reason, to do as he was told. He leaned close to Cam’s ear. “Maybe I can come visit you later, hm? Bet we’d have a nice time.”
She cringed in disgust, and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Don’t bet on it, asshole,” she said softly. He recoiled, startled, and then began to laugh under his breath.
Tumblesby was guiding Wanda forward, and Rob was bringing up the rear, being escorted by none other than Wayne Sinclair himself. Cam could feel his eyes on her, and she kept glancing back. She still hadn’t gotten a chance to even speak to him, and there were so many things to say.
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