by Sara Donati
“Negress? Redskin?” The exciseman looked around himself as if they might jump out from a shadowy corner. “Stabbed him with a candle?”
Nathaniel snorted. “An old woman and a little girl.”
“Old or young, they were armed!”
“Aye, with a bird and a bit of beeswax. It’s a miracle these two escaped with their lives.”
The big dragoon flushed purple to the roots of his hair. The smaller one had gone pasty white. Burns turned his head away and let out a great coughing laugh, and for a moment both Moncrieff and the captain studied their shoes.
“Sir!”
“Never mind,” barked Moncrieff. “Go report to your sergeant, and tell him what a bluidy cock-up ye’ve made o’ guardin’ women and bairns.”
The little one glared at Nathaniel. “You haven’t seen the end o’ us.”
“Come calling anytime,” said Nathaniel lightly.
“Enough!” Pickering marched to the door. “The rest of you men get back to your duties!”
“Women and bairns?” echoed Burns thoughtfully as he watched the crowd leak reluctantly away. He raised a brow in Pickering’s direction. “I take it ye have mair passengers on board than Mr. Bonner, Captain.”
“That depends on what you mean by passengers,” Nathaniel said, staring hard at Moncrieff.
“Mr. Bonner travels with his family,” said Pickering, as if Nathaniel hadn’t spoken.
“Then I’ll need tae inspect his baggage.”
The captain blew out his cheeks and sucked them in again. “Is that really necessary, sir? I can assure you, sir, they carry nothing of interest to the Crown.”
Burns picked up his hat from the table and smiled politely. “I’ll have tae make that determination for masel’, Captain.”
Moncrieff cleared his throat. “May I have a word wi’ you first, Mr. Bonner?”
Nathaniel’s first instinct was to walk away, but Moncrieff had struck a tone that surprised him, hesitant and deferential. No doubt it was more trickery, but Nathaniel was curious enough to step onto the quarterdeck with him.
Elizabeth managed to calm the babies by setting them to nurse, although she herself was far from settled. She only had to look at Curiosity or Hannah and she would begin to laugh again. It was that kind of laughter that defies all logic and reason, doubling back on itself until the stomach ached with the effort to breathe normally.
Hannah’s face was flushed too as she bent over Sally, murmuring to the puffin in the same voice Elizabeth had last heard from Falling-Day as she tended an injured dog. She ran fingers along wings and leg, flexing joints and looking for wounds. Elizabeth would have sworn that the bird gave Hannah an indignant look as she set it on the floor.
“She lost a few feathers, but there’s nothing else wrong that I can see,” Hannah announced.
“Joshua had his horn,” said Curiosity with a satisfied grin. “And we had our Sally. Lord, but she made a fine batterin’ ram.”
She put an arm around Hannah and hugged her. “You looked mighty fierce yourself, missy. You put the fear of God into that little man. If I live to be a hundred I won’t forget the look on his face when you poked him with that candle.”
There was something of Curiosity’s old tone in her voice, a hopefulness that had been missing for these last long weeks. Elizabeth did not comment on it, did not even look too hard at her, for fear that these good spirits might flee as quickly as they had come. Certainly she did not dare scold Hannah. The impulse to defend Curiosity could not be faulted, but she had thrust Daniel at Elizabeth and rushed to take on two armed soldiers with little concern for danger. It had been frightening, and now she could not stop laughing when she remembered it.
Hannah was still agitated and worried about the puffin. “Perhaps the Hakim should have a look at her.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “There’s no telling what’s happening on deck. It would be better to wait for your father.”
Curiosity straightened. “I hear him now. And he ain’t alone.”
At Elizabeth’s breast, Daniel’s suckling had slowed down to the gentle rhythm that meant he would soon follow Lily’s example and fall into a sound sleep. She pulled her shawl over both of them for modesty’s sake, corrected her posture and composed her face, ready for more redcoats or even for Angus Moncrieff.
Hannah came to stand behind her, but Curiosity held her ground. Sally disappeared into the shadows under the table, as if she sensed more trouble just ahead.
The man who came in with Nathaniel was neither sailor nor soldier, but a stranger to all of them. What struck Elizabeth about him first was the contrast of the way he bore himself—very much the gentleman—and his hands, work roughened and thick fingered, the hands of a laborer or farmer. His dark eyes moved through the room from person to person, pausing at Curiosity and coming to rest on Hannah. He seemed delighted with what he found, his expression so open and intelligent that Elizabeth felt some of her apprehension flowing away to be replaced by curiosity.
“Ah,” he said. “Now I take your meaning, Mr. Bonner. I’ll see tae it that those men are reprimanded for their behavior, insolent puppies that they are.”
Nathaniel’s gaze settled on Hannah. In Kahnyen’kehàka he said, “You all right, Squirrel?”
She nodded.
“Curiosity?”
“Nothing ailin’ me,” she said, sniffing the air. “But I see you been up to mischief.”
“There was a problem with some kegs,” Nathaniel said.
He crossed the room to put a hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder. The smell of liquor rose about him in such a strong wave that tears came to her eyes, but she blinked them away.
“This here’s the excise officer. Come to see what riches we’re smuggling into Scotland.”
Elizabeth pulled both babies closer to her underneath the shawl. “I fear you will be sore disappointed, Mr….”
The exciseman made a sweeping bow, his dark hair falling forward. “Robert Burns. At your service, madam.” He paused, throwing a sideways glance toward Curiosity.
“This lady is Mrs. Freeman,” Elizabeth said pointedly. It was as close as she could come to stating openly that Curiosity should not be mistaken for a servant, or a slave. “And my stepdaughter, Miss Bonner.”
If Mr. Burns was surprised by these introductions, there was nothing of it in his expression.
“Mrs. Freeman,” he murmured, but his gaze fixed on Hannah. He studied her as he might study a piece of the moon, or a Chinese vase—with great interest, and no maliciousness at all. “Miss Bonner. My great honor.”
Elizabeth thought of speaking to him sharply for staring, but she knew too that Hannah would encounter this kind of interest wherever she went in Scotland. Perhaps it was best to let her deal with it herself.
Hannah looked him up and down and said, “Is an exciseman a kind of pirate?”
Mr. Burns had a deep laugh. Even Curiosity smiled at the sound of it.
“Daughter—” said Nathaniel.
“Ach, dinna scold the lass for her honesty, Mr. Bonner. Those who wad prefer no’ tae pay the king for the privilege o’ drinkin’ tea call us pirates, and worse. There’s no’ a day passes that someone doesna wish me awa’ tae the devil.”
“Oh,” said Hannah, disappointed. “A tax collector.”
“In a manner o’ speakin’,” conceded Mr. Burns.
“We got no tea here,” said Curiosity impatiently. “No brandy or tobacco, neither. Just children, as you can see for yourself. Nothing to interest you.”
“I’ll take your word on that, madam. But if I might ask …” He addressed Nathaniel directly. “What brings ye tae Scotland, sir? Are ye perhaps visitin’ kin in the area?”
Elizabeth felt Nathaniel stiffen. He said, “We have no family here.”
The dark eyes blinked in surprise. “Pardon my presumption, sir. I’ve offended ye and I’m verra sorry for it.”
Elizabeth might have spoken, but Nathaniel’s grip on her shoulder tighte
ned. He said, “Just what’s your interest in us?”
He flushed, but he spoke with dignity. “It’s no’ often we see visitors from America in our wee corner o’ Scotland, ye ken. I’ll bother ye no mair. Guid day tae ye, and Godspeed on your journey.”
His hand was on the door when Nathaniel stopped him. “A question before you go.”
“Sir?”
“Have you heard any word of a schooner called the Jackdaw, flying American colors?”
He turned to face them. “The captain asked me the verra same question, no’ an hour ago.”
Curiosity made a deep sound in her throat that said exactly what she thought of Pickering and his questions.
“And?”
Mr. Burns said, “I should be gey surprised if the Jackdaw sailed intae these waters.”
“And why is that?” asked Elizabeth.
“Why, smugglers dinna usually come up and introduce themsel’ tae the representatives o’ the Crown,” he said with a small smile. “Should Mac Stoker hae business in the firth, he’ll find a wee cove tae hide the schooner and make his way by night.”
“So he might be here?” Hannah spoke up, her interest in the exciseman revived.
“Aa things are possible wi’ the likes o’ Mac Stoker,” said Mr. Burns. “He’s a wily one. As ye seem tae ken yersel’.” Elizabeth watched him swallow down a question he would have liked to ask.
Nathaniel said, “Any idea where we might get word of him?”
The exciseman ran a hand over his chin. “Ye might weel inquire at Mump’s Hall, on the Dumfries Road.”
“That’s a tavern, I take it?”
“Aye. A favorite o’ smugglers and freebooters. No’ a place tae be after dark, if ye take my meanin’, sir.”
“I do,” said Nathaniel. “And I’m indebted to you.”
Once more he paused at the door. “If ye’ll allow me a single suggestion?”
Nathaniel nodded.
“Should ye gae lookin’ for Mac Stoker, wear a hat.”
“You mean for me to hide my face,” Nathaniel said.
“Aye,” said the exciseman. “It wad be in your best interest.”
• • •
“What’s wrong with your face that he wants you to hide it?” Hannah demanded as soon as they were alone again.
Nathaniel pulled the wet shirt away from his skin as he answered her. “Moncrieff has been claiming all along that there’s a strong resemblance to Carryck. I guess that’s one thing he wasn’t lying about.”
“He locked us in here so the exciseman wouldn’t see your face?” Curiosity shook her head. “I don’ know about that man. Is he plain stupid, or just jittery?”
“Both,” said Nathaniel. “And stubborn, too.”
“What does it matter if you look like that old earl?” Hannah grumbled. “Whose business is it?”
Elizabeth shifted the sleeping babies so that she could lift them. “I would guess that Mr. Moncrieff is worried that the Campbells will take an interest, once word gets out. Is that not so?”
Nathaniel grunted. “That’s the way he tells it, Boots. It seems that half of the dragoons quartered in Dumfries are Campbells, and the other half are related to them by marriage. Moncrieff pulled me aside up on deck to warn me about keeping my head low.”
Curiosity waved a hand before her face. “While you’re keeping your head low you’d best go change. I ain’t never smelled anything like you, not even when Axel Metzler gets his still goin’.”
“I’m on my way,” Nathaniel said.
Elizabeth followed him into the side cabin, where she put the sleeping twins in the middle of the bed while Nathaniel stripped the wet shirt over his head and peeled his breeches off.
“Christ, what I wouldn’t give for a bath. She’s right, I stink.”
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “If you are looking to me for a denial, I’m afraid I must disappoint you.”
He did not laugh; he barely seemed to hear her. Standing at the window he had turned his attention to the traffic on the water, and he studied it closely while he wiped his chest with a piece of toweling. The light moved on him, claiming the broad plane of his shoulder and the line of backbone, sliding over the small of his back and down his thigh. He was completely at ease in his nakedness, without self-consciousness or vanity and so beautiful that her breath caught and she wondered if the next would ever come.
His face was hidden from her, and she was glad of it, feeling more naked than he in this moment, and inexplicably happy. Elizabeth touched each of the children in turn, to feel the rise and fall of their breathing. In small proportions we just beauty see.
“I can hear you thinking, Boots,” he said finally.
“I don’t doubt it. Your ears are entirely too sharp.”
He stilled suddenly.
“What is it?”
“The Hakim,” he said. “On a barge, headed for shore.”
“The Hakim?” Elizabeth echoed. “But where would he be going?”
Nathaniel grunted. “That’s the question, all right.”
“Perhaps he has friends to visit in the area,” Elizabeth said, more to herself than to him.
“Or maybe Carryck sent for him,” said Nathaniel. “Maybe he has need of a surgeon.” He pulled his only clean shirt over his head and reached for his breeches. “I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.”
Elizabeth drew in a wavering breath and let it out again.
He came to sit beside her, and slipped his arms around her waist. “You’re loath to leave the ship.”
“You’ve heard the old saying, I’m sure. Better the devil you know.”
“Enough devils to go around in Scotland, no question about it.” He stood, and drew her up with him. “And dragons and giants and fairies and Green Men, too. But you and me, we’ve been through the endless forests, Elizabeth.”
“So we have,” she said. “I expect that we can manage Scotland, too.”
PART III
___________
Carryckcastle
23
The long road to Dumfries was muck and misery. Horses floundered and babies wailed, and yet Hannah could conjure no scowl, or even show the disinterest she thought she must owe this place. By the time the wooden box they called a coach entered the town she had rubbed the skin on her elbows raw leaning out the little window.
Daniel fussed in Curiosity’s arms, but she freed a hand long enough to pull back the leather curtain.
“Must be some kind of celebration goin’ on, all these folks headed in the same direction.”
“I should like to get out and walk with them,” Elizabeth said, shifting uneasily. “I had forgotten how uncomfortable it is to travel by coach.”
Lily turned her head against Elizabeth’s shoulder and frowned in her sleep.
Nathaniel said nothing, but his jaw was hard-set. He had asked for a horse, but Moncrieff had refused without explanation. Hannah wondered how long it would be before her father and Moncrieff had serious words.
The lane was busy with stray dogs and children, tradesmen and servants and ladies in hats sprouting long feathers dyed pink and yellow and green. They held their skirts up from the cobblestones to display layers of lace and ribboned shoes. In New-York a rich man was known by his tall beaver hat, and here they were too, bobbing along in a stream of soft caps and old tricorns.
“It is much like Albany,” Hannah said, surprised and a little disappointed.
Curiosity made a sound in her throat. “Look harder, child. This town was tired when Albany wasn’t nothing more than a widening in the trail along the big river.”
It was true: even the stones that lined the doorways seemed to sag. Windows leaned together and timbers bowed. Under thatched roofs the tiny stone cottages that lined the lanes looked to Hannah like rows of knowing old faces with sunken eyes. In one spot the road narrowed so that she might have reached out to pet a cat sleeping on a windowsill in the early evening light.
Hannah craned her neck to
study the chimneys. “Look how black the smoke is.” She wrinkled her nose at the greasy smell of it.
“Coal,” said Elizabeth. “The dust coats everything.”
A young boy raced by carrying an unlit torch almost as long as he was. He cast a sidelong glance at the coach and pulled up short, his mouth hanging open as he stared at Hannah.
“Boy,” she said, taking this opportunity. “Where is everyone going?”
He walked along beside them with his mouth still gaping to show an odd collection of brownish teeth. His torch bumped behind him over the cobblestones.
“He won’t have any English,” said her father. “Speak Scots to him.”
She might have done it just to see the look on the boy’s face, but Moncrieff’s horse moved up between the coach and the crowd, and he was lost to her. Hannah sat back and crossed her arms, determined to ignore the man until he went away again. But he had heard her question, and he talked to them through the window.
“The town is getting ready tae celebrate the navy’s victory over the French. There’ll be speeches and a bonfire. You’ll be able tae watch from the inn. Here it is now, ye see. The King’s Arms.”
No one responded to him, but he didn’t seem to mind.
“A warm meal and a good night’s rest before we travel on,” Moncrieff continued.
“Bathwater,” Curiosity said. “Lots of it. And hot.”
Hannah thought it might be the first words she had said to Moncrieff since they left Québec.
He pursed his mouth. “Aye, o’ course. Whatever ye require.”
Nathaniel studied the hat that Moncrieff had given him: dusty black, with a broad round brim. The kind of hat you might see on a preacher, or one of the tinkers who roved the edge of the wilderness, selling hair ribbon and buttonhooks from canvas packs and reciting bible verses for their supper. Now he pulled it low over his brow as he climbed out of the coach, unsteady still on his sea legs and feeling foolish and irritated to be hiding his face.
The inn sat on a cobbled square, where the crowd was still gathering. Nathaniel shielded the women on the short walk to the door, hanging back until they were safely inside. The lack of his own weapons weighed heavier than it had on the Isis.