“Dean Urnaigh dhomh,” he whispered. Pray for me, Da.
He could hear men among the trees now, coming along the mountain trails in ones and twos and threes, recognized the voices: MacMillan, Airdrie, Wilson, Crombie, MacLean, MacCoinneach, two of the Lindsay brothers, Bobby Higgins, coming up behind him … He smiled at thought of Bobby. Bobby was one of the ten men he had told about tonight. Bobby hadn’t fought anyone save the occasional raccoon in some years, but he’d been a soldier and remembered how. And of the ten, for all he’d been an English soldier, Bobby Higgins was one of the men he would trust with his life.
He wasn’t given to vain regrets, but for a piercing instant, he thought how different this night might be if he had Young Ian by his side, and Roger Mac. If he had Germain and Jeremiah, too, waiting outside and ready to run for more help if it was needed.
At least ye won’t get any of them killed. He wasn’t sure if that was his own thought or his father’s voice, but it was a small comfort.
The Crombies and Gillebride MacMillan were waiting outside the Meeting House. So were several men he knew to be quiet Loyalists—maybe Cunningham’s, maybe not—but they’d likely not lift a hand to save him, if that’s what it came down to. He thought one or two of them looked at him oddly, but the light was dim through the oiled hides over the windows; he couldn’t say for sure, and put the thought away.
He made no move to go in yet; it was customary to have a wee blether outside before they settled down to business. He replied to conversation, and laughed now and then, but caught no more than the barest sense of what was said to him. He could feel Cunningham. Out in the dark trees behind his back, waiting.
He wants to see how many men I have.
Jamie wanted to see how many men Cunningham had—and who they were. And to that end, Aidan Higgins was hiding in the brush beside the main trail that led to the Meeting House from the western part of the Ridge, and Murdo Lindsay up near the trail that led from the eastern part. If any Cherokee came to take part in tonight’s doing, they’d come that way, and God and Murdo willing, he’d hear about it in time to take action.
109
De Profundis
MY RIGHT HAND WAS throbbing, in time with my heartbeat. The cut across my palm had healed, superficially, but it had been deep enough that the nerves in the dermis had been injured, and they woke every now and then to protest the insult. I turned the hand over, checking idly for swelling or the red streaks of belated blood poisoning, though I knew quite well there was nothing of that kind.
It’s just that broken things always hurt longer than you think they will.
Plainly I wasn’t going to sleep until—and unless—Jamie came home, more or less in one piece. I lit the small brazier in my surgery and fed the infant fire with hickory chips. “Like a bloody Vestal,” I muttered to myself, but I did feel a slight comfort from the burgeoning light.
I’d already checked and refurbished my field kit, in case of emergency. It hung on its accustomed nail, by the door. I’d put aside the Merck Manual; I couldn’t settle myself to read.
Bluebell and Adso had both wandered into the surgery to keep me company; the dog was asleep under my chair and Adso was draped over the counter, his big celadon eyes half closed, purring in brief spurts like a distant motorcycle being revved.
“Thanks for small mercies,” I said to him, just to break the silence. “At least Jamie will never break his neck riding a motorcycle.”
He might never do a lot of other things, too …
I cut that thought off short and, reaching over the cat, started taking bottles and jars out of the cupboard in a determined sort of way. I might as well take inventory: throw out things that were too old to be pharmaceutically active, make a list of things we needed next time Jamie went （yes, he will too go!） into a town, and maybe grind a few things, if only for the sake of pretending I was grinding Charles Cunningham’s face … or maybe the King’s …
Bluebell’s head came up suddenly and she gave a small hurf! of warning. Adso instantly uncoiled and leapt on top of the tall cabinet where I kept bandages and my surgical implements. Clearly, we had company.
“It’s too early,” I said aloud. He’d left the house no more than an hour ago. Surely nothing could have happened yet … But my body was far ahead of my thoughts and I had reached the front door before I completed that one. I hadn’t barred it after Jamie left, but I had shot the mortised-bolt lock and opened it now with a sharp, decisive thunk! It didn’t matter who had come to tell me what. I had to know.