Dawn on a Distant Shore (74 page)

"Your lady
wife."

"Aye,"
Nathaniel said. "This is Elizabeth."

"English?"

Elizabeth stepped
forward. "Yes, sir. I am English."

He swallowed again and
held out a long white hand, his palm crisscrossed with old scars.

Once Nathaniel had
allowed this man to baptize him although he had not ever believed, not in his
god or his devil. But Iron-Dog was one of the few white men who had earned his
respect in those days. Nathaniel took the offered hand.

Dupuis pulled him
forward. His breath was sweet with laudanum.

"I baptized you
by my own hand," he whispered. "But I can direct you no further on
your journey. Listen to Contrecoeur. He will be your guide."

"I do not want
him as a guide," Nathaniel said, because he would not lie to this man, on
his deathbed or anywhere else.

"But you need
him," said Iron-Dog. "As he needs you."

Contrecoeur led the
way up the circle of stairs, followed by Elizabeth and Nathaniel. Moncrieff
came close behind, sucking in each breath and pushing it out step by step.

Another tower chamber,
but no sickroom this time. Like the rest of the castle it was overfilled with fancy
furniture, paintings and china figurines and ivory carvings. A dozen wax
candles were all burning at once, so that shadows jumped on polished silver and
brass.

"Lady Carryck's
chambers," Elizabeth said. She pointed with her chin. "You see, there
is her portrait over the mantel."

It meant nothing to
Nathaniel--one more pretty picture, this time a woman with hair the color of amber.
The earl's dead wife. Nathaniel took Elizabeth's elbow to keep her next to him.

Carryck waited for
them at a table, his hand curled around a cup. Mrs. Hope was on the other side
of the room with sewing in her lap. She stood and smoothed her skirt, spoke
without looking at anybody.

"I'll bide
below."

"Stay where ye
are, Jean." Carryck's voice was steady; nothing especially affectionate in
his tone, nothing to indicate what they might be to each other except for the
fact that he called her Jean, in this place where first names were such rare currency.

The housekeeper sat
down again and folded her hands in her lap. When Nathaniel met her gaze she
looked away.

Candlelight was kind
to old faces, but even so the earl looked his age; the whisky, maybe. Or sorrow
for Dupuis. Nathaniel could still not quite get his mind around the fact that
Iron-Dog was here. What it meant, how he fit in to all of this.

"Come then and
sit ye doon."

The earl poured whisky
for all of them-- Elizabeth, too--and the room was filled with the bright,
sharp smell of it. Nathaniel had never much liked hard liquor but he drank what
was put before him, just as he took his turn with the pipe when it went around
the Kahnyen'kehâka council fire.

It was Carryck who
broke the silence.

"Ye've been
waitin' a guid while tae say what it is ye have tae say, Bonner. I'll listen
now, and then I'll take my turn and tell ye what ye need tae understand."

Elizabeth put her hand
lightly on Nathaniel's knee under the table, and he covered it with his own.
Then he looked the earl directly in the eye.

"My mother used
to say that if you can't show a man respect when you sit down at his table,
then don't accept his invitation. Now we're sitting here at your table, but it
wasn't an invitation that brought us to this place. So maybe that gives me leave
to say what I'm thinking."

"By all
means," said Carryck dryly.

Nathaniel went on.
"It was your man here who put me and my father and our friend in a
garrison gaol for weeks, and then when that didn't do the job, he stole our
children and put them and us at the mercy of every French warship between here
and home. Took a woman like Curiosity--in all her days she has never done
anything but good--away from her husband and children, and I don't doubt the
worry and aggravation has stole ten years off her life. The
Osiris
went
down with two hundred men on it--and if Moncrieff had had his way, it would
have taken my father and me with it. All this, just so you could see me and
mine onto Scottish soil. Maybe my father and Rab MacLachlan are dead now, and
if they are, that's on your head too. So what I see when I look at you is a
rich man used to getting his way, no matter what the cost. And I'm wondering
why I should believe anything you have to say to me."

Contrecoeur leaned
forward. "It's true that two hundred men and more have lost their lives,
but they died for a good cause."

Elizabeth's head
snapped toward him. "Since we are to speak plainly, may I ask why you are
here, monsieur? I do not understand your interest in this affair."

Nathaniel drew
Moncrieff's cloth medallion from his shirt and dropped it on the table. "It's
got something to do with this, I'll wager."

"He took it from
me," Moncrieff said to the earl, who never even looked in his direction.

The Frenchman smiled
at the bit of cloth as another man might smile at his child. "The scapular.
Yes, it has everything to do with this. You see, the earl's motives are not entirely
selfish. He is a true friend and protector to the most persecuted people in Scotland."

Nathaniel grimaced.
"Speak plain, man. "Persecuted" could mean a lot of
things."

"By your lady's
expression I see she understands me very well."

"The Church of Rome,
Nathaniel." Elizabeth's voice wavered a little. "The Catholic church.
The earl has given sanctuary to a priest."

"To more than
one," Nathaniel agreed. "I expect that Monsieur Contrecoeur here
ain't just passing through on a whim. Came to read the last rites, is what I'd
guess."

A shoulder lifted in
agreement. "I had that honor when I arrived, yes."

Elizabeth was
surprised, he could feel it in the way she looked at Contrecoeur.

"He's a priest
all right, Boots. Ask him to take off his gloves."

"That's no'
necessary," said the earl.

"But I don't
mind," said Contrecoeur. He pulled off the gloves to show them strong
hands, broad of palm and long fingered. Where his thumbs had once been two
twists of flesh were tucked into masses of silver-white scar tissue.

Elizabeth let out a
soft gasp.

"That's what I
thought," Nathaniel said. "The Huron liked to take the missionaries'
thumbs off with clam shells. There was one sachem who wore Jesuit thumbs and
ears on a string around his neck."

Contrecoeur flexed his
fingers. "His name was Calling-Crow. I knew him well."

Nathaniel said,
"What else did they do to you?"

For the first time a
shadow crossed Contrecoeur's handsome face.

"I left with my
soul intact. More I could not ask."

"The Jesuits are
no more," Elizabeth said, more to herself than the table. "The pope
suppressed the order some years ago, and all Jesuits were banished from England
and Scotland."

Moncrieff grunted.
"The Scots were ever a loyal folk."

"That is
true." Contrecoeur nodded. "Not all of our friends abandoned us.
There are those who took it upon themselves to provide the Society of Jesus
with a home, and safe shelter--at great risk to themselves. Much as the earl has
done."

"And Catherine of
Russia." Elizabeth's expression was growing darker by the moment. "I
understand now why it is that you want to take Mademoiselle LeBrun to her
mother."

Contrecoeur looked
more surprised than pleased that Elizabeth had made this connection. "You
are very quick, madame."

"Am I
indeed?" Elizabeth said sharply. "I assume you travel in disguise
where you are not welcome."

"The society has
always been active in trade," he said. "Those of us who remain true to
it carry on as merchants where we cannot live openly as priests."

Elizabeth touched the
square of brown material that still sat in the middle of the table. "Do you
wear one of these too, my lord Earl?"

"Aye,"
Carryck said gruffly. "I am Catholic. I wear the scapular as my faither wore
it, and his faither and grandfaither afore him."

"That little
scrap of cloth can't be all that's at the bottom of this," Nathaniel said.

Elizabeth touched his
sleeve. "You are right, Nathaniel. It is more complex. Things might get
very complicated for the earl if his loyalty to the Church of Rome became
public knowledge. If I remember correctly, the restrictions on Catholics and
the penalties for evading them are unbelievably severe. And there has been
great resistance to any Bill of Relief--riots, and the like."

"A Bill o' Relief
was signed last April," said Carryck, his calm leaving him suddenly.

Elizabeth's surprise
must have shown on her face, but he would not let her respond, leaning forward
to speak directly to her.

"Dinna talk tae
me o' Bills o' Relief. I wad be a fool tae put my faith and risk everythin' on
the whim o' the English parliament."

Nathaniel sat back to
think it through. "So let me see if I got this straight. All this trouble,
men dead and missing, children stole--all this 'cause he's one kind of Christ
worshiper, and those Campbells his daughter married into--the ones who tried to
put a bullet in my head--are another."

"In
essence," Elizabeth said.

Moncrieff was
sputtering in anger and frustration, but Carryck silenced him with a sharp look.
His calm restored, he said, "There's a wee bit mair tae it. It's many
years now that I canna openly welcome my priest tae Carryckcastle wi'oot
puttin' him in danger o' his life. The hearin' o' the Holy Mass or refusin' tae
attend kirk instead could cost me everything I hold dear. Should the presbytery
suspect me o' practicing my own faith, they can summon me--
me
--before
them, and if I canna satisfy them that I'm no' papist, they will denounce me
tae the Privy Council, and aa my property will be consigned tae my nearest Protestant
relative--the Campbells o' Breadalbane--or revert tae the Crown. As a Catholic
I canna buy real property, inherit an estate, or leave my property tae a
Catholic son. And that same son couldna serve as a governor, factor, or even a schoolmaster.
That's what it means tae be Catholic--and faithful--in Scotland."

Nathaniel said,
"So your daughter ran off and married into the one family that would put
you in the worst spot. What drove her to do something like that?"

The room was so quiet,
it might have been empty.

"I did,"
said Jean Hope. "I wasna truthfu' wi' her when she needed it most, and she
married intae the Campbell line tae strike a blow at me."

"Wheest,
Jean." Carryck's voice came gentle. "We'll no' speak o' it."

"Won't we?"
Nathaniel leaned back in his chair. "Seems to me we've got a right to know
all of it. The truth is, all of this puts me in mind of that story--" He
reached for Elizabeth's hand under the table. "Remember, Boots, the one
you read out loud last winter? About that place with the little people who went
to war because half of them liked to start with the big end of a boiled egg and
the other half favored the small end. What was that book?"

"Mr. Swift's
Gulliver's
Travels
," she said. "Thousands of the Lilliputians died rather
than be compelled to begin their eggs at the small end."

Moncrieff pushed back
his chair so violently that it screeched and then crashed over. "How dare
ye." He spoke softly, and with such venom that Nathaniel reached for a
weapon that wasn't there and then rose to block Moncrieff's path to Elizabeth.
"How dare ye insult Carryck in such a way."

"Angus,"
barked the earl. "Enough! Sit ye doon, man."

"I willna!"
Moncrieff was pale with rage. "I willna sit here and listen tae this English
bitch make light o' our travails."

Nathaniel grabbed him
by the shirt and hauled him forward, bending over to meet his eye. "You're
a foul-mouthed bastard," he said easily. "And a coward, to attack a
woman when I'm standing right here in front of you."

Moncrieff spat in his
face.

Contrecoeur and
Carryck both sprang forward, but Nathaniel's fist had already buried itself in
Moncrieff's gut. He sank to his knees, grunting and gasping for breath.

Nathaniel wiped the
spittle from his face with his sleeve. His wounded shoulder was screaming, and
he had broken into a sweat.

"Angus,"
said Carryck. "Ye disappoint me, man."

Contrecoeur said
nothing, but merely helped Moncrieff to his feet. He hung there for a moment,
sputtering and coughing, and when he looked up there was nothing of contrition
in his expression.

"Aye, I lost my
temper," he wheezed. "But I'll take no' a word back. I willna stand
by and smile while they sneer at us."

"You are
mistaken, Mr. Moncrieff," Elizabeth said. "I do not sneer, nor would
I make light of these outrageous penalties and the deprivation of basic human
rights. But I do-- I
must
--challenge your interference in our lives. We
are not politicians, and we cannot be held accountable for these wrongs done to
you."