Dawn on a Distant Shore (81 page)

"Fane was eager
to be of help," said Will. "As always, very glad of a chance to be of
service to you. Once we learned from Hawkeye and Robbie that you were on the
Isis
,
he wanted to set off in pursuit--" He paused, and glanced at Lady Isabel.

Elizabeth had arranged
her veils around her face to spare her embarrassment, and her breathing-- still
shallow--caused the fine white netting to flutter fitfully. She seemed still undisturbed
by their conversation, and Will continued.

"But the admiral
got sight of us and there was no help for it, we were ordered straight into
battle," Will concluded. "It was a most ill-timed and unfortunate
diversion."

"A
diversion," Elizabeth said dryly. "To have put yourself in such
danger--"

"You run the risk
of offending me, cousin. Do you think I was not equal to the challenge? I admit
I did not acquit myself in battle as well as your father-in-law and Robbie did.
Fane would have liked to commission them on the spot. I myself caught a piece
of shell--"

He turned his head to
show her a healing wound on the back of his scalp. "It cost me my hair, as
you see, but I find I quite like being shorn like a sheep. Amanda does not mind
terribly."

"Amanda,"
said Elizabeth. "Where is she?"

"With her mother
in Edinburgh," said Will. "Waiting for you, and very impatiently, I
must say. They are greatly worried. Can you tell me what lies ahead for us at
Carryckcastle? How difficult will it be?"

Daniel was sitting on
Will's lap, examining the ties on his shirt with great interest and gumming them
when he managed to get one into his mouth. Elizabeth watched for a moment while
she gathered her thoughts.

"I suppose I must
begin the story in Canada, with Monsieur Dupuis," she said, checking once
again on Lady Isabel. "It begins with him, and I think it may end with
him, as well."

Hannah and Jennet
climbed the oak in the fairy wood with their pockets full of bread and cheese
and pears from the conservatory, blush-pink and still warm from the sun.

"Ye're verra
quiet the-day," Jennet said, contemplating Hannah's profile. "Can ye no'
tell me what's the matter? Is it the story my granny tolt ye, or are ye still thinkin'
aboot Dame Sanderson?"

Hannah bit into her
pear and wiped the juice from her chin with her palm. "I dreamed about her
last night."

It was not the whole
truth, but it would have to suffice for now.

"This morning
when I went doon tae kirk I heard that she killed three dogs yesterday at the baitin',
wi' nary a scratch on her."

This was no comfort at
all, but Hannah did not like to distress Jennet about something she could not
help, and so she changed the subject. "The French ladies left while you
were gone," she said.

"Awa' tae find
the young one a husband," agreed Jennet. "Perhaps she'll ha' better luck
in Edinburgh."

"Monsieur
Contrecoeur stayed behind." It was not a question, but Jennet understood
it as one. She tucked a bit of bread into her cheek like a squirrel, chewing
thoughtfully.

"He'll stay until
Faither Dupuis passes ower," she said. "Perhaps longer--the earl doesna
like tae be wi'oot a priest."

Now that they could
talk openly about this--Hannah was relieved to be able to ask the questions
that most bothered her--she hardly knew where to start. She said, "How
many of you are there? Catholics, I mean."

"No' sae many.
The Hopes, Laidlaws-- my mither's folk, ye ken--alang wi' the MacQuiddys, the
Ballentynes, and the rest o' the earl's men. And Gelleys, o' course."

"But you go to
kirk anyway with the Protestants?"

Jennet looked at her
as if she were soft in the head. "O' course. We must live in the world as Presbyterians,
for there's nae place in Scotland for Catholics these days. We aa attend kirk,
even the earl. Granny says it taxes the brain but it does the soul nae harm tae
listen tae Holy Willie. Do ye miss goin' tae Mass since ye're here?"

"To Mass?"

Her confusion seemed
to irritate Jennet. "Ye're baptized Catholic, and that by a
Jesuit
,
were ye no'?"

Hannah had been
baptized, it was true, as were many of the Kahnyen'kehâka at Good Pasture. Some
had let the priests have their way out of curiosity, some because they did not
want to offend them. But Jennet seemed to think that the baptism brought some
kind of change with it, when Hannah knew that just the opposite was true among
her mother's people. They might listen with interest to the stories of Jesus,
but that did not stop them from praying to Ha-wen-ne'-yu or performing the six thanksgiving
rites that divided the seasons. The two had nothing to do with one another.

"I am baptized,
but I am not Catholic," Hannah said firmly.

Jennet snorted through
her nose. "The Protestants wadna agree wi' ye."

And of course this was
true. Mr. MacKay rose before her mind's eye, sputtering his disgust and delighted
with the proposition of her burning in hell for all eternity.
Papists among
the savages.
She did not like to think of him, especially now with her
father and Elizabeth secretly away in Moffat.

"A rider,"
said Jennet, her face transforming instantly into high curiosity. She stood,
one arm slung around the trunk of the tree, to get a better view.

"'Nezer
Lun," she said, looking troubled now. "I've nivver seen the man move
sae fast."

The horse and rider
had already disappeared into the courtyard by the time the girls had managed to
scramble down the oak, and now they could hear more horses coming at a gallop.
Inside the courtyard men were shouting for the earl.

The riders appeared,
three of them, and drew up their mounts just outside the gate.

"An attack,"
whispered Jennet, suddenly very pale. And then, to Hannah's back as she ran
off: "Wait! Ye canna!"

Hannah whirled, and
threw out her arms. "But I can, I must. It's my grandfather and Robbie,
and my father, too--" And she was away, with Jennet close behind.

Nathaniel watched the
earl stride down the courtyard toward the gate, his men a solid wall at his
back. He wondered what was in his father's head right now, to see Carryck for
the first time. To see the line of his own brow, the set of his jaw, the very
shape of his own shoulders in a stranger, and to know now what he had been told
was true: this man was his first cousin, and his own father had been born to
this land.

When the earl stood
before them, Hawkeye raised his voice, hard and sure. "Dan'l Bonner of New-York
State. I'm here to claim the rest of my family. My two granddaughters, and Curiosity
Freeman. Send them out to me here."

In the full force of
the late afternoon sun Carryck looked drawn and older than his years, a
yellowish cast to his skin. But his voice was strong and unwavering.

"You are welcome
tae Carryckcastle, Daniel Bonner. I would like tae speak wi' ye, in private.
Will ye no' come in and drink wi' me?"

For a long moment they
watched each other, two old lions each in his full power and strength, neither
willing to concede to the other.

"I will,"
said Hawkeye finally. "If you agree to call your man Moncrieff to account
for the wrongs he has committed against me and mine. If you agree to let us
pass when we decide it's time to go."

Beside Nathaniel,
Robbie shifted in his saddle, still scanning the crowd of men in the courtyard
for some sign of Moncrieff, and finding none. Then Hannah came up to him, and
he leaned down to put a hand on her head.

The earl spoke over
his shoulder. "Dagleish," he said. "Fetch Moncrieff here. Dinna
tell him why. And take twa men wi' ye in case he should resist."

He raised his voice
again. "My men will fetch Moncrieff fra' the village, and ye can call him
tae account in front o' this company. Ye are free tae leave whenever ye like.
Now, will ye accept my hospitality?"

"If it's meant
for all of us, aye. Us and the others, who come after."

Carryck's eyes scanned
their faces, and came to rest on Nathaniel, calculating how he had come to be
there, weighing his options. "I see ye've been awa'," he said dryly.

"I have,"
Nathaniel agreed. "Away and back again, to claim what is mine."

"Ye're mair Scott
than ye'll ever ken," said Carryck. And then to Hawkeye: "Aa o' yer
party are welcome. I will hear your complaints against my factor, and should
punishment be warranted, punishment will be dispensed."

The sound of the
carriage was louder now. The men behind Carryck began to look at each other,
touching their weapons in that way that soldiers have, as automatically as they
breathed.

One approached
Carryck, and he spoke to them all. "Leave me."

They went unwillingly,
murmuring among themselves. Now Nathaniel caught sight of Jean Hope and old
MacQuiddy at the rear of the courtyard and in the window above them, Curiosity
with Lily on her hip. Robbie had dismounted, and he crouched down next to
Hannah, the two of them deep in conversation.

Later Nathaniel would
tell Elizabeth that he had heard the story of Lot's wife more than once, but it
wasn't until Carryck caught sight of the Loudoun coat of arms on the coach that
he knew what it meant to see a living being turn to stone. His face went as
glassy smooth as rock salt, and when he looked up at Hawkeye his eyes were
dead.

"My
daughter-in-law," Hawkeye said. "And your daughter, come home to die.
But first she has her own charges against Moncrieff."

Jean Hope came
forward, her hands pressed to her heart and on her face an expression Nathaniel
had seen once before, the morning Sarah had gained a daughter and lost a son: a
woman torn in half between joy and sorrow. He spoke to her gently.

"She's asked for
the priest. Will you take her to him?"

This unexpected
appearance of his daughter had turned Carryck to stone, but all the bones
seemed to flow out of Jean Hope, her body curving forward. She started toward
the coach and then stopped, looked to Carryck for something, some sign, but got
none.

Robbie went to the
coach as the door opened. Ever since he had heard the story of Moncrieff's
crimes against Carryck's daughter he had been unusually still and closed within
himself; it was as if this final evidence of Moncrieff's malice had broken some
last faith in him, and now he took it on as his own duty to offer Lady Isabel
whatever comfort he could.

When he turned around
again, he held her in his arms as carefully and lovingly as he would hold an infant.
She had lost a shoe and one small foot swung free in its white stocking, as
fine and frail as a child's. Her hands lay among the netting that covered her
face and fell down to her waist, discolored and swollen as a man's fists after
a hard fight.

For a moment Robbie
stood there looking at Carryck over Isabel's still form--Nathaniel could not
even be sure she was breathing--and then he walked past the man without a word.

He stopped before Jean
Hope and she placed her hands on Isabel, touching her lightly here and there.
And then she turned and led Robbie toward Elphinstone Tower. MacQuiddy fell in
behind them, and from a shadowy corner Jennet came running, too, with one
backward glance toward Carryck.

They gathered in the
Great Hall: the earl at the head of a long table under the carved and gilded
coat of arms, Nathaniel and Hawkeye to either side of him, and next to them
Elizabeth and Curiosity, each with a baby in her lap. Will sat beside Elizabeth.
Hannah would not stay in her chair, but flitted between the men as if she was
afraid they might disappear again if she were to sit down or look away.

Hawkeye asked her a
question in Mahican and she answered it in Kahnyen'kehâka, and asked him a
question in turn. Nathaniel was listening too but he did not interrupt, and
Elizabeth had the sense that he had heard what he needed to know on the journey
here. From the look on Robbie's face when he had taken Isabel in his arms, Nathaniel
had told them her story, too.

Carryck poured whisky.
Whatever he had wanted to say to Hawkeye, whatever arguments about family and
duty and blood ties and the land--all seemed to have deserted him. He stared in
turn at the door that led to Elphinstone Tower and the window into the
courtyard.

Elizabeth rocked Lily
to her, smoothing the skin of her face and thinking of Isabel who was someplace
over their heads in the tower, seeking some consolation, some of the sense of
herself that she had lost the night she ran away from this place. In the last few
minutes of the journey she had had another crisis, this one much worse than the
earlier one in the garden. It had come upon her there where the road to the castle
turned suddenly and dipped around a great outcropping of stones. Will had
spoken gentle words to her even in her extremity, and Elizabeth had sent her
own prayers to whatever God was looking over Isabel.
Give her just one more
hour. Let her face Moncrieff and go easy to her grave.