“I ken that fine,” he assured her. “But she needna blow herself to kingdom come doing it. After all, who’s going to look after all the sick folk, if your grannie’s lying about in pieces?”
Félicité and Joanie both thought that image hilarious; I was less amused, but didn’t say anything further until they’d taken their rags and vinegar back to the kitchen. We were left in the sleeping part of the living quarters, assembling our bags and bundles for departure, and momentarily alone.
“You said you were afraid,” I said quietly, eyes on the spools of coarse thread and twists of silk floss I was stowing in a wooden box with several suture needles. “But that won’t stop you doing what you think you have to do, will it? I’m afraid for you—and that certainly won’t stop you, either.” I was careful to speak without bitterness, but he was as sensitive to tones of voice this morning as I was.
He paused for a moment, regarding his shining shoe buckles, then lifted his head and looked at me straight.
“Do ye think that because ye’ve told me the Rebels will win, I am free to walk away?”
“I—no.” I slid the box lid shut with a snick, not looking at it. I couldn’t look away from him. His face was still, but his eyes held mine, intent. “I know you have to. I know it’s part of what you are. You can’t stand aside and still be what you are. That was more or less my point, about—”
He interrupted me, stepping forward and seizing me by the wrist.
“And what is it that ye think I am, Sassenach?”
“A bloody man, that’s what!” I pulled loose and turned away, but he put a hand on my shoulder and turned me back to face him.
“Aye, I am a bloody man,” he said, and the faintest trace of rue touched his mouth, but his eyes were blue and steady.
“Ye’ve made your peace with what I am, ye think—but I think ye dinna ken what that means. To be what I am doesna mean only that I’ll spill my own blood when I must. It means I must sacrifice other men to the ends of my own cause—not only those I kill as enemies, but those I hold as friends . . . or as kin.”
His hand dropped away, and the tension left his shoulders. He turned toward the door, saying, “Come when ye’re ready, Sassenach.”
I STOOD THERE for an instant, blinking, then ran after him, leaving my half-packed bag behind.
“Jamie!” He was standing in the printshop, Henri-Christian in his arms, bidding goodbye to the girls and Marsali. Germain was nowhere in sight, doubtless sulking. Jamie looked up, startled, then smiled at me.
“I wasna going to leave ye behind, Sassenach. And I didna mean to hurry ye, either. Do ye—”
“I know. I just—I have to tell you something.”
All the little heads turned toward me like a nestful of baby birds, soft pink mouths open in curiosity. It occurred to me that I might better have waited until we were on the road, but it had seemed urgent that I tell him now—not only to relieve his anxieties, but to make him know I did understand.
“It’s William,” I blurted, and Jamie’s face clouded for an instant, like a breathed-on mirror. Yes, I had understood.
“Come to me, a bhalaich,” Marsali said, taking Henri-Christian from Jamie and setting him on the floor. “Oof! Ye weigh more than I do, wee man! Come away now, lassies, Grandda isn’t going just yet. Help me fetch out Grannie’s things.”
The children obediently scampered off behind her, though still looking back at us in frustrated curiosity. Children hate secrets, unless they’re the ones keeping them. I glanced after them, then turned back to Jamie.
“I didn’t know if they knew about William. I suppose Marsali and Fergus do, since—”
“Since Jenny told them. Aye, they do.” He rolled his eyes in brief resignation, then fixed them on my face. “What is it, Sassenach?”
“He can’t fight,” I said, letting out a half-held breath. “It doesn’t matter what the British army is about to do. William was paroled after Saratoga—he’s a conventioner. You know about the Convention army?”
“I do.” He took my hand and squeezed it. “Ye mean he’s not allowed to take up arms unless he’s been exchanged—and he hasn’t been, is that it?”
“That’s it. Nobody can be exchanged, until the King and the Congress come to some agreement about it.”
His face was suddenly vivid with relief, and I was relieved to see it.
“John’s been trying to have him exchanged for months, but there isn’t any way of doing it.” I dismissed Congress and the King with a wave of my free hand and smiled up at him. “You won’t have to face him on a battlefield.”
“Taing do Dhia,” he said, closing his eyes for an instant. “I’ve been thinking for days—when I wasna fretting about you, Sassenach—” he added, opening his eyes and looking down his nose at me, “—the third time’s the charm. And that would be an evil charm indeed.”
“Third time?” I said. “What do you—would you let go my fingers? They’ve gone numb.”
“Oh,” he said. He kissed them gently and let go. “Aye, sorry, Sassenach. I meant—I’ve shot at the lad twice in his life so far and missed him by no more than an inch each time. If it should happen again—ye canna always tell, in battle, and accidents do happen. I was dreaming, during the night, and . . . och, nay matter.” He waved off the dreams and turned away, but I put a hand on his arm to stop him. I knew his dreams—and I’d heard him moan the night before, fighting them.