Simon nodded. "Aye, well. It wouldna hurt matters any for ye to ask Dougal MacKenzie to come speak for ye, either. He's in Edinburgh just now."
"Dougal MacKenzie?" Jamie's brows rose quizzically. "Aye, I suppose it would do no harm, but…"
"Do no harm? Man, did ye no hear? The MacKenzie's Prince Charles's fair-haired boy the noo." Simon lounged back in his seat, looking mockingly at his half-nephew.
"What for?" I asked. "What on earth has he done?" Dougal had brought two hundred and fifty men-at-arms to fight for the Stuart cause, but there were a number of chieftains who had made greater contributions.
"Ten thousand pounds," Simon said, savoring the words as he rolled them around on his tongue. "Ten thousand pounds in fine sterling, Dougal MacKenzie's brought to lay at the feet of his sovereign. And it willna come amiss, either," he said matter-of-factly, dropping his lounging pose. "Cameron was just telling me that Charles had gone through the last of the Spanish money, and damn little coming in from the English supporters he'd counted on. Dougal's ten thousand will keep the army in weapons and food for a few more weeks, at least, and with luck, by then he'll ha' got more from France." At last, realizing that his reckless cousin was providing him with an excellent distraction for the English, Louis was reluctantly agreeing to cough up a bit of money. It was a long time coming, though.
I stared at Jamie, his face reflecting my own bewilderment. Where on earth would Dougal MacKenzie have gotten ten thousand pounds? Suddenly I remembered where I had heard that sum mentioned once before—in the thieves' hole at Cranesmuir, where I had spent three endless days and nights, awaiting trial on charges of witchcraft.
"Geillis Duncan!" I exclaimed. I felt cold at the memory of that conversation, carried out in the pitch-blackness of a miry pit, my companion no more than a voice in the dark. The drawing-room fire was warm, but I pulled my cloak tighter around me.
"I diverted near on to ten thousand pounds," Geillis had said, boasting of the thefts accomplished by judicious forgery of her late husband's name. Arthur Duncan, whom she had killed by poison, had been the procurator fiscal for the district. "Ten thousand pounds for the Jacobite cause. When it comes to rebellion, I shall know that I helped."
"She stole it," I said, feeling a tremor run up my arms at the thought of Geillis Duncan, convicted of witchcraft, gone to a fiery death beneath the branches of a rowan tree. Geillis Duncan, who had escaped death just long enough to give birth to the child she bore to her lover—Dougal MacKenzie. "She stole it and she gave it to Dougal; or he took it from her, no telling which, now." Agitated, I stood up and paced back and forth before the fire.
"That bastard!" I said. "That's what he was doing in Paris two years ago!"
"What?" Jamie was frowning at me, Simon staring openmouthed.
"Visiting Charles Stuart. He came to see whether Charles were really planning a rebellion. Maybe he promised the money then, maybe that's what encouraged Charles to risk coming to Scotland—the promise of Geillis Duncan's money. But Dougal couldn't give Charles the money openly while Colum was alive—Colum would have asked questions; he was much too honest a man to have used stolen money, no matter who stole it in the first place."
"I see." Jamie nodded, eyes hooded in thought. "But now Colum is dead," he said quietly. "And Dougal MacKenzie is the Prince's favorite."
"Which is all to the good for you, as I've been saying," Simon put in, impatient with talk of people he didn't know and matters he only half-understood. "Go find him; likely he'll be in the World's End at this time o' day."
"Do you think he'll speak to the Prince for you?" I asked Jamie, worried. Dougal had been Jamie's foster father for a time, but the relationship had assuredly had its ups and downs. Dougal might not want to risk his newfound popularity with the Prince by speaking out for a bunch of cowards and deserters.
The Young Fox might lack his father's years, but he had a good bit of his sire's acumen. The heavy black brows quirked upward.
"MacKenzie still wants Lallybroch, no? And if he thinks Father and I might have an eye on reclaiming your land, he'll be more eager to help you get your men back, aye? Cost him a lot more to fight us for it than to deal wi' you, once the war's over." He nodded, happily chewing his upper lip as he contemplated the ramifications of the situation.
"I'll go wave a copy of Father's list under his nose before ye speak to him. You come in and tell him you'll see me in hell before ye let me claim your men, and then we'll all go to Stirling together." He grinned at Jamie complicitously.
"I always thought there was some reason why ‘Scot' rhymed with ‘plot,' " I remarked.
"What?" Both men looked up, startled.
"Never mind," I said, shaking my head. "Blood will tell."
I stayed in Edinburgh while Jamie and his rival uncles rode to Stirling to straighten out matters with the Prince. Under the circumstances, I couldn't stay at Holyroodhouse, but found lodgings in one of the wynds above the Canongate. It was a small, cold, cramped room, but I wasn't in it much.
The Tolbooth prisoners couldn't come out, but there was nothing barring visitors who wanted to get in. Fergus and I visited the prison daily, and a small amount of discriminating bribery allowed me to pass food and medicine to the men from Lallybroch. Theoretically, I wasn't allowed to talk privately to the prisoners, but here again, the system had a certain amount of slip to it, when suitably greased, and I managed to talk alone with Ross the smith on two or three occasions.
" 'Twas my fault, lady," he said at once, the first time I saw him. "I should ha' had the sense to make the men go in small groups of three and four, not altogether like we did. I was afraid of losing some, though; the most of them had never been more than five mile from home before."
"You needn't blame yourself," I assured him. "From what I heard, it was only ill luck that you were caught. Don't worry; Jamie has gone to see the Prince at Stirling; he'll have you out of here in no time."
He nodded, tiredly brushing back a lock of hair. He was filthy and unkempt, and a good bit diminished from the burly, robust craftsman he had been a few months before. Still, he smiled at me, and thanked me for the food.
"It willna come amiss," he said frankly. "It's little we get but slops. D'ye think…" He hesitated. "D'ye think ye might manage a few blankets, my lady? I wouldna ask, only four of the men have the ague, and…"
"I'll manage," I said.
I left the prison, wondering exactly how I would manage. While the main army had gone south to invade England, Edinburgh was still an occupied city. With soldiers, lords, and hangers-on drifting constantly in and out, goods of all sorts were high-priced and in short supply. Blankets and warm clothes could be found, but they would cost a lot, and I had precisely ten shillings left in my purse.
There was a banker in Edinburgh, a Mr. Waterford, who had in the past handled some of Lallybroch's business and investments, but Jamie had removed all his funds from the bank some months before, fearing that bank-held assets might be seized by the Crown. The money had been converted to gold, some of it sent to Jared in France for safekeeping, the rest of it hidden in the farmhouse. All of it equally inaccessible to me at the moment.
I paused on the street to think, passersby jostling past me on the cobbles. If I didn't have money, I had still a few things of value. The crystal Raymond had given me in Paris—while the crystal itself was of no particular value, its gold mounting and chain were. My wedding rings—no, I didn't want to part with those, even temporarily. But the pearls…I felt inside my pocket, checking to see that the pearl necklace Jamie had given me on our wedding day was still safely sewn into the seam of my skirt.
It was; the small, irregular beads of the freshwater pearls were hard and smooth under my fingers. Not as expensive as oriental pearls, but it was still a fine necklace, with gold pierced-work roundels between the pearls. It had belonged to Jamie's mother, Ellen. I thought she would have liked to see it used to comfort his men.
"Five pounds," I said firmly. "It's worth ten, and I could get six for it, if I cared to walk all the way up the hill to another shop." I had no idea whether this was true or not, but I reached out as though to pick up the necklace from the counter anyway, pretending that I was about to leave the pawnbroker's shop. The pawnbroker, Mr. Samuels, placed a quick hand over the necklace, his eagerness letting me know that I should have asked six pounds to start with.
"Three pound ten, then," he said. "It's beggaring me own family to do it, but for a fine lady like yourself…"
The small bell over the shop door chimed behind me as the door opened, and there was the sound of hesitant footsteps on the worn boards of the pawnshop floor.
"Excuse me," began a girl's voice, and I whirled around, pearl necklace forgotten, to see the shadow of the pawnbroker's balls falling across the face of Mary Hawkins. She had grown in the last year, and filled out as well. There was a new maturity and dignity in her manner, but she was still very young. She blinked once, and then fell on me with a shriek of joy, her fur collar tickling my nose as she hugged me tight.