He lacked as much sleep as Jamie; the one eye that was open was red-rimmed and bloodshot. The other had darkened to the color of a rotten banana, a slit of glittering black visible in the puffed flesh. The knot on his forehead had now achieved full prominence: a purple goose-egg just over one brow, with a nasty split through it.
The little clansman had said barely a word since his release from the bag the night before. Beyond a brief inquiry as to the whereabouts of his knives—retrieved by Fergus, who, questing in his usual rat-terrier fashion, had found both dirk and sgian dhu behind a pile of rubbish—he had preserved a grim silence through the exigencies of our getaway, guarding the rear as we hurried on foot through the dim Paris alleys. And once arrived at the house, a piercing glance from his operating eye had been sufficient to quell any injudicious questions from the kitchen servants.
I supposed he must have said something at the commissariat de police if only to bear witness to the good character of his employer—though I did wonder just how much credibility I would be inclined to place in Murtagh, were I a French judge. But now he was silent as the gargoyles on Notre Dame, one of which he strongly resembled.
However disreputable his appearance, though, Murtagh never seemed to lack for dignity, nor did he now. Back straight as a ramrod, he advanced across the carpet, and knelt formally before Jamie, who looked nonplussed at this behavior.
The wiry little man drew the dirk from his belt, without flourishes, but with a good deal of deliberateness, and held it out, haft first. The bony, seamed face was expressionless, but the one black eye rested unwaveringly on Jamie's face.
"I've failed ye," the little man said quietly. "And I'll ask ye, as my chief, to take my life now, so I needna live longer wi' the shame of it."
Jamie drew himself slowly upright, and I felt him push away his own tiredness as he brought his gaze to bear on his retainer. He was quite still for a moment, hands resting on his knees. Then he reached out and placed one hand gently over the purple knot on Murtagh's head.
"There's nay shame to ha' fallen in battle, mo caraidh," he said softly. "The greatest of warriors may be overcome."
But the little man shook his head stubbornly, black eye unwinking.
"Nay," he said. "I didna fall in battle. Ye gave me your trust; your own lady and your child unborn to guard, and the wee English lassie as well. And I gave the task sae little heed that I had nay chance to strike a blow when the danger came. Truth to tell, I didna even see the hand that struck me down." He did blink then, once.
"Treachery—" Jamie began.
"And now see what's come of it," Murtagh interrupted. I had never heard him speak so many words in a row in all the time I had known him. "Your good name smirched, your wife attacked, and the wee lass…" The thin line of his mouth clamped tight for a moment, and his stringy throat bobbed once as he swallowed. "For that alone, the bitter sorrow chokes me."
"Aye." Jamie spoke softly, nodding. "Aye, I do see, man. I feel it, too." He touched his chest briefly, over his heart. The two men might have been alone together, their heads inches apart as Jamie bent toward the older man. Hands folded in my lap, I neither moved nor spoke; it was not my affair.
"But I'm no your chief, man," Jamie went on, in a firmer tone. "Ye've sworn me no vow, and I hold nay power ower ye."
"Aye, that ye do." Murtagh's voice was firm as well, and the haft of the dirk never trembled.
"But—"
"I swore ye my oath, Jamie Fraser, when ye were no more than a week old, and a bonny lad at your mother's breast."
I could feel the tiny start of astonishment as Jamie's eyes opened wide.
"I knelt at Ellen's feet, as I kneel now by yours," the little clansman went on, narrow chin held high. "And I swore to her by the name o' the threefold God, that I would follow ye always, to do your bidding, and guard your back, when ye became a man grown, and needing such service." The harsh voice softened then, and the eyelid drooped over the one tired eye.
"Aye, lad. I do cherish ye as the son of my own loins. But I have betrayed your service."
"That ye havena and never could." Jamie's hands rested on Murtagh's shoulders, squeezing firmly. "Nay, I wilna have your life from ye, for I've need of ye still. But I will lay an oath on ye, and you'll take it."
There was a long moment's hesitation, then the spiky black head nodded imperceptibly.
Jamie's voice dropped still further, but it was not a whisper. Holding the middle three fingers of his right hand stiff, he laid them together over the hilt of the dirk, at the juncture of haft and tang.
"I charge ye, then, by your oath to me and your word to my mother—find the men. Hunt them, and when they be found, I do charge ye wi' the vengeance due my wife's honor—and the blood of Mary Hawkins's innocence."
He paused a moment, then took his hand from the knife. The clansman raised it, holding it upright by the blade. Acknowledging my presence for the first time, he bowed his head toward me and said, "As the laird has spoken, lady, so I will do. I will lay vengeance at your feet."
I licked dry lips, not knowing what to say. No response seemed necessary, though; he brought the dirk to his lips and kissed it, then straightened with decision and thrust it home in its sheath.
20
LA DAME BLANCHE
The dawn had broadened into day by the time we had changed our clothes, and breakfast was on its way up the stairs from the kitchen.
"What I want to know," I said, pouring out the chocolate, "is who in bloody hell is La Dame Blanche?"
"La Dame Blanche?" Magnus, leaning over my shoulder with a basket of hot bread, started so abruptly that one of the rolls fell out of the basket. I fielded it neatly and turned round to look up at the butler, who was looking rather shaken.
"Yes, that's right," I said. "You've heard the name, Magnus?"
"Why, yes, milady," the old man answered. "La Dame Blanche is une sorcière."
"A sorceress?" I said incredulously.
Magnus shrugged, tucking in the napkin around the rolls with excessive care, not looking at me.
"The White Lady," he murmured. "She is called a wisewoman, a healer. And yet…she sees to the center of a man, and can turn his soul to ashes, if evil be found there." He bobbed his head, turned, and shuffled off hastily in the direction of the kitchen. I saw his elbow bob, and realized that he was crossing himself as he went.
"Jesus H. Christ," I said, turning back to Jamie. "Did you ever hear of La Dame Blanche?"
"Um? Oh? Oh, aye, I've…heard the stories." Jamie's eyes were hidden by long auburn lashes as he buried his nose in his cup of chocolate, but the blush on his cheeks was too deep to be put down to the heat of the rising steam.
I leaned back in my chair, crossed my arms, and regarded him narrowly.
"Oh, you have?" I said. "Would it surprise you to hear that the men who attacked Mary and me last night referred to me as La Dame Blanche?"
"They did?" He looked up quickly at that, startled.
I nodded. "They took one look at me in the light, shouted ‘La Dame Blanche,' and then ran off as though they'd just noticed I had plague."
Jamie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The red color was fading from his face, leaving it pale as the white china plate before him.
"God in heaven," he said, half to himself. "God…in…heaven!"
I leaned across the table and took the cup from his hand.
"Would you like to tell me just what you know about La Dame Blanche?" I suggested gently.
"Well…" He hesitated, but then looked at me sheepishly. "It's only…I told Glengarry that you were La Dame Blanche."
"You told Glengarry what?" I choked on the bite of roll I had taken. Jamie pounded me helpfully on the back.
"Well, it was Glengarry and Castellotti, was what it was," he said defensively. "I mean, playing at cards and dice is one thing, but they wouldna leave it at that. And they thought it verra funny that I'd wish to be faithful to my wife. They said…well, they said a number of things, and I…I got rather tired of it." He looked away, the tips of his ears burning.
"Mm," I said, sipping tea. Having heard Castellotti's tongue in action, I could imagine the sort of merciless teasing Jamie had taken.
He drained his own cup at one swallow, then occupied himself with carefully refilling it, keeping his eyes fixed on the pot to avoid meeting mine. "But I couldna just walk out and leave them, either, could I?" he demanded. "I had to stay with His Highness through the evening, and it would do no good to have him thinkin' me unmanly."
"So you told them I was La Dame Blanche," I said, trying hard to keep any hint of laughter out of my voice. "And if you tried any funny business with ladies of the evening, I'd shrivel your private parts."
"Er, well…"
"My God, they believed it?" I could feel my own face flushing as hotly as Jamie's, with the effort to control myself.
"I was verra convincing about it," he said, one corner of his mouth beginning to twitch. "Swore them all to secrecy on their mothers' lives."
"And how much did you all have to drink before this?"