Dawn on a Distant Shore by Sara Donati Page A

Nathaniel asked.
    Moncrieff lifted one
shoulder in a gesture that spoke more of France than Scotland. But there was no
mistaking him for anything but a Lowland Scot: he had the face, long and lean,
large eared and strong of nose and chin. Nathaniel had seen faces much like his
in his mother's drawings of the family she had left behind: uncles and cousins he
had never met, would never know except by the set of their eyes and the angle
of jaw. Moncrieff must be in his mid-fifties at least; there were deep wrinkles
around his eyes and the beginning of dewlaps at his jawline. But he still had a
full head of lank dark hair tied in a neat queue, and an energy that many
younger men lacked. The truth was, Nathaniel was inclined to like the man,
wanted to believe him, but there was something just below the surface that he
could not be sure of. Trust was a luxury he could not afford, not right now.
    "That's
Adele," said Robbie, one corner of his mouth twitching upward as they
watched the woman move about the room, hips swinging. "A widow woman, is
she no'? One o' Angus's muny special friends."
    Moncrieff smiled over
the edge of his tankard. "Aye, I've a few friends in Montréal. Until today
I counted Jones among the useful if less pleasant o' them."
    Nathaniel said,
"We weren't there to start a fight with the man."
    "That I can weel
believe. But it's uncommon easy to quarrel wi' Jones. "Big heid and wee
wit, never gaed tegither yet." Or so it's said."
    Robbie snorted in appreciation.
    Moncrieff chewed on
the stem of his pipe and stared at Nathaniel for a moment. "You were
planning to pay Jones to slip Hawkeye and Otter out o' the garrison gaol."
    Nathaniel shifted,
trying to find a more comfortable spot on the settle. "And if we
were?"
    Another Gallic shrug.
"It isna an especially guid plan to put faith or your money on a man like
Jones. He'd sell his mither to the de'il, and were there profit in it." Moncrieff
met Nathaniel's eye. "And o' course, he's heard tell o' this Tory gold. He'd
be thinking you've got it wi' ye, and wondering how to get his hands on
it."
    Carefully, Nathaniel
put down his tankard as he looked Moncrieff in the eye. "He ain't the
first, nor the last, I imagine. But I've got no gold on me, since you seem to
be wondering."
    It was almost a relief
to see the man flush. He put his pipe aside, laid both hands flat on the table,
and rocked forward, as if to push it to the floor with his weight.
    "I care naething
for gold, and had ye a pure ton o' it. It's your faither's fate that concerns me,
and getting him out o' gaol. Had I thought it could be done wi' coin alone, I
should ha' seen it done lang syne. My purse isna empty, man."
    After a long moment,
Nathaniel nodded. "Fair enough."
    Robbie cleared his
throat. "I suppose ye've got a better plan, Angus?"
    "Aye, Rab,
perhaps I do. If you care to hear it told."
    The serving woman came
to refill their tankards, and they were quiet while they waited for her to
finish. She took her time, leaning over the table to display her ample bosom to
Moncrieff. He patted her hand and murmured something Nathaniel did not quite
hear, but understood anyway. Adele left them with a smile.
    Nathaniel held up a
hand to keep Robbie from answering the question that still hung in the air.
"Before this goes any further--"
    Moncrieff sighed.
"You want an explanation for my letter. Aye, and I've earned some harsh
words. Go on, then."
    "You admit
it?"
    "Admit that I
lied in my letter, and that it wasna your faither's idea to send for ye? Aye, I
admit it. And tell me this: wad ye rather be hame the noo, and him in gaol? I
havena kennt ye verra lang, Nathaniel Bonner, but I didna think that wad
sit weel wi' ye."
    With every swallow of
ale Moncrieff's English was giving way to Scots. Whether it meant the man was
telling the truth or moving farther afield of it, of that much Nathaniel could
not be sure. He said, "I would rather have had the whole story, and made
up my own mind."
    With one