I said under my breath, and set off to see about breakfast.
2
LOAVES AND FISHES
W E HAD CHOSEN A SITE well off the main path, but situated in a small, rocky clearing with a good view of the wide creekbank below. Glancing downward through a scrim of holly bushes, I could see the flash of green-and-black tartans as the last of the soldiers dispersed; Archie Hayes encouraged his men to mingle with the people at the Gathering, and most were only too glad to obey.
I wasn’t sure whether this policy of Archie’s was dictated by guile, penury, or simply humanitarianism. Many of his soldiers were young, separated from home and family; they were glad of the chance to hear Scottish voices again, to be welcomed at a homely fireside, offered brose and parritch, and to bask in the momentary warmth of familiarity.
As I came out of the trees, I saw that Marsali and Lizzie were making a small fuss of the bashful young soldier who had fished Germain out of the creek. Fergus stood close to the fire, wisps of steam rising from his wet garments, muttering in French as he rubbed Germain’s head briskly with a towel, one-handed. His hook was braced against the little boy’s shoulder to keep him steady, and the blond head wobbled back and forth, Germain’s face quite tranquil, in complete disregard of his father’s scolding.
Neither Roger nor Brianna were anywhere in sight, but I was rather alarmed to see Abel MacLennan sitting on the far side of the clearing, nibbling a bit of toasted bread on a stick. Jamie was already back with the borrowed supplies, which he was unpacking on the ground next to the fire. He was frowning to himself, but the frown melted into a smile at sight of me.
“There ye are, Sassenach!” he said, rising to his feet. “What kept ye?”
“Oh . . . I met an acquaintance on the trail,” I said, with a significant look toward the young soldier. It was evidently not significant enough, since Jamie knitted his brows in puzzlement.
“The Lieutenant is looking for you,” I hissed, leaning close to him.
“Well, I kent
that
, Sassenach,” he said, in a normal tone of voice. “He’ll find me soon enough.”
“Yes, but . . . ahem.” I cleared my throat and raised my brows, glancing pointedly from Abel MacLennan to the young soldier. Jamie’s notions of hospitality wouldn’t countenance having his guests dragged away from under his rooftree, and I would have supposed that the same principle applied to his campfire as well. The young soldier might find it awkward to arrest MacLennan, but I was sure the Lieutenant would have no such hesitation.
Jamie looked rather amused. Raising his own brows, he took my arm, and led me over to the young man.
“My dear,” he said formally, “may I present Private Andrew Ogilvie, late of the village of Kilburnie? Private Ogilvie, my wife.”
Private Ogilvie, a ruddy-faced boy with dark curly hair, blushed and bowed.
“Your servant, mum!”
Jamie squeezed my arm lightly.
“Private Ogilvie was just telling me that the regiment is bound for Portsmouth, in Virginia—there to take ship for Scotland. Ye’ll be glad to see home, I expect, lad?”
“Oh, aye, sir!” the lad said fervently. “The regiment will disband in Aberdeen, and then I’m off home, so fast as my legs will carry me!”
“The regiment is disbanding?” Fergus asked, coming to join the conversation, a towel draped round his neck and Germain in his arms.
“Aye, sir. With the Frenchies settled—er, beggin’ your pardon, sir—and the Indians safe, there’s naught for us to do here, and the Crown willna pay us to sit at home,” the lad said ruefully. “Peace may be a guid thing, all in all, and I’m glad of it, surely. But there’s no denying as it’s hard on a soldier.”
“Almost as hard as war, aye?” Jamie said dryly. The boy flushed darkly; young as he was, he couldn’t have seen much in the way of actual fighting. The Seven Years War had been over for nearly ten years—at which
2
LOAVES AND FISHES
W E HAD CHOSEN A SITE well off the main path, but situated in a small, rocky clearing with a good view of the wide creekbank below. Glancing downward through a scrim of holly bushes, I could see the flash of green-and-black tartans as the last of the soldiers dispersed; Archie Hayes encouraged his men to mingle with the people at the Gathering, and most were only too glad to obey.
I wasn’t sure whether this policy of Archie’s was dictated by guile, penury, or simply humanitarianism. Many of his soldiers were young, separated from home and family; they were glad of the chance to hear Scottish voices again, to be welcomed at a homely fireside, offered brose and parritch, and to bask in the momentary warmth of familiarity.
As I came out of the trees, I saw that Marsali and Lizzie were making a small fuss of the bashful young soldier who had fished Germain out of the creek. Fergus stood close to the fire, wisps of steam rising from his wet garments, muttering in French as he rubbed Germain’s head briskly with a towel, one-handed. His hook was braced against the little boy’s shoulder to keep him steady, and the blond head wobbled back and forth, Germain’s face quite tranquil, in complete disregard of his father’s scolding.
Neither Roger nor Brianna were anywhere in sight, but I was rather alarmed to see Abel MacLennan sitting on the far side of the clearing, nibbling a bit of toasted bread on a stick. Jamie was already back with the borrowed supplies, which he was unpacking on the ground next to the fire. He was frowning to himself, but the frown melted into a smile at sight of me.
“There ye are, Sassenach!” he said, rising to his feet. “What kept ye?”
“Oh . . . I met an acquaintance on the trail,” I said, with a significant look toward the young soldier. It was evidently not significant enough, since Jamie knitted his brows in puzzlement.
“The Lieutenant is looking for you,” I hissed, leaning close to him.
“Well, I kent
that
, Sassenach,” he said, in a normal tone of voice. “He’ll find me soon enough.”
“Yes, but . . . ahem.” I cleared my throat and raised my brows, glancing pointedly from Abel MacLennan to the young soldier. Jamie’s notions of hospitality wouldn’t countenance having his guests dragged away from under his rooftree, and I would have supposed that the same principle applied to his campfire as well. The young soldier might find it awkward to arrest MacLennan, but I was sure the Lieutenant would have no such hesitation.
Jamie looked rather amused. Raising his own brows, he took my arm, and led me over to the young man.
“My dear,” he said formally, “may I present Private Andrew Ogilvie, late of the village of Kilburnie? Private Ogilvie, my wife.”
Private Ogilvie, a ruddy-faced boy with dark curly hair, blushed and bowed.
“Your servant, mum!”
Jamie squeezed my arm lightly.
“Private Ogilvie was just telling me that the regiment is bound for Portsmouth, in Virginia—there to take ship for Scotland. Ye’ll be glad to see home, I expect, lad?”
“Oh, aye, sir!” the lad said fervently. “The regiment will disband in Aberdeen, and then I’m off home, so fast as my legs will carry me!”
“The regiment is disbanding?” Fergus asked, coming to join the conversation, a towel draped round his neck and Germain in his arms.
“Aye, sir. With the Frenchies settled—er, beggin’ your pardon, sir—and the Indians safe, there’s naught for us to do here, and the Crown willna pay us to sit at home,” the lad said ruefully. “Peace may be a guid thing, all in all, and I’m glad of it, surely. But there’s no denying as it’s hard on a soldier.”
“Almost as hard as war, aye?” Jamie said dryly. The boy flushed darkly; young as he was, he couldn’t have seen much in the way of actual fighting. The Seven Years War had been over for nearly ten years—at which
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