Dawn on a Distant Shore
Page 147
"Aye," said Jennet. "As close as sisters ever were. The earl sent his men oot tae bring her hame, but it was too late. Nae sign o' the lady until the spring, when she sent word that she was wi' child. The marriage couldna be undone, then, ye see."
"And I suppose these Campbell-Breadalbane folk all got tails and horns," Curiosity said.
Jennet fixed her with a serious expression. "Horns and tails, aye. I wadna doubt it. They like tae cut men's throats and leave them for the corbies."
"Bad blood," said Hannah. "The kind that starts wars."
"O' course," said Jennet, with a little bit of a smile. "We're Scots, aye?"
There was the sound of cart wheels on the gravel path that came around the corner of the castle, and Jennet's whole face broke into a smile. She jumped up so that Daniel tumbled over with an insulted squawk. In a quick swoop she grabbed him up and handed him to Hannah.
"It's Monsieur Dupuis," Jennet said, turning to wave. "And the Hakim."
It was not a cart, as Hannah had thought, but a cross between a cushioned chair and a wheelbarrow. In it sat an old man hunched forward, his legs covered with a rug. The Hakim had been pushing, but he stopped to return Jennet's greeting.
"He's come out tae take the fresh air. Come along, I must introduce ye." And she skipped off ahead.
By the time they had gathered up the babies and made their way to the little group, Jennet was deep in conversation. She broke off in mid-sentence to make the introductions.
Monsieur Dupuis was a friend of the earl's and --if Hannah understood Jennet correctly-- a permanent houseguest. But Hannah found it hard to concentrate on what Jennet had to say, because she could not look away from the stranger. This must be the man Elizabeth had seen in the garden. She had spoken of him as a very old man, and Hannah had seen him that way, too, at first, but now she saw she had been mistaken. He was middle-aged, but worn thin by pain--a man bent close to breaking. He was the kind of pale O'seronni who suffered most in the sun, burning again and again. Now, between his eyes a nest of dark moles seethed like milling wasps. There was another cluster on his jaw, and a larger one wrapping around his neck and reaching down into his clothing. They were like nothing she had ever seen before: black as tar, ulcerated and ragged, and she understood somehow that they would be the death of him. A cancer, one that grew inward from the skin rather than beginning deep inside the body.
She saw the truth of it in Curiosity's face, and in the Hakim's; now Hannah understood why he had disappeared so quickly from the Isis--the earl had sent for him in the hope that he could do something for this friend. And Hakim Ibrahim had disappointed them, because Monsieur Dupuis was beyond helping. O'seronni did not sing death songs, but maybe they would listen to his stories from the shadowlands and give him comfort that way.
The Frenchman was holding out a hand toward her, fingers twitching, to draw her closer. Hannah came, and bent her head to his.
In Kahnyen'kehâka he said, "Little sister, you are very far from home."
She jerked away as if he had snapped his teeth at her. "You speak my language," she said. "Why do you speak my language?" She said it in English, to deny him what he was trying to claim for himself.
"Monsieur Dupuis lived for many years among your people," said Jennet, her smile fading away inffconfusion.
Hannah sent Curiosity a pleading glance and saw the same unease and suspicion that she knew must be plain on her own face. "My people? Among my people?"
"I thought ye'd be pleased," said Jennet sadly.
Curiosity shifted Lily and put a hand on Jennet's shoulder, but she spoke to the Frenchman. "Now, that's right interesting, monsieur. How'd you come to spend time with the Mohawk?"
But his gaze stayed on Hannah. In an English that was more Scots than French he said, "I knew your mother, Sings-from-Books. You are very like her. Your great-grandmother, Made-of-Bones. Is she still living?"
Hannah stepped back farther, clutching Daniel so that he squirmed in protest. "Did you tell him, Jennet? Did you tell him about my mother's people?"
The Frenchman held up a pale hand, and it trembled slightly. "She told me nothing, child. There is no reason to fear. None at all. As soon as your father is well enough, he and I must talk."
"You know my father."
"Yes."
Hannah felt the first flush of relief. Her father would know this man, or he would not. In either case, things would be made clear, and it would not fall to her to decide if Monsieur Dupuis was friend or enemy.
The Frenchman was watching her, and Hannah had the disturbing feeling that he read her thoughts. In Kahnyen'kehâka he said, "Tell Wolf-Running-Fast that I send my greetings. It has been many years, but he will remember me. As I remember him. Will you tell him?"
26
For a day and a night the mountain called Aidan Rig pulled a soft rain about itself. Carryckcastle was wrapped in mists, set apart from the rest of the world just as Elizabeth isolated herself in Lady Appalina's bedchamber while she watched over Nathaniel and waited for his fever to break.
They roused him to take broth or the Hakim's willow-bark tea; he seemed disoriented but always asked about his father and the children. Then he fell away again into dreams that made him twitch and flail. Elizabeth did not know how to reassure or comfort him, for his worries were real ones and they occupied her own dreams, when she could sleep at all.
"And I suppose these Campbell-Breadalbane folk all got tails and horns," Curiosity said.
Jennet fixed her with a serious expression. "Horns and tails, aye. I wadna doubt it. They like tae cut men's throats and leave them for the corbies."
"Bad blood," said Hannah. "The kind that starts wars."
"O' course," said Jennet, with a little bit of a smile. "We're Scots, aye?"
There was the sound of cart wheels on the gravel path that came around the corner of the castle, and Jennet's whole face broke into a smile. She jumped up so that Daniel tumbled over with an insulted squawk. In a quick swoop she grabbed him up and handed him to Hannah.
"It's Monsieur Dupuis," Jennet said, turning to wave. "And the Hakim."
It was not a cart, as Hannah had thought, but a cross between a cushioned chair and a wheelbarrow. In it sat an old man hunched forward, his legs covered with a rug. The Hakim had been pushing, but he stopped to return Jennet's greeting.
"He's come out tae take the fresh air. Come along, I must introduce ye." And she skipped off ahead.
By the time they had gathered up the babies and made their way to the little group, Jennet was deep in conversation. She broke off in mid-sentence to make the introductions.
Monsieur Dupuis was a friend of the earl's and --if Hannah understood Jennet correctly-- a permanent houseguest. But Hannah found it hard to concentrate on what Jennet had to say, because she could not look away from the stranger. This must be the man Elizabeth had seen in the garden. She had spoken of him as a very old man, and Hannah had seen him that way, too, at first, but now she saw she had been mistaken. He was middle-aged, but worn thin by pain--a man bent close to breaking. He was the kind of pale O'seronni who suffered most in the sun, burning again and again. Now, between his eyes a nest of dark moles seethed like milling wasps. There was another cluster on his jaw, and a larger one wrapping around his neck and reaching down into his clothing. They were like nothing she had ever seen before: black as tar, ulcerated and ragged, and she understood somehow that they would be the death of him. A cancer, one that grew inward from the skin rather than beginning deep inside the body.
She saw the truth of it in Curiosity's face, and in the Hakim's; now Hannah understood why he had disappeared so quickly from the Isis--the earl had sent for him in the hope that he could do something for this friend. And Hakim Ibrahim had disappointed them, because Monsieur Dupuis was beyond helping. O'seronni did not sing death songs, but maybe they would listen to his stories from the shadowlands and give him comfort that way.
The Frenchman was holding out a hand toward her, fingers twitching, to draw her closer. Hannah came, and bent her head to his.
In Kahnyen'kehâka he said, "Little sister, you are very far from home."
She jerked away as if he had snapped his teeth at her. "You speak my language," she said. "Why do you speak my language?" She said it in English, to deny him what he was trying to claim for himself.
"Monsieur Dupuis lived for many years among your people," said Jennet, her smile fading away inffconfusion.
Hannah sent Curiosity a pleading glance and saw the same unease and suspicion that she knew must be plain on her own face. "My people? Among my people?"
"I thought ye'd be pleased," said Jennet sadly.
Curiosity shifted Lily and put a hand on Jennet's shoulder, but she spoke to the Frenchman. "Now, that's right interesting, monsieur. How'd you come to spend time with the Mohawk?"
But his gaze stayed on Hannah. In an English that was more Scots than French he said, "I knew your mother, Sings-from-Books. You are very like her. Your great-grandmother, Made-of-Bones. Is she still living?"
Hannah stepped back farther, clutching Daniel so that he squirmed in protest. "Did you tell him, Jennet? Did you tell him about my mother's people?"
The Frenchman held up a pale hand, and it trembled slightly. "She told me nothing, child. There is no reason to fear. None at all. As soon as your father is well enough, he and I must talk."
"You know my father."
"Yes."
Hannah felt the first flush of relief. Her father would know this man, or he would not. In either case, things would be made clear, and it would not fall to her to decide if Monsieur Dupuis was friend or enemy.
The Frenchman was watching her, and Hannah had the disturbing feeling that he read her thoughts. In Kahnyen'kehâka he said, "Tell Wolf-Running-Fast that I send my greetings. It has been many years, but he will remember me. As I remember him. Will you tell him?"
26
For a day and a night the mountain called Aidan Rig pulled a soft rain about itself. Carryckcastle was wrapped in mists, set apart from the rest of the world just as Elizabeth isolated herself in Lady Appalina's bedchamber while she watched over Nathaniel and waited for his fever to break.
They roused him to take broth or the Hakim's willow-bark tea; he seemed disoriented but always asked about his father and the children. Then he fell away again into dreams that made him twitch and flail. Elizabeth did not know how to reassure or comfort him, for his worries were real ones and they occupied her own dreams, when she could sleep at all.
