Jamie left off what he was thinking, then, and turned his head to look at Roger.
I missed ye, Roger Mac, he said.
ROGER OPENED HIS mouth to reply, but his throat had closed as hard as if hed swallowed a rock, and nothing came out but a muffled grunt.
Jamie smiled and touched his arm, urging him toward a big stone at what Roger assumed would be the front of the house. The stone foundation ran out at ninety-degree angles from the big stone. It was going to be a sizable housemaybe even bigger than the original Big House.
Come walk the foundation with me, aye?
Roger bobbed his head and followed his father-in-law to the big stone, and was surprised to see that the word FRASER had been chiseled into it, and below that, 1779.
My cornerstone, Jamie said. I thought if the house was to burn down again, at least folk would ken wed been here, aye?
Ah mm, Roger managed. He cleared his throat hard, coughed, and found enough air for a few words. Lallybroch y-your da He pointed upward, as though to a lintel. He putthe date.
Jamies face lit. He did, he said. The place is still standing, then?
It was last time I saw it. His throat had loosened as the grip of emotion left it. Though come to think He stopped, recalling just when hed last seen Lallybroch.
I wondered, ken. Jamie had turned his back and was leading the way down what would be the side of the house. A smell of roasting meat was wafting from the fire. Brianna told me about the men who came. He glanced back briefly at Roger, his face careful. Ye were gone then, of course, lookin for Jem.
Yes. And Bree had been forced to leave the housetheir houseabandoned to the hands of thieves and kidnappers. It felt like the rock had dropped from his throat into his chest. No use thinking of that just now, though, and he shoved the vision of people shooting at his wife and children down into the bottom of his brainfor the moment.
As it is, he said, catching up with Jamie, the last time I saw Lallybroch was a bit earlier than that.
Jamie paused, one eyebrow raised, and Roger cleared his throat. It was what hed come back here to say; no better time to say it.
When I went to find Jem, I started by going to Lallybroch. He knew it, it was his homeI thought, if he somehow got away from Cameron, hed maybe go there.
Jamie looked at him for a moment, then drew breath and nodded. The lass said 1739?
You would have been eighteen. Away at university in Paris. Your family was very proud of you, Roger added softly. Jamie turned his head sharply away and stood quite still; Roger could hear the catch in his breath.
Jenny, he said. Ye met Jenny. Then.
Aye, I did. She was maybe twenty. Then. And then, for him, was less than a year in the past. And Jenny now was what, sixty? I thoughtI thought I should maybe say something to ye, before I met her again.
In case the shock of it knocked her over?
Something like that.
Jamie had turned back to him now, his expression wavering between a smile and a considerable shock of his own, Roger thought. Roger could feel it, the sense of disbelief, disorientation, not knowing where to put your feet down. Jamie shook his head like a bull trying to dislodge a fly. I know the feeling, mate all of them.
Thats very thoughtful of ye. Jamie swallowed, and then looked up, the next thought penetrating the shockand renewing it. My father. Ye saidmy family. He His voice died.
He was there. The voices from the distant fire had settled into the steady hum of women working: clanking and splashing and scraping noises, voices on the far side of hearing, punctuated by small bursts of laughter, an occasional sharp call to an errant child. Roger touched Jamies arm and tilted his head toward the path that led up toward the springhouse and the garden. Maybe we should go somewhere and sit for a bit, he said. So I can tell it to ye before your sister comes. So you can handle it without witnesses.
Jamie let out a deep sigh, compressed his lips briefly, then nodded and turned, leading the way past the big square cornerstone. Which, Roger suddenly thought, looked very much like the clan stones hed seen on Culloden field, big gray stones casting long shadows in the evening light, each bearing the chiseled memory of one name: McGillivray, Cameron, MacDonald Fraser.
ROGER STOOD WITH Jamie on a mossy bank above the creek, dutifully admiring the fledgling springhouse on the opposite side of the rushing water.
Its no much yet, Jamie said modestly, nodding at it. But its what Ive had time for. Ill need to build a bigger one soon, thoughmaybe by the springthe summer rains will flood this one.
The springhouse was little more at present than a rocky overhang to which rough stone walls had been added on either side, with openings at the foot of each wall to let water pass through. Wooden slats ran between the walls, suspended a couple of feet above the clear brown water of the creek. At the moment, these supported three pails of milk, each covered with a weighted cloth to prevent flies or frogs from dropping in, and half of a waxed wheel of Moravian cheese the size of Rogers head.
Jennys a fine cheese maker, Jamie said, with a nod at the latter object. But she hasna yet found a good starter, so I brought that from Salem.
Below the slats, a modest array of stoneware crocks were half sunk in the creek, theseJamie saidholding butter, cream, soured cream, and buttermilk. It was a peaceful spot here, the air cool with the breeze off the water, and the creek busily talking to itself. On the bank beyond the rocky lump of the springhouse, a thick growth of willows let their slender branches flow with the water.
Like young women washing their hair, aye? Roger said, gesturing at them, and Jamie smiled a little, but his mind was plainly not on poetry at the moment.
Here, he said, turning away from the creek and pushing aside the branches of a red oak sapling. Roger followed him up a small slope and onto a rocky shelf, where two or three more enterprising saplings had established themselves in crevices. There was room enough to sit comfortably at the edge of the shelf, from whence Roger found that they could see the opposite bank and the tiny springhouse, and also a good bit of the trail leading up from the house site.
Well see anyone coming, Jamie said, settling himself cross-legged, with his back against one of the saplings. So, then. Yeve a thing or two to tell me.
So, then. Roger sat down in a patch of shade, took off his shoes and stockings, and let his legs dangle in the cool draft at the edge of the shelf, in hopes that it would slow his heart. There was no way to begin, except to start.
As I said, I went to Lallybroch in search of Jemand of course he wasnt there. But Brianyour father
As I said, I went to Lallybroch in search of Jemand of course he wasnt there. But Brianyour father
I ken his name, Jamie said dryly.
Ever call him by it? Roger said, on impulse.
No, Jamie said, surprised. Do men call their fathers by their Christian names in your time?
No. Roger made a brief dismissive motion. Its justI shouldnt have said that, its part of my story, not yours.
Jamie glanced at the fading sky.
Its a good while til supper, he said. Weve likely time for both.
Its a tale for another time, Roger said, shrugging. But the meat of it is that while I came in search of Jem, I foundwell, my father, instead. His name was Jeremiah, toofolk called him Jerry.
Jamie said something in Gaelic and crossed himself.
Aye, Roger said briefly. As I saidanother time. The thing waswhen I found him, he was only twenty-two. I was the age I am now; I could have been his father, just. So I called him Jerry; thought of him that way. At the same time, I kent he was my well. I couldnt tell him who I was; there wasnt time. He felt his throat grow tight again and cleared it, with an effort.
Well, so. It was before, that I met your father at Lallybroch. I nearly fell over with the shock when he opened the door and told me his name. He smiled a little at the memory, rueful. He was about my own age, maybe a few years older. We met as men. Mr. MacKenzie. Mr. Fraser.
Jamie gave a brief nod, his eyes curious.
And then your sister came in, and they made me welcome, fed me. I told your fatherwell, not the whole of it, obviouslybut that I was looking for my wee lad, whod been kidnapped.
Brian had given Roger a bed, then taken him next morning to all the crofts nearby, asking after Jem and Rob Cameron, without result. But the next day, hed suggested riding all the way to Fort William, to make inquiries at the army garrison.
Rogers eyes were fixed on a patch of moss near his knee; it grew in rounded green clumps over the rocks, looking like the heads of young broccoli. He could feel Jamie listening. His father-in-law didnt move at all, but Roger felt the slight tension in him at mention of Fort William. Or maybe its my own He thrust his fingers into the cool, wet moss; to anchor himself, maybe.
The commander was an officer named Buncombe. Your father called him a decent fellow for a Sassenachand he was. Brian had brought two bottles of whiskygood stuff, he added, glancing at Jamie, and saw the flicker of a returned smile at that. We drank with Buncombe, and he promised to have his soldiers make inquiries. That made me feel hopeful. As though I might really have some chance of finding Jem.
He hesitated for a moment, trying to think how to say what he wanted to, but after all, Jamie had known Brian himself.
It wasnt so much Buncombes courtesy. It was Brian Dhu, he said, looking straight at Jamie. He was kind, very kind, but it was more than that. He had a vivid memory of it, of Brian, riding in front of him up a hill, bonnet and broad shoulders dark with rain, his back straight and sure. You feltI feltas though if this man was on my side, then things would be all right.
Everyone felt that about him, Jamie said softly, looking down.
Roger nodded, silent. Jamies auburn head was bent, his gaze fixed on his kneesbut Roger saw that head turn a fraction of an inch, and tilt as though in answer to a touch, and a tiny ripple of something between awe and simple acknowledgment stirred the hairs on his own scalp.