Duncan stared into the darkness, recalling the map he had taken from Ramsey’s secret cellar room. “What price would be put on ten thousand miles of virgin land, Crispin?” he asked after a moment.
“Not the lives of his children,” Crispin replied in a hoarse voice. “Never the lives of his children.”
Duncan stared in surprise at his friend, chilled that the thought would enter his mind. The big man’s face swelled with emotion. As his eyes moistened, he stepped into the night.
Duncan followed a moment later, wandering alone across the barnyard in the moonlight. He leaned against a rail fence, drinking in the night air, trying to reconnect the pieces that had fallen apart that night as he stroked the nose of the plow horse that came to investigate him. There could be no denying that the Company had been created by Ramsey to help cement his land claim, though Duncan could not see how, or his own role in it, despite Calder calling him Ramsey’s secret weapon. Adam and Sarah had apparently discovered their roles and flung themselves into the sea.
He had given Ramsey reason to divert his attention from the Scots in the Company, but Duncan was not so beguiled by his own words to think any of them safe. He had bought time, but seemed no closer to the truth about Jamie or Stony Run. Now his failure to find the truth had meant Frasier’s death, and Lister’s being prepared for the gallows. His emotions swirled, blocking any rational thought. Flora had been in the barn, was no longer a vague, helpless longing but a flesh-and-blood woman who lived in the great house.
The horse started and as Duncan turned to follow, shadowy forms closed about him. He ducked, twisted, and ran. As he reached the schoolhouse, hands closed on his shoulder, more hands than he could resist, and something slammed into his head. He collapsed, had a vague sense of being caught before hitting the ground, then of being carried. When he recovered his senses, he was in one of the sheds, his hands tied to a beam over his head. In his groggy state, he was not even aware of others present until a spike of pain on his spine jolted him awake.
“What are you-” His protest choked in his throat as the lash hit him again, like a red-hot poker pressed to his skin. Again it hit, and again, shredding his shirt. Five times, ten times.
“You are fortunate,” came a slow, refined voice through the darkness, “that we could not bear to have our children’s tutor the subject of a public flogging. And we understand how a man of deep feeling can become reckless with his own life. So let us explain what will happen if you demonstrate such seditious tendencies again. We shall select the oldest Highlander remaining among the prisoners, and we shall whip him to an inch of his life. I do not expect you to cease this insolence because you fear me. You will stop because you fear causing your precious Scots more harm.” Ramsey’s silhouette was barely visible against the moonlight that seeped between the logs. “Be assured, we shall find your wretched pipes, and we shall burn them. You will soon realize how merciful we have been, out of the debt we owed you. And did we mention your Mr. Lister shall be deprived of food for two days?” Ramsey spoke no more, just stood silently as Duncan received five more lashes. He clenched his teeth, determined not to cry out, remembering how Lister had broken three splints of wood when taking forty.
At last the searing stabs ceased, and in a blur of pain Duncan saw a flash of steel as the strap that bound him was cut, heard the shuffle of feet that meant his assailants were gone. He did not know how long he stayed slumped on the ground, fighting the agony, but eventually he staggered outside and dropped beside the barn’s water trough, submerging his head, scooping water into his palm and sluicing it down his back. He sensed movement in the shadows, but did not care. If they came again he would resist, he would show Ramsey that not every Scot retreated. The thought reminded him of someone else. He found another ax handle, picked it up, and marched to the forge.
He approached stealthily, his club raised, but found no guard under the dim candle lantern. Tossing his club on the ground, he staggered onto the smith’s stool.
“’Twas a bonny thing you did this night, lad,” a hoarse voice said through the slats. “Men were listening in the barracks, be sure of it. I ain’t felt such joy in years. I didn’t think I would ever hear a pipe again.”
“You knew it was me?”
“I gathered y’er things on the ship. I kept that brown sack hid away.”
A shudder of pain wracked Duncan’s body.
“First few hours be the worst, lad. Ye need liniment or grease. Don’t let the wounds dry and crack.” Duncan heard the sound of chains as Lister inched closer. “And listen to me, listen sharp. I told ye there be Scots, to the south, in the Carolinas. Good Highland men, living far from John Bull. The scars on y’er back will be y’er ticket. Ye must go there, lad. It’s y’er only chance. Me bum foot will hold me up, so I’ll just have to meet you there. Ye’ll n’er survive seven years under this-”
Duncan jerked about as something cold touched his back. A hand closed around his shoulder. “I have liniment,” Crispin said. “Hold still. I had prayed Mr. Ramsey had fallen asleep. He did not hear his daughter but he surely heard the music. He held his temper well with you.”
“You can be in Charleston in six weeks’ time,” the old Scot continued.
“Mr. Lister, don’t-” Duncan warned.
“This one slips pieces of bread between the logs in the rear,” Lister interrupted. “He knows the Carolinas. Black slaves go north to be free. Scottish slaves go south.”
“First time I entered one of those settlements, I was frightened,” Crispin declared. “Most of the men had hair the color of fire, wore skirts, and spoke in a babble that hurt the ears. They drank hard and laughed a lot. When I came north, I passed through another such village, having a festival. Throwing logs end over end like giants in the hills.” Duncan’s back arched as the liniment touched it, then he slowly relaxed.
“He would need a pack, Crispin,” a soft voice interjected from the shadows. “And food. As much food as he could carry, for he must not take time to stop for it.”
“Miss Ramsey!” Crispin gasped.
“Keep quiet or you will alarm the house,” Sarah said in a soft, weary voice. As she stepped forward, a pool of bright light appeared before her. She had opened the shade of a lantern in her hand. In her other hand she held a shirt. “I have brought Mr. McCallum a clean shirt from the laundry. Lord Ramsey’s, but he owes as much.” Her tone became matter-of-fact, all business, giving no evidence of the strange delirium Duncan had seen her in an hour before. Setting the lantern on the anvil, she took the tub of liniment from Crispin and began applying it to Duncan’s wounds. “Also some coins, and a tomahawk for cutting firewood,” Sarah said in her new, conspiratorial tone. “Not yet, of course. Your back must heal. A map should be made.”
“You cannot,” Duncan protested.
Sarah hesitated. From the corner of his eye, Duncan saw her lower the medicine tub. “I have heard of another Flora,” she declared.
The words reached a place Duncan had not thought she could find, and the ache they brought made him forget for a moment the pain of his lashing. Flora McDonald had become a legend in Scotland for risking her own life to help Prince Charlie escape to a French boat off the Highland coast as his English pursuers closed on him.
Sarah lifted the tub and set to work again. “You forget how much I owe you.”
Duncan gripped two slats of the coal crib as another wave of pain wracked his spine. His mind raced. This was the innocent, taciturn daughter of the man who had just flayed his back. No, this was the woman who had been turned into a savage by her Indian captors. No, this was Flora, the melancholy soul who had chanted in the cell next to his and touched his hand in the dark. But now she seemed none of these. The girl who applied the liniment to his torn flesh was a strong, spirited creature who was knowingly defying her father. Somehow he knew he would never understand the mysteries that were enveloping the Company, and threatening Lister with execution, unless he could understand how, and why, all these people seemed to live within Sarah.