The unexpected advent of Lizzie's menarche after supper last night had in fact been the straw that broke the camel's back, with regard to clean clouts, and the precipitating event that had caused me to sacrifice my petticoat. Lizzie naturally had no menstrual cloths with her, and I didn't want to oblige her to share the children's diapers.

"Mmphm. I suppose I'd best begin looking for a husband for her, then," Jamie said in resignation.

"A husband! Why, she's scarcely fifteen!"

"Aye, so?" He glanced at Marsali, who was rubbing Fergus's dark hair dry with the towel, and then back at Lizzie and her soldier, and raised a cynical brow at me.

"Aye, so, yourself," I said, a little crossly. All right, Marsali had had been only fifteen when she married Fergus. That didn't mean- been only fifteen when she married Fergus. That didn't mean- "The point being," Jamie went on, dismissing Lizzie for the moment, "that the regiment leaves for Portsmouth tomorrow; they havena got either time nor disposition to trouble with this business in Hillsborough-that's Tryon's concern."

"But what Hayes said-"

"Oh, if anyone tells him anything, I'm sure he'll send the depositions along to New Bern-but as for himself, I imagine he'd not much care if the Regulators set fire to the Governor's Palace, so long as it doesna delay his sailing."

I heaved a deep sigh, reassured. If Jamie was right, the last thing Hayes would do was take prisoners, no matter what the evidence to hand. MacLennan was safe, then.

"But what do you suppose Hayes wants with you and the others, then?" I asked, bending to rummage in one of the wicker hampers for another loaf of bread. "He is is hunting you-in person." hunting you-in person."

Jamie glanced back over his shoulder, as though expecting the Lieutenant to appear at any moment through the holly bushes. As the screen of prickly green remained intact, he turned back to me, frowning slightly.

"I dinna ken," he said, shaking his head, "but it's naught to do with this business of Tryon's. If it was that, he might have told me last night-for that matter, if he cared himself about the matter, he would would have told me last night," he added. "No, Sassenach, depend upon it, the rioters are no more than a matter of duty to wee Archie Hayes. have told me last night," he added. "No, Sassenach, depend upon it, the rioters are no more than a matter of duty to wee Archie Hayes.

"As for what he wants wi' me-" He leaned over my shoulder to swipe a finger round the top of the honey pot. "I dinna mean to trouble about it until I must. I've three kegs of whisky left, and I mean to turn them into a plowshare, a scythe blade, three ax-heids, ten pound of sugar, a horse, and an astrolabe before this evening. Which is a conjuring trick that might take some attention, aye?" He drew the sticky tip of his finger gently across my lips, then turned my head toward him and bent to kiss me.

"An astrolabe?" I said, tasting honey. I kissed him back. "Whatever for?"

"And then I want to go home," he whispered, ignoring the question. His forehead was pressed against mine, and his eyes very blue.

"I want to take ye to bed-in my bed. And I mean to spend the rest of the day thinking what to do to ye once I've got ye there. So wee Archie can just go and play at marbles with his ballocks, aye?" my bed. And I mean to spend the rest of the day thinking what to do to ye once I've got ye there. So wee Archie can just go and play at marbles with his ballocks, aye?"

"An excellent thought," I whispered back. "Care to tell him that yourself?"

My eye had caught the flash of a green-and-black tartan on the other side of the clearing, but when Jamie straightened up and whirled round, I saw that the visitor was in fact not Lieutenant Hayes but rather John Quincy Myers, who was sporting a soldier's plaid wrapped round his waist, the ends fluttering gaily in the breeze.

This added a further touch of color to Myers's already striking sartorial splendor. Extremely tall, and decorated from the top down with a slouch hat stuck through with several needles and a turkey quill, two ragged pheasant feathers knotted into his long black hair, a vest of dyed porcupine quills worn over a beaded shirt, his usual breechclout, and leggings wrapped with strings of small bells, the mountain man was hard to miss.

"Friend James!" John Quincy smiled broadly at sight of Jamie, and hastened forward, hand extended and bells chiming. "Thought I should find you at your breakfast!"

Jamie blinked slightly at this vision, but gamely returned the mountain man's encompassing handshake.

"Aye, John. Will ye join us?"

"Er ... yes," I chimed in, with a surreptitious look into the food hamper. "Please do!"

John Quincy bowed ceremoniously to me, sweeping off his hat.

"Your servant, ma'am, and I'm much obliged. Maybe later. Right now, I come to fetch away Mr. Fraser, though. He's wanted, urgent-like."

"By whom?" Jamie asked warily.

"Robbie McGillivray, he says his name is. You know the man?"

"Aye, I do." Whatever Jamie knew about McGillivray, it was causing him to delve into the small chest where he kept his pistols. "What's the trouble?"

"Well." John Quincy scratched meditatively at his bushy black beard. "'Twas his wife as asked me to come find you, and she don't speak what you'd call right good English, so may be as I've muddled the account of it a bit. But what I think think she said to me was as how there was a thief-taker who'd grabbed holt of her son, sayin' as how the boy was one o' the ruffians who broke up Hillsborough, and meanin' to take him to the gaol in New Bern. Only Robbie, he says no one's takin' a son of his anywhere, and-well, after that, the poor woman got right flustered and I couldn't make out but one word to the dozen. But I do believe Robbie would 'preciate it if you'd come by and lend a hand with the proceedings." she said to me was as how there was a thief-taker who'd grabbed holt of her son, sayin' as how the boy was one o' the ruffians who broke up Hillsborough, and meanin' to take him to the gaol in New Bern. Only Robbie, he says no one's takin' a son of his anywhere, and-well, after that, the poor woman got right flustered and I couldn't make out but one word to the dozen. But I do believe Robbie would 'preciate it if you'd come by and lend a hand with the proceedings."

Jamie grabbed Roger's bloodstained green coat, which was hung on a bush waiting to be cleaned. Shrugging into it, he thrust the newly loaded pistol through his belt.

"Where?" he said.

Myers gestured economically with one large thumb, and pushed off into the holly bushes, Jamie at his heels.

Fergus, who had been listening to this exchange, Germain in his arms, set the boy down at Marsali's feet.

"I must go help Grand-pere Grand-pere," he told Germain. He picked up a stick of firewood and put it into the little boy's hands. "You stay; protect Maman Maman and little Joan from bad people." and little Joan from bad people."

"Oui, Papa." Germain scowled fiercely under his blond fringe and took a firm grip on his stick, settling himself to defend the camp. Germain scowled fiercely under his blond fringe and took a firm grip on his stick, settling himself to defend the camp.

Marsali, MacLennan, Lizzie, and Private Ogilvie had been watching the byplay with rather glazed looks. As Fergus picked up another length of firewood and plunged purposefully into the holly bushes, Private Ogilvie came to life, stirring uneasily.

"Er ..." he said. "Perhaps I ... should I go for my sergeant, do ye think, ma'am? If there's like to be any trouble ..."

"No, no," I said hurriedly. The last thing we needed was for Archie Hayes and his regiment to show up en masse. This struck me as the sort of situation which would benefit strongly from being kept unofficial.

"I'm sure everything will be quite all right. It's sure to be nothing but a misunderstanding. Mr. Fraser will sort it directly, never fear." Even as I spoke, I was sidling round the fire toward the spot where my medical supplies lay, sheltered from the drizzle under a sheet of canvas. Reaching under the edge, I grabbed my small emergency kit.

"Lizzie, why don't you give Private Ogilvie some of the strawberry preserves for his toast? And Mr. MacLennan would like a bit of honey in his coffee, I'm sure. Do excuse me, won't you, Mr. MacLennan, I must just go and ... er ..." Smiling inanely, I sidled through the holly leaves. As the branches swished and crackled behind me, I paused to take my bearings. A faint chime of bells reached me on the rainy wind; I turned toward the sound, and broke into a run.

IT WAS SOME WAY; I was out of breath and sweating from the exercise by the time I caught them up near the competition field. Things were just getting under way; I could hear the buzz of talk from the crowd of men gathering, but no shouts of encouragement or howls of disappointment as yet. A few brawny specimens stamped to and fro, stripped to the waist and swinging their arms to limber up; the local "strongmen" of various settlements.

The drizzle had started up again; the wetness gleamed on curving shoulders and plastered swirls of dark body hair flat against the pale skins of chests and forearms. I had no time to appreciate the spectacle, though; John Quincy threaded his way adroitly through the knots of spectators and competitors, waving cordially to this and that acquaintance as we passed. On the far side of the crowd, a small man detached himself from the mass and came hurrying to meet us.

"Mac Dubh! Ye've come, then-that's good." Ye've come, then-that's good."

"Nay bother, Robbie," Jamie assured him. "What's to do, then?"

McGillivray, who looked distinctly harried, glanced at the strongmen and their supporters, then jerked his head toward the nearby trees. We followed him, unnoticed by the crowd gathering round two large stones wrapped with rope, which I assumed some of the strongmen present were about to prove their prowess by lifting.

"It's your son, is it, Rob?" Jamie asked, dodging a water-filled pine branch.

"Aye," Robbie answered, "or it was."

That sounded sinister. I saw Jamie's hand brush the butt of his pistol; mine went to my medical kit.

"What's happened?" I asked. "Is he hurt?"

"Not him," McGillivray replied cryptically, and ducked ahead, beneath a drooping chestnut bough hung with scarlet creeper.

Just beyond was a small open space, not really big enough to be called a clearing, tufted with dead grass and studded with pine saplings. As Fergus and I ducked under the creeper after Jamie, a large woman in homespun whirled toward us, shoulders hunching as she raised the broken tree limb she clutched in one hand. She saw McGillivray, though, and relaxed fractionally.

"Wer ist das?" she asked suspiciously, eyeing us. Then John Quincy appeared from under the creeper, and she lowered the club, her solidly handsome features relaxing further. she asked suspiciously, eyeing us. Then John Quincy appeared from under the creeper, and she lowered the club, her solidly handsome features relaxing further.

"Ha, Myers! You brung me den Jamie, oder oder?" She cast me a curious look, but was too busy glancing between Fergus and Jamie to inspect me closely.

"Aye, love, this is Jamie Roy-Sheumais Mac Dubh." McGillivray hastened to take credit for Jamie's appearance, putting a respectful hand on his sleeve. "My wife, Ute, Mac Dubh Mac Dubh. And Mac Dubh Mac Dubh's son," he added, waving vaguely at Fergus.

Ute McGillivray looked like a Valkyrie on a starchy diet; tall, very blond, and broadly powerful.

"Your servant, ma'am," Jamie said, bowing.

"Madame," Fergus echoed, making her a courtly leg. Fergus echoed, making her a courtly leg.

Mrs. McGillivray dropped them a low curtsy in return, eyes fixed on the prominent bloodstains streaking the front of Jamie's-or rather, Roger's-coat.

"Mein Herr," she murmured, looking impressed. She turned and beckoned to a young man of seventeen or eighteen, who had been lurking in the background. He bore such a marked resemblance to his small, wiry, dark-haired father that his identity could scarcely be in doubt. she murmured, looking impressed. She turned and beckoned to a young man of seventeen or eighteen, who had been lurking in the background. He bore such a marked resemblance to his small, wiry, dark-haired father that his identity could scarcely be in doubt.

"Manfred," his mother announced proudly. "Mein laddie." laddie."

Jamie inclined his head in grave acknowledgment.

"Mr. McGillivray."

"Ah ... your s-servant, sir?" The boy sounded rather dubious about it, but put out his hand to be shaken.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir," Jamie assured him, shaking it. The courtesies duly observed, he looked briefly round at the quiet surroundings, raising one eyebrow.

"I had heard that you were suffering some inconvenience wi' regard to a thief-taker. Do I take it that the matter has been resolved?" He glanced in question from McGillivray Junior to McGillivray Senior.

The three McGillivrays exchanged assorted glances among themselves. Robin McGillivray gave an apologetic cough.

"Well, not to say resolved resolved, quite, Mac Dubh Mac Dubh. That is to say ..." He trailed off, the harried look returning to his eyes.

Mrs. McGillivray gave him a stern look, then turned to Jamie.

"Ist kein bother," she told him. " bother," she told him. "Ich haf den wee ball of shite safe put. But only we want to know, how we best wee ball of shite safe put. But only we want to know, how we best den Korpus den Korpus hide?" hide?"

"The ... body?" I said, rather faintly.

Even Jamie looked a bit disturbed at that.

"Ye've killed him, Rob?"

"Me?" McGillivray looked shocked. "Christ's sake, Mac Dubh Mac Dubh, what d'ye take me for?"

Jamie raised the eyebrow again; evidently the thought of McGillivray committing violence was scarcely far-fetched. McGillivray had the grace to look abashed.

"Aye, well. I suppose I might have-and I did-well, but, Mac Dubh Mac Dubh! That business at Ardsmuir was all long ago and done wi', aye?"

"Aye," Jamie said. "It was. What about this business wi' the thief-taker, though? Where is he?"

I heard a muffled giggle behind me, and swung round to see that the rest of the family McGillivray, silent 'til now, was nonetheless present. Three teenaged girls sat in a row on a dead log behind a screen of saplings, all immaculately attired in clean white caps and aprons, only slightly wilted with the rain.

"Meine lassies," Mrs. McGillivray announced, with a wave in their direction-unnecessarily, since all three of the girls looked like smaller versions of herself. "Hilda, Inga, lassies," Mrs. McGillivray announced, with a wave in their direction-unnecessarily, since all three of the girls looked like smaller versions of herself. "Hilda, Inga, und und Senga." Senga."

Fergus bowed elegantly to the three.

"Enchante, mes demoiselles."

The girls giggled and bobbed their heads in response, but without rising, which struck me as odd. Then I noticed some disturbance taking place under the skirt of the oldest girl; a sort of heaving flutter, accompanied by a muffled grunt. Hilda swung her heel sharply into whatever it was, all the time smiling brightly at me.

There was another grunt-much louder this time-from under the skirt, which caused Jamie to start and turn in her direction.

Still smiling brightly, Hilda bent and delicately picked up the edge of her skirt, under which I could see a frantic face, bisected by a dark strip of cloth tied round his mouth.

"That's him," said Robbie, sharing his wife's talent for stating the obvious.

"I see." Jamie's fingers twitched slightly against the side of his kilt. "Ah ... perhaps we could have him out, then?"

Robbie motioned to the girls, who all stood up together and stepped aside, revealing a small man who lay against the base of the dead log, bound hand and foot with an assortment of what looked like women's stockings, and gagged with someone's kerchief. He was wet, muddy, and slightly battered round the edges.

Myers bent and hoisted the man to his feet, holding him by the collar.

"Well, he ain't much to look at," the mountain man said critically, squinting at the man as though evaluating a substandard beaver skin. "I guess thief-takin' don't pay so well as ye might think."

The man was in fact skinny and rather ragged, as well as disheveled, furious-and frightened. Ute sniffed contemptuously.

"Saukerl!" she said, and spat neatly on the thief-taker's boots. Then she turned to Jamie, full of charm. she said, and spat neatly on the thief-taker's boots. Then she turned to Jamie, full of charm.

"So, mein Herr mein Herr. How we are to kill him best?"

The thief-taker's eyes bulged, and he writhed in Myers's grip. He bucked and twisted, making frantic gargling noises behind the gag. Jamie looked him over, rubbing a knuckle across his mouth, then glanced at Robbie, who gave a slight shrug, with an apologetic glance at his wife.

Jamie cleared his throat.

"Mmphm. Ye had something in mind, perhaps, ma'am?"

Ute beamed at this evidence of sympathy with her intentions, and drew a long dagger from her belt.

"I thought maybe to butcher, wie ein Schwein, ja? wie ein Schwein, ja? But see ..." She poked the thief-taker gingerly between the ribs; he yelped behind the gag, and a small spot of blood bloomed on his ragged shirt. But see ..." She poked the thief-taker gingerly between the ribs; he yelped behind the gag, and a small spot of blood bloomed on his ragged shirt.

"Too much Blut Blut," she explained, with a moue of disappointment. She waved at the screen of trees, behind which the stone-lifting seemed to be proceeding well. "Die Leute will schmell." will schmell."

"Schmell?" I glanced at Jamie, thinking this some unfamiliar German expression. He coughed, and brushed a hand under his nose. "Oh, smell smell!" I said, enlightened. "Er, yes, I think they might."

"I dinna suppose we'd better shoot him, then," Jamie said thoughtfully. "If ye're wanting to avoid attention, I mean."

"I say we break his neck," Robbie McGillivray said, squinting judiciously at the trussed thief-taker. "That's easy enough."