Read Online A Breath of Snow and Ashes by Diana Gabaldon - Free Book Online Page B

could do with just a wee bit of fuss, after all.
    “Could ye get me a cup o’ water, Uncle Jamie?”
    “Eh? Oh, aye.”
    Auntie Claire had left a jug of water close to hand. There was the comfortable sound of glugging liquid, and then the rim of a pottery cup held to his mouth, his uncle’s hand at his back to keep him upright. He didn’t need it, but didn’t object; the touch was warm and comforting. He hadn’t realized how chilled he was from the night air, and shivered briefly.
    “All right, laddie?” Uncle Jamie murmured, his hand tightening on Ian’s shoulder.
    “Aye, fine. Uncle Jamie?”
    “Mphm?”
    “Did Auntie Claire tell ye about—about a war? One coming, I mean. With England.”
    There was a moment’s silence, his uncle’s big form gone still against the light from the door.
    “She has,” he said, and took away his hand. “Did she tell you?”
    “No, Cousin Brianna did.” He lay down on his side, careful of his tender head. “D’ye believe them?”
    There was no hesitation this time.
    “Aye, I do.” It was said with his uncle’s usual dry matter-of-factness, but something in it prickled the hairs on the back of Ian’s neck.
    “Oh. Well, then.”
    The goose-down pillow was soft under his cheek, and smelled of lavender. His uncle’s hand touched his head, smoothed the ruffled hair back from his face.
    “Dinna fash yourself about it, Ian,” he said softly. “There’s time, yet.”
    He picked up the gun and left. From where he lay, Ian could see across the dooryard and above the trees where they dropped from the edge of the Ridge, past the slope of Black Mountain, and on into the black sky beyond, thick with stars.
    He heard the back door open, and Mrs. Bug’s voice, rising high above the others.
    “They’re no to hame, sir,” she was saying, breathless. “And the hoose is dark, no fire in the hearth. Wherever might they go, this time o’ night?”
    He wondered dimly who was gone, but it didn’t seem to matter much. If it was trouble, Uncle Jamie would deal with it. The thought was comforting; he felt like a small boy, safe in bed, hearing his father’s voice outside, talking to a tenant in the cold dark of a Highland dawn.
    Warmth spread slowly over him beneath the quilt, and he slept.

    THE MOON WAS beginning to rise when they set out, and a good thing, too, Brianna thought. Even with the big, lopsided gold orb sailing up out of a cradle of stars and shedding its borrowed radiance over the sky, the trail beneath their feet was invisible. So were their feet, drowned in the absolute black of the forest at night.
    Black, but not quiet. The giant trees rustled overhead, small things squealed and snuffled in the dark, and now and then the silent flutter of a bat passed close enough to startle her, as though part of the night had suddenly come loose and taken wing under her nose.
    “The Minister’s Cat is an apprehensive cat?” Roger suggested, as she gasped and clutched at him in the wake of one such leather-winged visitation.
    “The Minister’s Cat is an . . . appreciative cat,” she replied, squeezing his hand. “Thank you.” They’d likely end up sleeping on their cloaks in front of the McGillivrays’ fire, instead of cozily tucked up in their own bed—but at least they’d have Jemmy.
    He squeezed back, his hand bigger and stronger than hers, very reassuring in the dark.
    “It’s all right,” he said. “I want him, too. It’s a night to have your family all together, safe in one place.”
    She made a small sound in her throat, acknowledgment and appreciation, but wanted to keep up the conversation, as much to keep the sense of connection with him as because it would keep the dark at bay.
    “The Minister’s Cat was a very eloquent cat,” she said delicately. “At the—the funeral, I mean. For those poor people.”
    Roger snorted; she saw the brief curl of his breath, white on the air.
    “The Minister’s Cat was a highly embarrassed cat,” he said. “Your