MacFarlane's Ridge (40 page)

Before Wanda could toss it to her, however, there was the sound of a key turning in the lock outside. Both women froze, staring at the door.

As it opened, neither of them expected what came next.

“No…. not you,” Cam murmured. Her head began to spin, as she stared at Wayne Sinclair, who seemed just as surprised as she was.

Wanda Mabry Duncan burst into peals of maniacal laughter.

“Well, son of a bitch,” drawled Wayne Sinclair, regaining his composure. “Two for the price of one.” He shot a look at Wanda, who was clutching her side and cackling away, tears running down her cheeks. “You I was expecting. You,” he looked at Cam, “I was certainly not.”

Cam was startled by the change in Wayne’s appearance. He had a jagged pink scar that ran from the base of his right cheek along the side of his face, and up into the hairline at his temple. The scar had contracted somewhat, lending his once-handsome face an uneven appearance, and distorting the side of his nose a little. His blue and brown eyes glittered unnaturally as he stared at her.

“Cam, I really thought you were gone for good.” He smiled at her and shook his head, arms folded across his chest. “This is going to be quite a nice little reunion.”

Wanda had collapsed into a chair and was panting in deep, ragged breaths.

“Wanda? How you doing, sweetheart?” called Wayne.

“Aah,” she gasped. “I can’t believe I fell for this!” She called him a slew of foul names. “
A mic na galladh
! No wonder the letter you sent me suggested I bring Angus with me! If I had known it was you…”

“What would you have done, Wanda?” he asked softly. “If you had known it was me? You had your chance to kill me once. But you don’t have what it takes to do it, do you? That’s why I look like this, you filthy bitch,” he hissed.

Wanda laughed even harder. “Honey, it’s really not all about you. I – oh, excuse me, I have to blow my nose – that’s better. I left you alive for reasons you cannot even begin to comprehend.”

Why does she keep saying that
? thought Cam.
Why is it such a big secret
?

“Is that so? Try me,” offered Wayne.

Wanda shook her head, long red locks flying erratically. “No, no, it doesn’t matter now. Not anymore.”

Wayne shrugged indifferently, and turned away from her. “Whatever. Would you like a brandy, Cam? You look like you could use one.”

She took the glass silently, and kept her eyes on him the whole time.
Not only is Wayne alive, for all intents and purposes he’s in charge of Fort Wyndham… he certainly must know Alexander MacFarland is Robert.

“The trial,” she said abruptly.

“Beg pardon?”

“The trial, Wayne. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about,” she snapped. She was beginning to get past her fear now, and it was being replaced by anger. “Where’s Robert?”

His eyes widened appreciatively. “Wow, Cam. You did do your homework this time, didn’t you? Let me ask you this. Knowing that Robert is about to be hanged,” he said softly, “would you still have come back if you had known I was Clarendon?”

She stared back at him, and finally nodded. “Yes,” she said hoarsely.

“Ah! The things we do for love,” he said mockingly. “To answer your question, yes, Robert is here, and in about an hour he is going before Brigadier General Simon Fraser, who will find him guilty on all counts and sentence him to hang. What else do you want to know?”

She drained her brandy. “I want to see him now.”

He shook his head. “No.”

Cam leaped at him then, scratching and clawing at his damaged face. He caught her with a backhand to the chin, and she reeled back, slamming into a bookcase.

“I said no,” he said coolly. Keeping an eye on Wanda, he maneuvered close to Cam, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. “You can’t see him right now. You can see him in an hour, when he goes to trial. You can sit and watch as the man you love is sentenced to die, Cam.”

She closed her eyes, wishing, not for the first time, that a great hole would open up in the floor and just swallow Wayne Sinclair.

“In the meantime,” he said cheerily, turning his back to her, “I have business to attend to. There’s to be a hanging. Stay by the window, you’ll have a fabulous view.” He opened it for them effortlessly, and left the room with a bow. They heard the key turn in the lock once again.

Cam turned on Wanda, who was by now looking quite serious once more. “Why didn’t you kill him?” she shouted. “Why?”

Wanda began rummaging through the desk, and with a smile of triumph pulled out a pipe. She rooted around a bit more, and found some tobacco, which she carefully packed into the bowl. Not looking at Cam, she replied, “Well, I had to let him live just a bit longer.”

Cam swept her hand across the desk, nearly knocking the pipe out of Wanda’s grasp. “Stop saying that,” she spat. “Stop trying to be all mysterious and melodramatic and secretive. For once, Wanda, just tell me the truth!”

Wanda lit the pipe and leaned back in Sinclair’s chair. She propped her muddy boots on his desk and wiggled them around a bit, so that large clumps of dirt dropped onto his pile of papers. “For the last time, Cam, it’s really not something you should know about.”

“Tell me!” Cam screamed.

Wanda blew smoke out of her nose. “Honey, you’re not going to like it.”

Cam waited, fuming. She glanced out the window to the scaffold. There was no activity yet.

“Do you remember Tom Kerr’s daughter, Betsy?”

Cam looked at her, confused. “What’s she got to do with anything?”

“Not her. Well, not directly. Her baby.”

Cam was incredulous. “Her baby? Little Thomas Jefferson Kerr? What about him?”

Wanda rolled her eyes. “Well, think about it. Do the math. Betsy’s baby was born in February of this year.”

It finally hit Cam what Wanda was telling her. “Wayne? Wayne Sinclair is that baby’s father?” she practically shrieked.

Wanda nodded.

Cam sat down with a thud. “Did Betsy… I mean, did he…”

“He raped her,” Wanda said bluntly. “After I shot him, he went back to the ridge and raped Betsy. Then he came here. It wasn’t Betsy’s fault.”

Cam shook her head. “You let him live so he could rape poor Betsy Kerr,” she whispered. She turned away from Wanda. “What kind of woman are you?” she asked softly.

“It’s not about me, and it’s not about Wayne or Betsy. I didn’t rape her,” Wanda reminded her.

“You let him! Betsy would be alive if it hadn’t happened! She wouldn’t have killed herself if she hadn’t given birth to that baby!” Cam yelled. A flicker of color caught her eye through the window, and she saw that a group of soldiers were leading a small teenage boy towards the gallows. “Dear God,” she murmured. A thought occurred to her. “What was that phrase you said to Wayne?”

“I called him a son of a bitch. I can also tell him to kiss my ass in Gaelic.” Wanda watched, interested, as the boy climbed the steps. He was sobbing. “Well, he’s done for sure,” she said matter-of-factly.

Cam closed her eyes for a moment. “You are a cold, heartless bitch.”

Wanda chuckled softly under her breath. “You don’t know nearly as much as you think you do, Cameron Clark.”

As they looked on, they heard a shout.

“
Bhalaich
!”

It seemed to be coming from the prison wing on the far side of the courtyard. The boy froze, and glanced back towards the barracks behind him.

“
Cha toir an mi’earbsach iat Sassenach cu tlachd, bhalaich
!” roared a voice, thundering so loud that even Cam and Wanda, on the far side of the yard, could make out the words.

It was a voice she had heard in her dreams for a year now.

“My God, that’s Rob,” Cam stammered, shaking as though ice was running through her veins. The boy stopped crying instantly, and held his head high as the noose was placed around his neck. “He’s still alive. What – what did he say to him?”

“I’m not sure precisely, but something about not giving the English dogs the satisfaction. There’s Wayne,” said Wanda as Sinclair strode into view.

The two of them watched as he offered the boy a blindfold. He moved as if to take it, and then hesitated, looking back towards the prison windows. His hand dropped to his side, and he shook his head.

“
Sin thu fhein, a bhailach, sin thu fhein
!” came Rob’s voice again.

“Good for you, boy,” Wanda translated quietly.

Sinclair shrugged, read something from a scroll he held, and then waved his hand. The noose was tightened around the boy’s neck, and Cam recognized the dragoon, Stave, who had brought them in that morning. There was a fatter one beside him, who was apparently in charge of pulling the lever that would drop the boy through the platform.

Cam shivered. She didn’t want to watch, and turned away. She heard a
thunk
as the panel gave way, and roars of approval from the British soldiers.

“You can look now. It’s over,” said Wanda.

Cam refused to look out the window, and moved away from it. She sat on the desk and said nothing.

“He at least managed to die with some semblance of dignity,” Wanda said conversationally.

“Shut up, would you?” snarled Cam. She was still thinking about the fact that Wanda had allowed Wayne to survive and rape Betsy Kerr. Poor Betsy, banished from her father’s house because old Tom thought her a whore, so despondent about the resulting pregnancy that she had thrown herself off a cliff after her son was born. A sudden thought struck her.

“Wanda? What’s so important about Betsy’s baby?” she asked curiously.

“He goes on to do many wonderful things,” Wanda intoned solemnly.

“Oh, horseshit, Wanda. Come on. What does he do?” Cam asked scornfully. “It must be something special if you had to let him exist in the first place, right? Does he save Abe Lincoln’s granny from drowning or something?”

Before she could get an answer, although she wasn’t really expecting one in the first place, the lock turned again and Wayne Sinclair entered the room. In an odd contrast to his powdered wig, his face was flushed.

“Did you watch the show?” he asked with a grin. The scarred tissue on his face was an angry scarlet.

Cam turned away from him, sickened. Wanda tapped the remnants of her pipe out on his desk. If he noticed, he gave no sign.

Sinclair glanced at his pocket watch, and smiled broadly. “And now, for your viewing pleasure, we shall adjourn to the courtroom, if you don’t mind.”

Cam’s heart was pounding in her chest as they were led across the courtyard and up the steps to another building, and Wayne ushered them in. They were in a narrow room with wooden plank benches.

“It doubles as our church,” Wayne said by way of explanation.

“Right. Like you even go,” muttered Wanda.

Cam suddenly remembered the cryptic remark of Man Who Sees Far – she couldn’t think of him as Otto Ruehle, really – as they were leaving the Mohawk village. If you need to get out of Fort Wyndham, go to the church and pray. She looked around as discreetly as possible, but saw nothing that might indicate a possible escape route.

The benches were not yet full, but several members of the dragoon corps were milling about, and Cam’s eyes swept the room, looking for Robert. He was nowhere in sight.

“Sit,” ordered Sinclair. They obeyed, and parked on a bench in the front row. Sinclair wandered up to the pulpit to speak to a pudgy middle-aged officer who looked, quite frankly, bored. His elaborately curled wig was slightly askew.

“That’s Fraser,” whispered Wanda. “I’m willing to bet on it.”

“He looks mean.”

“He’s an asshole. But that’s okay. He’ll be dead in October at the battle of Saratoga,” Wanda said flippantly.

Cam looked at her. “Has it occurred to you that we are in an incredible amount of danger? Could you at least have the decency to act like you’re scared?”

Wanda rolled her eyes and turned away, and Cam decided she just wasn’t going to talk to Wanda anymore unless she absolutely had to. Every time she had a conversation with the woman it made her mad, and she needed to keep a level head if she was going to get out of Fort Wyndham in one piece. For an instant, she remembered Basham and Meador, locked in the prison wing. I’ll have to find a way to get them out too… I owe Ambrose Meador that much.

Robert MacFarlane’s entire body ached. He had spent a good part of the night being beaten by Stave and Tumblesby, who had pummeled him mercilessly until he lost consciousness. They had dragged him back to his cell, where a weeping Ralph Fitzralph – the only one left in the cell -- had bathed his face with rancid water.

Ralph had received a visit himself from Stave while Rob was meeting with Lieutenant Clarendon, and could not stop crying.

When Ralph was led to the gallows that morning, Robert watched him helplessly. The only thing he could offer the boy was the chance to die like a man, and so he had shouted at him, called to him in Gaelic, even though he knew the boy couldn’t understand him. But he had understood the tone, if not the words themselves, and for the last moments of his short life, Ralph Fitzralph allowed himself a little bit of honor.

Tumblesby came to get him right before noon, once Ralph’s body had been cleared away from the gallows. Stave was practically dancing with glee.