A Breath of Snow and Ashes Read Online Free PDF Page B

Ian.”
    I held out my index fingers and he slowly wrapped a large, bony hand round each of them. I put him through the drill for neurological damage, having him squeeze, pull, push, and then concluded by listening to his heart, which was thumping along reassuringly.
    “Slight concussion,” I announced, straightening up and smiling at him.
    “Oh, aye?” he asked, squinting up at me.
    “It means your head aches and you feel sick. You’ll feel better in a few days.”
    “I could ha’ told ye that,” he muttered, settling back.
    “So you could,” I agreed. “But ‘concussion’ sounds so much more important than ‘cracked heid,’ doesn’t it?”
    He didn’t laugh, but smiled faintly in response. “Will ye feed Rollo, Auntie? He wouldna leave me on the way; he’ll be hungry.”
    Rollo pricked his ears at the sound of his name, and shoved his muzzle into Ian’s groping hand, whining softly.
    “He’s fine,” I said to the dog. “Don’t worry. And yes,” I added to Ian, “I’ll bring something. Do you think you could manage a bit of bread and milk, yourself?”
    “No,” he said definitely. “A dram o’ whisky, maybe?”
    “No,” I said, just as definitely, and blew out the spirit lamp.
    “Auntie,” he said, as I turned to the door.
    “Yes?” I’d left a single candlestick to light him, and he looked very young and pale in the wavering yellow glow.
    “Why d’ye suppose Major MacDonald wants it to be Indians I met in the wood?”
    “I don’t know. But I imagine Jamie does. Or will, by now.”

4

    SERPENT IN EDEN
    B RIANNA PUSHED OPEN the door to her cabin, listening warily for the scamper of rodent feet or the dry whisper of scales across the floor. She’d once walked in in the dark and stepped within inches of a small rattlesnake; while the snake had been nearly as startled as she was, and slithered madly away between the hearthstones, she’d learned her lesson.
    There was no scuttle of fleeing mice or voles this time, but something larger had been and gone, pushing its way through the oiled skin tacked over the window. The sun was just setting, and there was enough daylight left to show her the woven-grass basket in which she kept roasted peanuts, knocked from its shelf onto the floor and the contents cracked and eaten, a litter of shells scattered over the floor.
    A loud rustling noise froze her momentarily, listening. It came again, followed by a loud clang as something fell to the ground, on the other side of the back wall.
    “You little
bastard
!” she said. “You’re in my pantry!”
    Fired with righteous indignation, she seized the broom and charged into the lean-to with a banshee yell. An enormous raccoon, tranquilly munching a smoked trout, dropped its prey at sight of her, dashed between her legs, and made off like a fat banker in flight from creditors, making loud
birring
noises of alarm.
    Nerves pulsing with adrenaline, she put aside the broom and bent to salvage what she could of the mess, cursing under her breath. Raccoons were less destructive than squirrels, who would chew and shred with hapless abandon—but they had bigger appetites.
    God knew how long he’d been in here, she thought. Long enough to lick all the butter out of its mold, pull down a cluster of smoked fish from the rafters—and how something so fat had managed the acrobatic feat required for
that
. . . Luckily, the honeycomb had been stored in three separate jars, and only one had been despoiled. But the root vegetables had been dumped on the floor, a fresh cheese mostly devoured, and the precious jug of maple syrup had been overturned, draining into a sticky puddle in the dirt. The sight of this loss enraged her afresh, and she squeezed the potato she had just picked up so hard that her nails sank through its skin.
    “Bloody, bloody, beastly, horrible, bloody
beast
!”
    “Who?” said a voice behind her. Startled, she whirled and fired the potato at the intruder, who proved to be Roger. It struck