The Scottish Prisoner Read Online Free PDF

but never a soldier. He’d fled to France after Culloden, or so Jamie had heard. What the devil was he doing here now?
    “Ah, sure that Betty’s a fine girl, and her with those snapping black eyes,” Quinn was saying. He eyed Jamie, head on one side. “She’s a bit of a fondness for
you
, my lad, I can tell.”
    Jamie repressed the urge to cross himself at the thought.
    “Ye’ve a clear field there,” he assured Quinn. “Dinna fash yourself that I’d queer your pitch.”
    Quinn blinked at him, and it struck him of a sudden that “queer your pitch” was one of Claire’s expressions; maybe it was not merely English but from her own time?
    Whether Quinn was puzzled or not, though, he plainly took Jamie’s meaning.
    “Well, I might, too—save that Betty’s me late wife’s sister. I’msure there’s a thing or two in the Bible about not doing the deed with your late wife’s sister.”
    Jamie had read the Bible cover to cover several times—from necessity, it being his only book at the time—and recalled no such proscription, but he merely said, “I’m sorry to hear about your wife, man. Was it lang since that she died?”
    Quinn pursed his lips and tilted his head from side to side.
    “Well, when I say ‘late,’ I don’t mean necessarily that the woman’s
deceased
, if ye take my meaning.”
    Jamie raised one brow, and Quinn sighed.
    “When it all went to smash after Culloden, and I had to scarper to France, she took a hard look at my future prospects, so to speak, and decided her fortunes lay elsewhere. My Tess always did have a sound head on her shoulders,” he said, shaking his own head in admiration. “She was in Leeds, the last I heard. Inherited a tavern from her last husband. Well, by ‘last,’ mind, I mean the latest one, because I don’t for a moment think she means to stop.”
    “Oh, aye?”
    “But that’s what I wanted to speak with ye about, conveniently enough,” Quinn went on, waving an airy hand in dismissal of the erstwhile Tess.
    “About Leeds? Or taverns?” Jamie prayed that the man didn’t mean wives. He’d not mentioned Claire to anyone in several years and would rather have his toenails pulled out with horse-nail pliers than be forced to talk about her.
    “Culloden,” Quinn said, causing equal amounts of relief and dismay in the bosom of his hearer. Culloden came about fourth on Jamie’s list of things he didn’t want to talk about, preceded only by his wife, Claire; his son, William; and Jack Randall.
    Jamie got off the rock, feeling obscurely that he’d rather be on his feet just now, though not knowing whether it was needing tofeel ready to meet whatever was coming or an incipient urge to flee. Either way, he felt better standing.
    “Or rather,” Quinn amended, “not Culloden so much as the Cause, if ye take my meaning.”
    “I should think the two are much the same,” Jamie said, not trying to keep the edge out of his voice. “Dead.”
    “Ah, well, now there ye’re wrong,” Quinn said, waggling a bony finger at him. “Though of course ye’ll have been out of touch.”
    “I have, aye.”
    Quinn continued to ignore the edge.
    “The Cause may have suffered some reverses in Scotland—”
    “Reverses!” Jamie exclaimed. “Ye call what happened at Drumossie
reverses
?”
    “—but it’s alive and thrivin’ in Ireland.”
    Jamie stared at him for a moment of blank incomprehension, then realized what he was saying.
    “Jesus!”
    “Ah, thought that would gladden yer heart, lad,” said Quinn, choosing to interpret Jamie’s cry as one of hallelujah rather than horror. He smiled, the tip of his tongue poking briefly through the hole left by his missing eyetooth.
    “There’s a group of us, see. Did Betty not pass on what I said about the green branch?”
    “She did, aye, but I didna ken what she meant by it.”
    Quinn waved a hand, dismissing this.
    “Well, it took some time to pull things together after Culloden, but it’s all moving a treat