Carefully, Nathaniel put down his tankard as he looked Moncrieff in the eye. "He ain't the first, nor the last, I imagine. But I've got no gold on me, since you seem to be wondering."

It was almost a relief to see the man flush. He put his pipe aside, laid both hands flat on the table, and rocked forward, as if to push it to the floor with his weight.

"I care naething for gold, and had ye a pure ton o' it. It's your faither's fate that concerns me, and getting him out o' gaol. Had I thought it could be done wi' coin alone, I should ha' seen it done lang syne. My purse isna empty, man."

After a long moment, Nathaniel nodded. "Fair enough."

Robbie cleared his throat. "I suppose ye've got a better plan, Angus?"

"Aye, Rab, perhaps I do. If you care to hear it told."

The serving woman came to refill their tankards, and they were quiet while they waited for her to finish. She took her time, leaning over the table to display her ample bosom to Moncrieff. He patted her hand and murmured something Nathaniel did not quite hear, but understood anyway. Adele left them with a smile.

Nathaniel held up a hand to keep Robbie from answering the question that still hung in the air. "Before this goes any further--"

Moncrieff sighed. "You want an explanation for my letter. Aye, and I've earned some harsh words. Go on, then."

"You admit it?"

"Admit that I lied in my letter, and that it wasna your faither's idea to send for ye? Aye, I admit it. And tell me this: wad ye rather be hame the noo, and him in gaol? I havena kennt ye verra lang, Nathaniel Bonner, but I didna think that wad sit weel wi' ye."

With every swallow of ale Moncrieff's English was giving way to Scots. Whether it meant the man was telling the truth or moving farther afield of it, of that much Nathaniel could not be sure. He said, "I would rather have had the whole story, and made up my own mind."

With one fingertip, Moncrieff traced the gouges on the table as if they were an alphabet he alone could read. He had the hands of a man who earned his living with books and paper and ink: fine fingered and unscarred. Nathaniel wished for five minutes of his father's counsel, for he truly did not know what to make of Angus Moncrieff.

On the other side of the room, the sailor roused and hobbled out, tossing a coin to Adele. The man in the corner called for more ale and began to sing softly to himself: a German lullaby or maybe a love song, slow and melancholy. Outside, a girl scolded a herd of goats as she hurried them along, the sound of the bells clear and true in the cold air.

When Moncrieff looked up again, his color had settled and his tone was calmer. "Aye," he said. "You're right. I overstepped my bounds, and I apologize. But now ye're here. You can ha' my help, or leave it. Which will it be?"

Nathaniel sat back to consider.

Robbie had taken to Moncrieff, and after thirty years in the bush Robbie was wary of strangers and slow to give his friendship. He could make a mistake, certainly. But maybe he had not. Elizabeth, who had a keen ear for things left unstated and no patience with half-truths, had not been terribly worried by Moncrieff. She had put the case before Nathaniel with her usual simplicity and clarity: If Hawkeye decides he needs to go to Scotland, then he will go. However unlikely it seems to us that he might want to do such a thing, he has the right to decide for himself. And it was the truth; Nathaniel could admit it to her and to himself, but he could not allow Moncrieff to see it in his face.

There were other truths that couldn't be overlooked: they had made an enemy of the man who was their only link to the gaol, whereas Moncrieff had connections, and an idea.

"First things first," Nathaniel said. "Tell me what it is you want with my father once he's free."

"It's verra simple," Moncrieff said softly. "The Earl o' Carryck would like to find his heir before he dies. The laird's wish is that the land and holdings ..." He paused, and then went on. "And the title stay in the family. Nae mair, nae less than that. What I want from your faither is an hour o' his time, to tell him o' his kin, and his birthright."

Nathaniel nodded. "You'll have your hour. But listen first, and I'll tell you now what I know in my gut to be true. Maybe my father was born a Scott of Carryck--you seem to be sure of that, and I can't say you're wrong--but he was raised in the wilderness and in his heart he's more Mahican than white."

"And yet he married a Scotswoman," Moncrieff said.

"Who turned her back on Scotland." Nathaniel leaned closer. "Listen to me. Even if that earldom is rightfully his, he'll want nothing to do with it. He'll never get on a ship for Scotland of his own free will. If he tells you that to your face, will you leave here, and go home?"

A flicker in the deep brown eyes: anger or disbelief or perhaps just stubbornness. But Moncrieff inclined his head. "Aye, if your faither tells me sae, I'll be awa' hame to Scotland."

"I'm not coming, either," added Nathaniel. "I'll have no part of it. Are we clear on that?"

"Aye," said Moncrieff. "Verra clear."

Robbie clapped Nathaniel on the back, laughing. "By God, laddie, ye should o' been a lawyer. Angus, tell us wha' ye've got in mind."

Moncrieff took a long swallow and then pulled a kerchief from his sleeve to wipe his brow. "The cook," he said finally, and in response to the blank look he got from both of them, he produced a slanted grin. "Martin Fink, the Somervilles' cook. He has a weakness for cards and whisky, a verra bad combination for a man o' limited resources."