From the courtyard below them came a voice Hannah recognized: Angus Moncrieff. A shudder ran up her spine at the sound, and she touched a finger lightly to Jennet's sleeve. "I had better go back. I would like to be there when Hakim Ibrahim visits my father."

Jennet had stepped back from the window, her arms wound around herself. Her complexion had gone suddenly pale beneath her suntanned skin. "Aye," she said. "I'll come, too, gin ye dinna mind."

Nathaniel dreamed of Angus Moncrieff. They were in the Montréal gaol again, alone this time, and Moncrieff was singing in the strong, echoing beat of a Kahnyen'kehâka war song.

were I more'self sixteen years old,

were I as I would fain be,

were I more'self sixteen years old

I'd gang more'self with Charlie.

Outside a human form hung heavy from the gallows on a rope that creaked in the wind. In the way of dreams the wall was no barrier at all, and Nathaniel watched as the body turned to show him his father's face: slack in death, familiar and strange at once. Moncrieff watched, too, the brown eyes quick and eager under heavy lids.

In his fist was his grandfather's war club and it seemed to move on its own, up and through the air to meet Moncrieff's skull just above the left eye, the shock of bone giving way shooting up his arm and into his own skull with a dull crack. And then Nathaniel saw that it wasn't Moncrieff at all but Adam MacKay, grinning at him with bloodied teeth.

He woke in a sweat. His head hurt, and the wounds in his shoulder and leg throbbed with the beat of his heart.

Hakim Ibrahim stood next to the bed, and beside him Elizabeth in a gown he had never seen, some strange fabric that seemed to float around her. Curiosity's hand was on his cheek, long and cool.

"Hannah?" His voice cracked and wobbled like an old man's.

"I just saw her in the courtyard. She should be here any moment."

"I dreamed of Moncrieff."

"He's just come from the village," said Elizabeth. "We could hear his voice below the window. Perhaps you heard him in your sleep."

"I dreamed of him," Nathaniel repeated dully.

"Fever dreams," said the Hakim. "It was to be expected."

He closed his eyes against the light. "My father?"

"No word yet. I did speak with the earl."

Curiosity made a noise in her throat. "Drink this tea, now. The earl ain't goin' nowhere, and neither are you until this fever has settled."

He took the cup from her and swallowed the bitter tea, and then she filled it again and he emptied that too. His stomach roiled in protest and for a moment he thought he would bring it all up again. When it settled, he lay back against the pillows and reached out to touch Elizabeth.

"Tell me about Carryck."

"Yes, go on and tell him," said Curiosity. "Take his mind off what we got to do here."

What Elizabeth had to report was quickly told, and none of it good.

The Hakim's attentions to his shoulder made him break into a new sweat, but he kept his gaze focused on Elizabeth. "You think this Walter Campbell is the daughter's husband?"

"Yes. It makes sense, and explains quite a lot. Perhaps the Hakim can tell us for certain ..."

The surgeon did not look up from his work, but he nodded. "Lady Isabel eloped to marry Walter Campbell, Curator to Lady Flora of Loudoun."

"And thus the earl decided to send Moncrieff to find Hawkeye." Elizabeth supplied the rest of it.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell us this before?" Nathaniel asked.

Hakim Ibrahim met his gaze. "Would it have made any difference?"

Nathaniel's tongue felt suddenly thick in his mouth, and it was hard to focus on Elizabeth's face although she was close enough to touch. Outside the window the murmur of voices rose and fell again.

"What's that noise?"

"The earl's men," said Elizabeth. "The dragoons who shot you are dead. Apparently he means to send a message to the Campbells."

"And to us," said Curiosity. "The man don't like to be crossed. As if we didn't know that ourselves."

Nathaniel was more tired now than he could ever remember being but he reached out and took Curiosity's wrist. It was cool to his touch and solid and when she looked at him he saw that she was pleased with herself.

"What was in that tea besides willow bark for fever?"

She lifted one brow. "What you need."

"I need to get us away from this place."

"That's true enough. I expect you to get me home, and right quick. But you cain't do it dead, Nathaniel Bonner. Now sleep."

"You haven't left me any say in it." His own voice was thick in his ears.

Elizabeth leaned over him and her smell-- milky sweet and summer flowers--came to him. At this moment he could think of nothing else in the world that he wanted except to pull her down beside him and keep her there. He could think of it, but his arms were suddenly too heavy to lift.

"I'm here," she said. "I'll stay with you."

Hannah was disappointed to find her father asleep, and then immediately ashamed of herself when she stood beside his bed. His color was bad, and the sheen of sweat on his brow told her something she had not wanted to contemplate.

"Fever."

"Yes. But he is very strong." The Hakim sat beside the bed, and he gave her the kind of reassuring smile she had seen him give before, when there were no promises he could make.