The Scottish Prisoner by Diana Gabaldon Read Free Book Online Page A

lips pursed as he sipped his coffee. It smelled good, and Grey reached for the pot.
    “Really?” Harry said. “That’s what we have in mind, is it?” Hal had informed Harry, by note, of their interest in Siverly, asking him to find out what he could of the man’s particulars—but knowing Hal’s way with letters, Grey thought there had probably not been much detail given.
    “Certainly,” Hal said. “So, what else?” He picked up one of the biscuits and examined it critically before popping it into his mouth.
    “Siverly’s not wildly popular in the regiment, but not disliked,” Harry said. “Sociable, but not active. Invited in society, accepts occasionally. Has a wife, but doesn’t live with her. She brought him some money, not a great deal, but no great connections.”
    “Has he any of his own?” Grey asked, mouth half full. The biscuits were ginger-nuts, and fresh, still warm from the kitchen. “Any family?”
    “Ah,” said Harry, and glanced briefly at Hal. “No family connections to speak of. Father was a captain in the Eleventh Dragoons, killed at Culloden. Mother was the daughter of a wealthy Irish family, but from the country, no influence.”
    “But?”
Hal said sharply, having caught the glance. “He has important friends?”
    Harry took a breath that swelled his waistcoat and leaned back.
    “Oh, yes,” he said. “The Duke of Cumberland important enough for you?”
    “He’ll do to be going on with,” Hal said, brows raised. “What’s the connection there?”
    “Hunting. Siverly has an estate in Ireland and has entertained His Grace there on occasion. Together with a few of the duke’s intimates.”
    “An estate? Inherited?” Grey asked.
    “No, bought. Fairly recently.”
    Hal made a low humming noise that indicated satisfaction. Obviously Siverly hadn’t bought a large estate, even in Ireland, on his pay. From Carruthers’s accounts, Siverly’s ventures in Canada had netted him something in excess of thirty thousand pounds.
    “Very good,” he said. “That would impress the board of a court-martial.”
    “Well, it might,” Harry said, flicking crumbs off his stomach. “If you can get him in front of one.”
    “If necessary, I’ll have him arrested and dragged there by force.”
    Harry made a hmmphing noise, one implying doubt, which made Hal give him a narrow look.
    “You don’t think I’d do it? This blackguard disgraces the name of his profession, as well as damaging the whole army by his gross behavior. Besides,” he added, as an afterthought, “John’s bound to see justice done, by his word of honor.”
    “Oh, I think you’d do it,” Harry assured him. “And so would Grey. It’s just that Siverly’s in Ireland. Might complicate matters, eh?”
    “Oh,” said Hal, looking rather blank.
    “Why?” asked Grey, stopped in the act of pouring more coffee. “What’s he doing there?”
    “Damned if I know. All Halloran said was that Siverly had asked for—and been granted—six months’ leave to attend to personal matters.”
    “He didn’t resign his commission, though?” Grey leaned forward, anxious. He wasn’t sure but thought a court-martial couldn’t try someone who was not in the army. And going after Siverly in the civil courts would be a much more laborious undertaking.
    Harry shrugged. “Don’t think so. Halloran only said he’d taken leave.”
    “Well, then.” Hal put down his dish in a decided manner and turned to his brother. “You’ll just have to go to Ireland and bring him back.”

    THE ARRIVAL OF the picquet party put paid to further discussion, and Grey found himself paired with Leo Clifford, a pleasant young captain who had recently joined the regiment. Clifford was no particular hand at cards, though, which left a good bit of Grey’s mind free to brood on the recent conversation.
    “Go to Ireland and bring him back.”
He supposed he should be flattered that Hal trusted him to do such a thing, but he knew his brother well