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

enough to know it was merely expectation and not compliment.
    Could you court-martial someone
in absentia
? he wondered. He’d have to ask Minnie. She had ferreted out records of court-martial for the crime of sodomy when their stepbrother, Percy Wainwright, had been arrested. The army had shipped Percy back to England from Germany to stand trial, so perhaps you
couldn’t
try someone not physically present.
    “Repique,”
he said absently. Clifford sighed and wrote down the score.
    He’d got over Percy. Or at least he thought so, most of the time. Every now and then, though, he’d catch sight of a slender young man with dark curly hair, and his heart would jerk.
    It jerked now, a tiny bump at the sudden thought that it was the mention of Ireland, more than courts-martial, that had made him think of Percy. He’d arranged for Percy to escape to Ireland, though his erstwhile lover had made his way eventually to Rome. Surely he would have no reason to go back to Ireland …?
    “Sixième!”
Clifford said, his voice full of joy. Grey smiled, despite the loss of points, gave the proper reply of “Not good,” meaning his own hand could not beat that, and put Percy firmly out of mind.
    Harry had suggested that Grey and Hal might leave after the first game, but Grey was entirely aware that Harry knew this wouldn’t happen. Hal was a cutthroat cardplayer, and once his blood was up, there was no dragging him away from the table. As picquet was a game for two hands, obviously Grey couldn’t leave until Hal did, or the numbers would be unbalanced.
    They therefore played in pairs, changing partners after each game, the two men with the highest scores to play the final game. Grey did his best to put everything out of his mind but the play. He succeeded to such an extent that he was startled when his brother—now opposing him—stiffened in his seat, head turning sharply toward the door.
    There were voices raised in greeting in the outer room and the noise of several people coming in. In the midst of it, he caught the high, oddly prim voice of the Duke of Cumberland. He stared at Hal, who compressed his lips. Hal cordially disliked Cumberland—and vice versa—and the revelation that the dukewas an intimate of Siverly’s was unlikely to have improved this animus.
    Hal’s eye met his, and Grey knew what his brother was thinking: it would be necessary to proceed with the utmost secrecy. If Cumberland caught wind of the matter before the court-martial could be organized, he might well plant his fat arse right in the middle of it.
    Then Grey caught the sound of another voice, deeper, gruff with age and tobacco, replying to something Cumberland had said.
    “Scheisse!”
Hal said, making everyone look at him curiously.
    “Don’t you say
carte blanche
if you have a hand with no points?” Clifford whispered, leaning over to Grey.
    “Yes, you do,” Grey replied, narrowing his eyes at Hal. He felt like saying something much worse himself, but it wouldn’t do to attract attention. Harry, on the other side of the room, had heard that voice, too, and pursed his lips, eyes fixed on his cards.
    Grey hadn’t heard Reginald Twelvetrees’s voice in some time, but he had vivid memories of it. Colonel Reginald Twelvetrees had headed a board of inquiry into the explosion of a cannon, two years before, and had come uncomfortably close to ruining Grey’s career over it, out of the long-standing hostility that had existed between the Greys and the Twelvetrees family since Hal’s duel with Nathaniel, the colonel’s younger brother.
    “When do you say
scheisse
?” Clifford whispered.
    “When something untoward occurs,” Grey whispered back, repressing an urge to laugh.
“Septième,”
he said aloud to his brother.
    “Not good,” Hal growled, and tossed in his hand.

5
Why Am Not I at Peace?
Helwater
    IT HADN’T BEEN A GOOD NIGHT. IT WASN’T GOING TO BE A good day.
    Hanks and Crusoe didn’t look at him when they all made their way