derbushes and trees, but it was a vain hope. It was nearly dark, and they were on the main trail now, while he and Gideon had tornthrough the wood."[..a Dhia]," he murmured, and crossed himself briefly. Go with God."What's that?" Claire asked, half-turning in the saddle."Nothing," he said. After all, it was a wild cat, though a small one. Doubtless it would manage.Gideon worked the bit, pecking and bobbing. Jamie realized that the tension in his hands was running through the reins oncemore, and consciously slackened his grip. He loosened his grip on Claire, too, and she took a sudden deep breath.His heart was beating fast.It was impossible for him ever to come home after an absence without a certain sense of apprehension. For years after theRising, he had lived in a cave, approaching his own house only rarely, after dark and with great caution, never knowing what hemight find there. More than one Highland man had come home to his place to find it burnt and black, his family gone. Or worse,still there.Well enough to tell himself not to imagine horrors; the difficulty was that he had no need of imagination--memory sufficed.The horse dug with his haunches, pushing hard. No use to tell himself this was a new place; it was, with its own dangers. Ifthere were no English soldiers in these mountains, there were still marauders. Those too shiftless to take root and fend forthemselves, but who wandered the backcountry, robbing and plundering. Raiding Indians. Wild animals. And fire. Always fire.He hadn't realized that Claire was tensed, too, until she suddenly relaxed against him, a hand on his leg."It's all right," she said. "I smell chimney-smoke."He lifted his head to catch the air. She was right; the tang of burning hickory floated on the breeze. Not the stink ofremembered conflagration, but a homely whiff redolent with the promise of warmth and food.They rounded the last turn of the trail and saw it, then, the high fieldstone chimney rising ...
