“And you would have had Edna going with them!” Archibald accused.
“Hargrave would have made it worth yer while—he said as much. Look here.”
Geordie leaned down to peek through the brown and red dying leaves to see Harrell handing a sack to the chief.
Archibald took it. “What’s this?”
“Yer share. Payment for us finding Hargrave such fine servants.”
Archibald was quiet for a long moment. “You…sold them, Harrell?”
“They went willingly, did they nae?” Harrell argued. “They was lookin’ for a better life than what they’d had. They chose to leave, Archibald. They get what they deserve, if ye was to ask me.”
Geordie didn’t see Archibald’s hand striking Harrell’s face, but he well recognized the sharp crack of skin on skin.
“You’re a disgrace to this clan,” Archibald gasped.
In a moment, Harrell had seized the chief by his tunic and jerked him up close to his face. “Am I, Archie? Am I?” He shook Archibald, but Geordie didn’t think of going to the chief’s rescue; he could call to mind too many times when Archibald himself had laid hands upon Geordie, usually as a result of things that were none of his own doing.
“Seems to me it’s yer precious Edna that’s played ye false. I only tried to turn it to our advantage. For the clan.” He shook him again, then Harrell shoved the chief away so roughly that Archibald fell to the leaves on his arsey-parsey, as Edna always called it.
“We have but one chance to take the upper hand with the Carsons,” Harrell continued, coming to stand over the half-reclined chief. “We gather the fine and ride in an hour, and we tell them we’re willing to make a treaty so that Vaughn Hargrave willna return. We take the river, the salmon. We take the wood. We take whatever else we want in the whole of that town, and then we tell them that if they take on cargo from another merchant ship in the bay, Hargrave will hear about it. It’s time the Blairs prospered, and I mean to see ye stand up to it, Archibald.”
“They’ll never agree,” Archibald rasped.
“Sure, they will,” Harrell said. “I might have been rough on ye tonight, Archie, but ye’ll soon see that I’ve done it for yer own good. For the good of us all. And when the treaty’s agreed to, and all’s quieted, ye’ll consider me for your Edna.”
“I canna do that, Harrell. She knew Tommy. She told me they—”
Harrell leaned down and picked up the sack Archibald had dropped and tossed it to the man’s chest, where it landed with a tinkle.
“I’ll nae be needing any dowry, then.”
Geordie’s rage threatened to deafen him, his thoughts buzzing so loudly in his head. He shot to his feet, the nut shells falling to the ground, and he burst from the brush toward the two men.
“Nay! Nay!” he shouted, swinging his arms in great circles, hoping he could get close enough for just one blow before Harrell stopped him with a fist. “You canna have Edna! You’ve done enough! Yer bad, Harrell! Yer bad!”
He expected the clout to land at any moment, but Harrell only grabbed hold of his wrists, jerking him to a stop, and struggling to hold him at arm’s length while Archibald scrambled to his feet.
“Now hold on there, Geordie-boy,” Harrell grunted while he struggled. “Hold on there. What are ye on about? Ye must have misheard.”
“I didna mishear nothin’, Harrell Blair,” Geordie shouted. “You sold my friends to…you sold them for coin! That English coin! An’…an’…” He jerked himself free at last and stumbled back a pair of steps. “Now they’re dead! Dead o’ fire! Just like all them Carsons—dead o’ fire! Dead like my friend Tommy! And you got coin for them!”
He turned his eyes to Archibald. “Say you willna let him have Edna, Chief. You canna. Nay. I’ll tell her.” He swung his glare back to Harrell. “I’ll tell Edna what you done, and then she’ll never want you. Never-never!”
“Och, Geordie-boy, calm yourself,” Archibald said in a shaky voice, running his fingers back through his graying hair. “There’s naught to tell anyone. You didna hear right, is all.”
“I did hear right,” he said, stumbling backward. “I’m not a fool and I did hear right!”
Harrell and Archibald shared a glance, and Geordie knew all too well the meaning of it. He turned and ran, intending to gain the town and shout for Edna’s help, but the town was on the other side of Harrell Blair, and Geordie found himself running down, downhill through the wood, leaping over logs, sliding through the leaves, blocking Harrell’s shouts from his pounding ears.
He ran and ran, until at last the rickety old bridge to Carson Town was in sight, and the roar of the falls pushed the air around him like invisible waves. He could still smell the smoke on the air from the smoldering town, and occasionally little flakes of ash swirled in the air like dry, dirty snow. Geordie dashed onto the treacherous bridge and froze in the middle, clinging to the rope as Harrell heaved to a stop on the end.
He stepped carefully onto the bridge. “Now, Geordie-boy, doona be running off like that. If ye’d have waited, I could have told ye it was all right. Yer right.”
“I’m right.”
“Aye.” Harrell moved closer. “I willna take Edna from ye. And I’ll tell the town all that was done. They’ll understand. Ye’ll see. We’ll all share the coin.” He was standing next to Geordie now. “Come back with me, Geordie-boy.”
