Page 173 of The King's Man
McPherson sighed. ‘One of Outhwaite’s men took me out into the forest a few days later. Said we were going huntin’, but he wanted to see the lad covered decent and say a few words of prayer. He didn’t think it right leaving a Christian out there without even a prayer being said over him. When we got to the place he’d been left, the body had gone.’
Kit’s breath caught. ‘Did he go back to the right place?’
McPherson shrugged. ‘Aye. There were signs to tell me that someone had been there. Blood on’t grass, broken ferns.’
Kit jumped to his feet. ‘Which man? I must speak to him.’
McPherson shook his head. ‘Died of the fever two months ago. Dinna get your hopes up, lady. Animals could’ve moved the body. Who knows? Even if he’d still been alive, he was sore hurt and his chance of surviving in the mountains … ’ McPherson broke off. ‘The man told Outhwaite and he sent out search parties. Not a trace of the lad was found. So, to answer your question, Lovell, I canna say for certain whether the lad lived or not.’
Chapter 64
Kit and Thamsine stood together at the rail of the ship, watching as the brilliant green of the island of Barbados disappeared over the horizon. Above them, the sails cracked in the stiff wind and the ropes creaked against the timbers. A fair wind to carry them back home to England.
Willoughby had not wasted time answering Kit’s summons and the situation at the Pritchard Plantation had been resolved as best it could. At least John Pritchard would now see out his days in Holetown being cared for in a convent. The black labour force had been distributed among the other plantations, where they faced a life little better than the one they had endured under Outhwaite. However, Kit had managed to persuade Willoughby to release McPherson and the remaining Scots and they were free now to work their passage back to England if that’s what they wished to do.
Faced with Daniel’s testimony and supported by the evidence of others who had witnessed or borne the brunt of Outhwaite’scruelty, Willoughby had put the man on trial, and Kit had the grim satisfaction of knowing Outhwaite would die for the murder of Brodie, if not for the death of his brother.
‘I swore I would not believe in Daniel’s death until I stood at his graveside,’ Kit said at last.
Thamsine put her hand over his. She had no words left to comfort this man. He had come to Barbados seeking closure and now he only had more questions.
‘What do I tell Margaret?’ he said, glancing at her.
‘The truth as you know it. You tell her that as far as you know he died in the cause of protecting those who could not protect themselves,’ Thamsine said.
Kit’s fingers tightened on the rail. ‘Only a few more months, Tham, and he would have been free.’
Thamsine tightened her grip on the crooked fingers of his right hand. He had paid a terrible price to win his brother’s liberty, and solecisms were easily spoken but no comfort to a man who had given his life to free his brother. Thamsine considered herself a good Christian. Kit had every reason to believe God had forsaken him, but she still had the power of prayer and now, that was all she could offer.
If, by some miracle – and it would require a miracle – Daniel had survived the treatment meted out to him by Outhwaite, he had his own reasons for disappearing into the forests of Barbados. He would no longer be the youth who had followed on his brother’s heels, dreaming of honour and glory. He had been tempered in a fierce furnace, and perhaps one day their paths would cross, but it would be at a time of Daniel Lovell’s choosing.
In the meantime, they could not regret what might have been. She and Kit had to find their own peace and make a life for themselves built on their shattered pasts. That would have to do for now.
Epilogue
Barbados
‘Est-il mort?’
Is he dead?
Daniel Lovell groaned, his fingers digging into the sand beneath him. A shadow fell across him and someone seized a handful of his hair, jerking his head up from the warm beach.
‘What’s your name, boy?’ This time the interrogative was made in heavily accented English.
Daniel struggled and failed to bring the bearded face into focus. He licked his cracked lips, tasting the metallic tang of blood. He could not even produce the spittle he felt the questioner deserved.
He considered his options. Beg for his life? Plead not to be returned to the plantation? Or he could muster what little strength and pride he had left and keep silent. He would die anyway, and here and now seemed as good a time as any.
‘Qu’il soit!’ The second voice held the tone of authority.
The first interrogator, obedient to the command to let him be, released his grip on Daniel’s hair and let his head fall back onto the sand.
Daniel turned his face to the ocean where the gentle sea lapped on the shore. A ship’s longboat had been pulled up on the golden sand and beyond it, nestled into this hidden bay, a frigate, its sails furled, bobbed serenely on the azure water.
Such a beautiful place to die, he thought. God in his wisdom had sent angels to release him; strange angels, definitely from the rougher end of Heaven.
‘He’s more dead than alive,’ the first man said in French. ‘Reckon he’s a runaway?’
