“What have ye done, Sassenach?” he demanded.
“Not her—the yellow pox,” Fergus put in, saving me the trouble. He thrust the pistol into his belt and offered me his real hand. “Come, milady, you must get downstairs!”
Ragul forestalled him, bending over me as he jerked his head in the direction of the front hall.
“I’ll manage here,” he said. “Guard the front, Fergus. The usual signal, and keep your pistol hidden unless there’s need.”
Fergus nodded and vanished at once through the door to the hall.
Ragul had succeeded in bundling the corpse awkwardly in the shawl; he lifted it off me, and I scrambled to my feet, greatly relieved to be rid of it, in spite of the blood and other objectionable substances soaking the front of my shift.
“Ooh! I think he’s dead!” An awestruck voice floated dow
