“Good dog,” she said, hugging the hound, who happily licked her face. I saw Jamie glance carefully at the dog as he stooped to pick up the blood-splotched carcass, but Bluey made no objection, merely woofling in her throat.

After the noise of the hunt—if one could call it that, and I supposed one could—the forest seemed abnormally silent, as though even the wind had stopped blowing. The boys were still excited, but they settled down to the absorbing business of skinning and gutting the raccoon, insisting that Fanny come admire their skill. With the loud part over, Mandy joined in enthusiastically, asking, “What’s that?” as each new bit of internal anatomy was revealed.

Jamie sat down by me, set the rifle at his feet, and relaxed, watching the children with a benevolent eye. I was less relaxed. I could still feel the echo of the rifle shot in my bone marrow, and was both surprised and disturbed at the feeling.

I looked away and breathed deep, trying to replace the bright smell of fresh blood with the mellower scents of the forest and the musk of fungi. That last thought made me glance down at my basket, where the fleshy raw red of the Fistulina hepatica showed in gashes through the layers of damp leaves. My gorge rose suddenly, and so did I.

“Sassenach?” Jamie’s voice came from behind me, startled. “Are ye all right?”

I was leaning against an aspen tree, gripping the paper-white trunk for support, trying not to hear the noises of disembowelment going on a few yards away.

“Fine,” I said, through numb lips. I closed my eyes briefly, opened them to see a trickle of half-dried sap running from a crack in the aspen’s trunk—the dark red of dried blood—let go, and sat down heavily in the leaves.

“Sassenach.” His voice was low, urgent, but pitched softly so as not to alarm the children. I swallowed heavily, once, twice, then opened my eyes.

“I’m all right,” I said. “A little dizzy, that’s all.”

“Ye’re as white as that tree, a nighean. Here …” He reached into his sporran and came out with a small flask. Whisky, and I gulped it gratefully, letting it fill my mouth and sear away the taste of blood.

Cries and laughter from the children—I glanced over his shoulder and saw that Bluey was rolling ecstatically in the discarded viscera, the white parts of her coat now stained a dirty brown. I leaned over and threw up, whisky and bile coming up the back of my nose.

“A Dhia,” Jamie muttered, dabbing at my face with his handkerchief. “Did ye eat any mushrooms yourself, lass? Are ye poisoned?”

I waved the cloth away, taking deep breaths.

“No. I’m all right. Truly.” I swallowed again. “Can I—” I reached for the flask, and he thrust it into my hand.