“She may persuade him to turn his coat and fight for the rebels, might she not?”

“If there is one trait that Jamie Fraser has succeeded in passing to all his offspring,” John said dryly, “it’s stubbornness. Forceful as she is, I doubt she could persuade William of anything whatever.”

“Then—”

“I want him to stay,” John blurted. “Here. At least until he’s made up his mind. About everything.” “Everything” encompassing William’s paternity, his career with the army, his title, and the estates to whose control he had just ascended, having reached his majority.

“Oh.” Hal stopped dead, looking at his brother, then glanced down the street. Prévost’s headquarters stood at the far corner, a large gray house with the normal trickle of officers and civilians going in and out under the eyes of the two soldiers guarding the door.

Hal took John’s arm and pulled him into the side street, less crowded.

John’s heart was thumping. He hadn’t articulated his fears, even to himself, but the letter to Jamie had brought them clearly to the surface of his mind.

Hal looked at him, one dark brow arched.

John closed his eyes and took a breath deep enough to keep his voice level.

“I have dreams,” he said. “Not every night. Often, though.”

“Of William.” It wasn’t a question, but John nodded and opened his eyes. Hal’s face was attentive, his eyes direct and bloodshot. “Dead?” Hal asked. “Lost?”

John nodded again, wordless. He cleared his throat, though, and found a few.

“Isobel told me that he was lost once, at Helwater, when he was three or so—wandering alone in a fog on the fells. Sometimes I see that. Sometimes … other things.”

William had always told him stories, written him letters. Of being trapped in Quebec during a long, cold winter. Hunting, lost overnight, feet freezing, the eerie light of the Arctic sky thrumming overhead, falling through ice into dark water … To William, this was mere adventure, and John enjoyed hearing about it—but in the dark of his dreams, such things came back twisted, cold as ghosts and filled with foreboding.

“And battle,” Hal said, almost under his breath. He was leaning back against the brick wall of a tavern, his eyes on the polished toes of his boots. “Yes. You see those things when you’re a father. Even when you’re not asleep.”

John nodded but didn’t say anything. He felt a bit better, to have spoken. Of course Hal thought such things. Henry badly wounded in battle, and Benjamin … He thought of William, digging up a grave in the dark, expecting to find his cousin’s body …. He’d dreamed of digging up a grave himself, and finding William in it.

Hal heaved a sigh and straightened up.

“Tell Fraser that William is here,” he said quietly. “Just mention it, casually. Nothing more. He’ll send the girl.”

“You think so?”

Hal glanced at him and took his elbow, steering him out of the alley.