Roger gave a mild snort of amusement at hearing him call Brianna “my redhaired lass,” and I smiled into my whisky. It neatly carried the simultaneous implications that whatever she had in mind was likely reckless to an alarming degree—and that her propensity for such recklessness had likely come from her redheaded sire.

Bree picked that one up, too, raised her ruddy brows, and lifted her cup to him in toast.

“Well,” she said, having taken and savored her own first sip. “You need to get guns and horses.”

“I do,” Jamie said patiently. “The horses will be no great matter, though, so long as we do it carefully. I can get them from the Cherokee.”

She nodded and flipped a hand in acceptance of that.

“All right. The guns—you actually have two problems there, don’t you?”

“I’d be happy if it were only two,” he said, taking another sip. “Which problems d’ye mean, lass?”

“Buying the guns—oh, I see what you mean about more than two problems. But putting that aside for a minute: you need to buy the guns, and then you need to get them back here. Do you have an idea where you’re going to get them, by the way?”

“Fergus,” Jamie said promptly.

“How?” I asked, staring at him.

“He’s in Charles Town,” he said. “The Americans hold the city, under General Lincoln. And where there’s an army, there are guns.”

“You’re planning to steal guns from the Continental army?” I blurted. “Or make Fergus do it, which is even worse?”

“No,” he said patiently. “That would be treason, aye? I’m going to buy them from whoever is stealing them. Someone always is. Fergus will likely ken who the local smugglers are, already, but if not, I’ve considerable faith that he can find out.”

“It’ll cost a pretty price,” Roger said, lifting a brow.

Jamie grimaced, nodding. “Aye. I’ve kept that gold safe all these years for the time it should be needed for the cause of revolution—and … now it is.”

“Okay,” Bree said patiently. “Let’s say that Fergus can get hold of guns for you, one way or another. If he has to pay for them”—here Jamie smiled, despite the seriousness of the conversation—“then you need to get the gold to him, and someone then needs to bring the guns back. Sooo …” She took a deep breath and glanced at Roger, then stuck up a thumb.

“One. Now the harvest is in, we need to get Germain home to his family in Charleston as soon as we can; he’s dying to see his mother and his new baby brothers. Two”—the index finger rose—“Lord John wants me to come paint a portrait in Savannah, for which I’ll get paid in actual money, which we need for things like clothes and tools. And three …” She raised the middle finger, and without looking at Roger said, “Roger needs to be ordained. The sooner the better.”

Jamie turned his head to look at Roger, who had flushed deeply at this.