JAMIE WONDERED HOW MANY men paused at this point to debate the state of their minds with themselves. If ye’d been talking with a dead man for the last year, ye might reasonably have some doubts, he thought. On the other hand, who’d admit in writing that he kent for sure he was away with the faeries?

Or if not actually mad, what about men who’d not been sober a day in twenty years, or those who’d come back from war with something missing—or something riding their backs. That thought made the hairs ripple from nape to arsehole, and he clutched his quill so hard that it split with a tiny crack.

Aye, well, if he wanted his Last Will and Testament to be paid attention to, he supposed he’d have to say he was of sound mind, no matter what he really thought.

He sighed and looked over the quills he had left in the jar. Mostly goose or turkey—but two were barred wing feathers from an owl. Well, he meant to keep this quiet …

He cut the owl quill into a good point, composing his mind. The ink was fresh, smelling sharply of iron and the woody scent of oak galls. It calmed him. A wee bit.

… do hereby declare that this is my Last Will and Testament, and so swear before God.

I leave to my wife, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp (damned if I’ll put his name in this) Fraser, all Property and Goods of which I die possessed, absolutely, with the Exception of certain individual Bequests as listed here beneath:

To my Daughter, Brianna Ellen Fraser MacKenzie, I leave two hundred Acres of Land from the Land granted me by the Cr … (well, two years more and the bloody Crown won’t have anything to say about it, if Claire and the others are right about what’s happening, and so far, they seem to be) … He muttered “Ifrinn” under his breath and scratched out granted me by the Crown, replacing it with from the land Grant known as Fraser’s Ridge.

He continued with similar bequests to Roger, Jeremiah, Amanda, and—after a moment’s thought—Frances. Whether she might be his blood or not, he couldn’t leave her without resources, and if she had land here, perhaps she’d stay nearby, where Brianna and her family could take care of her, help her to find her way in life, make a good match for her …

Oh, a moment—Brianna’s new bairn; David, he added, smiling.

Fifty acres to Bobby Higgins; he’d been a good henchman, Bobby, and deserved it.

To my Son Fergus Claudel Fraser and his Wife, Marsali Jane MacKimmie Fraser, I leave the Sum of five hundred Pounds in Gold.

Was that too much? Wealth like that would attract scoundrels like flies to shit, if it was known. Both Fergus and Marsali were canny creatures, though; he could trust them to take care.