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.

There were small things to be given—his ruby stickpin, his books (he’d leave the Hobbit ones to Jem, perhaps), his tools (those were for Brianna, of course) and weapons (if they come back without me) … but there was one more important person to be considered. He hesitated, but wrote it, slowly. Just to see how it looked, put down on paper …

To my Son … He set the quill down carefully, so as not to make blots on the paper—though he’d have to redo it in any case, because of the scratchings-out.

It wasn’t as though William needed anything of a material nature from him.

Or might he? Bree says the lad wishes to shed his title—if he does, will he lose all the property belonging to it? But the duke thinks he can’t … And even if he could, or refused it, John Grey will see to him; who does he have to leave his money to, if not William?

That was logical. Unfortunately, he wasn’t; not at the moment. And whether it was love, sinful pride, or something even worse, he couldn’t die without leaving something of himself to William. And I’m no dying without claiming William in public, whether I’m there to see his face when he hears it or not. His mouth twitched at that thought, and he pressed his lips together to stop it. More scratching out …

To my Natural Son, William James Fraser, known also as William Clarence Henry George Ransom, known also as the Ninth Earl of Ellesmere …

He bit the end of his quill, tasting bitter ink, then wrote:

… one hundred Pounds in Gold, the three Casks of Whisky marked with JFS, and my green Bible. May he find Succor and Wisdom in its Pages.

“He might find more in the whisky,” Jamie murmured to himself, but his soul felt lighter.

Ten pounds each to all of the grandchildren, by name. It made him happy, seeing the whole list. Jem, Mandy, Davy, Germain, Joanie, Félicité—he made a small cross on the paper for Henri-Christian, and felt his throat grow tight—and the new wee boys, Alexandre and Charles-Claire. And any further issue of … any of my children. That was an odd feeling, to think not only that Brianna might bear more bairns but also Marsali—her sister Joan, if she married (damn, he’d forgot to put Joanie with his other children; more scratching out …)—or William’s wife, whoever she might be.