The Gathering Storm (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 3)

by Julia Brannan

  “We need to talk, Beth,” he said. “I thought we’d sorted out all the problems between us in Manchester, but I can see now I was wrong. Ye told me I didna trust ye over Monselle, and ye were right. I didna, and I was wrong not to. I trust ye now.”

  He looked at her. She had stopped crying and was looking down at her lap. But she was listening.

  “I trust ye with my life, my secrets, the secrets of my clan. I trust ye with my strengths, and my weaknesses. I love ye, Beth, ye ken that already, but what I feel for you goes a lot deeper than that. I canna explain it rightly, but I thought I didna need to. I thought you felt it too. When I saw ye sneaking off through the trees I followed you, not because I didna trust ye, but because I thought ye might be in trouble. I didna call out to ye because it was clear ye were trying to move silently and I didna ken why. I wanted to be near to help you, if you needed it. When I saw you with the boy, I didna think ye’d changed sides for a minute. I asked ye if ye’d tellt him anything, because I ken how easy it is to let something slip when you’re upset. I checked you over to make sure your hair wasna showing, because that’s the memorable part of ye, the part that’s most likely to identify you. At that point I had every intention of blindfolding the boy and bringing him back here to treat his wounds. The clan may be violent, but they’re no’ heartless. They’d have understood if I’d found the laddie. They’d have understood if you had, too, and why you’d kept it secret, eventually, but it would have taken time, and we’re leaving tomorrow. I made the decision to kill him because I had no choice. I explained it to him and he understood and agreed wi’ me. I’d not have done it else. I knew ye’d be upset.” He paused and ran his fingers through his hair, slowly, wearily, before reaching for the whisky flask. “It didna occur tae me for one minute that ye’d think I’d done it from malice. If our positions had been reversed, I may have asked ye why ye did it, I may not have agreed with your decision, even, but I would never have doubted that you had good reasons for what you’d done, and I’d have listened to them before I judged ye. I wouldna have condemned you out of hand, as ye’ve just condemned me, Beth. I canna tell ye how much that hurt.”

  He didn’t have to. It was written on his face, and Beth felt a huge wedge of despair rise up in her throat, choking her. She stared at him, her eyes enormous in the pallor of her face.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered again. What could she say? He was right. He had given her no reason not to trust him since Henri. Why hadn’t she trusted him? “I thought…you would have killed Katerina…I thought…”

  He took a deep breath, let it out again. Katerina. Again. He had thought that was finished with.

  “Let’s get this over with, once and for all,” he said. “Katerina was young and beautiful, and innocent, and aye, I might have killed her, at that moment, in that circumstance. Because at the time her life was set against the failure of the Stuart restoration, the death of hundreds, maybe thousands of Jacobites, and the certain betrayal of me, you and Angus. Henri had to die, and the best place to kill him was there, in the hothouse. We were verra lucky to find him in France, let alone get another chance to kill him. And, reluctant as I would have been, I couldna have let her live, with him dead. She knew Angus, knew whose servant he was. I wouldna have killed her for pleasure, because I enjoy violent solutions to problems, or for any reason other than to protect those I love, and I’m no’ ashamed of that. Ye’d do the same, I’m sure. The boy was a completely different matter, as ye should have known. Now, either ye trust me and believe me, or ye dinna, but I’m no’ going to spend the rest of my life explaining Katerina or having all my actions judged by what I might have done to her. Ye canna expect it of me, Beth.”

  “I don’t,” she said. “You’re right. I’ve behaved as badly as you did. No, worse, much worse. You had reasons for not trusting me, even if they were wrong. I didn’t. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say, except I’ll never do it again, I swear.” A great hiccuping sob suddenly broke free, and she stopped, swallowed. “I don’t expect you to believe me. I can’t prove it,” she finished hopelessly.

  “Come here,” he said, in a tone quite different from that he’d used by the boy’s corpse. She stood, hesitantly, and he took her hand and drew her gently on to his knee.

  “Beth my love,” he began, and stopped as she suddenly burst into tears, sobbing convulsively, clinging to him as though she were drowning, mumbling the same incoherent words over and over again. It took several repetitions before he understood what she was saying, and when he did he felt the tears rise to his own eyes. He crushed her to him, feeling the fragility of her body, knowing the strength of her spirit, and what it was costing her to say what she was saying.

  “Sshh, sshh, I willna leave you, mo chridhe,” he said, in answer to her plea. “I’ll never leave you. I couldna live without ye either, ye ken that, lassie, d’ye no’?”

  While dusk deepened into night, they held each other tightly, both aware that the foundation of their relationship had finally settled and they could now build on this love and trust which would irrevocably bind them one to the other for the rest of their lives.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Edinburgh, Late October 1744

  Dear Mr and Mrs Sennett,

  It is with the utmost sorrow and regret that I write to inform you of the death of your son Nathan in a recent engagement with enemy forces.

  He conducted himself with the utmost bravery during the conflict and will be sadly missed by his regiment. May I assure you that his death was instantaneous, and that he did not suffer. He was buried with full military honours on the 23rd inst.

  Although I am aware that nothing can compensate you for the loss of a most exceptional son, I am nevertheless enclosing the sum of ten guineas, which I trust will at least alleviate any financial hardship caused by your beloved son’s untimely demise. Please accept my most sincere condolences at your sad loss.

  Assuring you that I am your humble and obedient servant,

  The signature was impressive, but illegible.

  “You can send them more than that if you want,” said Beth, leaning over Alex’s shoulder as he carefully blotted the letter before folding it. “I’ve hardly spent any of my dowry money.”

  “No,” said Alex. “Ten guineas will make a difference to their lives, but will hopefully no’ be enough for them to take the effort to get someone to write back. I dinna want them to find out their son was a deserter. The boy told me his mother was verra proud that he’d enlisted, and his father thought he was a bloody idiot. They canna write, so they’ll have to get the minister or someone of that nature to read it for them. The whole village will think of him as a hero. I canna do more for the laddie.”

  “Won’t his commanding officer write to them anyway, to tell them he deserted?” Beth asked anxiously.

  Alex smiled fondly at her innocence.

  “If commanding officers wrote letters to every illiterate parent of deserting sons, they’d have nae time to command the army, and the village ministers’d have nae time to preach to their flock, they’d be so busy reading letters and writing replies. No, they’ll maybe have a wee look round, especially if the sergeant realised how badly he’d wounded the boy, then they’ll forget him. They’ll keep a record of his name in case he gives himself up at the next general amnesty, and that’ll be it.”

  “Is desertion a big problem in the British army, then?” Beth asked brightly.

  “Aye, there are a lot of laddies like our Nathan here, who didna want to join and who make off at the first opportunity. Then there are a lot who enlist willingly for the uniform and the glamour, and havena a clue what they’re letting themselves in for, and who run as soon as they realise how hard the life really is. But before ye start thinking that we’ll have an easy time of it if there’s an invasion, desertion’s just as bad a problem amongst the Highlanders, too.”

  “What?” said Beth. “But I thought they’d follow their chief anywhere.”

  “Aye they w
ill, but no’ without question. Sometimes the methods the chiefs have to use to force their clan out is no’ exactly gentle, shall we say. And the clans are what you would call irregular troops, that’s to say they heed their chief before their regimental officer, and they’re used to independent fighting. Which means they’re good at thinking for themselves, but no’ so good at following orders, or being disciplined. When they’re happy you couldna wish for better fighting men. They’re brave and loyal and ferocious fighters. When they’re unhappy they say so, and if their complaints are no’ dealt with, they vote wi’ their feet and go home. That’s why I dinna get my men tae follow me by threatening to burn their houses down. I’d rather have willing men fighting at my side. And if I’ve an unpopular order to give, I always explain why I’m giving it, so whether they agree or no’, at least they ken my reasons. The Highlanders are no’ mindless fighting machines like the British often are, and I wouldna have them any other way, for all the problems it can cause.”

  “What problems are those?” asked Beth, greatly interested.

  “I’ll tell ye later,” said Alex, looking at the clock and standing up. “For now I’ve tae meet wi’ Broughton and Lochiel and find out whether there’s to be an invasion at all.”

  They had taken rooms on the third floor of a tenement in Riddel’s Close, off the Land Market, and near enough to West Bow for the constant hammering of the smiths of all kinds whose workshops dominated that street to be heard, but not near enough for it to be too disturbing. Beth was entranced by Edinburgh, filthy and crowded as it was, with its impossibly narrow closes and wynds where a lady wearing full evening hoops would find her skirts brushing the buildings on both sides of the thoroughfare. The buildings were tall, the upper floors looming over the streets and blocking out the light, so that many of the closes were dark and gloomy even at midday. She had not believed Angus when he’d told her that it was common for a tradesman, an aristocrat and a labourer to all live in the same close, and sometimes even on different floors of the same building. She had told him that she might be naïve, but she was not stupid enough to believe that.

  Nevertheless, here they were on the second floor of a tenement, below a highly respected doctor and above a milliner, whilst the whole top floor of the building belonged to an elderly baronet who Beth had not yet encountered. Regardless of status, the occupants of the tenements would greet each other with cheerful familiarity if they met on the narrow winding stairway that led to their apartments. These stairways were a nightmare to any lady of fashion; even with her hoops collapsed up under her armpits, negotiating the uneven stairs encumbered by countless yards of trailing material was no easy feat, and passing on the stairs was impossible. Beth was glad, therefore, as she strolled happily along Castle Hill Street with Duncan, that she had not yet had to adopt high fashion. The male members of the group, reluctant to a man to don the hated tight-fitting breeches and stockings after two months of genital freedom, had decided to retain their highland garb for the present, although they had removed the sprigs of pine from their bonnets which would identify them as MacGregors. Alex had hoped there would be other Highlanders in Edinburgh, enough that their attire would not attract undue notice. Even when they discovered this not to be the case, most other Highland visitors having adopted lowland dress, they still decided to throw caution to the wind for a last few days of wearing their customary garb.

  Alex and Angus had gone to the dingy club under the piazzas of Parliament Close where Broughton had established a meeting place for prominent Jacobites. Iain and Maggie had gone shopping, Maggie’s eyes sparkling with excitement at the thought of spending money, a rare event for her. And Duncan and Beth were taking in the sights. They had wandered aimlessly round the tiny shops of the Luckenbooths without buying anything, and now made their way towards the castle, taking care to avoid the pigs that rooted around in the narrow streets, helping to clear up the piles of refuse that were deposited there every day by the citizens.

  They joined the other people who were promenading and chatting in small groups on the esplanade of Castle Hill. Being one of the few open spaces in Edinburgh, it was a popular place to take the air and show off one’s finery. Beth noted that there were no other Highlanders in evidence and that Duncan’s incongruous dress was attracting some amused attention. Seemingly oblivious to this, Duncan stopped as they neared the gatehouse, all his attention on the cluster of buildings which made up Edinburgh Castle.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” said Beth enigmatically as they stared up at the impressive edifice.

  “I dinna ken what you’re thinking,” said Duncan, squinting upwards. “I’m thinking that it’d be awfu’ hard to besiege the castle, if it had a good man in charge of it. The loch stretches right to its foot on the north. And d’ye see yon wall there?” he pointed up at a formidable curved stone wall studded with artillery emplacements which overlooked the approaches from the town. “That’s the battery, and it’s well-provisioned wi’ cannon. It’d be awfu’ difficult to get anywhere near the castle without being pulverised. Ye could starve them out if ye had the time, mind.”

  She looked at him with admiration.

  “Do you look at everything you see with a view to fighting it?” she asked.

  He grinned down at her.

  “No,” he said. “But if the prince invades via Scotland, this’ll be one of the places he’ll be looking to take, along wi’ the forts along the Great Glen, Fort William in particular, and Stirling Castle, of course. That’s no’ what you were thinking about, was it?”

  “No,” she admitted, still staring up at the castle, its flag of the hated union with England fluttering merrily from the ramparts. “I was thinking that Iain and Maggie have become very secretive and giggly over the last few days. I wondered if Maggie was pregnant. Has she said anything to you?”

  “No, she hasna,” replied Duncan, tearing his attention away from the castle for a minute. “But you’re likely right, Iain’s being awfu’ protective of her. It would be wonderful if she is. They’ve been married for three years wi’ no sign of her womb quickening. Best we dinna say anything until they tell us, though.” He winked at her and looked back up at the rock.

  Beth and Alex had been married for over a year, with no sign of her womb quickening, either.

  “I thought you’d have wanted to go to the meeting,” she said, not wishing to pursue the subject she had started, or the thoughts that it was engendering in her mind.

  “No, not at all,” said Duncan. “I hate being in stuffy rooms in cities wi’ crowds of people. Alex can tell me what happened later. I’m no’ missing anything.”

  “You must really hate London, then,” said Beth, suddenly gloomy at the thought of their imminent return.

  “If I die and wake up in London, then I’ll ken I’ve gone straight tae the deepest layers of Hell,” said her brother-in-law with feeling. “Ye canna tell the seasons. Ye canna even breathe the air. I’ve nae idea why people choose to live there. Or here, for that matter,”

  “It’s fashionable,” said Beth in her best society accent. “All the right people live in the town, don’t you know?”

  “Gie me all the wrong people then, and air that smells of green things instead of shit…look,” he said suddenly, pointing to the sky, high above the castle walls. “An eagle. Can ye see him?”

  She peered up into the cloudy sky. A couple of birds were flying by, specks in the distance, but much too small to be eagles, surely?

  “No,” she said. “Where is it?”

  He bent his knees to bring himself down to her eye level, putting his cheek close to hers, and slung his arm round her neck in friendly fashion, his finger pointing diagonally upwards in front of her face. His hair brushed softly against her cheek.

  “Follow my finger,” he said. “There.”

  Now she had located it she couldn’t understand why she hadn’t seen it straight away. It was huge, or would have been, were it closer. Even at a distance it was impres
sive, soaring majestically above the castle, riding the thermals.

  “Ohh!” she breathed, enraptured. “It’s beautiful!”

  “What a cosy picture of illicit romance! I am quite overcome!” came the comment from directly behind them.

  Duncan straightened his knees and turned to face the man who was addressing them. There were several groups of people nearby, but no one else within earshot; yet the well-dressed young man with the mocking brown eyes standing in front of them was a stranger to him. Duncan kept his arm around Beth, moving it down to her shoulder, having no intention of removing it as if guilty and reinforcing the man’s erroneous suspicions.

  “Hello Daniel,” said Beth coldly, having taken only a second or two to recover from the shock of seeing him in Edinburgh, of all places. “I see you have finally been released from the Fleet. Congratulations.”

  “Lord Barrington,” he corrected, smiling. “No, I was never incarcerated. I have been away from London for a time, travelling. As have you, it seems.”

  “Ah,” said Beth. “I trust your father paid your gambling debts then, once you realised you were not going to get your hands on my dowry?”

  His smile faded. He turned his attention to Duncan, running his eyes insolently over him, from the leather-shod feet, up the powerful legs clad in checked hose, to the pleated kilt, the beautifully tooled swordbelt, the fine linen shirt and silver brooch holding the plaid in place at his shoulder. When he reached Duncan’s cool grey eyes, his mouth tightened.

  “It is customary to bow when you meet a gentleman, sir,” he said tersely.

  “Aye,” said Duncan pleasantly. “It is.”