The Gathering Storm (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 3)

by Julia Brannan

  Arrogant, somewhat narrow-minded and a strict disciplinarian the Duke of Cumberland was; he was also intolerant of rebellion or disobedience in any form. But he was not an uncaring man by any means, and he believed himself at that moment to be in love with Beth. She had defeated him, although he did not realise it then, seeing only that he had distressed the object of his affections, which was the last thing he had intended to do. He took her hand again, tenderly, and this time she did not attempt to withdraw it.

  “Please, I had no wish to upset you,” he said, fighting to recover his poise. “Of course I understand your position. Your sense of duty and regard for your good name are truly commendable. I should have expected nothing less from such a woman as yourself. I am sorry. We will say no more about it.”

  They walked towards the house in silence, the beauty of the Christmas roses forgotten. He would not beg her to become his mistress, that was clear, but she was still unsure as to whether he was offended or not.

  “May we at least remain friends, Your Highness?” she said anxiously as they approached the door.

  He looked down at her, the misery in his pale blue eyes quickly veiled.

  “Of course,” he said politely. “I would not have it any other way.”

  He was struggling to master himself, she realised, and as she watched him walk away to change out of his outdoor clothes, she felt a pang of sympathy and of guilt for having deceived him. It was not her fault that she was beautiful, she told herself determinedly as she returned to the salon. If she could switch off whatever it was that was so appealing to men she would, willingly. She had not encouraged him in any way. He had insulted the Highlanders, her people. He had insulted her, by proposing that she become, effectively, his whore. He was horrible, and fat, and pompous, and a usurper.

  By the time she reached the salon, she had managed to revive all her feelings of revulsion for the Elector’s son, and she entered the room flushed with emotion, her eyes sparkling with indignation, looking so lovely that even the king, looking up from his place on the sofa, smiled in appreciation.

  Sir Anthony did not. He looked at the flower in her hair, which she had completely forgotten about, and then at her rosy face.

  “You have been a very long time, my dear Elizabeth,” he said. “I was starting to worry. Did you lose your way?” His voice was casual, perhaps slightly concerned. His eyes were cold. She shivered involuntarily and reached up to pluck the flower from her hair.

  “Er, no,” she said. “I met Prince William, who offered to show me the gardens.”

  “Ach, so!” said the king. “Wilhelm interessiert sich sehr für gartenarbeit!”

  “I’m sure he does,” said Sir Anthony, without translating. “And did you enjoy what he showed you?”

  She could hardly say no in front of the king, and she didn’t want to say yes, as his question clearly had a dual meaning, and it was obvious that Alex was singularly unimpressed that she had spent the last half hour strolling round the gardens with the man he had expressly told her to avoid being alone with at all costs.

  “It was very interesting,” she said, her eyes sending a silent plea for understanding. She fiddled nervously with the flower, and he moved towards her, taking it from her hand and replacing it in her hair.

  “The duke has excellent taste,” he said, smiling only with his mouth. “But you’re shivering. You are hardly dressed for the outdoors, my dear.”

  She opened her mouth to say that the duke had lent her his coat, then closed it again. Better she explain later.

  “Yes,” she said, feeling suddenly annoyed. What right had he to behave so coldly towards her? She had just succeeded against all the odds in fending off the prince without incurring his displeasure, while Alex had been merrily quaffing wine and discussing military tactics. “I do feel somewhat cold, suddenly.” Their eyes clashed, and then he turned away, towards the king.

  “If Your Majesty would be so gracious as to allow us to leave?” Sir Anthony said, bowing deeply. “Pleasant as I am sure the gardens are, the season is somewhat inclement, and I would be distressed beyond measure if my dear wife were to catch a chill. I think it better if we return home as quickly as possible, with your permission, Sire?”

  “Ja, naturlich,” said the king. “Of course. I cannot imagine what William was thinking of, my lady, to ask you to walk outdoors in such weather. I trust you will take no harm from it.”

  “I am sure I will not, Your Majesty,” said Beth pleasantly. “My husband is too protective of me at times. I am not as weak and feeble as he seems to think.”

  Sir Anthony placed her cloak on her shoulders, folding it around her in a gesture that was tender, and then took her hand in a gesture that was not.

  The moment they were out of the room, she freed her hand from his and they walked to the coach in frozen silence, which they maintained until they reached home and there was no danger of them being overheard.

  “I tellt ye, I ordered ye, not to let him get you alone,” Alex said hotly, the moment the front door was closed.

  She rounded on him so quickly that he took an involuntary step backwards.

  “Yes, you did,” she said. “And I tried. I had no idea he’d even come home until he was standing behind me. And before you say that I should have pointed out how cold it was, I did, and he put his coat round me and then led me out before I could stop him.”

  “Ye should have refused to go out wi’ him, like I said, Beth,” he fumed, pulling off his wig. “And what the hell were ye doing, letting him put flowers in your hair? I tellt ye…”

  “I know what you told me!” she shouted, tearing the rose from her hair and throwing it at him. “You told me to scream and hit him, but if I’d done that I’d have looked ridiculous, and you’d never have been invited back to the palace again. You weren’t there, so you don’t know a damned thing about how it was!”

  “I know you looked bloody guilty when ye came back,” he roared. “What else did ye let him do so that I could be invited back to the palace?”

  “Nothing!” she cried. “I wasn’t guilty, I was angry! Clearly you think as little of me as Cumberland does, if you assume I’d let him seduce me in the bushes!”

  He had the grace to look shamefaced at this.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldna have said that, but I canna stand the thought of ye letting him even touch you. I ken ye wouldna have let him go too far, even if it did mean risking our position at Court.”

  “No, you’re wrong,” she said, her eyes blazing. “I can’t stand him. I wouldn’t, I didn’t, let him go anywhere at all. He put a flower in my hair and held my hand, briefly. That’s all. The man thinks he’s in love with me. What I did manage to do was to reject him in such a clever way, though I say so myself, that he’s upset but not offended, and your position at Court is unaffected. It wasn’t easy but I did it, and you should be congratulating me, not prancing about in a jealous rage!”

  “I am not prancing about in a jealous rage!” he said indignantly.

  “Yes you are,” she replied. “You have no more right to be jealous of what I’ve done with Cumberland than I had to be jealous of you and Anne Maynard!”

  “Anne Maynard?” he said incredulously. “That’s a different matter entirely. I felt sorry for the lassie, that was all. There was never anything between us, as you well know!”

  “Not on your side there wasn’t,” retorted Beth. “Any more than I have any feeling for Cumberland. But she was besotted with you, just as Cumberland is with me. The only difference was that she didn’t have the courage to show it, and he did. And I wasn’t stupid enough to be jealous, and you are!”

  He looked at her for a moment, speechless.

  “I’ve told you before, Alex,” she said, in a normal voice this time. “I’m beautiful. Men are attracted to me. I can’t help that. You’re handsome. Even as Sir Anthony, women are attracted to you. You can’t help that, either. But we can both help being jealous. It’s ridiculous, when we’
re supposed to trust each other.”

  “Were you jealous of Anne, then?” he asked, his anger dissipating as quickly as it had flared. He moved closer, the corners of his mouth lifting in the beginnings of a smile.

  “No,” she said. “Of course not.” She pushed firmly to the back of her mind the desire she had once had to punch Anne, before she had realised the woman deserved sympathy, not anger.

  “Really?” he said, reaching out and pulling her to him. “Not even a wee bit?”

  “No,” she said. “Not even a wee bit.”

  “You’re lying,” he said confidently, bending to kiss her. “I can tell.”

  “How could you tell I was lying?” she asked some considerable time later, after they had both washed off the rouge and white paint they had become liberally smeared with, had raided the pantry, and repaired to bed for an extremely early night.

  “If I tell ye that, ye’ll be as wise as me,” he said, straightening the bedclothes, which had become somewhat disarranged following the recent activity. “Congratulations, by the way.”

  “What for?”

  “For appeasing Cumberland without giving anything in return. That was quite a feat. What would ye have done if he had proposed marriage?”

  “Hung myself,” she said. “I think it might be better if I don’t go to the palace with you for a while, though. If we meet anywhere else and he comments on it, I can always say that I was too distressed to meet him, or something like that.”

  “And it saves you the tedium of listening to the Elector spout on about war for hours on end,” Alex said.

  “Yes it does, doesn’t it?” said Beth with a grin. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “You’re lying again,” he remarked.

  “No, I’m not!” she protested. She wasn’t, and he knew it, although she still didn’t know how.

  “Interesting what he let slip, though,” mused Alex. “Are ye sure he didna mean you to know?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Because not a minute before he inadvertently revealed he was going to have command of the forces in Flanders, he told me that he was only hoping to play a part. Is it important?”

  “Who gets command of the army? Of course it is.”

  “Do you think it’ll be a good thing or not?”

  “For us? I’m no’ sure, but I can think of a lot of people I’d sooner have in command than Cumberland.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Because what he tellt ye is right. The British Army is one of the best in the world. But it’s often undisciplined, and badly trained. If Cumberland succeeds in bringing them into line, it’ll make them harder to beat. Especially for the clans, who’ll never be disciplined. But there are some points in our favour, too.”

  “Such as?”

  “Cumberland’s young and inexperienced. He showed bravery at Dettingen, and he’s got the authority of royalty, but he’ll have to tread carefully if he’s no’ to ruffle the feathers of the old men he’ll be superior to. Hell, I dinna ken if he’ll be a good commander or no’. I’ve got other things on my mind right now.”

  “Like what?” Beth said, leaning precariously out of bed to reach for the wine and inadvertently displaying her bare back and one firm white buttock.

  “Like this,” he said, making a lunge for the exposed part, causing her to shriek and miss her grab for the wine, almost tumbling out of bed altogether. He caught her neatly round the waist and gathered her back under the sheets.

  “Don’t you need to replenish your strength, after the last time?” she said, giggling.

  “Christ, woman, d’ye take me for a man in his dotage?” he said indignantly, pinioning her to the mattress beneath him and demonstrating comprehensively that he was well and truly replenished. “That was a full half hour ago. I havena even warmed up yet.”

  Things had started to become extremely warm, to say the least, when there was a knock at the door, and before Alex or Beth could tell whoever it was to go away in no uncertain terms, the door opened and Iain walked in.

  They both looked at him, stilled by his expression. He had barely noticed what they were doing and how comprehensively he was intruding, and his face was white and drawn.

  “It’s Maggie,” he said, before they could ask. “She’s started her pains.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “It’s too soon,” said Maggie despairingly when Beth appeared in the bedroom dressed only in her shift, closely followed by Iain. Maggie, to Beth’s surprise, was pacing up and down the room, consciously making an effort to breathe slowly and steadily, small beads of sweat breaking out on her forehead. Beth had expected her to be lying down in bed, clutching the bedpost and screaming in agony.

  I have no idea what to expect, really, she thought, panicking, realising that her expectations of what she would find in the room were based solely on Caroline’s amusing retrospective account of Freddie’s birth, which she said had mainly consisted of her screaming her head off, threatening to kill Edwin if he ever came within ten yards of her again, and uttering language that would have made a soldier blush. After which a small, slimy squirming creature had been placed carefully in her arms by the midwife, and her heart had immediately melted.

  The midwife.

  “Get the midwife,” Beth said to Iain, who was hovering uncertainly in the doorway of his own bedroom, which had suddenly become alien territory to him. He nodded once, cast a worried glance at his wife and shot off, grateful to have a reason to leave. Beth, who wanted nothing more than to follow him, instead moved a few steps into the room, just as Maggie halted in her pacing and clutched her stomach, her face contorting as the spasm passed over her.

  “Shouldn’t you be in bed?” said Beth.

  “It’s wet,” explained Maggie when the pain had receded. “My waters broke. I thought I’d wet myself at first. And it’s better if ye move about while ye can.” She looked at the other woman, her green eyes dark with anguish, “It’s too soon, Beth. I canna have it now, it’s too soon. It’s no’ due for another ten weeks or so.”

  Beth, completely at a loss for what to say to comfort her friend, instead turned to practicalities.

  “I’ll change the bed,” she said briskly, pulling the wet bedclothes off the mattress and piling them in a corner. She patted the mattress, which was also wet. “There are clean sheets in our room,” she said. “Will you be all right alone for a minute while I fetch them?”

  Maggie attempted a smile, which turned into a grimace.

  “Aye,” she said. “The pains are no’ close together yet. But they’re getting stronger. Dinna be too long.”

  When Beth arrived back in her bedroom she found it full of male MacGregors. Duncan was already dressed, and was buttoning his waistcoat. Alex was sitting at the dressing table in his shirtsleeves, spreading white paint over his face, and Angus, dressed only in black woollen breeches, was rummaging in the wardrobe. Of Iain there was no sign.

  “Has Iain gone for the midwife?” Beth asked.

  “No,” said Duncan. “He’s gone to make some tea.”

  “Tea!” cried Beth. “To hell with tea! We need the midwife, now!”

  Alex paused in his cosmetic endeavours, recognising the fear in his wife’s voice.

  “He has to stay here Beth, in case he’s needed,” he said, with a calmness of tone that made her want to hit him, even though she knew he was adopting it for her benefit. “And the midwife’d no’ come out at this time of night for a servant. Iain’s too upset to express himself properly. Likely he’d threaten to cut her throat if she refused, and land himself in jail.” He went back to his preparations, smearing two spots of rouge on his cheeks, before standing and donning a lilac brocade waistcoat that Angus handed to him. He smiled at her reassuringly.

  “I’ll cut her throat myself if she refuses to come out,” said Beth grimly.

  Alex crammed his wig on his head, stuffing his feet into his shoes at the same time.

  “There’ll be no need for that, my dear,” he
said in a crisp English accent. “Who could refuse Sir Anthony Peters, when he smiles so winningly?” He gave a grotesque grin that ordinarily would have made Beth laugh. “And if that doesn’t work,” he finished, buckling on his sword, “my bottomless purse should.”

  He moved past her towards the door, followed by Duncan. Beth grabbed at his sleeve.

  “For God’s sake hurry, Alex,” she said desperately. “I need you. I don’t know what to do. You know a lot more about childbirth than I do.”

  He looked down at her, not without sympathy, and shook his head.

  “No, Beth,” he said gently. “I know a lot more about children than you do. About childbirth I know as much, if not less than you.” He squeezed her shoulder. “You’ll be fine,” he said. “Just follow your instincts.”

  And then he was gone and Beth was left with Angus, who smiled helplessly at her. She remembered why she had come to the room and turned to the wooden chest, dragging two sheets out, and wondering how it was possible for Alex to know less than her about childbirth, when she knew nothing, nothing at all.

  “I’ll away off and help Iain wi’ the tea then, shall I?” said Angus hopefully, preparing to flee.

  Beth gritted her teeth in anger. It was ridiculous. All these grown men, who would cheerfully face ten attackers armed only with their fists, were reduced to jelly at the thought of the imminent arrival of a tiny baby. Why should it be assumed that she knew better than them what to do just because she was a woman? At that moment she would happily have faced ten men herself rather than cope with what was to come.