On the other side of the mountains, the fields and cotts of Invercauld she had left behind were near empty. All those fit to walk were determined to see her wed. The slow had set off days before, on foot or in carts. The warriors and those who could match the horses for pace marched behind the mounted party. At the bridge of Carr, where they’d broken the journey for the night, the people celebrated with a wild generosity they could ill afford. Even her stepmother, riding next to Elizabeth in the party behind, had finally thawed. She would have a more amenable household to run with Anne gone. It seemed every person in the Highlands wanted this wedding. All, but one.
As Anne hesitated at the ford, her cousin, Francis of Monaltrie, pulled up beside her. He would guess why she halted. Lord George Murray reined in at her other side. Her deceased mother’s cousin and the Murrays’ most notable warrior, he was there as custom demanded, to ensure Anne was doing as she wished and not bending to the will of others. Women did as they pleased in tribal society, and their menfolk made sure of it.
‘Is it this far and no further, Anne?’ he asked.
Behind them, her brother, James, the box with her wedding tocher strapped on his horse, had stopped the advance. Across the water, the stewards waited, the sun glinting on the one rider’s red hair.
‘It’s MacGillivray,’ she said.
She hadn’t seen him since the day Aeneas proposed. But she should have expected this. It was Alexander’s right, and his duty, to be at the right hand of Clan Chattan’s chief. That duty included protecting his chief’s bride. Yet surely Aeneas knew by now. Was he taunting or testing them?
‘The choice is still yours,’ George Murray reminded her.
Anne smiled at him. He was twice her age, wise and serious, yet would uphold her decision however temperamental or capricious.
‘I’ve already made it,’ she said, and urged Pibroch forward into the shallow Findhorn waters, through its clear wash to the other side.
After the greetings were made, the McIntosh escort fell in at the side of the bridal party. It was unnecessary security. Their clan, whose lands they were now on, knew they were no raiding party. The cotts were empty, the people already at the house. Taking up his position at the front, the piper pumped his bagpipes and, with music skirling, set off to lead the way. MacGillivray swung his horse round behind the pipes. Careless of protocol, Anne spurred forward to ride at his side.
‘I will arrive beside you,’ she said. Surely he was still her friend and ally?
MacGillivray glanced at her, a look just long enough for her to see pain in his normally untroubled eyes.
‘Does he not know?’ she asked.
‘He hasn’t said. And what would I say when I don’t understand?’
Anne didn’t answer. He was, and always would be, dear as the world to her. The silence between them filled with the thud of walking hooves and the chatter from behind. Then MacGillivray said what was in his mind.
‘We belong together, you and I.’
‘This is my wedding day, Alexander.’
‘That day by the falls.’
‘I was nineteen,’ she protested. The whole world changed in a year.
‘You were in too deep. Skirts gathered round your middle, the water round your thighs. Trying to coax a fish.’
‘He was mine. One flick of the wrist.’
‘You knew I was there, watching. I saw your spine stiffen, your head lift. That’s when I knew you would come to me.’
Anne wouldn’t deny the desire that immobilized her.
‘It seemed like hours, those minutes. I felt the length of that fish slip round my leg and slide away.’
Now he looked over at her again. His blue eyes burned with certainty.
‘You want me still.’
She met his look with her own certainty.
‘Yes, I do.’ Then she laughed, letting the tension out of her. ‘And if Aeneas doesn’t please me, I shall come to you again.’
Frustrated, MacGillivray threw his arm wide to indicate his own clan lands at Dunmaglas, out of sight to the west.
‘We’ll have fat cattle by autumn and a harvest.’ The crop swayed green and tall around them. ‘Look how the barley grows.’
‘With an English malt tax on every bushel, we can’t profit by it.’
‘When our larders are full, my clan will want me wed. A few good years.’
‘It’s settled.’ Her tone was firm, but he could not leave it be.
‘You wouldn’t marry for fortune or favour,’ he said. ‘So why?’
It was a question she had not dared ask herself. Aeneas was a stranger, a closed book, yet from the moment she saw him on the steps of Moy at his adoption, she had wanted him and been shocked and angry with that wanting. He haunted her, an affecting presence that she longed for every wakeful moment. Aye, and no doubt in her sleep too. If a night spent tumbling the blankets with him would have cured her, she would have done that. But this went deeper than between her thighs, though she couldn’t understand or explain.
‘We can’t know why we do things,’ she said. ‘I only know I must do this.’
Around Moy Hall, many hundreds of Highlanders had gathered. The white rose of June bloomed at the great front door and under windows, planted there so its perfume would fill the house. There was a buzz of activity. Men and women set food and drink on long tables: a roast pig, venison, game birds, rabbits, fish, oatcakes, barrels of ale. Hearing the distant skirl of pipes, they hurried to finish.
Inside the main hall, with its twin fireplaces on opposite walls and wide, sweeping staircase, an adolescent girl set out fish and meat delicacies beside brimming stoups of claret. From the open doors in the dining room, Aeneas frowned out at the frantic lastminute preparations. Then he, too, heard the faint skirl and his brow cleared. He was dressed in a fine kilted philabeg, woven specially for this day and made by the clan’s best kiltmaker, plaid pinned over his shoulder with a silver brooch. His favourite silver-handled broadsword and dirk gleamed at his sides. Beside him, Forbes of Culloden, Scotland’s elderly Law Lord, sounded off.
‘The burial costs are not met. Fifteen hundred guests and your clan’s mortgage debt for this hall not cleared. Now this! Hens and oats are not currency, Aeneas. The tax bill alone…’
‘We deal in what the land provides,’ Aeneas cut in. ‘These taxes are your government’s invention.’
‘And fine words might well remove them,’ Forbes agreed. ‘But in parliament, not here, and not today.’
The girl had come in from the hall to set a tray on the already crowded table. Aeneas reached out as she passed and snatched up an oyster. The girl, every bit as quick, smacked his hand. Aeneas pointed across the room, indicating her attention was required. When she turned to look, he slid the oyster into his mouth and swallowed. As he slipped the empty shell back on to her tray, the girl realized the trick and glared at him. He grinned and winked.
‘Too slow, Jessie,’ he said, lifting a glass of wine.
‘A wife will soon have you sorted,’ she told him sternly. Then her excitement broke as a wide smile. ‘I’m near gone with it all.’ And she hurried off again.
‘A wife might sort many things,’ Forbes said, as he heard the approaching pipes. ‘I hear she brings a healthy tocher. And in coin not corn.’
Aeneas threw back his head and laughed.
‘I’m neither wedded nor bedded yet, Forbes,’ he said. ‘But I daresay the banks would have you feeling my pockets even if I were a corpse.’
‘Which you could be if I report that weapon you’re wearing,’ Forbes nodded at the sword sheathed at Aeneas’s side. ‘In the current climate it would be judged as sedition.’
Aeneas smiled at him, unperturbed. In Europe, England warred with France. Last month, the British army had been defeated. Now there was talk that a French force led by the Jacobite Prince would soon invade England. Several clans had sworn to rise in support and secure Scotland. Forbes suspected McIntosh might be one of them.
‘M
y clan land is not public,’ Aeneas corrected, giving nothing away. ‘And I’ll not be half-dressed at my wedding.’ He raised his wine glass. ‘Slàinte,’ he said, and downed it.
Lady McIntosh hurried in through the glass doors. This would be the last day she’d regard Moy Hall as her home, but she, too, was eager for this wedding.
‘Aeneas,’ she urged, unnecessarily. ‘They’re here!’
‘We’ll settle our business after I’m married,’ Aeneas told Forbes before following his aunt outside.
‘Not with promises, you won’t,’ Forbes retorted. ‘Not this time.’
But promises were the order of the day. So that all could see, a low platform decked with heather, Jacobite roses and white ribbon had been erected for the ceremony. While her family found their positions fronting the large group of Farquharsons, Anne waited with her cousin beyond the edge of the crowd. Until her brother reached twenty-five, Francis was senior and would be her witness. They walked together on to the platform, to where Aeneas stood waiting, MacGillivray at his right side, before the minister. The three men made an imposing line-up in their different tartan plaids, chiefs’ feathers fluttering, the banned silver-handled weapons glittering at their sides.
Between them, in her billowing white lawn and satin dress, Anne seemed fragile, delicate as a butterfly. It was the first of June, midday. The sun was high overhead. There were no shadows. Into the palpable silence of the crowd, her voice rang clear as she made her vows, the last committing her to his clan.
‘Where you go, I will go. Your home will be my home, and your people will be my people.’
Aeneas was no less certain. He looked into her eyes, steadily, speaking solely to her. They might have been alone rather than surrounded by crowding Highlanders.
‘And where you are, there I will be,’ he said, his voice firm and sure. ‘My sword and clan in your defence, for only death can part us now.’ Then, as they were pronounced married, he cupped his bride’s face with his hands and kissed her.
A great cheer went up from the assembled tribes. The air filled with tossed blue bonnets and whoops of celebration. As the wife of their chief, Anne Farquharson was now the Lady McIntosh, bound to serve the clan and they her, to the death if necessary. She was a popular choice. Aeneas’s aunt, now the Dowager Lady McIntosh, was first to congratulate the new couple.
‘You will stay on here with us, won’t you?’ Anne asked.
‘That’s kind of you, a ghràidh,’ the Dowager replied. ‘But I’m looking forward to town life in Inverness. It will be less work, more pleasure. Moy needs only one mistress. You’ll do well.’
Determined to be next, Francis loomed forwards. Pushing his sword and dirk behind him, he bent down, kissed Anne thoroughly, then wrapped her in a bear-hug.
‘You made a fine choice,’ he approved. ‘And Aeneas made a better one.’
With the rest of their two families clamouring to shake hands, it was some time before Anne could extricate herself to look for MacGillivray. He stood back from the well-wishers, at the edge of the platform, his six-foot frame and startling red hair preventing the invisibility he seemed to wish for. Anne put her hand on his arm.
‘I don’t love you any the less,’ she said. ‘And you know that Aeneas loves you like a brother.’
For a moment she thought he would walk away, an action that would forever put them at odds, but he stayed his ground, loyalty to Aeneas and love for her fighting his feeling of loss. He drew a deep breath.
‘Co-dhiù,’ he said. ‘At least I don’t have to cross mountains to see you now.’
The anxiety vanished from Anne’s expression. A broad smile brightened her face. She laughed, put her arms round his neck, reaching up to kiss him.
‘There’s how fine you are to me,’ she declared.
Behind them, among the folk crushing to congratulate him, Aeneas watched his right-hand chief lift his bride off her feet and swing her joyfully around, his expression contained, unreadable.
SIX
Bagpipes droned, started up. Drinks were poured, the feasting began. Aeneas led Anne up to begin the dancing, his touch causing a shock of arousal, exciting her. He was strong and confident in his movements but light on his feet, and he wanted to be rocking their marriage bed not skipping the reel. She could see that in his eyes, as nakedly as he could read it in hers.
‘So,’ he said, half smiling. ‘You mean to stay, and were not just passing after all.’ He was teasing over her comment at the lakeside that day when Elizabeth fell in.
‘A gentleman wouldn’t remind a lady of her indiscretions,’ she said.
His hand pressed into the small of her back pulling her against him as he bent forwards and put his mouth close to her ear, his breath warm against her neck.
‘Except I am no gentleman, Lady McIntosh,’ he said quietly, ‘as you will surely find out before long.’
A tremor ran through her. How she longed to know his body, to touch his skin and feel his hands on her, and how afraid she felt at the same time. He leant back, looked into her eyes.
‘Besides,’ he said, ‘it was your thrawnness that day made me realize I could marry no one else. A wife should have some fire in her.’
The dance changed at that point, into a progression. Aeneas spun her round and, when he should have let go, held on a second too long so she was late getting to her next partner, aroused, excited and laughing. Forbes took hold of her and, despite his years, skipped them back into step with the dance. The old judge was her stepmother’s uncle but an infrequent visitor to Invercauld.
‘It’s a wise man you have married, Lady McIntosh,’ he said, as they swung round, ‘and a fine idea that you bring your own funds with you. You’ll be putting them to good use, no doubt, keeping your new husband out of jail.’
Anne stopped dancing, the anticipation of bedding her husband draining from her.
‘Jail?’
Aeneas and MacGillivray were immediately beside her. Aeneas grabbed Forbes by his shirtfront as, around them, the dancing halted and the music faltered into silence.
‘Prison, is it?’ Aeneas thundered into the older man’s face. ‘Whoever you send to fetch me would come back to you in a box!’
Dirks were being drawn. Bristling clansmen surrounded them; the short swords classed as working knives were as lethal in their practised hands as any broadsword. Sweat stood out on Forbes’s face. He had misjudged the moment.
‘Prison won’t be necessary,’ he squeaked.
Aeneas released his grip on the judge. Forbes smoothed the creases from his shirt before continuing.
‘Your wife’s money will do instead.’
The intake of breath all around was audible. Murmurs ran through the crowd, passing on the word. Farquharsons pushed through to the front. They hadn’t impoverished themselves to benefit the McIntoshes. MacGillivray glared at Aeneas.
‘So that was it.’
Anne stared at her husband. The tocher was her clan’s gift to ensure she was well provided for in her married life. He had no claim on it.
‘Aeneas, what is going on here?’
‘Nothing I can’t resolve,’ he assured her.
Around them, the Farquharsons grew more voluble. Threats were issued, more dirks drawn.
‘Of course, there is an alternative,’ Forbes said, drawing out a piece of paper from inside his coat. ‘Sign that land over to the bank.’ He presented the paper to Aeneas.
‘Our best farmland?’ Aeneas was stunned. ‘Without it, my clan will starve.’
‘We can always rent it back to you.’ Forbes shrugged.
‘Then it will work for you,’ Anne said, ‘and the clan will still starve.’
‘The court would grant it anyway,’ Forbes said. ‘Or there’s always cash.’
‘Nous verrons,’ Aeneas said. ‘We shall see.’ He jumped back up on to the platform. ‘We have a debt to pay,’ he called to his clan. ‘The bank wants our best land.’ A roar of refusal rose from the crowd. ‘Then would you pay
with Farquharson money?’
‘No!’ his clan bellowed again. All around them, relieved Farquharsons slid their weapons back into belts.
‘But we can pay,’ Aeneas announced, ‘with service in the Black Watch!’
Voices rose in disbelief. The Black Watch was a new regiment raised to prevent a second Jacobite rising in the Highlands. Forbes had lobbied parliament to get it. Now it was used against France. Only clans loyal to King George would think of joining it. People looked at each other in horror. A stocky McIntosh cottar stepped forward.
‘You ask us to fight for this government?’
His wife joined him. ‘We’ll not help the English rob and starve us,’ she shouted.
‘Or kill our allies!’ another shouted.
From the rear, a fourth called out. ‘What kind of chief would ask this?’
The atmosphere became volatile again.
‘It’s true,’ Aeneas agreed with his clan. ‘The Black Watch fights for the English against France. But while they’re gone, companies are needed to police the Highlands. And who better to do that than our Jacobite clans?’
A scrawny old woman with a pitchfork pushed to the front of the crowd.
‘We police ourselves,’ she spat out.
‘Then raise a company,’ Aeneas said, ‘and be paid for doing so.’
The clan was not convinced. It wasn’t forty years since Scotland’s parliament had been bribed into union with England. Resented from the beginning, it had proved an unequal marriage. The clans suffered most, their tribal way of life eroded by new laws and taxes, their customs threatened by the encroaching English culture. Thirty years earlier, they had raised arms, determined to put their own King James back on the throne and set Scotland free. That rising failed, but hope was not destroyed. Now, despite the rumours, it seemed their new chief did not share that hope. Anger and dissent grew among them.
‘You might be a widow here before you’re a wife,’ Forbes whispered to Anne.
She gathered up her skirts and ran up the step to stand beside Aeneas.
‘This government beats us down at every turn,’ she called to the crowd. ‘They tax our crops, our beasts and any money we make in trade. They tax us for making our own ale and stop us shearing our sheep so that English wool-traders can grow fat. Now they would take your land. But if you join the Watch, why, you can take from them for a change! And by doing no more than you already do, keeping the Highland peace!’
White Rose Rebel Page 5