Tides of Fortune (Jacobite Chronicles Book 6)

by Julia Brannan

  “Ye did well, Kenneth,” he said. “Let me take him now.”

  Kenneth carefully relinquished his grip on Angus and transferred him to his brother’s arms.

  “It’s alright,” Alex said softly to Angus, who was hiccupping between sobs. “I’ve asked too much of you. I’m sorry, mo bhràthair.”

  Kenneth stood and made his way back up the hill to Dougal, Alasdair and Graeme.

  “Come on,” he said. “Let’s away up to the cave.” They walked back up to the rest of the clan. Someone had sent for Morag, who had been tending Graeme’s new vegetable patch on the far side of the hill, and Kenneth intercepted her as she made her way down towards them.

  “He’s fine, a graidh,” he said, wrapping one huge arm gently round her shoulders and leading her back up the hill. “They’ve had a wee stramash is all, and need a few minutes alone. It’s no’ as bad as it looks.”

  In spite of Kenneth’s assurance to Morag, when the two brothers rejoined the clan some time later it did look pretty bad, even to the hardened warriors. Both of them were shirtless at the moment and had been down to the loch to wash the worst of the blood away, so their hair and kilts were dripping wet.

  Alex was limping, Angus cradled his left arm in his right, and both men’s torsos were covered in rapidly blackening bruises. But it was their faces that seemed to have taken the brunt of the action. Angus’s nose was clearly broken, his mouth was split and puffy, and he had a nasty cut above his right eye which was still bleeding, the flesh around it swollen and purple. He sat down heavily on a rock outside the cave, and winced slightly when Morag sat down next to him and put her arm round his waist, her face drawn with worry.

  “I’ll be fine, mo chridhe,” he assured her. “I wrenched my arm is all, and need someone to pull my nose back into place. After a wee dram,” he added hastily on seeing Kenneth start to rise.

  Alex sat down opposite Angus on the grass, and gingerly massaged his leg.

  “Ye’ve no’ broken it again, have ye?” Peigi asked.

  “No. I just twisted it is all,” Alex replied. “What?” he asked as he looked round at the sea of horrified faces staring at him.

  “Have you seen the state of your face?” Graeme said.

  “No, of course I havena,” Alex answered. “I havena got a mirror. Hurts like the devil, though. I think it was when yon gomerel there tried to mash my cheek into the gorse.” He gingerly put his hand up to the left side of his face and it came away bloody.

  “I’m sorry, Alex,” Angus said indistinctly. Alex waved his hand dismissively.

  “We’ve done the apologies, man, no need for more,” he said. “We both lost our way a wee bit, I’m thinking.”

  “It looks like a piece of raw steak,” Graeme elaborated.

  It did. The whole side of his face, from temple to jaw, was raw and bloody.

  “Your own mother wouldna recognise ye,” Janet added.

  “Truly?” Alex said. “Have any of ye got a wee bit of a mirror?”

  “I have,” Morag said. “Shall I fetch it?” She got up and disappeared into the cave, returning a minute later with a small piece of silvered glass. Alex took it and held it up to his face, then to everyone’s astonishment, he smiled.

  “Aye,” he said to himself. “That’ll do it.”

  “That’ll do what?” Kenneth asked.

  Instead of answering, Alex handed the mirror back to Morag and then looked around.

  “Call the others,” he said. “I need to talk to you all. And get the whisky for Angus. The sooner his nose is put back, the better.”

  Once everyone was assembled, the whisky had gone round, and Angus’s nose was straight again, Alex started talking.

  “First of all, Angus was right to stop me from just walking away like that. I wasna thinking properly, thanks to that bastard.” He nodded his head towards the small cave where Richard’s corpse still lay. “Kenneth, Dougal, Alasdair, thanks to ye for doing what Duncan would have done, had he lived. That took courage, for we were both of us a wee bit insane, I’m thinking. I can tell ye, I’ve never missed Duncan as much as I do right now. We both need to grieve for him something fierce, and I think we’ve made a start on that today. We were wrong to just hide it away and no’ speak of him, to each other or anyone else. It’s harmed us and done Duncan an injustice, for he deserves to be remembered.

  “Having said that, I still made a promise to Beth, and I intend to keep it.” He held his hand up as Angus and several others started to speak, and they fell silent.

  “I’m going to tell ye what Richard tellt me, and then ye’ll at least ken why I have to go to London and find out for myself if he spoke the truth or no’. He said that Beth stabbed a soldier in the throat and was shot in the head, here.” He lifted his hand to his temple. “As Angus said, it could be that she is dead, and that someone tellt him, although I dinna ken how, for she’s unlikely to have tellt anyone her name before she was shot. But it is possible he found out. He was her brother, although there was a time when he forgot that, which is why I killed him in the way I did.”

  “I thought ye did that because of the woman in the wee hut,” Kenneth put in.

  “Aye, well, that as well. But I’ll no’ talk of that now. He said that she didna die, and Cumberland sent her to London, had her treated in the hope that she’d betray me. But she didna. So Newcastle sent her to Newgate Gaol, and let Richard torture her…” His voice trailed off, and he closed his eyes, swallowing hard to try to keep the emotion down.

  “He said that she was with child, that Newcastle knew it, but still let Richard torture her, and that she lost the bairn because of it. He boasted about it, said that he got to make her pay for everything and that Newcastle hates her, which I’ve no doubt he does if she hasna tellt him anything.” He swiped his hand through his hair, wincing as he touched a bump inflicted by his brother earlier. “I have to find out the truth of it. I canna rest till I do.”

  There was a shocked silence for a few moments, which Angus broke.

  “Do ye no’ think he made it up in the hopes that ye’d do exactly what ye’re intending?” he asked. “Ye’d been married for three years. What was the likelihood of you getting her wi’ child just before she was shot? Graeme, you said ye’d known Richard since he was a bairn. Is it the sort of thing he’d do?”

  “It’s possible,” Graeme said. “Although he was never a good liar as a child. But he knew he was dying, and this could be his way of trying to get you to betray yourself. After all, the authorities have no idea what you look like, but if you turn up at Newgate, or any prison in London for that matter, asking about Beth, you’re sure to be arrested.”

  “Aye, that’s right!” Angus said. “Ye canna go, Alex. It’s madness.”

  “I would,” Iain said suddenly, causing everyone to look at him. He was sitting on the ground, his long legs bent, his chin resting on his knees, but now he looked up, his eyes moist with unshed tears. “If I thought there was even the slightest chance that Maggie was alive, I’d do anything, anything at all to find out and get her back if I could, whatever the risk. I ken well she’s dead, Angus, for ye buried her yourself. But ye didna find Beth’s body, did ye?”

  “No,” Angus admitted. “But that was because the redcoat bastards burnt all the women in the bothy. I couldna recognise anyone.”

  “What exactly did Maggie say about Beth?” Alex asked.

  “I tellt ye already,” Angus said. “She was shot and killed.”

  “Is that exactly what she said?” Alex persisted. “Think, Angus. Take a minute and see if ye can mind exactly what she tellt ye.”

  Angus sighed, but he closed his eyes and concentrated, recalling the horrific day that he’d spent over a year trying to push from his mind.

  “She said that she was holding someone’s bairn, trying to stop it from crying, and the sergeant killed it then stabbed her with his bayonet. Beth threw her knife and took him in the throat, then ran. She said that while they were going after Beth she m
anaged to crawl away, which is why they didna burn her wi’ the others. ‘They shot her in the head. She’s dead.’ That’s what she said. Then she said she passed out for a time, and when she woke the soldiers were raping the women.” He shuddered and ran his hand through his hair, exactly as Alex had done earlier.

  “But she didna say she’d seen them bury her, or put her body in the bothy. She didna say anything about that, did she?” Alex said.

  “No. But she tellt me that Beth was dead, and—”

  “So it’s possible that she was shot, but didna die, and that Cumberland had her taken to London,” Alex interrupted.

  “How would Cumberland even ken about it?” Angus argued. “He was too busy watching his men butcher our wounded to go looking at every woman to see if it was Beth! He didna even ken she was there, for Christ’s sake!”

  “He’s right,” Kenneth said. “Cumberland wouldna have expected Sir Anthony to be fighting at Culloden – he’d more likely have thought ye both to have escaped to France.”

  “Even so,” Iain persisted. “If there was a doubt about it, about Maggie I mean, I’d have to go and find out for myself.”

  “Iain, will ye haud yer whisht?” Angus said, exasperated. “Ye’re no’ helping.”

  Alex sat deliberating for a few minutes, looking down at his hands, while the clan awaited his decision. Finally he looked up, and to everyone’s surprise, he was smiling.

  “The last time we had a fight like this one, ye were fashed because ye thought I should have gone to Manchester to bring Beth back,” he said to Angus. “And this time it’s because ye think I shouldna go to London to bring Beth back. Do ye no’ find that a wee bit amusing?”

  “No, I dinna,” Angus replied. “Because Beth was alive then, and she loved ye. Ye just needed to talk it through, sort out what was between ye. But this time—”

  “We dinna ken if she’s alive,” Alex interrupted. “But if she is, I need to find out. I’m sorry, mo bhràthair, but I have to do this. I made her a promise. But now I’ll make you a promise, all of you,” he added, looking round at his clanspeople. “I’ll think it through, and I’ll be very careful about it. I’ll no’ take unnecessary risks, and I’ll no’ do anything in temper. And if I’m delayed for any reason, I’ll write to the post in Glasgow, to James Drummond, and tell ye, in a way ye’ll ken, but no one else would.”

  “And if ye find she’s dead, ye’ll come back?” Angus said.

  “Aye. I’ll come back, either with or without her. Dinna fash yourself. I’ll no’ kill myself if I find that Richard was lying. I’m past that now.”

  “Ye swear it?” Angus persisted. Normally at this point Alex would have become irritated; his promise should have been enough. But when he looked at his brother, Alex’s eyes were gentle, understanding.

  “I swear to ye, I’ll no’ take unnecessary risks, and I’ll no’ kill myself, whatever I find out,” he said softly.

  Angus nodded.

  “It’s no’ what I’m wanting, but it’ll have to do,” he said. “When will you be leaving?”

  “No’ the night, anyway,” Alex replied. “It’s too late now, and the afternoon’s entertainment has left me a wee bit tired. And sore,” he added. “I’ll wait a couple of days, think it through a wee bit. So let’s get drunk. I think we all need to. I certainly do. We can take that lump of shite back where we found him tomorrow. He’s no’ going anywhere.”

  That was the first thing he’d said all afternoon that the whole clan was in accord with.

  Two days later the MacGregors gathered once more, to say farewell to their chieftain, who was now dressed legally in the brown woollen frockcoat and breeches that he’d worn the previous summer as Tobias Grundy, but this time instead of a badly fitting wig he wore his own hair, tied back, and the sword at his side showed no signs of rust. He intended to travel down to Glasgow on a garron, the small but sturdy Highland pony, then exchange it for a different mount once there. He had packed a small bag with spare clothes, and for some reason known only to him, the two crutches that Angus had manufactured for him were strapped to the horse.

  As he was making his final preparations Graeme approached, leading a garron of his own which was similarly packed ready for a journey.

  “I’m ready when you are, lad,” he said once he reached Alex.

  “Ready for what?” Alex asked.

  “I’m coming with you. I thought I could maybe protect you from all those savage Highlanders people talk about. I hear there’s a fearsome band of barbarians hereabouts called the children of the mist or some such nonsense. You won’t be wanting to travel alone.”

  Everyone laughed except Alex.

  “Graeme,” he said, “ye canna come with me. I need to do this alone.”

  “I know. It’s my face, isn’t it?” Graeme responded. “I’m not pretty enough for you. Mind, you’re no picture yourself at the moment.” Alex’s cheek had started to heal, but was still a mass of scabs. “Don’t worry,” he continued, “I’ve no intention of going to London. But it’s time I went home to Manchester. I’m too old to be skulking round in the rain all day and sleeping on a hard floor at the end of it. I want to go back and see what a mess my garden’s become while I’ve been away, sort it out, and then rest in a warm bed at night. I’ve been teaching young Morag my secrets, and she’s got a natural talent for growing things, so you’ll not go short of vegetables without me.”

  “Just to Manchester,” Alex said.

  Graeme nodded. “Not a step further.”

  They set off together, riding in silence for a while, both of them caught up in their own thoughts.

  “Are ye sorry ye fought for him?” Alex said after a time.

  “For Charlie? No,” Graeme said. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. I was in the ’15, before you were born and fought at Preston, but of course King James wasn’t there, and by the time he arrived it was all but over. This was a different thing altogether, the best chance the Stuarts have had to take the crown back. If we hadn’t turned back at Derby, maybe we’d have succeeded.”

  “Aye, maybe,” Alex said. “It would have depended on the Londoners, I’m thinking. And on how Charles conducted himself. And on whether Georgie would have abandoned the throne or fought for it. But I agree, we should have carried on. I doubt we’ll get another chance as good as that one.”

  “Will you rise again for him, if it comes to it?” Graeme asked. “With all that’s happened since?”

  “God, aye, in a heartbeat,” Alex said without hesitation. “But I’m no’ sure how many others would. It depends on whether Cumberland’s cowed them or enraged them. The MacGregors have got nothing to lose anyway, ye ken, being proscribed. We’re outlaws no matter what. Our only chance to lift the proscription is wi’ the Stuarts. But to have a chance of succeeding we need French help, and that wily bastard’ll no’ be giving it, I’m thinking.”

  “You mean King Louis,” Graeme said.

  “Aye. And it depends on Charles too, on how he’s behaving in France. It’s an annoyance to me that there’s no’ enough news getting through to me. I think when I get back I must pay Cluny a visit, see what he kens.”

  “Well, if there’s another rising before I’m too old to lift a sword at all, I’d like to join you again, if you’ll have me.”

  “You’re an honorary MacGregor as far as I’m concerned, for what it’s worth. Ye’re welcome back any time, rising or no, man,” Alex said.

  “That’s worth a lot to me,” Graeme responded quietly. There was another short silence.

  “Sometimes I forget you were Beth’s gardener,” Alex said. “I think of you more as a father-in-law.”

  Graeme smiled.

  “Thank you, lad. I’d be proud to have you as my son-in-law. And yes, Beth was like the daughter I never had. I loved her.”

  “What was he like?” Alex asked.

  “Her father? He was a good man, kind and generous, but weak. He hated conflict of any kind. I think that’s why he le
t Arabella spoil Richard. It was easier to let her have her own way than to deal with her tantrums and sulks. And then after she died Henry didn’t know what to do with him, so he either ignored him or, when the boy did something too bad to be ignored, he whipped him.”

  “Do you pity him?” Alex asked softly.

  “Richard? God, no. He was an evil bastard and deserved what he got. No. He always had a cruel streak in him, from being a small boy. But I don’t think it helped that his mother indulged him in everything and could see no wrong in him. He was never punished for anything. Richard was six when his mother died, and he took it very badly. Henry should have taken him in hand then, because he was lost and wild with grief. I think he would always have enjoyed hurting others, but he might have learnt to keep it in check with the right guidance. As it was he was desperate for attention, and the only time he got it after that was if he did something wrong.

  “And then of course Ann came onto the scene, and he saw that as a betrayal of his mother, I think. Ann tried to befriend Richard, but he’d have nothing to do with her. Then Beth was born, and both Henry and Ann doted on her. She was an easy child to love.” Graeme smiled sadly. “Anyway, needless to say Richard hated her from the moment she was born, and he became completely unmanageable. I think it was a relief to his father when he ran away, but going into the army was the worst thing he could have done in my opinion. It encouraged the brute in him. No, maybe I pitied him for a while when he was very small, just after Arabella died, but a lot of children are neglected. They don’t all grow up to be like him. He made his own choices.”

  This was the most Alex had ever heard the normally taciturn Graeme say at one time.

  “Beth and I have never spoken much about Richard,” he said quietly. “I ken well she hates him, but when I found out why…” his voice trailed off.

  “At Manchester,” Graeme said.

  “Aye, at Manchester. After that, after we made up what was between us, I tellt her I’d kill him the next time I saw him, and then we didna talk about him again.”