“Why did James no’ stop him, then?” Alex asked, still in shock.
Lochiel leaned forward.
“Alex, it was James who suggested it, James who wrote to Pope Benedict and asked him to put Henry forward as a candidate. When he wrote to Charles to tell him, James expressly said that both he and Henry were determined to make him a cardinal.”
“But why? I can understand if James doesna want the throne himself; he’s getting old, and he hasna the energy or determination to rule Britain now, I’m thinking. But Charles was brought up to take back the throne for the Stuarts, and to rule, and by God, he’d make a far better king than that German bastard sitting in London right now. The Hanoverians have spent the last sixty years justifying themselves by claiming that the Stuarts would make Britain a vassal of Rome, and the Stuarts have spent the same amount of time denying it. And now James has just handed our enemies the victory, because the British will never accept a king whose brother is a cardinal of Rome!”
“Aye, ye’ve the right of it. So ye can imagine how Charles felt when he got the letter, how we all felt.”
Alex stood up, too angry to be still. He wanted to smash something, release some of his rage, but everything in the room looked very expensive, and in any case it wasn’t very good manners to lay waste to your host’s living room. Instead he paced the room, fists clenched. Lochiel watched him sympathetically.
“What the hell did we all fight for?” Alex raged, once he could speak coherently. “My clansmen, my brother, my wife died trying to restore James to the throne and he’s betrayed us all, the traitorous bastard! And you, you’ve lost everything you and your ancestors fought for for hundreds of years. Christ, Donald, are ye no’ beside yourself wi’ rage?”
“I was. I felt exactly as you do now, when I heard. So did we all. The Bishop of Soissons and a lot of the Roman clergy said, in more polite terms, exactly what you’ve just said, and to James himself as well. But it’s done, and we canna undo the damage. I’ve had time to calm down now. I canna bring my men back. And he’s still my king, as Charles is my prince.”
“The cause is lost,” Alex cried. “I thought that I might come here to find that Louis had abandoned the Stuarts, that Charles had done something reckless, but I never would have dreamed that James himself would be the one to stab us in the back. That’s what he’s done, Donald, and he’s no’ stupid. He must ken that himself. What the hell was he thinking?”
“Go and ask him yourself if you want. But I doubt ye’ll get a true answer. He’s sent a number of letters to Charles since then, none of them wi’ an ounce of honesty in them. He seems shocked that so many have objected, no’ just those who fought for him, but the Roman clergy too.”
“I wouldna go to Rome right now, if my life depended on it. I didna come here to commit regicide, which is what I’d be sore tempted to do if I saw James now,” Alex said.
He really was proving his trust in Lochiel, if he was willing to issue such dangerous sentiments in front of him.
“What are ye intending to do?” Lochiel asked.
“I dinna ken at the minute. I’m no’ thinking right. I canna believe it. What’s Charles doing?”
“Right now? He’s staying at Cardinal Rohan’s country estate, at St Ouen. I havena seen him recently, but when I last did he was very depressed and drinking very heavily, more than normal. And he’s taken to hunting in an area no one but King Louis is allowed to hunt in, without the king’s permission.”
Alex sighed. The prince always had been reckless at times when he most needed not to be. It was clear now that he’d inherited that trait from his idiot of a father.
“I’m sorry I had to tell you bad news, Alex, when ye’ve already had a surfeit of it,” Lochiel said.
“It’s no’ your fault. And I needed to ken about it. Better to hear it from you, when I can speak my mind freely, than from someone that I canna trust.”
“Get some sleep,” Lochiel said. “Stay a while, and think it through before ye decide what to do next. We can talk more tomorrow.”
Alex took his friend’s advice, finally staying with Lochiel and his family for a week, during which he tried to come to terms with the fact that any chance of a Stuart restoration, slim as it had been, was now virtually impossible. Lochiel himself was of the view that a Scottish restoration was still a possibility. King Louis had promised to provide help if Charles would consider another landing in Scotland, but the prince had insisted that any future expedition must be to England.
While Alex might have agreed with Lochiel before, thinking that there was some chance, with French help, of breaking the detested Union and restoring James, or more likely Charles to the throne of Scotland alone, now he thought that even that was unlikely to happen. Although he himself was Catholic, most of the Scots, both Jacobite and Hanoverian, were of the Protestant faith, either Episcopalian like Lochiel, or Presbyterian, and they would no more welcome a king with such close connections to Rome than the English would. To all intents and purposes, the cause he had worked for his whole life was dead.
His wife was dead, and his cause was dead. Now he had only two things left to live for. By the end of the week he had made the decision as to what he would do with his future. Firstly he would return to Scotland, see if Angus was making a good job of acting as chieftain, although he had no doubt his brother was fully capable in that regard. He would finish fulfilling his blood oath to Maggie and Beth.
Then he would leave Scotland, adopt a new identity and return to London, where he would obtain an audience with the Duke of Newcastle and kill him for what he had done to Beth. He did not anticipate too much difficulty in accomplishing that task, because he had no need to plan his escape. All he needed to do was to make sure that he was killed rather than taken prisoner afterwards.
But before he did either of those things he would go to visit Prince Charles, partly because he doubted they would ever meet again otherwise, and partly because Lochiel had asked him to.
“Charles thinks very highly of you, and trusts you,” the Cameron chief said. “A lot of the men surrounding him are older, and Kelly is an awfu’ bad influence on him. I’m sure he’s the one behind Charles’ insistence that any new expedition must be to England. Being as ye’re of a similar age, and a master of persuasion, maybe you can succeed where we’ve failed in weaning him away from Kelly.”
“I’m no’ so sure about that, but maybe I can raise his spirits a wee bit at least,” Alex said. He had no idea how he was going to do that when he was feeling so low himself, but he would try. He still owed Charles his allegiance, even if at the moment he felt no loyalty toward his father and brother. And seeing the smile light up Lochiel’s face when he agreed to pay Charles a visit made complying with the suggestion worthwhile.
Charles was not the only one who was depressed. Alex had discovered that in the days he’d spent with Lochiel and his family. The Cameron chief was racked with worry and guilt about the terrible consequences visited on his clansfolk as a result of his decision to come out for the prince, and was dreadfully homesick for his native land.
Hopefully the regiment that Charles had succeeded in persuading King Louis to raise for him would give him a new purpose, and allow him to make a life in this country. Lochiel was Colonel of the new Regiment d’Albanie, the Lieutenant-Colonel being Cluny Macpherson, although as Cluny was still in Scotland and unlikely to come to France in the near future, the position was currently empty.
It was on the last day of Alex’s stay, just as he was about to leave for St Ouen, that Lochiel offered him the vacancy if he wished to stay in France. It was a great honour, and one that Alex turned down with regret.
“Maybe when ye’ve completed your blood vengeance, ye can reconsider,” Lochiel said. “Ye’d be an asset to any regiment, and I’d be proud to have ye. And any of your clan who wish to join me, too.”
Alex had told Lochiel of his intention to fulfil his oath, but not of his plan to kill Newcastle. He would tell no one of th
at.
“You’re one of the most honourable men I’ve ever made the acquaintance of, Donald,” Alex said, “and I’d be proud to serve under ye, if the day comes that I can. I’ll write to tell ye how it goes wi’ Charles, but in the meantime ye must look to the future. The past is gone and we canna change it by wishing it had been different. Ye’ve a wife and family to think of, and a chance to make a good life here.”
Lochiel smiled, but there was a sadness in his eyes as he said farewell to his friend.
“Ye’re right,” he said. “And I would ask ye to take your own advice.”
And maybe, if Alex had had a wife and family to think of, he would have. But for him there was no future. Only vengeance, and then death.
* * *
If Alex had expected Prince Charles to be deep in a black depression when he arrived at St Ouen, he was surprised. The prince seemed to be in a good humour, and was certainly glad to see his old friend.
“Are you here to stay?” he asked, once Alex had been announced and greetings exchanged. “Has Sir Anthony been discovered?”
“No, Your Highness,” Alex replied. “I’m here only for a short time. We had heard nothing from Cluny for a time, so I thought to come and find out what’s happening myself.”
They were sitting in the gardens of the house the prince was currently staying at, the weather being very clement. Charles nodded.
“Have you been to the court or did you come straight here?” he asked, clearly trying to discover if Alex had been apprised of whatever the latest gossip was.
“I havena been to the court, Your Highness, nor in truth do I expect to. I’ve spent a very pleasant week with Lochiel, but apart from that I’ve visited no one.” Alex took a breath then dived in. Might as well take the bull by the horns, as it were. “Lochiel tellt me about your brother becoming a cardinal. I’m shocked, to tell the truth, and sorry for it.”
The prince’s face darkened immediately, revealing that the good humour was, at least in part, a facade.
“You always did tell me the truth, which is why I value you so. I accept as a prince that many people think to dupe me, but I never expected my own father and brother to do it! They have struck a blow to my very heart,” he said passionately, striking his chest with his fist, “and to the heart of our cause. I cannot understand it. I will never understand it! I am finished with my brother – I will never forgive such a betrayal. And I realise now too, that King Louis will never help me to invade England. I am surrounded by traitors.”
“But is it no’ true that King Louis would look favourably on another expedition to Scotland?” Alex asked tentatively. Charles’ face closed down immediately.
Interesting.
“Let us not talk of such weighty affairs right now,” he said. “We have hardly exchanged greetings and we are already embroiled in unhappy topics! You will stay here for a few days,” he said, his tone making it clear he would brook no refusal, “and tonight we will make merry, as we did in those happy days in Rome. Except of course you have no need to spend an hour painting your face!”
It would not do to try to continue with the subject right now. Alex knew from experience how stubborn the prince was. So he agreed to stay for a few days, and Charles made arrangements for them to dine at home before heading out to the local taverns, just the two of them, for this evening at least.
It was a great honour, and as Alex repaired to his room to dress for the evening in the only outfit he had brought with him which was suitable for going out with royalty, he tried to summon up some enthusiasm. What he really wanted to do was vent the anger he still felt at the destruction of all his hopes, which had not been dimmed by the ride north.
He wanted to kill people, anyone who had contributed to his misery; King James, Henry, the Elector, Cumberland, Newcastle, every redcoat who had ever struck a blow for Hanover. He wanted to laugh and dance in their pooled blood, as it was said the redcoats had in Jacobite blood at Culloden. He felt the killing rage rise in him, and closed his eyes tightly.
Stop this, he admonished himself. There will be a time for killing, but it’s no’ now. Now he had to be happy, sociable. You can do this; you’ve done it a thousand times, as Sir Anthony.
Sir Anthony was dead, but aspects of his personality could be resurrected at need. And now there was a need.
Alex opened his eyes, picked up a silver-backed brush from the dressing table and brushed the tangles from his hair before tying it neatly back with a royal blue silk ribbon that matched his outfit. Then he eyed himself in the mirror, noting the lines that were appearing at the corners of his eyes, and the hardness of his mouth. The last two years have aged me, he thought.
Charles had also changed since he’d last seen him on the banks of Loch Arkaig the previous year. He was still fit and athletic, but his face was rounding a little and softening, and there were dark shadows of unhappiness under his eyes.
Alex composed his face into that of a man who was looking forward to an evening of drinking, gambling and small talk, then looked at his reflection again. Yes, it would do. Then he bent down, put his shoes on, and left the room.
Eight hours later the two young men returned to the house, and if Alex had felt a little older than his thirty-one years before he went out, by the time he got back he felt like a decrepit old man. My God, but the prince could drink! True, he had always been able to hold his liquor; to the best of Alex’s knowledge the only man who had ever succeeded in outdrinking him was Angus. But four years ago in Rome Charles had drunk heavily, but socially; now there was a dedication, a desperation even to his drinking that alarmed Alex.
Within an hour he had point-blank refused to match Charles drink for drink, stating that if he tried he would have to be carried home before the evening had really begun. They had started at the theatre, followed by an assortment of taverns, a gambling den where Alex was extremely grateful that he was still sober enough to avoid being fleeced of all his money, and, at the end, a brothel, which was a little odd, as neither man had any interest in sampling the wares, neither of them were quite sure how they’d managed to get there, and both of them beat as hasty a retreat as it was possible to do when your body didn’t seem to want to do what your mind told it to.
They walked, or rather staggered back along the side of the river, Alex inhaling great lungsful of air in an attempt to sober up, aware of how vulnerable the two obviously aristocratic young men appeared, although had anyone attempted to rob them, his warrior instinct would have overridden his drunkenness immediately and he was, of course, armed with sword and more than one concealed blade, as was his custom.
They had not talked of anything important whilst out, for obvious reasons, but once back in the house Charles invited him to his rooms for a private supper. Alex would have liked nothing better than to lie down and sleep for a week, but he could hardly refuse such an honour.
Once in the room Charles sent for a cold collation, kicked his shoes off, removed his coat and waistcoat, and invited Alex to do the same.
“Let us not stand on ceremony, for God’s sake,” the prince said, slurring his words slightly. “I am so sick of being treated as a plaything by Louis and his ministers, as a likely husband by the women, and as an idiot by my family. Tonight let us be friends, equals, and above all, honest with each other.”
He threw himself into a chair on one side of the fireplace, and Alex, having divested himself of his own coat and shoes, sat opposite him. The food arrived, and then they were alone.
“When I reported on you to Mann,” Alex said, “do you remember we agreed that I’d tell him you were going to marry a French princess?”
“Ha! So we did! I had forgotten that. And he believed it! No one would believe that now.”
“Do you intend to marry soon, Your Highness? I think you must. You are the only hope for the continuation of the royal line now,” Alex pointed out.
Charles sighed.
“I will be honest with you,” he said. “I had thought to r
efuse to marry at all, in the hopes that Papa would make Henry renounce his ridiculous vows and take a wife. But I see that is a hopeless cause. Henry has always been terrified of women. In truth I think he takes after our great-great-grandfather.”
“But King James married and had eight children!” Alex said.
“He did. He knew his duty. But he preferred men, nevertheless. As does Henry.”
This was a little more honesty than Alex had bargained for, and in spite of his inebriation, he was aware that in the morning Charles would not be happy to have divulged such a confidence, even to someone he trusted implicitly. Better not to comment; he could always claim later that he had dozed off for a moment and missed the indiscretion.
“Do you have a wife in mind?” Alex asked.
Charles smiled, and his eyes sparkled. He leaned forward in his chair.
“Not at the moment, no. But I have met the most beautiful, charming woman!” he said. “We met at Navarre. I was very low, you understand, after hearing about Henry, and my mother’s family invited me to stay at their chateau. Louise was there because her husband is away at the war. She has been very ill, but is now happily recovered. We have spent many happy hours walking in the gardens together, and talking of many things.”
“You mean your cousin Louise?” Alex asked.
“Yes,” Charles said happily. “She is delightful. Really, you must meet her. You will fall in love with her – she is irresistible. Although perhaps it would be better if you do not. You are a damnably handsome fellow, you know, Alex.”
Alex had no wish to meet Prince Charles’ delightful married cousin, with whom it was clear he was infatuated. Were they having an affair?
Christ, Alex thought, I canna pretend to have been asleep the whole night! Why was the prince handing him all these potential bombs? He is lonely, he thought, lonely and unhappy, and he needs to confide in someone who will never betray his trust. And he has no one else, no one at all who fits the purpose.
Tides of Fortune (Jacobite Chronicles Book 6) Page 32