Song for a Lost Kingdom, Book I

by Steve Moretti

  She began to play, unable to resist its pull for another second. Thomas’ face lit up as she lovingly coaxed the first dark, sweet tones from the old instrument. Her head began to swim again as the music poured from her, like a river racing to the sea. She was on a mystic journey, her bow revealing the path forward.

  Adeena felt the warmth of sunlight streaming onto her, brilliant and strong. She opened her eyes and was back in the castle. Kinnaird? But now it was daytime, and she was alone, sitting on a wooden chair, playing the cello as if she was practicing by herself. She was in the same physical space, the same room as last time. But it looked nothing like before.

  The furniture in the room was covered in cloth, pushed together in the middle of the open space, as if it was being stored. The area felt abandoned. No matter, she was alone with a cello that responded to her thoughts as naturally as when she curled her toes or opened her eyes.

  Adeena found depth in every note and chord in this ancient place. The tones seemed at home with the oil paintings and wool tapestries on the wall behind her. A soft ray of sunlight illuminated her from behind, as if a lighting director from the heavens had focused it upon her.

  As she reached the section where the vocals were about to begin, she saw a man in the corner look up. It was George, Katharine’s brother. He smiled and nodded his head. This all felt so natural, and as she began to sing, the power of her voice was reflected on George. His eyes, his mouth, his dream-like expression, even his posture seemed captivated.

  After she finished he approached. “Katharine,” he called out, as he made his way closer to her.

  Why did this all seem so real? Was she actually Katharine Carnegie or was she just in a very real hallucination? George approached and touched her shoulder. “Katharine, your music feels like salvation,” he whispered. “It is as if I am lost in a dark sea when a ship made of stars lifts me from the depths and carries me upward.”

  She studied the serious look on his face. She felt a tear forming. “Thank-you George,” she replied. “This cello and I have a connection. It inspires me each time I perform with it.”

  George’s serious look softened into a smile. “Maestro Duncan knows you well.”

  Adeena stared at George, her brother – or at least Katharine’s brother. “Robert Duncan, the cello maker? He knows me?”

  “Aye he does indeed, darling sister! You performed with his quartet and he told me he would create a bespoke instrument for the only lady, indeed the only musician, he had met that truly understood the voice of a violoncello.”

  ‘Violoncello.’ The original name for the cello and still a name many preferred. But wait, the Duncan Cello was created for her? For Lady Katharine?

  Adeena looked down at the cello. It did seem to fit her. The grip of the fingerboard and the neck, the width of the body, even the placement of the F-holes and the finishing’s, the scroll, the pegs, all felt as naturally suited to her as her own skin. And it wasn’t just the physical features that seemed made for her. It was the tone and the harmonic resonance - almost as if there was a music-making box inside of it connected directly to her mind.

  “You are aware too, that your music has given our cause new inspiration?” George said, his tone changing.

  “Our cause? The rising?”

  George looked at her curiously. She had spent the last few days reading about the 1745 Jacobite rebellion in Scotland or the ‘rising’ as it came to be called.

  “Yes of course, sister!” he replied. “The plans are becoming somewhat urgent. I received a request from the Duke of Perth for you.”

  “Duke of Perth?”

  “James Drummond, the leader who saw you perform here three nights past,” George said, looking over his shoulder. He began walking towards the door. “I think he may be here now. Will you see him?”

  Adeena set the cello aside and looked towards the door where George was headed. She heard the sounds of a horse approaching, hooves clattering heavily on the stones. Suddenly the rich aromas of the castle – the smoke of a wood fire and the fragrance of lavender wreaths – caused her nose to twitch. She looked down at her earthen dress, simple, but elegant in its fullness. Her long hair was gathered to one side and she pulled a lock down to see it was the same coppery colour she was used to.

  “Come, Katharine,” George called from just outside the door.

  Adeena hurried towards it and heard George greeting someone. As she approached the entrance, she recognized the massive wooden chandelier that held dozens of thick, sooty candles, now long extinguished. She walked outside under the stone archway and saw George standing near the tall man who had been so taken with her performance.

  James Drummond – the Duke of Perth, she thought as he turned to her, still holding the reins of his chestnut brindle stallion. The muscular horse turned towards her, as if he needed to size her up for himself. His wet nostrils flared widely, and he lowered his head slightly. Their eyes locked together briefly and she felt a kind of understanding sweep between them.

  She saw her own reflection in the panorama of the horse’s immense brown eyes and wondered what he was thinking. The stallion raised its head, then shook a fly from one ear with a massive shiver and a powerful shake. He lowered his whole head in the direction of his master and gave a loud snort.

  The man grinned. “My Lady! You have even charmed Balgair, and he has yet to hear you play.” He bowed slightly, still holding the reins of his horse. “James Drummond, at your service Lady Katharine. I have ridden from Perthshire to ask a favour.”

  She stared at James. He was a curious mix of soft features drawn over a hard frame. Tall and sturdy with a few days growth of beard, long sandy hair and a plaid cape, Adeena thought he would have no trouble passing for a rock star in her world.

  Balgair tried to protest against the tight grip on his reins by lifting his head.

  “Whoa!” James held on tightly, as the horse turned towards the open grounds of the castle and the stables off in the distance. “Will you walk with me?”

  Adeena looked at George. He said nothing, but his smile seemed to convey approval. She turned toward James, holding the reins to his horse, who clearly had designs on the prospect of a meal after the long ride.

  “Sure,” Adeena finally responded.

  James smiled as George looked towards the stables. “Take your horse there,” he said pointing to the grey barn far off in the distance. “Use all the water and oats you require.”

  JAMES DRUMMOND HAD planned a long time for this moment.

  Lady Katharine was all he had thought of for the past three days. Her music had touched him, inside a place that he did not know existed before he had heard her perform at Kinnaird. She had swept him away from his provincial worries and inspired his imagination.

  He had also seen the effect her music had on his men - men who he would soon lead into a battle that many would not survive. The rebellion to restore King James was just beginning, and although he had his own dreams about a future transformed by science and discovery, he knew his obligation was to lead his clan in support of the restoration of the Scottish nation.

  He glanced at Katharine on one side of him and at Balgair on the other walking with his usual sense of equine independence. The three found a natural synchronization as they made their way towards the weathered grey of the stables that lay across the meadow.

  “Lady Katharine,” he began, having rehearsed his speech during the long ride from his home at Drummond Castle.

  “James,” she responded. “Just call me …” There was a hesitation as he noticed a thoughtful manner come over the lady. “Katharine?” she said finally, with an air of uncertainty.

  “Katharine, My Lady,” James repeated. “You have made a great impression on me, and those who follow me and pledge allegiance to our Bonnie Prince, Charles Edward.” James was aware of the stiff manner of his speech, and that the lady probably thought him foolish beyond reproach.

  “Thank you,” she responded.

&nbs
p; Balgair lowered his head a little as they continued to walk across the field. James hoped the stallion was not too embarrassed by his master’s clumsy conversation. He had told his speedy mount all about her during their three-hour ride this morning through the lowland forests, pastures and bogs of the Angus countryside.

  “Your music speaks to me,” he continued, “I have never before in my two and thirty years experienced that kind of poetry and musical composition. But even more than that . . .” James stopped walking as his horse tugged at the reins.

  “You might think me a fool, Katharine,” he said turning towards the lady now. “But alas, I am fool that has been shown light to guide me through darkness. It has given me a desire, that I did not know before existed within me.”

  Lady Katharine looked at him with a perplexed countenance. Her emerald eyes stared through him. The sun danced in the shiny copper locks flowing over her shoulders.

  “I mean not to be bold or offensive with my words, My Lady,” he said, thinking suddenly that he had gone too far with his speech. “Please accept my apologies if you think my intentions unworthy.”

  “James, relax,” Katharine smiled. “I’m really glad that you like my music.”

  He felt his tension disappear. “You speak plainly, Katharine,” he replied with a smile. “You have an air about you that is refreshing, a tone that sets you apart.”

  Balgair seemed to tire of the conversation. He made his feelings known by a loud neigh and began to jerk his head back and forth.

  “I think he’s hungry,” Katharine laughed. “Let’s find him something to eat!”

  “Aye! He grows tired of his master’s sorrowful tongue.” James looked at the stables, far off in the distance. “Katharine, ride with me to the Kinnaird stables? Until Balgair is served his oats, we will not know peace.”

  She looked up at the towering horse and the rider before her. Her eyes seemed to consider the proposition a moment. “Yes. Of course.”

  James smiled and mounted Balgair first, before taking Katharine’s hand to help her up behind him. As Balgair started to trot, she wrapped her arms around James to steady herself.

  It has been a long time since he had ridden thus with a lady. Not since he and Rosalyne had spent the summer of his eighteenth year together in France, had he felt the pleasure of a woman on his mount.

  “Are you all right Lady Katharine?” he asked, as Balgair’s trot quickened suddenly.

  “Yes, I’m good,” she responded, tightening her grip around him as he gave the horse a kick of encouragement.

  As they rode across the lane and on towards the stables over a mile away, James patted Balgair’s sturdy neck. He had earned a few extra apples this afternoon.

  ADEENA LOVED HORSEBACK riding.

  As a child, she and Tara had spent time with Angela, a classmate who had her own horse and lived in the country with her mother on the weekends. From Angela, Adeena had learned about grooming, riding, feeding and generally everything related to horses. She had discovered much about their behaviour from Angela – and was impressed that horses naturally sensed a person’s fears and according to her friend, their intentions.

  As she held on to James, riding on his powerful stallion across a pasture of golden grass under a clear blue sky, she wondered again what was happening. It seemed clear that she and Katharine Carnegie were connected. The Duncan Cello and the lost score belonged to both of them. Or was she really Katharine herself?

  “My Lady. Your instincts are correct about Balgair,” James shouted as the horse began to gallop. “Hold on!”

  All four of the horse’s legs seemed to leave the ground simultaneously, as Balgair pushed with every muscle in his massive frame to reach top speed. A knot of fear dropped to her stomach, and she gripped James’ chest tightly. She could feel him inhale and exhale more and more as they thundered towards the stables. She felt her fear subside.

  The countryside flew by her. She saw a kaleidoscope of towering trees, rolling hills, moors, pastures, herds of cattle, and stone houses. All these flashed by her as she held on to James while Balgair took them on a wild dash, faster than any horse ride she had ever been on at Angela’s ranch. She felt exhilarated as the stable drew closer and the powerful beast finally began to slow.

  Balgair came to a stop in front of the door to the grey barn. Adeena tried in vain to catch her breath. She was winded.

  “I’m sorry, Katharine,” James said, turning his head to look at her. “His stomach is a force of nature, much beyond being tamed by a mortal such as me!”

  “It’s fine,” she gasped. “Wow! That was totally . . . totally awesome!”

  James laughed out loud. “The Lady is pleased?”

  “Oh yeah!” Adeena said, trying to speak through her panting. “It was great!”

  “Direct your thanks to my noble beast who believes he is a mighty eagle, not just a horse,” James joked. “His appetite is the one thing I can ever truly rely on each and every day.” He turned to face her. “Here let me help you down,” he offered.

  James took hold of Adeena’s slender waist and lifted her up and over the horse’s wide back. He kept a hold on one of her hands as she completed the dismount. She looked up from the ground at him still sitting in the saddle. The sun shone directly into her eyes, creating a silhouette of the tall rider before her, and his even taller four-legged companion.

  AFTER THEY HAD attended to Balgair’s most urgent needs for oats and water, James set him free in the pasture. Adeena didn’t see a fence or anything to prevent the horse from running away.

  “You’re not afraid he will run away?” she asked James.

  “If he wanted to leave, no wall in Scotland could hold him,” he responded. “He is free to stay with me or to find greener heather elsewhere.”

  Balgair a few yards away, turned and looked at both of them for a second, before continuing his quest for the tender shoots of tall grasses around him. Adeena nodded her head in understanding. She had always admired the bond between rider and horse, but had never seen it demonstrated quite like this.

  “James, you told me there was something you wanted to ask me?” she said as they walked, following the grazing horse ahead of them.

  “Indeed I do,” he replied. “Katharine, would you honour our cause with a recital of your music at Drummond Castle? Prince Charles himself makes his war council there on Saturday, and has asked my mother Lady Jean, to host a ball to celebrate his landing in the Highlands and his recent proclamation of the King.”

  “A ball?”

  “Aye. The Prince wishes his subjects to regain their pride now that he has declared Scotland a Kingdom once more and proclaimed his father, King James, our Catholic sovereign. We no longer need pledge allegiance to the Protestant rulers in London. The English time in our land is coming to an end. Will you help us celebrate?”

  “I’m not sure if I can,” Adeena said. “How would I get there?”

  James seemed relieved with her weak but never the less positive response. “Your brother George travels to Perthshire in a few days,” he said. “Come with him and stay at Drummond. I have talked to the Prince about you, and he thinks you may be a sign, an omen of success to come. He is planning to march on Edinburgh very soon.”

  Adeena looked over at James. She might be Katharine Carnegie to him, but she was still Adeena Stuart inside. She weighed the implications of all this and how she should respond.

  “Will you honour us with your music?” James pressed her. “You have a voice and a tone in your violoncello that strike deeply. Your words and your music stayed with me long after I left Kinnaird last week. Indeed, I have thought of little else since then.”

  Adeena felt her cheeks flush. He seemed to have been captured by the music she had created and performed as Katharine. It was the kind of creation she had always longed to find. All her life she had been searching for the keys to unlock the music in her head, music that longed for release.

  “Thank you James,” she finally respon
ded, as they meandered through the long grasses, following behind Balgair. “I have wanted to be a musician and to perform all my life. But more than that, I have wanted to compose, to create music that . . . ” she paused reflecting on what drove her in such a maddening way. “Music that truly connects with others.”

  “You have succeeded,” James replied. “You have connected with me. It feels like your music come from a place deep inside of you.”

  Adeena stopped walking. He seemed to understand everything even if he had no idea of what was really happening to her. He was staring at her, waiting for an answer.

  “I would be honoured to perform at your ball.”

  GEORGE SEEMED ANXIOUS when Adeena made it back. She had walked slowly back to the castle after James had departed. His words echoed in her mind as she approached the archway.

  “Katharine,” George shouted. “Come here!”

  She hurried the final steps up the cobbled lane and stood near George.

  “What is it?”

  “You are coming with me to Perthshire?” he asked.

  “Yes. Yes I am.”

  “Thank you, sister. I was not sure that I should be the one to respond when James solicited my advice,” he said. “We shall leave Kinnaird on Friday, at first light.”

  The loud crack of gunfire in the distance startled both of them. Moments later, from around the back of the walled garden, their brother, the Captain in the British army, approached on his white mare. He brought the horse towards them and pulled the reins tightly to an abrupt halt.

  “We saw the traitor,” the Captain shouted.

  “Traitor? Who?” George asked, raising his voice to the same level as that of his inflamed brother.

  “James Drummond, from Perth” the Captain seethed. “One of my officers saw him leaving Kinnaird, but was unable to apprehend him.” The Captain dismounted quickly, anger in his eyes. “There is a thirty-thousand-pound-bounty on the head of his ‘Young Pretender' master, the so-called ‘Bonnie Prince’. But I will satisfy myself with Drummond for his treason in the Highlands assisting the Jacobites.”