Song for a Lost Kingdom, Book I

by Steve Moretti

  “Katharine, you honour us,” he said, talking just loud enough over the chanting so that only she could hear him. “Your gift is rare and precious, and …” he seemed to be at a loss for words, almost nervous. “I am glad you are here tonight, with me.”

  She nodded in acknowledgement.

  She noticed that George had also been near the front of the room, sitting next to a middle-aged woman, about the same age as Adeena’s mother. She recognized her instantly – James’ mother, Lady Jean. Her white rose was prominently displayed on her dark shawl. “Lady Katharine, you are as brave as you are musical,” she said in a steady, powerful voice. “James told me you saved one of his young soldiers.”

  “I only wrapped his wound,” Adeena replied. “Is he okay?” Then, seeing Lady Jean’s quizzical expression added, “I mean is he well?”

  “Aye, the surgeon says he will fight again for the Prince,” Lady Jean said. “Your bravery saved him. But I think it is your music that might win the battle.” She looked over at George. “Your sister has a rare gift, a voice that inspires men.” She turned her gaze to Adeena. “And ladies too.”

  George nodded. “Her song has always been strong, and her heart true. Its helped me become decided on what I must do.”

  James, who had been listening intently, turned to George. “You will join us then?”

  “I will,” George replied. “I must fight for my country and for my family. The Carnegie’s and the Drummond’s helped build this Kingdom. I cannot turn my back on those who died for me.”

  “You honour them well, George,” Lady Jean said. “Your uncle and my dear husband prayed they would have sons like you and like my James.”

  “Thank you Lady Jean,” George said. “If only all of our family knew their duty.”

  “Your brother has chosen another path,” Lady Jean said. “He was fed lies all his life in Glasgow, and turned away from his aunt, Lady Margaret of Kinnaird and Carnegie history. I remember how much she tried to help him after her husband, the Earl died. He refused to accept her guidance.”

  James looked at George. “Fighting your own brother will not be easy. But the blood our fathers shed must not have been spilled in vain.”

  George nodded. Lady Jean touched her son’s shoulder. “James, you must give thanks to Lady Katharine.”

  James smiled, and looked at Adeena. He raised a hand to quiet the boisterous men and even more boisterous women who had continued their chanting and clapping all this time. He raised his voice, booming over them. “This is why we fight!” he yelled out, extending his arm towards Adeena. “This is who we are! A nation - the Scots! We are not English. The Union is dead!”

  The crowd roared its approval. The Prince, talking to two tall officers at the side of the room, looked up.

  James continued forcefully. “We are each of us, the descendants of our fathers, and our grandfathers – men who lived, and died, to preserve this land. And we are one with every father and every grandfather who followed their King for more than four hundred years, to build a nation and our own Parliament!”

  The crowd cheered after every tiny pause, each single inflection in his speech. He quieted them now by raising his arm. “And now Charles Edward, our own Bonnie Prince, has proclaimed his father, James the Eighth as our true and rightful King. The King of Scotland!”

  Adeena stood watching James, transformed from nervous suitor to fierce orator.

  “Our Bonnie Prince has already led us to victory in the Highlands. We have routed the English dogs and their General Cope everywhere they have tried to halt us!” James shouted. “They have failed, and they will fail again! And again! And every time they dare try to stop us!”

  James looked at Adeena. His eyes were wild with passion. The Prince who had been huddled with the two officers, moved towards James and Adeena. He looked out at the crowd and the room quickly grew quiet as he raised his arm.

  “This man,” he said, gesturing towards James, “has been a part of my most trusted counsel since I made landfall in the Kingdom, some eight weeks hence. He helped lead us with his courage, his bravery, indeed his determination. The Duke of Perth is a man that Perthshire, and indeed all of Scotland should hold in their hearts with pride.”

  The men and women showed their approval with applause and a toast to ‘The Duke!”

  “And tonight, fair ladies and brave gentlemen, I appoint James Drummond, the Duke of Perth, to the rank of Lieutenant General in the army of King James the Eighth. He is a leader that I will entrust with my own life.”

  Adeena looked up at James. He bowed his head to the Prince and then turned toward her. Their eyes locked together for a moment, and then James turned away. The crowd was still cheering at the announcement until the Prince raised his hand once more.

  “Tomorrow,” he thundered, “the eleventh day of September in the year of our lord Seventeen Hundred and Forty-Five, we march toward Edinburgh. And before the week is over, the city will be restored to its rightful place as capital of the Kingdom of Scotland.”

  The crowd exploded and the other musicians, sensing the joyous mood, began a spirited jig. The Prince laughed out loud as the music began. He presented himself to one of the prettiest young ladies in the room with an exaggerated, playful bow. They began to dance, with the adoring approval and conspicuous envy of the other ladies in the room.

  James turned and bowed to Adeena and offered her his hand. She accepted it and they joined the others on the wooden floor laid with wide beams of polished oak. She instinctively knew the dance the moment they began. Her feet and legs moved in graceful sync with James and the other couples in the room.

  James took his dancing seriously. He never missed a step, never took a break and only stopped when the musicians themselves paused momentarily. Adeena was caught up in the excitement. She twirled, curtsied, laughed and felt like she was flying in the air most of the time, her feet barely touching the ground. The DJ at the Mercury Lounge was no match to the motivating power of the violin and viola, encouraged by a room lubricated with an unending supply of ale and brandy.

  Adeena’s only thought was to keep pace with James. They danced until she thought she couldn’t possibly take another step.

  And then they danced some more.

  WHEN THE MUSIC finally did end, Adeena wasn’t sure she could still walk.

  She was physically exhausted, but felt only joy. Any worries she might have had were vanquished. She had given the musical performance of her life, playing her own composition, which connected deeply and directly with her audience. And then she had got lost in dancing to music that felt as natural as if had it sprouted from the ground itself.

  James took her hand and led her outside into the cool night air. She followed without questioning where they were going.

  “My Lady, you dance as one who is free, unfettered by what others think,” he said as they stepped through the archway that led to a generous stone balcony. The evening air felt crisp. A nearly full moon in the cloudless sky provided a glowing iridescence to the surroundings.

  “I have never danced like that before,” Adeena replied. “Ever!”

  They reached the edge of the balcony, a wall of stone about chest high. She looked out at the neatly manicured gardens before her, resplendent with tall flowers, carved hedges, neatly trimmed shrubbery and ornamental trees. Even by moonlight, it was impressive.

  James stood near her and looked out at the gardens before them, and then turned his gaze toward her. Even without looking, she could feel his eyes. She turned her head to face him.

  “Katharine, I feel so young with you, never sure, of myself,” he said haltingly. “I have laid out the entire town of Crieff, I have led men into battle and I have even managed to win the approval of my mother Lady Jean, but with you…”

  Adeena waited for him to continue. He was over six feet tall but seemed as shy as a little boy. “With me, what?”

  “With you . . . I feel like I know absolutely nothing,” he replied. “How shal
low I must seem, to you with your power to make the fiercest of men shed tears, and every woman feel one with your soul.”

  Adeena could hardly breathe listening to his analysis. She stared at James, unable to respond. The wind rustled across the trees in the distance. The conversation from the hall floated towards them, white noise ebbing and flowing in the background. “You are anything but shallow,” she said and then looked away at the neatly laid out gardens. “I really don’t understand myself, the power this music seems to have.”

  “It is a part of you,” he whispered. “Perhaps, not meant to be understood.”

  The glow of the moon outlined his face before her. His features were soft and his eyes had an intensity that held her transfixed, unable to turn her eyes from his. The breeze suddenly picked up and rustled in the trees. She shivered from the frigid air, holding her arms to her chest.

  James had grabbed his plaid cape on the way out of the hall and thrown it over himself. He unwrapped most of it now extending it towards her. “Come closer,” he offered.

  She took a step forward. He took most of his cape, still wrapped around his neck, and placed it around her, drawing her in. He placed his arms over her shoulders and pulled her closer. Adeena felt warm inside his cape, and as natural as if she had done this with him a thousand times. She placed her arms around him, his back taut and muscular. She closed her eyes and laid her face on his shoulder.

  They spoke not a word.

  The breeze made its own harmonies, sweeping through the distant trees. The music from the ball began again. James and Adeena unconsciously started to sway, moving together slowly, wrapped in each other’s arms. Adeena felt like she was melting, becoming a part of him. They moved together naturally, drifting slowly across the balcony, floating in tiny circles.

  There was no need for conversation.

  After a few minutes she raised her head from his shoulder and he looked down upon her. There was fire in his eyes. He lowered his face to hers. She parted her lips and he kissed her softly.

  Tentatively. Sweetly. She opened her mouth to his.

  Adeena’s head was spinning and her whole body wanted him. They responded to each other like lovers separated for centuries. Lights began to explode in her head and then the darkness consumed her once more.

  17

  THE AIR CANADA Boeing 767 rolled slowly as it began its descent towards Ottawa International. Jackie gazed out the window at the quilt of narrow fields bordering the St. Lawrence River below her. If only life was so neat and tidy, she thought, draining the wine from her glass before handing it to the flight attendant making final rounds before landing.

  A copy of the Journal of Clinical Psychiatry sat in the empty seat beside her. She studied the cover, a profile of a young woman set against a starry sky. The accompanying article documenting the telepathic abilities displayed by autistic adults, had been a compelling read. As she tucked the magazine into her mauve laptop case, she considered the evidence of telepathy presented in the paper, so similar to the work she had done in graduate school. It suggested human thought might have an electromagnetic means of transmission, not unlike data being sent through a WiFi network.

  Was it possible? She hoped it might be, although her natural reaction was skepticism. Like the journal entries she and William had read in Scotland that echoed some kind of 18th Century version of Adeena, a simpler explanation was more probable. Choosing an answer with the fewest assumptions, Occam’s razor, was her modus operandi. How could the characters in these journals be connected to Adeena?

  Jackie smiled thinking about her. Why did trouble always seem to follow her daughter? There had to be a logical explanation to those journals, like the patient she helped recently. He claimed to be the reincarnation of his own grandfather who drowned on the same day the patient was born. The man had a debilitating fear of water so bad he even refused to drink. Under hypnosis, Jackie listened to a detailed account of his grandfather’s death, last seen alive sinking to the depths of a dark lake. Later, she discovered the man had almost drowned as an infant. She worked with him and eventually he was able to control his fears.

  The wide-body jet bumped heavily onto the runway. The twin engines screamed in reverse to slow down the 160-ton speeding bullet. She looked over at the terminal where Adeena waited. Jackie thought of a simple strategy to help her daughter.

  Be her mother.

  ADEENA WAITED FOR her mother at the international arrivals area, trying to focus on the real world again after all she had experienced as Katharine Carnegie for the last forty-eight hours.

  When the glass doors unsealed the customs clearance area with a mechanical swoosh, and her mother strode forward as impeccably styled as a Paris fashion model, Adeena felt a familiar sense of comfort. Her mom had always been there for her.

  “Ma petite!” Jackie exclaimed as she rolled her luggage rack piled high with suitcases towards Adeena. Mother and daughter hugged tightly, oblivious to the traffic jam they were causing as passengers tried to squeeze around them.

  “How was your flight?” Adeena asked after they relaxed their embrace, with Jackie still holding both of Adeena’s hands.

  “Long. But I’m so happy to be home. How are you doing?”

  “Good,” Adeena smiled weakly. She knew her mother could always pick up on what she was thinking. She wished it was easier to hide her feelings as her mother studied Adeena’s face, but she only smiled back. Maybe she was losing her touch?

  They stood for a moment without words. Arriving passengers struggled to get around them until Jackie began to push her luggage down the ramp towards an open area. Adeena followed closely behind into a clearing. Jackie turned and put her arms around Adeena again. “I’ve been thinking a lot about you.”

  “Me?”

  “Oui. My musical daughter, my NAC cellist, my dreamer…”

  Adeena laughed. “That’s me. Always dreaming.”

  “Since you were really ma petite,” Jackie grinned. “Where’s Philippe? I thought he was coming too?”

  “He’s working on the Hill, on deadline.” Adeena’s face grew pensive.

  “Oh,” Jackie said, her eyes searching. “Is everything okay? Between you two?”

  Damn! How does she do it? Adeena felt a wetness in her eyes. “Yeah.” She fought impending tears. “Well no, not really.”

  Jackie touched Adeena’s cheek softly. “What happened?”

  “He asked me to marry him.”

  “Really? Mon Dieu!” Jackie beamed.

  Adeena shook her head, a tear rolling her cheek. “I said no.”

  Her mother searched her face. Then she embraced her again and Adeena cried in her arms feeling like a much younger version of herself.

  AFTER THEY LOADED the luggage into the Volvo station wagon, Jackie considered her next move. Her daughter always seemed to be her toughest patient.

  “Dad told me you blacked out during your audition?” Jackie began.

  “Yeah, it was weird. And then I’ve been having really bad headaches too, almost migraines. You know like I used to get?”

  Jackie was worried. “I think we need to get this looked at. Maybe I can get you a referral to a neurologist at the Civic. They can do a CT scan and see what’s going on.”

  “Can you set it up?” Adeena responded as she navigated the car out of the parking garage.

  Jackie was quiet. Something in Adeena had changed. She looked tired. Her tears had made a mess of her mascara and Jackie’s motherly instincts, together with her professional training, were giving her a sinking feeling. She had to proceed slowly to put the pieces together.

  “So are you and Philippe, still together?”

  Adeena said nothing for a moment. She seemed focused only on driving. “Yeah. We are.” She looked at her mother with a blank expression. “I just need a little time. I’m so busy with rehearsals and my music, right now. I think he understands.”

  “If he does, he’s a good man, to wait and stand by you. I think most would just m
ove on.”

  Adeena didn’t respond. She just looked over at her mother and nodded.

  Jackie’s conflicted instincts screamed at her to stop the car. Jackie the mother wanted to take Adeena and comfort her here and now to find out what was going on. Jackie the psychiatrist preferred careful probing.

  “Philippe’s got a big family in Québec, doesn’t he? Three brothers and two sisters, right?” Jackie said.

  “Yeah, you got it.”

  Jackie laughed. “If you did get married, it’d be a big one!”

  “Probably . . . I just, don’t. . .” Adeena’s words trailed off, like she was in deep thought. They rode in silence down the airport parkway toward the city.

  “What is it, belle?” Jackie finally said. She knew it was probably time to shut up and listen. See if her daughter would talk.

  Adeena sighed, as they came to a red light.

  All the struggles Adeena had faced when she was younger – her rebellious attitude, the screaming and fighting, dealing with the police after drunken teenage parties, and worst off all, the drug overdose after her prom, flashed through Jackie’s head. She preferred images of Adeena as a child, always making music on her tiny cello.

  But now, her daughter was all grown up, strong-willed, artistically driven and frustrating as ever.

  “Mom, I’m just not sure about . . .” Adeena volunteered slowly.

  “About, what?”

  Adeena hesitated for a moment. “Not sure if . . . ” She paused, “well, if I could be a wife. I don’t think that I am cut out for marriage.”

  Jackie smiled. “You’re worried about being married to Philippe?”

  “It’s not him, Mom. It’s me.”

  “You’re being too hard on yourself. You’re not afraid of anything. You’re beautiful. You’re talented. You’re musical, and you’re smart as hell. You’re my daughter!” Jackie mused. She looked out the window as they approached the city. “There is only one question, really. The only thing you need to ask yourself.”