The Storm Breaks (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 4)

by Julia Brannan

  But it would not come to that. By tonight they would be over a hundred miles away, and in four or five days, if the weather held, they would join the prince. The rebellion would not fail. And if it did, they would go to France, or Italy maybe, and hopefully use Beth’s dowry to make a new start. Until yesterday he had thought it to still be in the bank, and therefore lost to them. Once it was known that Sir Anthony Peters did not exist, Beth’s marriage to him would be void and with it her right to the dowry.

  When she had told him that she had anticipated what might happen, and had withdrawn nearly all the money over a year ago, asking Graeme to bury it in the nearby woods for her, he had been both amazed by her ingenuity and forward planning, and worried that Graeme would either steal it for himself, or reveal its whereabouts when questioned. He did not have the unshakeable faith in the gardener that Beth did, although he now understood why Graeme Elliot had eyed him with such suspicion the last time he’d seen him. Although Alex believed Beth when she said she’d told Elliot nothing regarding the true identity of her husband, of course he would have known something was wrong. No one decides to take the best part of twenty thousand pounds out of a bank and bury it under a tree unless they’re up to no good. Graeme obviously knew that. That he hadn’t told the authorities before now was promising, at least.

  They did not talk about capture again, or living in exile. They put all their energies into riding north. On the fourteenth of September they crossed the border into Scotland. On the fifteenth they heard that Prince Charles and his army was riding south, hard, and that Cope had retired to Inverness, leaving the way clear for the Jacobites to occupy the capital.

  At ten o’clock on the evening of the seventeenth of September, travel-stained, aching and exhausted, Alexander MacGregor and his three companions reached Edinburgh, which was in a state of euphoria bordering on hysteria. The reason for the excitement became clear almost immediately. Prince Charles and his army, now numbering some two and a half thousand, had occupied the city mere hours before and had entered the gates to a tumultuous welcome. Holyroodhouse, where the prince had lodged himself, was besieged by admirers. The streets were full of celebrating Highlanders, and Alex abandoned all hope of locating his clan tonight, or even finding out if they were here. Instead, after some searching they found a quiet barn where, reeling from tiredness, they threw themselves down in the straw, and undisturbed by the revellers, slept like the dead until dawn.

  * * *

  “And he’s amazing,” enthused Angus. “He insisted on walking, no’ riding at the front of his men, and he walked so fast that he wore out his brogues. Even the clansmen were complaining!”

  They had found the rest of the MacGregors the next morning, bivouacking in the King’s Park behind Holyroodhouse. It had been a boisterous reunion, Angus launching himself at his brother with enough force to send them both toppling to the ground. Kenneth had greeted Beth with a kiss before relinquishing her to her boisterous brother-in-law’s bear hug, while Duncan had stood smiling in the background until Alex and Beth had succeeded in disentangling themselves from Angus.

  “Welcome back,” he had said simply, before Alex had seized him and submitted him to an embrace as warm and genuine as Angus’s, but with slightly less bruising force.

  Greetings over, the clan had sat down again around their fire, and proceeded to bring the newcomers up to date.

  “We werena here when Charles was marching the men into the ground, though,” Alasdair pointed out matter-of-factly. “We didna arrive until he was at Perth, and by that time everyone was used to his speed.”

  “Well, aye, that’s true,” conceded Angus. “But even so, he’s unstoppable. Ye should hae heard the cheering yesterday when we came into Edinburgh!”

  “Christ, man, ye sound like all they fluttering lassies hanging on his every word!” said Dougal in disgust. “Ye’ll be begging him for a wee smile or a kiss on the cheek, next!”

  Angus reddened.

  “He’s right though,” put in Duncan before Angus could retort. “He’s awfu’ fired up, and his confidence is infecting everyone else. He’s verra charming, is he no’? He has almost everyone eating out of his hand.”

  Alex and Beth glanced at each other. They were both thinking the same thing; that Charles clearly hadn’t changed from the dervish they had encountered in Rome. Only now he had a focus for his energy.

  “They werena too keen to let us into Edinburgh at first, though,” Duncan continued. “There were two regiments of dragoons in the town, and a few volunteers, too. They had a go at repairing the town wall, which is in a bad state, and they were obviously thinking to make a fight of it, although there were plenty of people in the city on our side, too. Then the dragoons ran away.”

  Angus laughed.

  “It was a sight tae see,” he said. “All those brave redcoats. They were being inspected at Coltbridge, and then started to go round to Leith. Anyway, a few of the clansmen saw them and fired a couple of shots, and the whole lot ran away as fast as they could, dropping their swords and pistols and all sorts along the road.”

  “They must have been terrified, puir wee souls,” said Kenneth insincerely. “Our reputation’s preceding us. All the way tae Edinburgh people have either been flocking to join us or running away as fast as they can. I’ve never seen so many redcoats’ arses in my life.”

  “So Edinburgh surrendered then, did it?” asked Alex.

  “No. I think they were going to, but then they heard that Cope was disembarking at Dunbar, so the town fathers decided to try tae stall us, hoping that he’d arrive in time.”

  “We heard that Cope was at Inverness,” said Iain.

  “He was,” said Duncan. “But he took ship frae Aberdeen a few days ago. He’s in Dunbar, and marching to meet us. Charles guessed what the fathers were doing, and said that if they didna surrender immediately he’d put the whole town to the sword. And before they could reply, Lochiel and O’Sullivan managed to sneak some of their men in when the gates opened tae let a carriage out. They secured the gates, and that was that.”

  “And then Charlie rode in to massive cheers,” put in Angus determinedly.

  “He did,” said Dougal, grinning. “But he had to come the long way round, because he didna dare go past the castle. It’s still holding out, and it’s gonna be awfu’ hard tae take.”

  Beth remembered Duncan looking up at the formidable walls, just before Daniel had accused them of being lovers. She never would have dreamed that in just over a year she would be back, and the capital city of Scotland taken for King James. A thrill of joy and fear ran through her.

  “What about Cope?” she asked. “You said he’s riding to meet us. What are you going to do about that?”

  “Fire a couple of shots over the walls and watch them all run away, if previous experience is anything to go by,” said Kenneth contemptuously. Everyone laughed.

  Alex stood up.

  “I’d best away and find out what’s happening, then,” he said. “And let the prince know I’m here.”

  In the end he did not get away to find out what was happening until, at his wife’s insistence, he had eaten, and washed, and dressed himself in highland kilt and plaid instead of the filthy breeches and shirt he’d worn for the last four days. And even then he did not get as far as Holyrood House, which was indeed besieged by fluttering females longing for a glimpse of the handsome prince lodging within. Instead he was waylaid by Lochiel, the Cameron chief, who took him off to a coffeehouse and brought him up to date.

  “The main problem we’ve got at the moment isna Cope, it’s money, and arms,” Lochiel said, his hands wrapped round a cup of steaming, fragrant coffee. “I had to send some of my men home, because there werena enough weapons for them. When we arrived at Perth, Charles had one guinea left. He’s borrowed a sum from Lord Elcho, but how long that’ll last I’ve nae idea.”

  Alex thought of the dowry under a tree somewhere in Manchester. He had refused Beth’s request to stop and collect
it, thinking it too risky and also thinking that Charles, if he had brought no troops, would at least have brought sufficient funds to finance the rebellion. It was too late; they couldn’t go back for it now.

  “We’re trying to keep the men under control,” continued Lochiel. “But it isna easy, when they havena been paid. At Perth I fired warning shots over my men to try to stop them looting, and in the end I had to wound one of them before they paid heed to me. But we’ve got to keep discipline, Alex. Charles’s view – and I agree wi’ him – is that if the clansmen behave well, people will be more inclined to help us, and join us. He sees everyone, even the enemy, as his subjects, and he wants to deal mercifully with them all, to win them over for his father.”

  “Do ye agree wi’ that, too?” asked Alex.

  “To a point, aye,” said Lochiel. “But I dinna agree wi’ him releasing redcoat prisoners on parole no’ to fight for George, only to watch them rush straight off to do just that.”

  The Cameron chief looked tired. His handsome face was drawn and there were dark shadows under his eyes. Alex leaned his elbows on the table.

  “Why did ye do it, Donald?” he asked softly. “Why did ye bring the clan out?”

  Cameron looked at his friend for a moment, then he smiled.

  “He’s awfu’ persuasive,” he said.

  “Aye, I ken that, man,” said Alex impatiently. “But you’re no fool. Ye wouldna bring nine hundred men out because of a few sweet words. I only agreed to come out after I was sure you had, and I’m certain I’m not the only chieftain who’s done that. There’d have been no rebellion but for you, ye must ken that.”

  Cameron looked away, down at the floor, lost in thought. Then he looked back at Alex, and when he spoke his voice was soft, but earnest.

  “What else could I do? He’s my prince. I’ve sworn allegiance to him and his father. My grandfather fought for King Charles, and for Dundee at Killiecrankie. My father fought wi’ Dundee too, and again for James in the ’15. Was I to disgrace my ancestors by betraying Charles?”

  “No. My father fought in the ’15 too,” said Alex. “I’ve been a Jacobite from the moment I was born. But we all agreed we couldna win without the French. It’s no’ betrayal to make a man see reason.”

  “D’ye think I didna try?” retorted Lochiel. “I’ve struggled for years to keep the Camerons at war strength, because King Jamie asked me to, so I could be prepared for another rising. But I didna mean one like this, wi’ no help from the French. Charlie’s wee ship was still in the loch. I tellt him to go home. Everyone did. I spent weeks arguing wi’ him, man. He wouldna listen. He tellt me he was throwing himself on my mercy, that he was confident I wouldna let him down. I tellt him I wasna letting him down by refusing to fight, I was trying to stop him committing suicide. He said that he wasna going back to France, that this was the best time, when Britain was stripped of forces, that when King Louis heard of how many brave clansmen were rallying to him he would be bound to send troops. And when I still refused him, he sent his ship back to France so he was trapped here, and said that if he were to perish here alone because we wouldna help him, then the whole of Europe would know that the Scots of today had fallen away from the bravery shown by their ancestors. What would you have done, Alex?”

  Alex bit his lip. What would he have done? Called Charles’s bluff, knowing there was every possibility that he would still not see reason, would set off to fight anyway with a few hundred men, and be arrested and executed as a result? Or would he have given in to the irresistible charm and persuasion of the young prince as so many had before, and were no doubt yet to do?

  “Aye, I suppose I’d have done the same. D’ye think the French will help, when they hear?”

  “Christ, I hope so,” said Lochiel fervently. “God knows we need them, wi’ MacLeod and Skye refusing, and Fraser prevaricating. I’m no’ experienced in full scale warfare. Most of those Charles brought wi’ him are a waste of time. His tutor, Sheridan; his brother’s tutor, Strickland. Both useless. Aeneas MacDonald; he’s a banker, no’ a warrior. He brought O’Sullivan and Kelly just because they knew what he was up to. At least O’Sullivan’s supposed to have a wee bit of experience, although he’s something of a high opinion of himself, in my view. There is one wee bit of good news, though.”

  “Tell me, I need it,” said Alex, who was amazed at the contrast between his jubilant clansmen, who seemed to have seen nothing but victory up to now, and the morose view of Lochiel, who was taking a much longer view.

  “Lord George Murray’s joined us.”

  Alex perked up immediately.

  “He was out in the ’15 and the ’19,” he said. “He’s an experienced commander. A genius. If anyone can lead us to victory, he can.”

  “Aye, I agree wi’ ye,” said Lochiel. “But he’s also honest to the point of brutality, arrogant and no respecter of princely vanity. He doesna ken the meaning of the words ‘flattery’ and ‘charm’. Charles has given him and Perth joint command of the army, but I see trouble ahead between them.”

  “Well, at least acting as mediators between Lord George and Charles will give us a challenge to occupy us, if the enemy willna. From what my men tell me, they willna fight at all, but keep running away.”

  Lochiel grinned, the worry lines instantly banished.

  “Aye, that’s true,” he said. “But all that’s about to change. Cope’s landed at Dunbar. We march out tomorrow morning to Duddingston, and in the evening, wi’ luck, we’ll have ourselves a fight, at last.”

  The two men raised their cups at this great news, and then realising the inappropriateness of the liquid within for the purpose of a toast to victory, Alex called for some whisky.

  “Tomorrow!” said Beth, aghast.

  “Aye, tomorrow,” said Alex, testing the edge of his newly sharpened sword and nodding to himself in satisfaction. “We’ll set up camp at Duddingston and then march east to meet Cope.” He thrust the sword back into the scabbard, then looked at his wife. Her face was pale, her blue eyes full of fear.

  “It’s what I came for, Beth,” he said gently. “Ye didna expect Geordie to give in without a fight, did ye?”

  “No,” she said in a small voice. “I just didn’t think it’d be so soon, that’s all. I thought I’d have more time to…to prepare, that’s all.”

  He put down his swordbelt and took her in his arms.

  “There’s never enough time to prepare for this sort of thing, Beth,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Ye can prepare your weapons, talk about your tactics, make your confession to the priest and receive absolution, but ye canna truly prepare for possible death.”

  Her arms wrapped round him convulsively.

  “Don’t say that!” she said into his shirt. “You’re not going to die.”

  “I am one day. We all are.” He laughed. “But I’ll try my best no’ to do it tomorrow.”

  She drew her head back and looked up at him.

  “You’re looking forward to this, aren’t you?” she said.

  “Aye, I am,” he admitted. “It was never my intention when I was a bairn to help the cause by prancing about drawing rooms dressed like a peacock and smelling like a whore. I wanted to fight for it. That’s what I was raised to do, to fight, and I do it well. Ye remember how I felt when I thought I’d no’ get tae fight at all? Ye felt the same disappointment I did, when ye thought we were trapped in London till Charles arrived, did ye no’? I thought ye’d understand, loving danger and adventure as ye do,” he finished, eyeing her stricken face with concern.

  She looked away.

  “Yes, I was disappointed, and I do understand,” she said. “It’s just…” the sentence trailed off into nothingness. He turned her chin up to his and his eyes were full of understanding and tenderness.

  “It’s just that ye want to come with me and fight next to me, and ye ken I’ll no’ allow it,” he said softly.

  “Yes,” she said. “But I wouldn’t be so stupid as to even ask. I don�
�t know how to fight, not like that, and I’d get you killed trying to protect me. It’s the waiting. I’m no good at that. How do you cope with waiting for your men to come home?”

  Or not come home, but neither of them voiced that possibility.

  “I havena a notion, mo chridhe,” he said. “I ken well about waiting for a battle or a raid to start. Sometimes you have to sit for hours, waiting for the enemy to appear, or for the right moment to ambush, and still be ready for action at any second.”

  “What do you do to stop yourself going mad with worry?”

  “Well, when ye’re waiting for battle, it’s no’ so much worry that’s the problem, but the fear of dying, or worse. It’s good tae be a wee bit feart, but no’ to the point of paralysis. We generally tell each other stories about other battles we’ve fought, or that our fathers fought. And then we clean our weapons. Sometimes we compare scars, and tell tall tales about how we got them. Things like that.”

  Beth contemplated the idea of spending a day discussing previous battles their fathers had fought, full of gruesome detail. She would go mad if she did that. Her contribution to the discussion would be pretty short, too. Her father had never fought a battle in his life, had never even engaged in fisticuffs, as far as she knew.

  “You’re not helping, Alex,” she said.

  “I’m sorry. I havena a notion of how ye wait for someone else to fight a battle. That’s something ye’ll have to ask the other women about.”

  “Ye keep yourself busy,” said Maggie, as the last of the clansmen vanished into the distance along the road from Duddingston. The new camp was to be there, and the women had been left to erect the tents and get everything ready for the men’s return. “There’s always plenty to do, if you look for it. It’s the night time that’s the hardest part. That’s when ye start to scare yourself stupit wi’ thinking on what could happen.”

  “How do you stop that?” asked Beth.

  “Work verra hard and stay awake until ye’re so weary ye canna keep your eyes open any more. It gets easier wi’ time, though, ye’ll see.”