They had been walking for perhaps two hours when Angus suddenly appeared next to Beth, leading a soft-eyed garron by the bridle.
“Here ye are,” he said, as though delivering an item she’d ordered earlier.
She looked from Angus’s smiling face to the pony.
“No,” she said. “Thank you, but I’m fine. I’m just a bit stiff, that’s all. My muscles are loosening up already.”
“Alex says ye’re to ride a wee while,” Angus replied. “He doesna want ye injuring yourself.”
“I’m not going to injure myself,” said Beth stubbornly. “If I stop walking I’ll stiffen up again, and I’ll never get used to the pace.”
Angus stayed beside her.
“Aye, that’s true,” he conceded. “But if ye pull a muscle ye’ll no’ be able to walk at all for days. Ye’d be better to…”
Beth uttered a small scream as she was lifted off her feet and dumped unceremoniously onto the pony’s back.
“Ye’ll have to ride astride, but as you’re accustomed, that’s no’ a problem for ye,” said Alex.
“Alex,” she began, “I don’t want to ride. I’d much rather…”
“I havena the time to argue wi’ ye right now, Beth,” her husband said. “I’ve a wee problem to sort out. I tellt ye ye shouldna have let him come back wi’ ye,” he said ferociously to Angus, before turning his attention back to Beth. “I’ll be back when I can. In the meantime ye ride. Chieftain’s orders. Remember your promise.”
He jogged off ahead, leaving his wife and brother suddenly united by their shared grievance. Angus walked beside the garron in silence, his face flushed, his mouth set.
“What’s the ‘wee problem’?” asked Beth, certain from Alex’s words and Angus’s expression that not only did he know what it was, but was probably involved in it in some way.
“It wasna my fault,” muttered Angus mutinously. “I couldna stop him coming.”
“No, but if ye hadna filled his daft wee skull wi’ tales of glory and how bonny and brave Prince Tearlach is, he’d have maybe stayed at home instead of causing trouble now,” said Simon from behind them.
“Thalla gu ifrinn,” replied Angus rudely, glaring back at the other man. “I’d forgotten he’d turned fifteen, and I didna think he’d come anyway. Christ, his mother had enough trouble tae rouse him frae his bed in the mornings.”
“What’s going on, Angus?” said Beth, who had had enough of this cryptic conversation.
“Robbie Og had a wee stramash wi’ one of the Camerons last night and stabbed him,” said Simon, who showed no signs of going to hell in spite of Angus’s recent demand that he should.
“It’s only a scrape in the arm,” said Angus. “Nae need for a fuss.”
Beth was fully aware of the MacGregors’ idea of a scrape. Trying to ignore the vision that came into her head of a blood-drenched Cameron, his arm dangling by a thread, she turned back to Simon.
“What happened?” she asked.
“I dinna ken, rightly,” Simon replied. “Robbie had a wee drop too much, I think, and got into a dispute of some sort. From what I heard they both drew their dirks, but Robbie managed to slice the other laddie’s arm afore the men broke it up.”
“What do you think’ll happen to him?” asked Beth.
“That’s up to Alex,” said Simon. “It’s no’ completely Angus’s fault. He filled Robbie’s head wi’ grand tales, true, but none of us should have let him come back wi’ us to Edinburgh last month.”
They continued in reflective mood for a while, Angus easily keeping up with the short-legged garron’s ambling gait.
“He’s right about you riding, though,” he said after a while.
“Maggie’s walking,” said Beth. “And so are most of the other women. I don’t want special treatment.”
“Broughton’s wife rides in a carriage most of the time,” Angus pointed out.
“That’s up to her, if she wants to,” said Beth. “But I don’t. I want to walk.”
“You’re one of us whether ye ride or walk,” said Duncan, who had made his way to the other side of the small pony. “We’re all feeling the pace, after six weeks of idleness. There’s no shame in it. If ye want to get used tae walking, the best way is to walk every day until ye start to ache, then ride. Ye’ll be able to walk a wee bit further each day, and after a week or two ye’ll have nae need of a horse at all.”
“I’ve got no choice anyway,” said Beth. “He’s ordered me to ride, the tyrant.”
Duncan and Angus both laughed at this exaggerated epithet. Beth smiled reluctantly.
“If ye think he’s a tyrant because he’s making ye look after yourself, imagine what Robbie thinks of him,” said Duncan.
Ears pricked up all over the vicinity.
“What’s he done to him?” Beth asked.
“Is he sending him home?” asked Angus at the same time.
Duncan smiled.
“Ask Alex yourself,” he said, looking past them to where his brother was making his way back up the line.
Alex stopped when he reached them.
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately to Angus. “It wasna your fault he came wi’ ye. I ken ye didna mean to encourage him. I was just fashed.”
The clouds lifted immediately from Angus’s face. If the two brothers were quick to take offence, at least they were as quick to apologise if they were wrong, and to forgive if they had been wronged.
Alex looked up at Beth.
“How are ye feeling?” he asked.
“Stiff,” said Beth.
“Aye, ye will be. But if ye…”
“Walk a bit each day and then ride when I get tired, I’ll be able to walk all day without a problem soon,” Beth interrupted him. “I know. Duncan told me. You’re right. Now tell us what’s happened with Robbie before the whole clan dies of curiosity.”
Alex looked round. There was a remarkable number of MacGregors suddenly bunched behind their chieftain, where a few minutes before they had been straggling along the path in small groups. It seemed the appropriate moment for a short break.
“Neither of them would tell us what the stramash was about,” Alex began when everyone was gathered round him off the path. Several of the men had taken the opportunity to sit down for a minute. Duncan was right; they were feeling the quick pace set by Charles, who, marching at the head of his army, was eager to cross the border as soon as possible.
“Us?” said Beth.
“Lochiel and I,” elaborated Alex. “We questioned them for a good half hour, but they wouldna tell us who started it, or what it was about, even though they were sore afeart.”
Murmurs of approval ran through the gathered crowd. Many of the MacGregors had personal experience of how terrifying an interrogation by their chieftain could be. To be interrogated by him and the equally formidable Cameron chief and not give way showed great courage.
“Aye,” said Alex, acknowledging the feeling behind the murmur. “But it doesna change the fact that Robbie drew his dirk first, or that Jamie Cameron’s got ten stitches in his arm, and lucky to have that. Robbie was aiming for his chest.”
“How d’ye ken that, if they wouldna tell ye anything?” asked Iain.
“There were others who saw what happened, though they werena within earshot. Whatever it was, it should have been settled wi’ fists, no’ wi dirks. This isna the time for clan feuding. It’s a miracle the clans are marching together as it is. Lochiel’s keeping his men well under control, and I’ll no’ have a snot-nosed wee gomerel like Robbie making trouble. That goes for all of ye, while I’m on the subject,” he said, looking round at his suddenly silent men. “If ye’ve an argument to settle, ye do it wi’ words, or wi’ fists if ye’ve nae alternative. If it’s something ye feel strongly enough to use a dirk or a sword over, ye come to me instead. If any of my men stabs another in a dispute, I’ll hang him, whether he’d the right of the argument or no’. The Cameron’s of the same mind. We’ve got enough wi’ the redcoat
s to contend with, without killing each other.”
“Are ye going to hang Robbie?” asked Angus, white-faced.
“No,” said Alex. “I canna do that when I hadna warned him in advance. But he kens now what’ll happen if he does it again, as do the rest of ye.”
There was a general sigh of relief.
“Ye’ll be sending him home then, wi’ his back raw,” said Alasdair.
“That’s probably what I should do, aye,” said Alex. “But he’s a good chance of being captured by the redcoats if I do, and I canna spare the men to escort him. Ye all ken Robbie. If I beat him, I’d have to do it till he couldna walk to have any effect, and then he’d be a liability. I’ve thought of something more appropriate.”
He outlined his punishment, and there was a roar of laughter and approval.
Ten minutes later the men were back on the path, and although they were joking and laughing together, they had taken their leader’s warning to heart. Hot-tempered as the MacGregors were, there would be no weapons used in any disputes from then on, no matter how fierce the argument.
“Poor Robbie. It’ll kill him,” said Beth, riding along slowly, Alex at her side. They had deliberately moved a little apart from the others, so they could talk.
“No, it willna. It’ll teach him to control his temper.”
“I hope so, for his sake. I didn’t mean that. I meant it’ll kill him to have to get up in the dark at four o’clock every morning to make breakfast for the Camerons. He normally has to be kicked awake long after sunrise as it is. I’ve never known anyone sleep as much as him.”
“I’m less worried about his laziness than his good opinion of himself. He’s far too much pride about him, of the wrong sort. It’ll do him good to wait on the Camerons for a couple of weeks. Maybe they’ll make an early riser of him.”
“I doubt it,” Beth said. “Nothing else has. And the Camerons will tease him unmercifully. Will you really let Lochiel hang him if he loses his temper again?”
“Aye, I will,” said Alex. Beth shivered involuntarily, and he saw it. “It sounds harsh, Beth, but he’s no use to me or the cause if he canna hold his temper. He’ll get himself killed, or worse, get the clan involved in a blood feud if he isna curbed now. Dinna fash yourself, a ghràidh, it’ll be hard for him, but he’ll no’ give Lochiel cause to hang him, and he’ll be the better for it.”
“How can you be so sure?” asked Beth.
“I ken my clansmen, that’s why,” Alex said. “Robbie’s a lazy wee sod, but while he’s lying around shirking his work, he’s dreaming of great things. Being ignominiously strung up from a tree isna part of his glorious future plan. And he kens well that he willna get a second chance. I dinna make idle threats, Beth. There’s no purpose to it.” He smiled up at her suddenly, his eyes a bright heathery blue in the November sunshine. “Now,” he said. “Did I take it from your earlier statement that you’re actually going to see sense and ride a wee bit each day until your legs are strong?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve no wish to be hung for disobedience. Anyway, you’re right,” she admitted.
“I usually am,” he replied, grinning. “What was that for?” he asked as his jaunty blue bonnet went spinning off his head into the dust, propelled by Beth’s hand.
“Unreasonable pride,” she replied. “A chieftain can hardly punish his clansmen for a fault he possesses in abundance himself.”
He retrieved the bonnet, slapped the dust off it and replaced it on his head.
“Ah, it’s good to be moving again, though,” he said.
“I thought the council were against an invasion of England,” Beth commented.
“They were divided,” said Alex. “Lord George was all for retreating to the Highlands and having a mass recruiting drive to raise the army we need. He reckons we could raise twenty-five thousand, given time.”
“But Charles managed to use his remarkable charisma to talk him round,” said Beth.
Alex laughed.
“Lord George wouldna ken charisma if it was fired at him from a cannon. That’s another reason I’m glad to be moving. At least I dinna have to stand between they two every day. No, it was the arrival of the Marquis d’Eguilles from France, along with the four ships of supplies and ammunition that swung the balance. And the money and arms from Spain. Charles has managed to convince the council that the French are waiting at Dunkirk, ready to invade England as soon as we cross the border.”
“Do you think they will?”
“I dinna ken. Maybe. But I think of Louis much in the same way as I think of the English Jacobites. They’ll join us when they know they canna lose by doing so. But in spite of that, I still think the only chance we’ve got is to invade now, defeat Wade and get to London before George can get enough troops back from Flanders to stop us. He’s already bringing them back, we ken that. With or without the French, we’ve got to strike hard, fast, and that’s what we’re doing, at last. And that’s why I’m happy. There’s another reason, too,” he added.
“What’s that?”
“I love ye. And I’ve got ye a wee present.” He reached under his plaid and drew out a long wooden cylinder, which he handed to her.
“Oh!” she cried, eyeing the whistle with delight. Tossing the reins to Alex she put the whistle to her lips and played a scale. “It’s lovely! Where did you get it?”
“I had one of the Grants make it for ye. I thought ye could give us a tune of an evening by the fire.”
“Yes, of course I will,” she said, her eyes dancing. She leaned down to kiss him. “I love you too. I’ll have to practice, though, if I’m to remember the tunes.”
“I’d best away and check everything is alright up the line. You practice away,” he said, beckoning Angus forward and handing him the reins, although the garron hardly needed guiding, so docile was it. “Then ye can maybe play for us tonight.”
“Oh, yes, I will,” she said, the whistle already at her lips. “Thank you.”
Alex favoured his wife and brother with an amiable look.
“Good. It’ll make a refreshing change from they stories you’re so fond of telling,” he said.
The guilty couple watched as he wandered off.
“Was that a warning, do you think?” Beth said after Alex was out of earshot.
“Aye, I think so,” replied Angus cheerfully. “But I doubt he’ll hang us if we disobey him.”
Practising the whistle made her forget her aching muscles for a while, as Alex had intended. By the evening she felt confident enough to entertain the MacGregors with a few songs around the fire. They needed diverting; they were now only a few miles from England, and a great many of the Scots were feeling apprehensive, reluctant to cross into what they considered to be a foreign country with whose terrain they were not familiar.
She played a few lively reels to start, and was surprised to see how many of the men, in spite of having marched over twenty miles that day, still felt fresh enough to get up and dance, their hair floating wild around their shoulders, kilts swirling in the light of the fire as they performed the intricate moves. Beth was grateful to be providing the music and therefore unable to dance; she was still having trouble walking properly. Maggie had no such excuse, and as the only other woman in the MacGregor contingent, was swept up and twirled from man to man until, flushed and laughing, she begged for mercy.
Beth took pity on her, and noting that several of the Glencoe MacDonalds had joined them, she played the lament ‘On the Murder of Glencoe,’ which reduced her tough manly audience to tears.
Having spent most of her life in the company of stiff-upper-lipped Englishmen who considered it a disgrace to weep in public, Beth still found it a source of wonder that the Highlander, bloodthirsty and violent as he could be when provoked, was not only courteous to a fault with women, but was as easily brought to tears as to laughter and was not ashamed to show his emotions.
Having said that, she found herself also crying at their reaction to her song, and
it not being conducive to good whistle playing, she next played ‘Teague’s Ramble,’ a comic song about an innocent country boy going to London, followed by ‘Bonny Jean of Aberdeen,’ which they all knew and sang along with.
By this time everyone was laughing again and Alex was smiling approvingly at her from the other side of the fire. This was just what the men needed to keep their spirits high. It was a cold evening, but with the warmth of the fire, the combined body heat of Angus and Duncan who were sitting on either side of her, and the beneficial effects of a generous slug of whisky, Beth felt mellow enough to offer to teach the MacGregors a new song, entitled ‘Captain McKean’.
It was long; but being extremely bawdy indeed was quickly learnt by her audience, who were soon laughing and singing in equal measure.
“Now,” she said, when the applause had died down. “It’s late; but we’ve time for one more song, and I think I should finish the evening on a more courtly note. So I’ll play a tune about royalty.” She flexed her fingers and played a short but complex tune with much ornamentation.
“Oh, that was awfu’ pretty!” said Maggie. “Are there words to it?”
“Yes,” said Beth. “The words are from a poem, but they’re in French.”
“That’s a pity,” said Kenneth, who had hoped to learn another song. “There’s none here but Alex, Duncan and Angus who have the French.”
“I have the French too,” replied Beth lightly. “I can translate it for you. It doesn’t fit the tune in translation, but you’ll like it even so, I think. And you’ll learn it quickly, for it’s very short.”
She put the whistle down and cleared her throat.
“’What am I seeing? Oh, God!’” she recited in a clear, loud voice.
“’It is night soil.
What a wonderful substance it is.
It is excreted by the greatest of all Kings.
Its odour speaks of majesty.’”
The Storm Breaks (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 4) Page 13