The Storm Breaks (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 4)

by Julia Brannan

Alex walked straight through the two men as though they weren’t there, causing Angus to stagger off the path. He looked after his brother in surprise.

  “What the hell’s the matter wi’ you?” he called. He looked at Duncan, registered the alarm in his eyes, and stopped. “What’s wrong?” he said, concerned now.

  Duncan looked frantically round, saw Kenneth in the distance and called him over.

  “Kenneth, Angus,” he said urgently. “Follow Alex. Dinna talk to him, just follow him. Make sure no one else speaks to him. Angus, dinna try to talk to him, for God’s sake.”

  Kenneth looked at him questioningly.

  “D’ye remember how I was when I first heard Mairi was dead?” Duncan said by way of explanation.

  “Aye, I do,” Kenneth replied.

  “That’s how Alex is now. Dinna let him do anything he’ll regret.”

  Kenneth looked at Angus, who was thoroughly perplexed.

  “Come on, laddie,” he said. “I’ll explain on the way.”

  “But what’s happened?” Angus asked as Kenneth started to drag him away.

  “I’ve nae idea,” Duncan said grimly, turning to the hut Alex had emerged from, “but I’m about to find out.”

  When he entered the room Beth was still sitting on the mattress staring at the doorway, tears pouring down her face. She looked at Duncan bleakly.

  “What have ye done, lassie?” he asked softly.

  She stood as though brought to life by his words, and brushed the tears from her cheeks.

  “I must go to him,” she said, suddenly resolved.

  He caught her round the waist as she made to move past him.

  “No,” he said. “Not now, Beth.”

  “But he left before I finished!” she cried, trying unsuccessfully to free herself. “I have to explain why…”

  “No,” Duncan said calmly again, moving further into the room, taking her with him. “Explain to me instead. Then I’ll be able to help ye do the right thing.”

  She stopped struggling.

  “I can’t,” she said. “It’s private. Please let me go, Duncan. I need to make him understand something, that’s all.”

  “Beth,” he said, “I saw his face when he came out. He’s past understanding anything at the minute. If ye go to him now he might kill ye.”

  She froze, and looked up at him. He was deadly serious.

  “No,” she breathed. “No, he’d never do that, never. He loves me.”

  “Aye, he does, and that’s why ye mustna go to him. He’ll never forgive himself later if he harms ye now. I’ve sent Kenneth and Angus to follow him, make sure he doesna hurt anyone else, or himself.” He released her, keeping hold only of her hand. It was a comforting gesture, but he kept himself between her and the door so she couldn’t run past him. “I canna begin to imagine what ye could have told him to make him so desperate, Beth, but whatever it was ye must tell me.”

  “I can’t,” she said, her eyes filling with tears again. She was beautiful, so lovely, and she truly loved his brother, Duncan knew that. What the hell could she have done to turn him against her?

  “D’ye trust me, Beth?” he asked.

  “Of course I do,” she sniffed miserably.

  “Well, then,” he said simply.

  For the second time that night, Beth found herself explaining what had happened between her and Richard. Duncan listened in silence, but when she glanced up at him from time to time during the telling, his eyes were sympathetic rather than condemning, which encouraged her to tell him everything. When she finished, he remained silent for a few minutes.

  “So he thinks ye lied to him because ye wanted to protect your brother,” he said finally.

  “Yes,” she said. “That’s why you have to let me go to him, to explain that it wasn’t that at all. I didn’t want him to kill Richard, not then, I didn’t know about Martha then, and he is my blood kin, after all. But the main reason I didn’t tell Alex was because I thought if he killed Richard so soon after killing Henri, that he’d never get away with it, and they’d hang him.”

  Instead of letting her dash off to Alex, as she obviously still wanted to do, Duncan took her hand again, and sat her down beside him on the mattress where just half an hour ago she had sat with her husband.

  “Beth, did ye no’ think Alex clever enough to work out how to kill Richard without being hung for it?” he asked gently.

  By the look on her face she obviously hadn’t thought of it like that before.

  “No,” she replied. “I was afraid that if I told him, he’d kill Richard in a rage. I was wrong, wasn’t I?” she finished in a very small voice.

  Duncan squeezed her hand reassuringly.

  “Aye, ye were. He’d have been angry, very angry, but he would have thought it through. He’s quick-tempered, true, but when he’s truly angry he’s cold, Beth, and he doesna kill on impulse.”

  “But you just said he’d kill me if I went to him now,” she said.

  “Maybe. But he’s more than angry wi’ you. Ye’ve betrayed him, do ye no’ see that? Ye’ve lied to him, shown ye dinna trust him, and humiliated him. For over two years ye allowed him to treat Richard as his brother-in-law, paying for his promotions, while all the time Richard kent that he’d had intimate knowledge of ye, and that Alex either didna ken about it, or that he was too craven to avenge his wife’s honour. Either way, ye knowingly and deliberately let Richard laugh at the man ye claim to love, for over two years.”

  Beth stared at Duncan, horrified.

  “It’s not like that at all,” she gasped.

  “Maybe no’, but that’s the way he’s seeing it. Ye ken Alex. Trust and loyalty are everything to him. What were ye thinking of, Beth? Ye should have tellt him two years ago, no’ now. Ye couldna have chosen a worse time to tell him.”

  “I had to,” she said. “I have to warn Anne of the danger she’s in, and he wouldn’t believe that Richard was evil enough to have murdered Martha. I had to tell him so he’d let me write.”

  “To hell wi’ Anne!” said Duncan vehemently. “Ye should be thinking of your husband, no’ some brainless wee lassie too stupit to see for herself what Richard is! I’m sorry,” he added, realising he was frightening her by his uncharacteristic display of temper, “but ye’ve let your worry about Anne blind ye to what Alex has been through these past days. He’s hiding what he feels for the sake of the men, but ye should ken him better, as do I. Everything that has given his life meaning for the last ten years was swept away at Derby. All we can do now is go back to Scotland and hope to make enough of a show to convince the French to help us after all, and the English to leave us alone. Which leaves Alex wi’ his clansmen, who’ve shown they’ll follow him to hell and back, and you. You were the most important one of all to him Beth, do ye no’ ken that?”

  “He hasn’t hidden how he felt from me,” she said in almost a whisper. “He’s talked to me about the cause.” He had cried in her arms, given himself completely to her, shown her all his vulnerability, trusting her utterly as he’d never trusted anyone before.

  “God, what have I done?” she said.

  “Ye’ve swept away the only rock he had left, that’s what ye’ve done. Ye’ve broken something in him.”

  “But he’s always been so strong!” she said.

  “Aye, he’s strong,” agreed Duncan. “But even the strongest men are breakable, Beth. I’m strong, but Mairi’s murder broke something in me. But no’ as much as Jeanie’s betrayal broke Kenneth. I’m recovering, now, but Kenneth never will. And he’s awfu’ strong, no’ just in body, but in mind too.”

  “Kenneth seems fine to me,” said Beth.

  Duncan took a breath. He had to tell her. She had to realise the possible consequences to her marriage of what she’d done.

  “Think about it for a second. He talks to ye a lot, Beth, for he likes ye. Has he ever mentioned Jeanie to ye? Or anything about her or his married life, even the smallest thing?”

  “No,” she said. “Yo
u’d think he’d never been married.”

  “Aye. He’s trying to shut her out of his memory completely, and the only way he can do that is by pretending she never existed. The men ken that. That’s why they never mention her.”

  He waited for a moment until she realised the import of what he was saying.

  “Are you telling me that Alex is going to shut me out completely, forever?” she said.

  “I dinna ken, Beth, but…”

  “No!” she cried. “No! He can’t do that! It’s different, I’m nothing like Jeanie! She slept with a soldier and betrayed the whole clan. I’ve made a mistake, a terrible mistake, I can see that now, but I would never betray him. I have to go to him, explain to him. He’ll understand, I’ll make him understand.” She tried to get up, and once again Duncan restrained her.

  “Beth, I could be wrong. I’m telling ye the worst that might happen. The killing rage was on him just now, but he controlled it enough to walk out on ye rather than kill ye, Beth. That’s a good sign. Maybe he will listen, an ye explain to him in the right way. But no’ now. Ye must think carefully of how to explain why ye did what ye did. I’ll help ye wi’ that, if you want. And you must wait until he’s ready to listen.”

  “When do you think that will be?” she asked desperately.

  “I havena a notion, lassie,” Duncan said kindly. “Days, certainly. Maybe longer.”

  Maybe never. She heard the words as though he had spoken them aloud, and her face contorted as she tried to cope with the thought that she might have lost Alex. It wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t possible. She gave a great shuddering sob, and found herself, once again, as she had on her return from France, enfolded in Duncan’s strong comforting arms, while she cried until she could cry no more.

  The next days were the worst of her life. Following Duncan’s advice, she decided to keep away from Alex for a while. Physically, that was not difficult. Alex spent much of the day riding with Prince Charles in the middle or rear of the army. Charles, who was still taciturn and uncommunicative with the chiefs he considered had betrayed him, was open and friendly with Alex, who he knew had argued fiercely in favour of the advance on London. Slowly Charles’s natural exuberance started to re-emerge, and if the MacGregor chieftain was a little paler and grimmer of face than normal, then that was no doubt due to his own disappointment at the retreat. Charming and caring as Charles could be, he was nevertheless a prince of the blood royal, and whilst expecting others to naturally take account of his moods, he had not been raised to be concerned about the moods of others except where they related directly to himself. He was the perfect companion for Alex, who had no wish to discuss his problems with anyone.

  Although neither Alex, Beth nor Duncan talked about what had happened to anybody else, and both Duncan and Angus behaved no differently towards Beth, the other clansmen quickly became aware of the fact that the chieftain and his wife had argued. They never voluntarily spent more than an hour apart from each other, and as the days went by with no sign of Alex and Beth resolving their difference, the MacGregors became more alarmed. They allowed Alex the distance he obviously needed, and treated Beth in a manner that was still friendly, although subtly different from before. They liked her enormously; but Alex was their chieftain, and for him to turn from his wife so comprehensively, she must have done something wrong. They would not judge her, but there was a slight cooling in their manner. It was almost imperceptible, but Beth, super-sensitive to everything at the moment, picked it up, and found herself spending more and more time with Graeme and John, who also knew there was something seriously amiss, but being her friends before Alex’s, didn’t change towards her at all. Nor did they press her for details. If she needed to talk, they were there. That was enough.

  It was as the army was leaving Preston four days later, the rebels much cheered by the thought of meeting Cumberland’s army in battle within a day or two, that Beth saw Alex, mounted on a bay gelding, riding towards her on his way to the prince. His head high, he appeared not to see her, and would have passed within feet of her without pausing had she not on impulse made a lunge for the bridle, bringing the horse to a stop. Alex glanced down at her, taking in her pallor and the shadows under her eyes that showed she was not sleeping. Then he looked away, and she, chilled by the coldness in his eyes, let go of the bridle.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, deeply regretting the impulse that had brought him close enough to touch. She longed to reach out her hand and stroke the fine auburn hairs on the heavily muscled bare leg that was now within inches of her face. She lifted her hand, then lowered it again and turned away.

  She had gone no more than three steps from him when he spoke her name, softly. She turned back immediately, too eager, she knew, but she could not help herself.

  “Next time I see him, and I will see him, I will kill him, Beth,” Alex said matter-of-factly.

  “Good,” she replied. “I want you to. Alex, I…”

  “You may write to Anne, if you wish,” he continued formally, as though she hadn’t spoken.

  “But you said you didn’t want me to,” she said. This was the last thing she’d expected him to say.

  “Ye may do as you want,” he said coolly. “It is no longer any concern of mine.”

  He pulled on the reins and rode away, leaving her as wounded as if he had drawn his sword and stabbed her through the heart. In vain Duncan tried to reassure her that Alex would never allow her to write to Anne if he thought she would betray the clan by doing so, and that he still therefore, even if he didn’t realise it himself, trusted her to an extent, which gave cause for hope. She just had to be patient, he reminded her, until Alex was ready to listen.

  He was not ready to listen. He would never be ready. He had closed himself to her. There was no hope.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The ancient footman knocked politely on the salon door, waiting for a response from within before entering and bowing deeply to his mistress.

  “The mail, my lady,” he said, holding out a wad of letters.

  Caroline had long ago given up trying to get Toby to stop calling her ‘my lady’. He had driven the carriage that had taken her from her home into her marriage with Edwin and disgrace, and had asked if he could stay on as her footman. Lady Caroline Ashleigh she had been when single, and Lady Caroline Harlow she was now married, in his view, and to address her as anything less would show an intolerable lack of respect.

  Neither would he retire with a pension, as Edwin had tentatively suggested, saying haughtily that he had never accepted charity and was not about to start at the age of eighty. So instead, unfailingly loyal, he creaked about the house performing light duties, many of them invented by the Harlows, fetching the mail, and keeping his self-respect.

  “Thank you, Toby,” Caroline said. “I expect Mr Harlow home for dinner. If you put it in his study he can attend to it later.”

  Toby bowed again.

  “There are two letters for you, my lady,” he said.

  She took them. One was from Philippa. Caroline smiled. She would save that for later. Caroline loved her cousin, but pitied Philippa’s husband Oliver, who after only six months of marriage was already well and truly under the thumb. She looked at the other letter, which appeared to be from Thwaite’s, a tailor in Manchester. Which was odd because Edwin used a London tailor, and any bill would be addressed to him, not her. Intrigued, she slit the seal and unfolding the paper read the opening lines.

  Dear Caroline,

  Please do not destroy this letter without reading it. It contains information that may save someone we both care for from mortal harm.

  She looked up. Toby was still standing by the door, eyes politely averted, awaiting further instructions.

  “Ah, thank you, Toby. That will be all. Can you ask Emma to bring some tea, please?”

  Once alone, Caroline refolded the letter, put it on the table and waited for the tea. While she waited and calmed herself, she looked carefully at the cover again. The
seal had not been interfered with. Whoever Thwaite was, he was not suspected by the authorities and the letter hadn’t been opened. The tea arrived. She poured a cup, added a lump of sugar, and spread the letter out on her knee.

  I have tried to ensure that this letter will pass unnoticed by the authorities. I know that you will not be happy to hear from me, but when I explain why I am writing, I am sure you will understand. It regards my brother and his wife. You already know that Richard was violent towards me before I married Anthony, and that before he left for Flanders he hit Anne on more than one occasion. He was also brutal to my servants, driving one, a young woman with a small child, away from the house.

  Until recently I believed she had moved to another town. But I have now discovered that she was in fact raped and murdered, and the child, then aged three, very badly injured by a blow from a sword. The child survived, but will never recover from the injuries inflicted on her. I firmly believe that my brother was responsible for this attack. The child is terrified of soldiers, and Richard came home the night my servant left with a cut on his face and without his coat, which I now believe was covered with the child’s blood. I cannot prove he was responsible; but I, and others who know Richard believe he is. I also believe that Anne and her son are in great danger. Richard cannot possibly be favourably disposed towards the baby, and I now believe that he will stop at nothing to get what he wants. He knows only one way to achieve his wishes, and that is through violence.

  I am aware the troops are being brought back from Flanders and am sure Richard will be home soon, if he is not already. I beg you not to ignore this letter; I know you are capable of making Anne listen to you, which is why I am writing to you. Small children are so vulnerable; it would be very easy for Richard to arrange for an accident to befall little George, with no one, not even Anne, any the wiser. If you need further proof of Richard’s brutality, ask Sarah to tell you of what happened to me the night he beat her in Didsbury. Tell her I give her permission to tell you everything. She will know of what I write.