The Storm Breaks (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 4)

by Julia Brannan

  “Well, then,” said Lord George, pacing up and down the room in an effort to keep his mind clear. “If we must fight, then the best spot is away over the river. Stapleton and Ker surveyed it yesterday. It’s excellent. It’s hilly, boggy and uneven, and perfect for the Highlanders when they charge. And what’s even better is that there are only a couple of places where the horse can cross the river, and if they do they’ll be useless because of the terrain. That’ll negate a third of Cumberland’s army.”

  “John is of the opinion that we’d do better to fight on Drumossie Moor,” put in Charles.

  John. Who the hell was John? For a minute Lord George, in his fuddled state, had no idea which John Charles was talking about. Then it hit him. John O’Sullivan, the bloody Irish idiot who ran off to get his doctor to bleed him at the slightest upset. He bit back the sarcastic retort that came immediately to his lips. I am being unfair, he told himself. O’Sullivan was loyal and experienced in the ways of the regular army. But this was not a regular army, and the Irishman knew nothing of the unconventional fighting ways of the Highlander.

  “If we fight on the moor, Your Highness, we will lose,” he said instead. “The terrain is well suited for the redcoats, and perfect for the horse. They have double our number as well. If we fight where I suggest, then even if we dinna win outright, we have a good chance of holding Cumberland until the next day, when the MacPhersons and some of the others should be back. But I dinna think it’ll come to that.”

  “But if we cross the river it’ll look as though we’re running away from Cumberland – again,” said Charles desperately. “And we’ll be abandoning Inverness to the redcoats.”

  Lord George stopped pacing and turned to face the white-faced prince.

  “Your Highness,” he said uncompromisingly, “if we fight on Drumossie Moor we will be defeated, and Inverness will be open to the enemy anyway.”

  The prince looked away.

  “I cannot think now,” he said. “I am too tired. We are both too tired. Let us have a few hours sleep. We cannot fight today. We will meet with the other council members later when we feel a little refreshed, and discuss this in more detail.”

  Lord George was about to object to this when he realised that Charles was on the point of collapse. Whereas the other men had not slept for forty-eight hours, Charles had been awake for three days, and in spite of that had ridden to Inverness this morning. He was a caring man, and well-meaning, if misguided at times and led astray by his sycophantic followers. The lieutenant-general bowed and left the room, vowing to have no more than four hours sleep before returning to the prince. This matter of the battlefield could not wait. The fate of the whole rebellion rested on it.

  * * *

  In the end the Duke of Cumberland gave them no choice. News came into the Jacobite camp at nine o’clock in the morning that the Hanoverian army had marched from Nairn at sunrise and was now less than four miles away. There was no more time to discuss battlefields, or to choose a day to fight.

  All over the moor men were being woken by the pipers or shaken awake by their chiefs. Alex, roused with difficulty by Beth, did the same for his men, before running off to find out what was going on. He was back within five minutes, during which time Maggie had distributed a meagre supply of dry loaves amongst the clansmen, which she unashamedly stated she had stolen from a farm over the water and up the hill a way.

  “The redcoats are nearly here,” Alex said indistinctly round a mouthful of bread. “We’ve a couple of hours at best. I’m away to talk to Lochiel and find out the battle formation. And a safe place for you two.” He glanced from Beth to Maggie, then ran his hands through his hair. “Christ,” he muttered under his breath, so that apart from Beth, only Duncan and Angus, who were standing next to him, heard. “That it should come to this.” Then he was gone again, splashing through the boggy ground as he made his way over to the knot of clan chiefs gathering in the distance.

  The men sat around, still only half awake, chewing the bread and splashing the icy water from the puddles over their faces in an attempt to rouse themselves. After a minute Duncan took Beth to one side.

  “Beth,” he began uncertainly, “I’ve a wee favour to ask of ye.” He stopped, and she looked up at him, waiting for him to continue.

  “Ye remember I tellt ye that when this was over, if I could, I’d go back to London and see Sarah?”

  He had told her that when she had written to Caroline, but had never said any more, keeping his feelings close to his chest.

  “Yes, I remember,” she said.

  “Aye, well, if…” he hesitated, looking over her shoulder across the moorland for a moment as though seeking inspiration. A gust of wind caught his hair, lifting it off his shoulders and blowing it into his face, and he brushed it back impatiently.

  “If I shouldna be able to,” he continued, looking back at Beth, his grey eyes intent on her face, “will ye write to her for me?”

  He had not asked her to do this before Prestonpans, or Falkirk, or even last night.

  “You think we’re going to lose, don’t you?” she said.

  “No!” he replied automatically. “No, of course I dinna. But I’ll just feel better if I ken ye’ll write for me, if I canna.”

  “What do you want me to say?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

  “Tell her…tell her I love her and that if things had been different I’d have made her my wife, if she’d have had me.”

  “She’d be insane not to if you asked her, Duncan,” Beth said.

  He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and took Beth in a sudden fierce hug, before releasing her.

  “Tell her that there are other good men out there, and if she finds one she’s no’ to keep her promise to me, but to seek happiness where she can. Tell her to remember about the wee spider. Can ye mind all that?”

  “Yes,” said Beth. “I promise I’ll do it, Duncan, though there’s no need to. You’ll be able to tell her yourself, face to face.”

  “Aye,” he said. “Aye, I hope so.” He turned and smiled at Angus, who was coming towards them, his face set. Duncan clapped his brother on the shoulder and walked away. Angus smiled at her, suddenly boyish and shy.

  Oh, God, thought Beth. They all think they’re going to die today.

  “What do you want me to tell her, Angus?” she asked.

  “What?” said Angus, caught by surprise.

  “Morag. What do you want me to tell her, if you can’t?”

  He lifted a hand and ran his fingers through his heavy fair hair, and Beth wanted to grab them, all of them and drag them away, away from this bleak field with the icy wind and heavy looming clouds, to somewhere else, anywhere where they would be safe. Instead she stood quietly and waited for him to find the words.

  “I feel awfu’ bad, Beth,” he said. “I tellt her I’d marry her before my next birthday, and I havena.”

  She looked at him in shock.

  “Oh God, Angus, I’d forgotten it was your birthday.”

  “Aye,” he said. “Everyone has, except Alex. He said that when he promised me a big party for my next birthday, this wasna quite what he had in mind, but he’d make it up to me later.” He grinned suddenly. “Will ye go home when this is over, or back to England?”

  “I’m a MacGregor, Angus,” she said. “I’ll go wherever Alex goes.”

  “Well, then,” said Angus more confidently, clearly in no doubt where Alex would go. “Will ye tell her I’m sorry, and that I’d intended to keep my promise, and that I’d have come straight back for her after today if I hadna…ye ken.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I do, and I will.”

  After he’d gone she stayed by herself for a moment, to recover. The men don’t all believe they’re going to die, she told herself. They were optimistic by nature. Angus and Duncan had just been infected by Alex’s impulsive words, that was all. They had never lost a battle since the rebellion began. Cumberland had never won a battle. He had retreate
d again and again at Flanders. The dragoons would run, as they always did…

  Simon and Alasdair were approaching her.

  “Yes!” she shouted suddenly, making them both jump. “I’ll tell your wives you love them and that you would have come back to them if you could!”

  They looked at each other, and then at her, and then started to back away.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, in a softer tone. “I’m a bit…fashed. Tell me what you want me to say.”

  She was the chieftain’s wife. It was her duty to support Alex and his men where she could. And in this, at least, she could. Maybe they would be cheered and would fight better if they knew that whatever happened, their final messages would be delivered and their loved ones reassured.

  After Alasdair and Simon, no one else had any time to deliver last words. Alex was back, trailing a group of women and children behind him. The men gathered round.

  “We’re on the right of the field,” he said briskly. “Wi’ Lochiel. Front line, between Lord George’s and the Appin Stewarts. Go and take your positions. I’ll be back when I’ve hidden the women.”

  The men flung their plaids over their shoulders, checked their weapons, picked up their targes and started to run across the field. Alex strode off in the other direction without waiting to see if the women were following him.

  “I’d hoped,” he said to Beth as they walked over the moor, “to take ye across the river and up Ben Bhuiddhe, but there isna time for that now.” He glanced back to see if the others were keeping up, and then carried on.

  After a short time they came to a small stand of trees, at the front of which was a tiny derelict stone bothy with a thatched roof. There were no windows, but it was dry inside and the stout wooden door had a heavy bolt, which would afford some security.

  “Ye’ll wait in here,” he said to the twenty or so women assembled round him. “There’s a wee hearth, but ye mustna light a fire, for…”

  “The smoke will be seen. We ken that,” said Maggie. “And we must be quiet, and no’ let the bairns cry.” There were four children of varying ages, and one alarmingly pale woman clutched a tiny baby to her chest.

  He smiled.

  “Aye. I’m sorry,” he said. “Ye’re no’ stupid, I ken that. Ye’ll no doubt hear when the battle starts, from the guns. When it’s over ye must stay here until one of us comes for ye. Ye should be safe, if you’re quiet.”

  He drew Beth outside and round the back of the bothy, whilst the women hurriedly tried to make the room comfortable, spreading their plaids out on the ground. One of them had a candle which she set in the middle of the floor. It would be dark when the door was closed.

  “Alex,” said Beth when she was sure they could not be overheard. “Do you think you can win this battle?”

  He looked at her, realised that she already knew the answer to her question, opened his mouth to say something, then hesitated.

  “I can give ye the truth, Beth, or I can tell ye what ye wish to hear. Which do you want?” he said finally.

  Tell me what I wish to hear, that whatever happens today, you’ll all come out of it unharmed. That I won’t end this day a widow.

  “The truth,” she said. Still he gazed at her intently before answering.

  “No, we canna win this battle. Murray’s of the same opinion, as is Lochiel and many of the other chiefs. Most of the men havena eaten anything for two days and they’re exhausted. The redcoats are fresh, and there’s too many of them. And we’re on the wrong field. No, we canna win.”

  “Why are you fighting, then?” she said. “Why don’t you run into the mountains where the redcoats can’t follow? There’s no shame in retreating before impossible odds. You’ve told me that yourself.”

  “It’s too late for that, Beth,” he replied reasonably. “If we all run now, the redcoats will be on us straightaway. Our only chance is to stay organised and fight. At least we’ll kill a lot of them, and wi’ luck we’ll cause enough damage to make them think twice about following us when we do retreat.”

  He had misunderstood her, and as he saw the expression on her face, he realised his mistake.

  “I canna do that, Beth,” he said, aghast. “I canna take my men and abandon the others, and call myself a man afterwards. That’s no’ retreat; it’s betrayal.”

  “But you’ve only got a few men,” she said despairingly. “Whether you stay or go will make no difference to the battle.” She was fighting for her own life as well as his. She believed she could not live without him. But she was strong, he knew that. Stronger than she thought.

  “It makes a difference to me, mo chridhe,” he said tenderly. “Ye ken that already, do ye no’?”

  Yes, she did. She knew that trust, loyalty and pride were everything to the Highlander. She knew because it was everything to her, as well. If you took that away there was nothing left. She swiped furiously at her eyes, not wanting him to see the tears of weakness.

  “Yes,” she said softly. “Yes. I’m sorry. I’m just…I’m so afraid for you.”

  He smiled, his eyes warm and tender.

  “I’ve every intention to live, Beth,” he said. “I’ll fight hard today, but I’ll no’ be stupid. I’ll no’ fight on if it’s clear we’ve lost, I promise ye that. And then I’ll come for ye.”

  He took her in his arms, and she clung to him with all her strength.

  “There’s something else I must say, Beth, before I go,” he said. “Ye should be safe here. If we win, then the redcoats’ll be too busy running away to investigate all the wee huts. If we lose, then they’ll head for Inverness, and willna pass by here. If I canna come back for ye myself, someone else will. If…if nobody comes, ye must wait till dark and then make your way over the river and south to Ruthven barracks. That’s where we’ll all gather if the battle goes against us. Ye’ll no doubt meet other clansmen on the way. Ye must lead the women, Beth. You’re the only chief’s wife amongst them. Can ye do that?”

  “Yes,” she said, although she was not sure she could. “Yes, I can do that. But it won’t come to that. You’ll come back for me.”

  He kissed her fiercely then put her from him, gently but firmly.

  “I must go, Beth,” he said softly, although he clearly didn’t want to.

  “Alex,” she said, suddenly desperate. “I love you. I…”

  “I love you too, more than ye ken, lassie,” he said, stroking her cheek. “I’ll come for ye. But until I do you must be strong, for yourself and for me.”

  “I will be,” she said, swallowing hard.

  He smiled then, a real smile, that lit up his eyes. Then he turned and was gone, running through the heather with all the agility of a deer. She watched him until he disappeared from view, then she wiped her eyes and went to join the others in the hut.

  * * *

  When Alex returned to the field the clansmen were still arriving in droves, although the Hanoverian army were already taking their positions and the artillery had been drawn up in readiness. He took his place to the right of Duncan, Kenneth stepping to the side to make room for him. The men heaved a sigh of relief. They had been worried that the battle would start whilst their chieftain was still absent.

  “Is Beth safe?” asked Graeme from directly behind Alex.

  “Aye,” he said, glancing back. “As safe as it’s possible to be. She’s sensible. She’ll do the right thing, whatever happens.”

  Graeme nodded. Alex looked around him with interest.

  “What’s happening?” he asked.

  Angus, on Duncan’s left, leaned round his brother. He was fully awake now and his enthusiasm for the battle was growing.

  “Cumberland’s artillery got stuck in the mud for a wee while,” he said. “And the prince tellt Lord George to attack, but he didna.”

  “Why not?” asked Alex.

  “I would think it’s because he didna have enough men at the time,” Duncan said. “A lot of them went to Inverness to look for food, and others are still asleep. They�
�re coming back now, but they’ll no’ all get here before it starts, I’m thinking. And Cumberland’s artillery’s here now.”

  Alex looked worriedly at the long stone wall of the Culwhiniac enclosure on their far right.

  “Did nobody think to knock down the wall?” he asked. “It’ll hem us in when we charge and if the redcoats manage to breach it they’ll be able to take us from the side.”

  “Lord George and O’Sullivan were having a fearsome argument earlier about it,” said Kenneth. “I couldna hear what they said, but they didna do anything apart from wave their arms about a lot.”

  It was too late to do anything now. The Hanoverians were ready. On the Jacobite side the pipers were playing the various clan rants, and the tension began to build. Angus felt the familiar rush of dread and anticipation fizz through him and then from his left came a series of loud cracks as the Jacobite artillery opened fire on the massed redcoats ahead of them.

  A ripple ran through the men as they heard the answering thump of the Hanoverian cannon, but all the balls flew over their heads, aiming directly at the Stuart standard in the rear. It was clear that they were hoping to kill the prince and thereby win the battle in one fell swoop. Angus, along with a lot of the other men, turned to look anxiously behind him, but he could see nothing due to the gun smoke blowing backwards in the freshening wind.

  It started to sleet, the wind driving it hard into the faces of the clansmen in a complete reversal of Falkirk Muir, and then the Hanoverians let forth their second salvo and the men forgot all about Charles, for this fire was directed right at the front line, the balls sailing straight into the ranks of the Highlanders, cutting men in half and driving their bodies into those standing behind. Gaps appeared in the lines and the men stepped sideways to fill them. On the next salvo many of the men threw themselves to the ground, but the balls still found targets. It was impossible not to; the men were too closely packed for them to miss.