The Chevalier

by Jacqueline Seewald

  “Heather,” Elizabeth said. “Sometimes it has to be burned back.”

  “What a shame.”

  “They’re just like the brambles; they grow anyplace there’s space.”

  Madeline bent down and pulled some of the small purple flowers. “What a lovely scent.”

  “They bloomed in September and are about past their time, but you still find some, until the frost takes the last of them. The autumn’s been warmer than usual this year. It’s favored the Prince’s army.”

  As they walked, Madeline fell under the enchantment of the Highlands, the sheep meadows and the grazing cattle had rustic charm. She could hear the sound of birds in the trees above them and looked upward to the purple shrouded mountains above. The air smelled fresh and sweet even if it was chilly. Although she had always loved the beauty and gaiety of France, in the Highlands of Scotland, Madeline discovered a strange sense of having come home. Perhaps her mother had been right after all.

  “Would you like to climb the hills with me?” Elizabeth asked.

  Madeline looked down at her voluminous skirt worn over hoops. Her traveling gown was appropriate enough for the coach, but not for climbing.

  “Perhaps we may do it another day when my clothes are better suited,” she said. Her fur-lined pelisse was worn over a gown, which was heavily boned and tightly corsetted. Her gown, with its engageantes, heavily ruffled elbow sleeves, was much too elegant for this way of life. The broad, low, curved décolletage was the sort of neckline that the sisters of King Louis preferred, but it too seemed out of place here with its band of exquisite lace across the bodice. Just how long the elaborately embroidered silk would hold its elegance in this environment, she did not know, but clearly her usual wardrobe and that of Maman were unsuited to their current environment. How foolish they must appear to these earthy people! Fortunately, Maman had insisted that they bring warm woolens and plain muslins as well.

  It was Cousin Anne who gave them the plaid of the clan to wrap around themselves. Madeline was grateful for it. She insisted that Marie fix her plainest dresses so that they could be worn without hoops and stays. The French maid was shocked by her request, but Maman quite agreed. And so her gowns came to be worn with the tartan plaid of the MacCarnan. Thus, Madeline began spending many days out of doors even in the coldest of weather in the company of her young cousin, enjoying her unaccustomed freedom.

  She also came to know the tenants, or crofters as they were called, and was surprised to discover that though they deferred to her cousin Anne because she was nobility, there was none of the sort of servile attitude as was common among the French peasants, nor did it seem to be expected. The crofters were under the impression that they were quite as good as anyone else, although they were poorer and their lives harder than the country peasants that Madeline had known in France.

  “Are all the men gone to war?” she asked her cousin on the second week of their stay.

  “Gone to fight with the MacCarnan naturally, every able-bodied one.”

  The pretty, chestnut-haired girl who had been serving them barley tea and scones, smiled at her patronizingly as if she considered Madeline some foolish, inferior being. Madeline frowned deeply, noting that this was not the first time it had happened. Jenny, as the girl was called, clearly did not like her. There was definite hostility in the looks the serving wench gave her, but Madeline could not understand any reason for this. She tried hard to be polite and civil to everyone.

  At least Elizabeth liked her, she conceded. Her young cousin was a sweet child and loved to hear stories about France and England. Her eyes would open wide when Madeline told her of King Louis and his magnificent court. She admired Madeline’s clothing and jewelry with adoring eyes. One day as Madeline was dressing with Marie’s help, Elizabeth held a gold, filigreed brooch to the light.

  “Oh my, there’s a picture painted here. ‘Tis so lovely and so tiny. How can anyone create something like this?”

  “It’s called a miniature. This one is of Versailles during the reign of the Roi Soleil. I would like you to have it as a gift from me.”

  Elizabeth’s face colored deeply. “Och, I couldn’t take it. ‘Tis too fine a thing for ye to give me.”

  Madeline pressed the brooch into the child’s hand. “You must have it. You and your mother are so kind to us. It’s such a small thing for me to give.”

  The winter was spent in a pleasant enough manner for Madeline. Although she did not see any improvement at all in her mother’s condition, yet she was aware that Maman was at peace with herself. This made Madeline relax somewhat as well. She could not imagine life without her Maman nor did she wish to do so. The MacCarnans were kind, good people, but their ways were strange to her. Still, she did not really miss France or England as much as she thought that she might.

  Only sometimes did she think of Gareth Eriksen and wonder where he was and what he was doing. Since he was an English soldier, she was uncomfortably reminded that he must be fighting against Prince Charles’ army. That thought both frightened and upset her so much that she forced it from her mind.

  But at night, the dreams continued; erotic ones that she could not control. They would come unbidden and she would wake remembering how Gareth’s arms had felt around her and the longing his kisses had stirred in her. How those feelings tortured her!

  With morning came much needed control and restraint. She strived to keep active and busy. Each day she learned something new about her maternal relatives. One afternoon, Elizabeth took her exploring the old, decaying castle. It was a cold eerie place and she slipped once or twice on the smooth stones that formed the steps to the tower.

  “I don’t think you need show me as far as the tower,” she told the child.

  “Och, but I must! You no’ be findin’ many a castle as ancient as this. Why it has been in our family for four centuries – do you ken it?”

  “The house is more comfortable,” Madeline observed in her practical manner.

  “Aye, but the bogles are here.”

  Madeline arched a raven brow. “Bogles?”

  “Spirits – ghosts! No self-respecting Scottish castle is without one, especially in the Highlands.”

  “I don’t believe in such things,” Madeline replied skeptically.

  “Careful,” Elizabeth admonished in a hushed voice. “If they hear ye, they’ll be much offended and they might do something dreadful to ye!”

  Madeline folded her arms across her breasts in a gesture of disbelief.

  “And who are these spirits?”

  “‘Twas the third Earl of MacCarnan that imprisoned two poachers in the dungeon of the tower. One was so terrified of the flogging he thought was to come that he dived out of the high window and met his death in the moat. They say you can hear his ghost screaming out when the moon is full.”

  “Probably just wild animals howling off in the hills.”

  “Nay, there’s more then one ghost haunts this castle. But I see you’re not a believer. You’re not one for the old Celtic way, are you?”

  Just then, Madeline felt something brush against her ankle and saw a blurred movement. She couldn’t keep from crying out.

  “Don’t be scared; ‘tis only the rats.”

  “I don’t believe in being scared of ghosts, but rats are quite another thing.” She ran quickly down the steps, almost tripping over the hem of her gown in her haste.

  “Wait up!” Elizabeth cried out, running behind her.

  When they returned to the house totally out of breath, her small cousin turned to her. “I believe you run with the speed of a fairy.”

  “Only when I see vermin.”

  “My lady has a faint heart,” Jenny said sharply as she came by carrying a load of wash.

  After Jenny had passed, Madeline turned to her cousin. “Why does she dislike me so?”

  Elizabeth cast her fern colored eyes downward. “‘Tis not you in particular she hates. Our Jenny has had her eye on my brother Andrew for as long as anyone
can remember. She’s heard that you’re his betrothed and I suppose it’s made her jealous.”

  Madeline nodded her head with understanding. At least now, she could comprehend the young woman’s hostility toward her.

  “You do intend to marry Andrew, don’t you?” Elizabeth could be embarrassing direct.

  “I don’t know that your brother and I will marry. He and I barely know one another. Still, I suppose if he wants to marry me, I will accept. It would please our mothers, and that is most important – though I hardly feel ready to be a bride.”

  “I do hope you decide to stay with us! It would be wonderful to have you for a sister always.”

  “We will be like sisters regardless,” Madeline promised.

  And all winter, that was exactly how it was, with Madeline teaching Elizabeth French and proper English and all about world history while Elizabeth taught her how to fish for salmon and trout through the ice of the river and how to bake barley scones. Madeline had never been allowed in a kitchen before and was delighted to learn the rudiments of cooking and baking. It seemed Cousin Anne was not above personally supervising her kitchen.

  On Sundays, all except Maman who was too weak, went to the Catholic kirk to pray. Cousin Anne explained that in the Lowlands, everyone had been converted into the Presbyterian or Episcopal Church.

  “But we’re a stubborn lot here and we’ve kept the true faith, even while preserving many of the old ways of the Celts. They’d change us if they could, but we’ll fight them all the way. Did you know that when the Romans came, they never could conquer us?”

  Madeline shook her head, watching the proud look on Anne’s face.

  “Aye, ‘tis the truth! They conquered the world but the Highlanders were too brave and fierce for the Romans. If only God may give us strength to fight off the English the same way!”

  On her knees, Madeline prayed devoutly for Bonnie Prince Charlie and the Highlanders to be victorious, and then she prayed just as fervently for her mother to get well again. She could only hope that her faith was strong enough.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  In the middle of April, Cousin Anne had a terrible nightmare and woke screaming. Madeline and Elizabeth, who shared a bedroom, rose as one and went running to her. Anne’s eyes were open in terror and she was crying hysterically.

  “What is it?” Madeline exclaimed, for she had never in her life seen anyone so terrified.

  “It’s gone bad for them. I saw it in a dream of prophecy. The Highlands are doomed!” Anne began to cry inconsolably and pushed Elizabeth away as she tried to offer comfort.

  “Dinna fash yourself, Mither,” Elizabeth said, pressing her cheek against that of Anne.

  “I grieve not for myself alone but for all of us. Go back to bed, both of ye. There’s nothing can be done.”

  Elizabeth was weeping also as they went back to her room and Madeline suggested that they stay up for a time and talk. “Your mother might be wrong,” she offered.

  Elizabeth shook her fiery hair fiercely. “No, she’s never wrong about such things. She’s got the sight, you know. She sees things others cannot.”

  From that day there was a sadness in the house. Even May Day was not a happy celebration as it ordinarily would have been. But Elizabeth took her to see the traditional lighting of the Beltane fires upon the heights and weaved them both garlands of flowers to wear on their heads. In the gloaming, hands joined and raised, they danced around the fire with other barefoot women and children, their bodies wound in their plaids.

  Madeline felt the magic of it as she participated in rites and customs as primeval as the mountains and glens themselves. People spoke incantations in Gaelic that she barely understood, yet she was charmed by the magic and the brooding beauty and felt herself coming truly alive. Later, Madeline walked away from the others, hugging her body tightly.

  “Don’t be going too far,” Elizabeth exclaimed, “or the fairies that lurk in the heart of the thorn trees of the dene will surely steal ye away.”

  Madeline laughed, her voice like a trilling flute. “I feel much too brave to let a mere fairy take hold of me. This has been so much fun. I wish it could go on forever.”

  But the next day, everything changed. It was Anne who heard the pounding drums and skirling pipes first and cried out. Elizabeth became wildly excited.

  “They’re home at last! Isn’t it wonderful?”

  Anne’s face was mournful. “Nay, don’t you hear what’s being played, my wee lass?”

  Madeline heard it clearly – a dirge for the dead. The sound was unmistakable.

  Everyone in the glen was running down toward the returning Highland warriors as their pipes and drums reverberated through the valley.

  Madeline’s eyes were mainly for her cousin Andrew. But when she saw him, saw the pallor on his face and the way that he was being held up by two enormous men, she knew that he was gravely wounded. Anne and Elizabeth saw it too and went running toward him.

  “And how is the Chief of the MacCarnan?” his mother said, her voice shrill with concern.

  “I’ve seen a better day or two,” he said with a weak smile on his lips that did not travel as far as his eyes.

  “Bring him to the house,” Anne ordered in a strong voice, “and any others that are wounded as well.”

  Madeline saw there that was a great deal of blood on his kilt and also on the hose patterned in the MacCarnan tartan.

  “Mither,” he said, reaching out to Anne, “we’ve got a special guest.” He turned to the huge dark-haired man supporting his right side. “Angus, tell the Prince’s aide that we’ll be going to the house for now.”

  Madeline’s eyes opened wide in excitement. Could it be? But of course it must! Cousin Andrew had brought Bonnie Prince Charlie to his Highland home. Madeline had no idea why they were being so honored but she had never been more delighted about anything in her entire seventeen years of life.

  Madeline was surprised that the Prince was not riding his horse but was instead on foot, as were all the Highlanders. He was not as tall as her cousin, standing at about five feet eleven inches, nor was he as broad; instead he was a slender figure who carried himself in a regal manner. When he smiled, there was a boyish charm about him, Madeline thought. He was dressed in a Highland plaid waistcoat and breeches and wore a St Andrew’s cross at his buttonhole. He looked to the MacCarnan who nodded toward the house. She noticed that there were two men attending the Prince and that they did not speak in English but in another language entirely. It took her a moment or two to realize that the language all three spoke so fluently was Italian.

  Anne put her hand on her son’s arm. “You’re looking ill,” she said in a quiet, concerned voice. “You must go within and lie down.”

  “Nay,” he responded sharply. “These are my people. I must not show weakness before them, no matter the reason. I have the power of life and death over them and I have exercised it in full, but in return they depend on me to keep faith with them, otherwise I must lose their loyalty and affection. You, the wife of a chief, know that far better than I. We must not show panic or fear in the face of our defeat.”

  Anne lowered her eyes and removed her hand from her son’s muscular arm.

  “Tell me all, laddie.”

  “We lost in battle to the English at Culloden Moor in April.” His voice was hoarse with pain as he spoke loud and clear. “We’ll not be giving up our personal or tribal pride to the enemy, but the English are sending men after us to put us in chains – and worse. We won’t be giving up, you understand, but we’ll be hiding from them. When they come, no man, woman or child will be safe. The bloody butcher, the Duke of Cumberland, gave no quarter on the field of battle and we’re told he intends to destroy the power of the clans and send his men sweeping through the Highlands to loot, pillage, rape and burn. So I want my people to go into hiding for the time being. Take what you have of value and scatter out to the caves of the mountains until it’s safe to return. Our army is disbanding for we’ve tak
en too many casualties to continue the fight.”

  Madeline saw the unnatural pallor of his face and the blood seeping through the bandages at his side. He stopped speaking then and allowed his men to help him to the manor house.

  Once inside, it was Anne’s orders that took precedence. Andrew was lain down on a bed in what was obviously his own room. Anne immediately examined the wound then sent for the old hag who it seemed was especially good at concocting herbal potions.

  “The elder cailleach is a witch, some say, but she has the healing power,” Elizabeth whispered to her.

  Andrew saw Madeline then and his face lit up in a smile in spite of the obvious pain that he was suffering.

  “My beautiful cousin, you’re here and you’re well. So you’ve come to marry me after all. But I don’t know that I’ll have anything to offer you now, for I’m a wanted man and the English will be demanding my head.” His forest green eyes darkened sadly.

  “Just get well and strong again, and we’ll worry about everything else later. In France, people never worry about the future, only the present moment exists.”

  “Most practical and resourceful are the French.”

  “Indeed so.”

  He reached his hand out for her and she placed her small fingers into his reassuringly.

  The old woman came then and administered to her cousin while his mother asked him questions about the fateful battle at Culloden.

  “The Duke of Cumberland is like his father the German king,” Andrew observed with bitterness. “He found our weakness and used it against us. He gave us no quarter, Mother, refused to even let us go back for our dead and wounded. Cousin Geordie was bayoneted before my very eyes as he lay on the ground with a ball in his chest. The English didn’t fight like men but used cannon on us mostly. The cowards laughed as we charged at them, hiding behind their bloody big guns! They knew themselves to be no match for our claymores. Bastards, the lot of them!”

  At that moment, Andrew was gripped by a spasm of agonizing pain.

  “Lay still!” the old woman told him. “Ye be openin’ your wounds again otherwise.”