by Jane Yolen
“Nay, Granda, I’ll be giving it to the widow Keppoch. By rights she should decide what’s to be done with it.”
Granda nodded. “That sounds fair-minded to me. But ye better hurry. Ye’ll want her to have it while the prince is still about. She can get it to him if he needs it.”
“Ye mean before he’s caught?”
“Dinna be daft! I mean before he escapes. Every jewel will help buy him a ship’s passage to France.” Granda was trembling with his plan. “Ye’ll be a hero, lad. A hero!” He was on fire now, I could hear it in his voice. “The English may take our land, our swords, and our plaids, but they willna have our prince. Not if we can help him.” He reached over and closed my hand around the brooch. “So take that brooch to the Keppoch’s good lady and she will get it to Charlie’s people, who will see him safe out of the German lairdie’s hands.”
I wrapped up the brooch and stuffed it under my shirt.
“And before ye leave,” said Granda, “speak to yer da about it. I dinna want to take the blame of yer going this time.”
“I already have.”
He looked surprised, then pleased. He gave me a swift hug. “For God and St. Andrew,” he whispered in my ear.
33 LOCH TRIEG
Ma sent me on the way with a bag of oats, a skin of water, some cheese, a loaf of bread, and Da’s hunting knife.
“Be quick,” she said before hugging me.
“As quick as I can,” I said, and kissed her on both cheeks. “Maybe even quicker.”
The journey to Keppoch House took a full two days. The air was full of the sharp smell of wild onion, and the roadside ablaze with purple foxglove. I could see a maze of hoofprints where a herd of deer had crossed the path and a scattering of pointed, black rabbit droppings. The acrid, sour odor of fox lay over all.
As I walked along, the sound of the River Roy rumbling over its old course kept me company. Above me a circling eagle gave its hearty cry. The days were beginning to draw in now, and the nights were coming earlier, which meant I had less time to walk, so I didn’t stop to eat what Ma had packed for me. Instead I ate as I went. I’d promised to be quick on this journey and meant to keep that promise.
Oddly, I felt lighter of spirit as I got closer to the Keppoch’s house. I hadn’t realized it, but the brooch had been a burden. Once I’d delivered it to the widow, I knew I could go back home feeling free, my war truly over.
Coming over the hill to the Keppoch’s house, I smelled the burned air even before I saw the destruction.
Oh, God—no! I thought, then said it aloud. I began to run, praying as I went, “Let them be alive. Let them be alive.”
By the time I got to the site, dark was coming on fast, but it was all too clear what had happened. “The bastards!” I shouted, not caring that any soldiers could hear me and know me for a rebel. “The bloody bastards!”
Ahead of me, the shattered ruins were no more than blackened brick. Even the garden walls had been dragged down and scattered, the gardens themselves razed to the ground. Where we had camped nine months earlier, singing the old tunes in an orchard filled with apples and pears, there was now only a desert, the trees chopped down near their roots. Cumberland’s men had done their work here as thoroughly as they had in Glenroy.
Och, the poor widow, I thought. Poor Angus Ban. For they’d more to lose than we villagers. I wondered why no effort had been made to repair the damage. Perhaps, I thought, the English had killed all of the Keppoch’s men. Or perhaps rebuilding anything so large was more work than the widow’s people had the heart for.
I searched through the ruins carefully before the light faded entirely, but found no bones. That was a small comfort.
But what if … I thought, what if they’ve all been captured? Wouldn’t we have heard of it? One part of me said yes. The other no, for we hadn’t been told about the burning of Keppoch House, either. Still, by the smell of it, the thing had been done recently. So perhaps the news was yet to reach Glenroy.
I stopped and looked up at the darkening sky. A single star glittered there.
Perhaps they’ve gotten clean away. Perhaps they reached a place of safety. And that meant the cave at Loch Trieg. Another day’s walk, east and then south, Da had said.
I thought about leaving at once, but feared making my way in the dark in an unfamiliar place. A fox yipped somewhere beyond the trees and was answered by another.
Better to look for shelter and leave at first light.
I finally found an old sheep pen that nobody had thought worth demolishing. As I lay down under a sky now brilliant with stars, I remembered how beautiful the Keppoch’s house had looked. How stately, like the palace of a faerie king. It had served the best of Highland hospitality to us. Now the Keppoch was dead, and his house razed.
I fell asleep and the Keppoch, Prince Charlie, and the butcher Cumberland were all dancing together in my dreams.
I left before daylight, the sky a dark, moody grey slowly leaching into blue. Keeping the mountains on my right, I walked east, crossing a dozen or more streams, until I reached the tip of Loch Trieg in the afternoon.
From what I could see, it was a small, narrow loch shaped like a tree limb. The sun was still high in the sky, spreading a golden sheen over the surface of the peaty water. Small black-headed ducks swam in and out of the reed beds lining the shore.
Loch Trieg seemed like Eden until I came around a bend in the shoreline and saw a trio of fishermen’s huts burned to the ground. If any of the Loch Trieg fisherfolk were still alive, they’d not found the courage to return.
Rugged hillsides rose up like fists on every side of the loch, out of a thick blanket of heather that was just beginning to turn purple.
I looked at the slopes, recalling a story Granda once told me about the Loch Trieg caves. Giants or trolls, I suppose, like most of his tales. “The caves run so deep,” he’d said, “that after ye’ve followed them for an hour, ye can hear the fish wriggling in the water over yer head.” I remembered how that image had made me giggle.
But I was not giggling now. I wanted to find the cave, hand over the brooch, and go home.
Still, it might take me days trying to search those cliffs. Days to worry my mother. Days that might draw Da out to find me. I didn’t even know on which side of the loch the widow’s cave lay. Shading my eyes against the sun, I stared in turn at the eastern and western hills, concentrating with all my might. Finally, I could just about distinguish dark places on the eastern slope that could be caves and started toward them.
Now that I was so close, the walk around to the eastern slopes seemed to take forever. A slight wind had picked up, ruffling the loch. Overhead gulls wheeled and screamed, then dove down into the dark water.
I left the loch behind and walked quickly to the base of the eastern hills through the tough, springy heather. Everything seemed deserted and still. Even the wind had stopped, and for once the gulls were quiet. Was that a good sign or not?
I wondered briefly if I should call out, rather than take my time searching. But if the widow Keppoch’s people were deep inside a cave—deep enough for fish to wriggle overhead—would they hear me? Besides, yelling would certainly alert any English soldiers in the area. I couldn’t take the chance. It might cost me a day or more searching both sides, but it was the only way I could be certain not to give the widow’s hiding place away.
Ma will have to wait, I told myself.
Suddenly, I worried what would happen if I were caught, and this far from my own home.
Then I laughed. I wasn’t wearing a bonnet with a MacDonald crest, and the trousers made of darkened wool wouldn’t give away my clan. Without realizing it, the English had given me a disguise.
“I’m a fisherlad whose hut was burned down, so I’m searching for birds’ eggs,” I practiced. “Gulls’ eggs, sir, and terns’ eggs.” I doubted the English would know any better. Gulls’ eggs and terns’ eggs. I chuckled.
In places the heather at the base of the cliffs was up
to my knees, and it was hard going. The undergrowth clutched at my legs and for the first time, I blessed the trousers I was wearing. If I’d a sword, I might have hacked a path for myself. But, of course, we weren’t allowed to carry swords anymore. And any hacked path would show the English where to follow. Besides, as a fisherlad, what would I be doing with a sword anyway?
Gulls’ eggs and terns’ eggs.
From somewhere close by, I suddenly heard a whistling, like the cry of a curlew. I glanced around but saw no sign of any bird. Then another curlew piped up from the opposite direction. I couldn’t catch as much as a glimpse of it, either.
I cursed the hard ground, the high heather, my fear of the English, and then too late I heard something wriggling along the ground directly behind me. Before I could turn, I was seized from behind by a pair of burly arms, and the point of a dirk was pressed to my throat.
To come all this way to die. My heart jumped in my chest and I tried to think what to do. “Gulls’ eggs and terns’ eggs …” I tried to say.
Just then a second figure rose out of the heather ten yards in front of me, as if he’d sprouted from the earth. He was wearing a kilt and plaid, though they were both darkened with mud and dye. He held a broadsword in his hand. His face was pocked and homely and I knew him at once.
“Angus Ban,” I croaked.
“Leave off, Iain,” Angus Ban called to the man who’d captured me. “Can ye no see this is a friend?”
“I can only see the back of his head,” Iain replied gruffly. “And it’s a noisy head at that. Gulls eggs’ and terns’ eggs, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, it’s the back of a friendly head,” said Angus Ban.
Iain let go, turned me around roughly. “Aye, I ken him now. It’s the lad from Culloden who helped carry the Keppoch.” He slipped the dirk back into his belt.
“Duncan of Glenroy,” I said, not sure if Angus Ban would remember my name. Then I added quickly, almost babbling, “And I was going to tell any English soldiers that I was looking for gulls’ eggs and terns’ eggs up in these cliffs.”
Angus Ban gave a short, sharp laugh that he turned quickly into a cough.
“There’s no such nests here,” Iain said.
“Aye, but would the sassanach know that?” Angus Ban said. “The boy’s got a good head on his shoulders.”
“Then why say it to us?”
“Ye came up too fast for me to make a proper greeting,” I told him.
“Too fast?” Iain spit to one side. “Ye were spotted two miles off.”
“Ye wouldna have got this far if ye hadna appeared so harmless,” said Angus Ban, sheathing his sword and striding toward me. As he did so, the wind started up again, shaking the heather.
“Harmless?” For some reason I was almost insulted, though harmless was exactly how I’d been trying to look.
“Aye, harmless, a boy just larking about, wearing a silly pair of trousers. We thought we’d sneak up and take a closer look, all the same.”
“I’m glad ye used yer eyes before yer dirks,” I said, rubbing the spot where Iain had set his blade against my throat.
“I’m glad to see ye safe, laddie,” said Angus Ban. “But ye’ve picked the wrong place for an afternoon stroll.”
Hardly a stroll, I thought, thinking about the hard climb up to the cliff base through the rough heather. “I’ve come to find the widow Keppoch. First I went to Keppoch House, but it was burnt to the ground, and then I remembered ye telling Iain that yer family should hide out here at Loch Trieg.”
Angus Ban leaned toward me, one hand resting on the basket hilt of his sword. “Ye’ve good ears, lad, and an inconvenient memory. What business have ye with my stepmother?”
I decided that I could surely trust the Keppoch’s own son. Besides, I had no other choice. “I’ve this to give her,” I said, reaching inside my sark.
Iain started suspiciously and pulled out his dirk again. I stood stock-still, fearful of triggering another attack.
“Be easy, Iain,” said Angus Ban, gesturing him to put his weapon away.
“There’s many as think they’d be doing King George a service if they shot ye dead,” Iain growled.
“Tush! He’s nae room for a pistol in that sark,” said Angus Ban. “Come on, lad, let’s see what ye’ve got.”
Keeping a wary eye on Iain, I slowly drew out the little bundle and unwrapped it gently, as if it might break.
Angus Ban’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the lion brooch. Reaching out a hand to touch the treasure, he stopped short of taking it from me. A groove formed between his eyes and he got very quiet.
“Ye stole that,” Iain accused.
“It fell to the floor in the hut, under the table we laid the Keppoch on. I picked it up,” I answered sharply, furious that my honor should be questioned.
Angus Ban smiled ruefully. “I must have overlooked that in my hurry to get clear of the battlefield.” He made a strange sound through his nose, like a horse or ox. “I hardly deserve to see it again for my carelessness.”
Iain started to speak and Angus Ban raised a hand to silence him, saying, “Did ye no think to sell it and keep the money for yerself, Duncan of Glenroy?”
“I didna,” I declared hotly. Then added with more honesty, “Well, no for long.”
“No, of course ye didna,” said Angus Ban. “Ye already proved the quality of yer honor at Culloden.”
“We’d best get out of sight,” Iain advised grimly. “The redcoats will be long out of their soft beds and on patrol.” He wet his forefinger and held it up to the wind. “And they’ll hear us halfway down the lochside, the way this wind is blowing.”
“Ye nag like a wifey,” complained Angus Ban, though his face was now wreathed with smiles. “But we’ll humor ye just the same. Come on, Duncan of Glenroy, I’ll take ye to a place where Scotsmen are still free.”
34 THE CAVE
Angus Ban led the way up the rocky hillside, while Iain stuck close to my back, probably making sure I didn’t run off with the Keppoch’s treasure. The sun was once again gone behind a cloud and there was little to keep the wind off us. I was sweating from the climb and the chill air swept across my back. It was not a good combination.
Suddenly, before I was ready for it, we came to a break in the heather where several caves pocked the crags. We headed for the largest of these, the entrance about as high and as wide as a rowing boat stood on its end.
“I’ll wait here and keep watch,” said Iain, crouching down among the heather. He disappeared so thoroughly, I was astonished. No wonder the redcoats hadn’t found the Keppoch’s family.
I followed Angus Ban into the cave. At the point where the sunlight failed to penetrate, oil lamps had been lit and placed inside carved alcoves in the rock.
We walked quite a ways in through a narrow tunnel, first straight ahead, then on a downward slope. All the while I was thinking about Granda’s fish swimming over our heads. The walls—which were about an arm’s length from me on either side—looked slick and wet, but that could have been a trick of the lights. Still, there was a cold, damp feel to the tunnel and I wondered how a lady like the widow Keppoch could stay in such a place.
Suddenly, the tunnel opened out into a large chamber where tapestries had been fixed to some of the walls. Rugs had been laid on the stone floor, and chairs and cushions placed around. The chamber almost looked like the parlor of a great house, or so I imagined. Certainly, the tapestries and rugs made the room a warmer place than the cold, dank tunnel. So, I thought, here is where she must stay.
In the center of the room was a large table, upon which stood baskets filled with cheeses, berries, and bread. A glass pitcher filled with a golden-colored liquid nestled beside the baskets. And next to that was a large glass bowl with a bit of some rosy water in the bottom. I had never seen such beautiful things.
Nearby, a smaller table was piled with children’s toys.
A pretty woman carrying a wee baby came into the roo
m. She wore a simple gown decorated with ribbons of bright tartan, and her long brown hair was tied behind in a bow.
“Angus, yer back early,” she said, her voice echoing lightly off the cave walls.
Angus Ban bowed to her respectfully, and I suddenly recognized her as the young woman who’d been so huge with child at the Keppoch’s house. Four youngsters came after her, one bouncing a ball and another carrying a hoop. The smallest child broke away from them and went over to sit at the toy table and draw on a slate. Behind the widow trotted a maid, who sat down at a spinning wheel and began winding yarn. They were soon joined by a pair of servants and an armed guard, his arms crossed over his chest.
It was all so homey, yet so far beyond anything I had ever known—and in a cave as well—I found I couldn’t speak.
Angus Ban signaled me forward. “Stepmother, may I introduce young Duncan MacDonald of Glenroy. He was the lad I’ve spoken of, the one who helped us carry Father in from the field.”
I bowed silently to the lady, thinking that she was awfully young to have been the Keppoch’s wife. “Lady Keppoch …” I began.
“It’s the Widow MacDonald,” she said, sitting down and bouncing the baby on her knee. “Our Angus is the Keppoch now.”
Not knowing what else to say, I pointed to the child in her lap. “Is this yer baby?”
She stroked the child’s feathery, golden hair. “My bonnie Charlotte,” she said, “the daughter the Keppoch never saw. She’s been a comfort for me since the loss of my Alexander.”
Alexander, I supposed, was the Keppoch’s born name, though I’d never heard it used before. The widow’s sweetness, though, unloosed my tongue. “He … he was a noble man,” I said. It hardly sounded enough. “A fine, strong leader and …”
“And did ye truly help carry him to his final rest?” she asked.
I nodded, afraid to say anything more since I didn’t know how much Angus Ban had told her of the Keppoch’s death.
“Well, what a way to welcome such a brave gentleman to our home. Have we none of the hot punch left?” She turned to the serving maid who was unsnarling some of the yarn.