Pursuit of Princes (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 5)

by Julia Brannan

  “Aye, I did. We have no secrets from each other. I learned that from seeing what happened between you and Beth.”

  “What did she say?” Alex asked, choosing not to comment on his brother’s observation. Angus was right. If he’d been honest with her about his intentions with Henri Monselle, and she’d been honest with him about Richard, they could have avoided the two arguments that had almost destroyed their relationship.

  “She was sad, as we all were. But she said that Robert was lucky, too. When I asked her why, she said that he got to live two years longer than he would have done had Beth no’ come upon them in the stables, for she thought he’d probably have forced himself on her if they hadna been interrupted.”

  “Aye, she’s right in that, for I couldna have let that pass.”

  “I think she was meaning that I’d have killed him. And she was right. I wanted to anyway, at the time. And I doubt we’d have avoided a blood feud wi’ the MacDonalds then. I didna mean tae kill the wee loon when I threw the rock at him, but I’ve made peace wi’ myself about it now.”

  “Oh, this is good,” Alex said blissfully ten minutes later, as he drained his first glass of wine. He stretched his bad leg out then looked round at the others, who were sitting outside now, gathered round him in a semicircle and enjoying the sun. “It does my heart good to see ye all alive and well, and to know that the redcoats rode on through the village without suspecting a thing. It’s a fine idea ye had, Iain and Graeme, tae make it look abandoned.

  “But now, I’ve a lot to tell ye.”

  “Before ye tell us anything,” Angus broke in, “there’s someone here wanting to ask ye a question.” He nodded to the cave mouth behind his brother.

  Alex looked round. Standing in the cave entrance was Allan MacDonald, face almost as white as his silver-blond hair, blue eyes wide with anxiety. He visibly gathered his courage together, and drawing his dirk, held it flat across the palms of both hands and came forward.

  “I would be honoured,” he said, voice trembling, “if ye would accept my allegiance, to yourself and to Clan Gregor, to fight and die for ye against all comers, and…”

  Alex held up his hand, and Allan fell silent.

  “Wait,” he said. “Clan Gregor is proscribed. We have no lands, no rights, no name, in law. Ye ken that?”

  “Aye,” Allan replied. “I do.”

  “So why do ye want to join a clan that doesna exist in law? Ye can be killed just for being a MacGregor, wi’ no comeback except what your sword can gain for ye. Why would you give up your own clan, wi’ all the rights and protection that gives ye, to become an outlaw? No man in his right mind would do that.”

  “I did,” Iain said softly.

  “That was different, man. Your clan had forsworn ye. Has the MacIain forsworn ye, laddie?”

  “No,” Allan said. “But –”

  Alex shook his head. “I canna accept your oath. I’m sorry.”

  Allan took in a great breath, and swallowed hard. He knew he should accept the decision without question, but could not.

  “I’m here with MacIain’s permission. He said that if ye’d take my oath, he’d accept it.”

  “Why?”

  “I dinna ken why MacIain said –”

  “No. Why do ye want to join Clan Gregor?”

  Allan looked down, and thought for a minute. His flaxen hair blew across his face, and he pushed it impatiently out of the way. Alex closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again to find the young man looking straight at him. His hands, still holding the dirk, were trembling, but his eyes were steady, earnest. Beth’s eyes.

  “I want to continue the fight,” he began, “as I ken you do. The MacIain does not. The night ye left to prepare for the raid, Aunt Ealasaid spoke of you. She said that she hadna met a better man, nor one more fit to be chief, in a long time, and that any man would be proud to follow ye. She said that Beth had chosen the best man in Scotland to wed, and that she was honoured to call ye her kinsman. And then, when Robbie died…I could have tellt the MacIain of his death. Ye didna need to come too. Angus, maybe, because he’d done the deed. But ye came, because ye didna want your brother or me to deal with it alone. And ye didna hesitate, even though you had other things on your mind, because you’re a man of honour. And I thought about what Aunt Ealasaid had said, and about the way ye planned the raid, and I kent that ye were a man I’d be proud to fight with. I’ve no interest to settle down and farm. I want to fight. So I spoke to MacIain, and he gave me permission to come here, if ye’d have me. Please, accept my oath. I’m a good fighter, and I’ll no’ disobey ye as Robbie did.”

  “Aye, I ken that,” Alex said. “But ye’ve nae need to swear lifelong fealty to me just to join in a few raids.”

  “But ye’ve a blood oath, I heard, to kill two hundred redcoats. That’ll take time. I want to join ye in it, for as long as it takes, for it burns my heart to see what the bastards are doing to the Highlands. And now Aunt Ealasaid is dead…well, we’ve always been different, ye ken. Some said we were changelings because we look so unlike the others of the clan. There are those will no’ be sorry I’ve gone. Will ye take me?”

  “Are ye sure ye ken what ye’re doing? It’s no’ a light thing.”

  Allan nodded earnestly. “I’m sure.”

  “Angus, what do you say?”

  Angus stood up, surprised to be asked.

  “Ye’ll be the chief when I’m no’ here. Ye’ve done a good job in the last weeks. Are ye happy to accept this man to the clan?”

  Angus nodded. “I am. He’s a bonny fighter, and a brave one.”

  “Does anyone else object? Speak if ye do.”

  There was silence.

  “So be it. I accept your oath, Allan MacDonald.” He took the dirk from the young man’s outstretched hands, made a small incision in the pad of the thumb of his right hand, and then gave it back. Allan made a similar cut in his hand, and then the two men clasped hands around the hilt of the dirk, mingling blood and iron.

  “Welcome to Clan Gregor,” Alex said solemnly. “Now, have we more of the wine we stole from the redcoats? It seems a fitting way to welcome our new member.”

  A great roar arose from the assembled clansfolk, and for the next hour, Alex’s good and bad news was forgotten, in the celebration of a new fighter to the MacGregor fold.

  “Now,” Alex said an hour later, when several bottles of wine had been emptied and the sun was starting to sink in the sky, “as I was saying before I was so pleasantly interrupted, I have news, some good, some no’ so good. So I’ll start wi’ the good. After I left Angus and Allan at Glencoe, I headed toward the Cameron lands hoping to hear something of Lochiel, and there I met some MacPhersons. They surrendered soon after Culloden, so their lands have no’ been pillaged, no’ overmuch anyway, and they’re believed to have submitted completely to the Elector. So, what better place for Cluny MacPherson and Lochiel to hide out than on MacPherson land?”

  Everyone started laughing.

  “Lochiel is verra much alive, I’m pleased to say, and though lame and no’ able to travel far on foot, he’s healing well, although he’s sore distressed by the price his clan has paid and is still paying, no’ just the Cameron regiment, but the women and children too, and also by the fact that his brother, Father Alexander, has been taken prisoner. The MacPhersons are keeping an eye on the troop movements around Fort Augustus. Ye ken that Cumberland is away to London, and Lord Albemarle has taken his place, although word has it that he didna want the job. Anyway, two weeks ago, he left Fort Augustus and went tae Edinburgh, where he can conduct operations from a cosy house instead of a ruined fort.

  “Now the good news for us is that most of the horse regiments have been put to grass, a lot of the troops that were at Culloden have gone south, presumably to go back to Flanders now they think we’re beaten, and it seems that in future, instead of having hundreds o’ redcoats terrorising the villages, there’ll only be wee patrols going out. They’ll be spending about a w
eek or so living in wee bothies. And ye ken what that means.”

  “It means that they’ll be sitting targets for us to attack whenever we want to, because they don’t know the land and they’re not used to living in such conditions, so their morale will be low. And if they haven’t got the likes of Hawley to terrorise them or Cumberland to keep discipline, they’ll get careless,” Graeme said.

  Alex grinned.

  “They will. But we canna attack close to home, so we’ll need to go a wee distance away so they dinna ken who it is who’s ambushing them. Which means we’ll have to live in wee huts and bothies too, which will be awfu’ inconvenient for us, as used tae feather beds and fine wines as we are.” He raised his glass, and they all laughed and cheered him.

  “So, tonight I’ll tell ye the rest o’ my news, then we can celebrate our new clan member some more, and then tomorrow we can start tae plan. Angus, Iain and I have a blood oath to fulfil. The rest of ye havena, and ye ken well that I’ve never been one to force people to fight. And dinna forget, we’ll need some men to stay behind and defend the village if needed. Now as I’ve said before, it’s my wish that all those men wi’ wives and bairns should stay here. Of the rest, it’s up to you as individuals. Just because ye came out for Charlie doesna mean ye should follow me in my oath of vengeance. There’s no glory in this, and no crown at the end of it, and no knowing when it’ll end. And those of you who do follow me will have to obey my orders without question. Ye can argue the rights and wrongs as we’re planning and I’ll listen to ye. But in the fighting ye obey me, instantly.”

  Several men started to get to their feet, but Alex held up his hand.

  “I dinna want anyone to decide tonight. Tonight’s for news and celebration. Tomorrow I’m going tae sleep late, for I’m weary and later I intend to be drunk too, and woe betide the man who wakes me at dawn tae tell me he wants to fight, for if he does, I’ll give him a fight immediately.”

  The men laughed and sat down again, and everyone cheered their approval of the plan for the evening, and then they settled down to hear the rest of Alex’s news.

  “Now,” he said, “Lochiel and Cluny are in a fine cave, wi’ plenty of Cluny’s clan to shelter them, and good hunting for food. I doubt the redcoats’ll ever find them, and they’ve good intelligence about the army movements, but they didna ken what was going on wi’ the prince, other than that he moved from Uist to Skye and then to somewhere on the mainland, and that was grieving Lochiel sorely, for he spent weeks sore wounded, in constant danger of being discovered, trying to arrange a rendezvous wi’ Charles, to no avail. So, as I’m now healed, and no one’s looking for me as they are for Lochiel and Cluny, I agreed to try to find out where he was and bring him to join them.”

  “Did ye find him?” Peigi asked.

  “Aye, I did.”

  After he’d left Lochiel and Cluny in the cave on Ben Alder, Alex had headed over to Achnacarry, hoping to pick up some news of the whereabouts of the prince from the Camerons. There he was told that the prince was staying in a hut at Achnasaul, by Loch Arkaig, awaiting the return of some messengers he’d sent out.

  The hut was completely derelict and empty, but it was clear that someone had been there recently. Alex had looked around for signs of which way they might have gone, but seeing nothing had decided to eat his meagre lunch at the hut and then retrace his steps through the wood, reasonably certain that the prince would remain on Cameron land hoping to make contact with Lochiel.

  It was whilst he was eating the now somewhat stale bread and cheese provided by the MacPhersons two days before, that he saw someone coming down the hill towards him. He put his bread down on the grass, checked his pistol was primed and cocked, then laid it in his lap and continued eating, as though unaware of the presence of the man.

  As he came closer, Alex could see that he was a Highlander; barefoot, he wore the kilt, a grubby shirt and a black coat. His reddish-coloured hair was loose and tangled on his shoulders and he sported a long red beard. Under his arm he carried a musket, but showed no signs of using it. Nevertheless, Alex gripped the pistol and stood, as the man was now too close for him to pretend he hadn’t seen him.

  The stranger stopped about ten paces away from Alex, the musket still carried loosely under his arm. A pistol and a dirk were thrust through his belt.

  “Good day to ye, sir,” Alex began politely.

  The stranger smiled.

  “Ah, Alexander MacGregor. You don’t recognise me at all, and I think that’s a good thing, in view of the circumstances I find myself in. No!” he finished urgently as Alex, now realising the identity of the stranger, had made to kneel. “We don’t know who may be watching, and I think it better, as even you didn’t recognise me, that we don’t advertise my identity.”

  Alex deftly turned the obeisance to his prince into an apparent gesture to share his lunch, by bending to the ground and picking up his leather flask of water, then offering it to the other man, who politely declined.

  “Ye’re looking well, Your Highness,” Alex said. “The country life suits you, I’m thinking.” It was true. Although dirty and unshaven and completely unrecognisable as the man who had ridden proudly into Edinburgh at the head of his army the previous September, the prince looked in the peak of physical health, and his brown eyes were bright and sparkling with humour.

  Prince Charles laughed.

  “It does, although I would prefer to have more settled accommodation. I was told that you were looking for me and was so eager to see you I decided to come myself. Let us return to my lodgings. We shot a stag yesterday and can offer you a better meal than that.” He gestured to the remains of the bread.

  They walked together back through the wood, chatting, looking for all the world like two rural Highlanders who had met by chance, rather than two of the most wanted men in Britain. As they walked the prince told Alex a little about his exploits so far.

  “There have been all manner of wild rumours going around,” Alex said as they strolled along. “I even heard tell that ye’d dressed as a woman. Soon ye’ll have been carried off by a selkie, I’ve nae doubt.”

  Charles grinned.

  “Ah well, that particular rumour is not so wild. Let me introduce myself, sir,” he said, performing a somewhat clumsy curtsey. “Miss Betty Burke, Irish serving woman to the delightful and courageous Miss Flora MacDonald.”

  Alex stopped and stared at the prince.

  “Ye mean that was true? I ken ye’re a master of disguise, Your Highness, but I canna imagine what manner of woman you’d make.”

  “Not a very good one by all accounts, but it served its purpose at the time, and got me to Skye. I would certainly have been captured else. Kingsburgh’s wife apparently called me an ‘odd muckle trollop’.” He laughed. “In truth, I don’t know how women walk about with all those skirts and petticoats weighing them down. I expected at every moment to trip over them and topple down the stairs or into the sea and drown. Miss MacDonald was taken prisoner a few days after I left her. I hope she is being treated well, although I know that many of my subjects are paying a heavy price for their support of me.” The brown eyes lost their sparkle for a moment. “It grieves me,” he said sadly.

  “Aye, well, we were all aware of the possible consequences,” Alex commented. That was not completely true. They had not been aware that the British Army would be allowed, encouraged even, to commit such atrocities against innocent people.

  “I heard about your wife, Alex, and I’m very sorry for it. She was a remarkable woman.”

  “She was indeed, thank you,” Alex replied, hoping that having uttered the conventional platitude, Charles would now change the subject.

  “You know Lord Lovat is taken?” Charles asked.

  “I do, Your Highness. I believe he was hiding in a tree at the time.”

  “You don’t appear overly distressed by that news,” the prince remarked.

  “He was no’ a man I could take to,” Alex said tactfully. He wouldn’t ha
ve trusted him as far as he could throw him, but there was no benefit to revealing that now.

  “John shared your antipathy. You know he is taken too?”

  “John…?” There were so many Johns, this could have been any one of a hundred.

  “Murray.”

  “Broughton?” The prince carried on for a couple of steps before realising his friend had stopped. He turned back to find Alex’s eyes wide with shock.

  “I see you did not. Yes, Broughton is taken, some few weeks ago, at his brother-in-law’s house. I’m sorry. Had I realised you were close I would have told you more gently.”

  “No, it’s no’ that. But Broughton kens who I am, and that I was Sir Anthony,” Alex said.

  “You cannot believe he will talk, surely?” Charles said. “We had our differences, but he was always loyal to me. He has never wavered, not for an instant. I do not think you need to worry that he will betray you.”

  “I hope you’re right, Your Highness,” Alex said.

  “I am sure of it.”

  Alex was not so sure, because he knew that torture could be a powerful incentive to betrayal, but there was nothing he could do right now. Once he had taken the prince to Lochiel though, he would head straight home.

  “I find it hard to believe that any monarch, rightful or not, could treat his subjects as George and his son are now treating the poor Highlanders, many of whom did not even come out for me,” Charles continued.

  “They are trying to prevent us from ever rising again, by starving us out when they canna kill us,” Alex said.

  “Will they succeed, do you think?” the prince asked.

  “I canna speak for all Scots, Your Highness. But for myself, no, they will not succeed. They have taken almost everything worth living for. My wife, my brother – they’ve already taken my name and my lands. All I have left now is to fight. And I will do that until I’m killed.”

  “You believe you will be killed?” Charles asked.

  “Aye, before too long. For I’ll no’ be taken prisoner, and I’ve no reason to wish for a long life and to die in my bed at the end of it.”