“Sit down, a graidh,” he said. “Are ye wanting some stew? It’s nearly ready.”
Morag ignored his offer and remained standing.
“I’m wanting a word with ye, Angus MacGregor,” she said.
Angus smiled. “Have some food first,” he suggested. “We’ve been planning the next raid. We’ll be heading off tomorrow, and –”
“Now,” she interrupted.
Angus’s smile faded, and the other men all looked at each other warily.
“What’s amiss?” he asked.
“Ye dinna ken?” she said, glaring at him. His expression clearly said that he didn’t. “I promised to wait for you till I was sixteen, and you promised to marry me before ye were twenty-two.” Angus opened his mouth to protest, and she held her hand up. “I ken well why ye didna marry me then, but it’s over six months since Culloden and I’ve waited long enough. I want ye to set a date, and soon.”
As one, nine of the formidable warriors, recognising a foe that was beyond any of them, stood and found other things to do in the clearing. Angus, left to it, tried a conciliatory smile, which failed to penetrate Morag’s set expression. He sighed.
“Sit down,” he said, patting the stone next to him. She did as he asked, but took a seat opposite him, out of arm’s reach. She knew him well, and was not going to allow him to persuade her out of her viewpoint by means of an embrace.
“Morag, ye canna possibly want to marry me now, with things the way they are,” he said. “Ye’ve been awfu’ patient, but we need to wait a while longer, till things settle down.”
She snorted derisively.
“Settle down?” she said. “Things will never settle down for the MacGregors. We’ve been outlaws for over a hundred years.”
“Well, aye,” Angus responded, acknowledging the truth of this. “But this is different. I’ve sworn a blood oath tae Maggie, and I canna go back on that.”
“I’m no’ asking ye to break your promise to Maggie,” she countered. “I’m asking ye to keep your promise to me. Or do I mean less to you than she did?”
“Of course not!” Angus exclaimed.
“Well, then.”
“But a blood oath’s different, as ye ken, mo chridhe. I canna marry you until I’ve fulfilled the oath. I’ve tae kill –”
“Two hundred redcoats. I remember. How many is it up to now?”
“Fifteen,” he answered, “myself, but we’ve killt near a hundred between us all.”
She nodded.
“So, at this rate I’ll have tae wait another five years at least for ye to fulfil your oath. I’ve already waited two. If ye think I’m waiting seven years for ye, Angus, ye’ve another think coming. We’re getting married and there’s an end of it. Being wed’ll no’ stop ye killing the redcoats.”
Angus leaned forward in an attempt to get hold of her and pull her onto his knee, but she scuttled back out of reach. He dropped his arms and looked at her pleadingly instead.
“I canna marry ye yet,” he said. “What sort of man would I be to marry ye now, when I could be killed at any time? I’ll no’ leave ye a widow.”
“I’d rather be a widow than a spinster for the rest of my life,” she said. “I’ll no’ wait forever for ye, even if ye are the chieftain’s brother.”
“I’m no’ asking ye to,” Angus replied, his colour rising. In the distance he could see the other men, all with their backs studiously turned to him. Their stance told him that the acoustics of the saucer-shaped depression they were in ensured that they could hear every word that was being said.
Morag stared at him, her blue eyes wide with shock.
“Are ye telling me ye dinna love me any more? That ye want me to look for another man?” she asked.
“Of course I’m no’ wanting ye to look for another man!” he shouted, making her jump. The mere thought that she might made his heart burn with jealousy. He ignored the message his emotions were telling him, and lowering his voice, sought to make her see reason.
“Morag, I love you, of course I do. But I canna just abandon my vow and come down to live in the village with you. Ye need to be patient a while longer, that’s all.”
“That’s fine. Ye dinna need to live in the village. I’m quite happy to move up to the cave. At least the roof doesna leak like Pa’s does.”
Angus stared at her incredulously.
“Are ye havering, woman? Ye canna come and live here, wi’ ten men! It isna fitting!”
“I’ll be safer up here than in the village, if the redcoats come,” she reasoned. “And I can take care of you all, wash your clothes and suchlike.”
“If the redcoats come ye’ll all be up here. That’s different to ye being alone wi’ ten men.”
“I’ve known most of those men since I was a wee bairn,” she replied scornfully. “There’s no’ a one of them that’d harm a hair of me. Or are ye saying yon Sasannach Graeme’s a ravisher of women?”
“No, of course he isna. I trust him with my life.”
“Well, then,” she said simply.
Angus scrubbed his hand through his hair in exact imitation of his brother. He couldn’t marry her. In battle as in everything else, he was a risk taker. It was who he was. Although he thought about her constantly when he was at home, he could put her from his mind when he was out raiding. If they were married he would be responsible for her in every way and any risks he took would impact on her. And they would share a bed, and he knew he would want to be with her every minute of the day. She would be a distraction, even when he was away. And ambushing redcoats was not like reiving your neighbours’ cattle; it was far more dangerous. They all knew that. It was why Alex had insisted the married men with families stay at home.
If he got married he would have to stay at home, Alex would insist on it, and if he did then he would not be able to fulfil his oath, and he would no longer be a man. He couldn’t tell the young woman sitting opposite him, face eager, waiting for his answer, that he needed to be able to put her from his mind. He searched for another delaying tactic.
“We canna be married yet awhile anyway,” he said finally. “There are no priests left to marry us. They’re all in hiding.”
“We can handfast,” she shot back immediately. “The Church willna hold it against us, given the circumstances.”
“No. We’ve to be married properly, or no’ at all,” he said primly. To the best of his knowledge there were no priests to be had for a hundred miles. They were all in prison, or escaped to France, or so deep in hiding that no one knew where they were.
“Is that your final word?” she asked.
“It is,” he said firmly, clinging to his moral point like a drowning man clinging to a straw.
She sat for a minute looking down, as though perusing the map he’d drawn earlier. He was just about to start explaining it to her when she stood.
“Ye swear ye’re not trying to put me off because ye dinna love me any more?” she asked, looking down at him.
“Morag, I swear to ye, I love ye more than anyone,” he said fiercely, his slate-blue eyes meeting hers. “I’ve loved ye since we were bairns, and I always will. I’ll marry ye, as soon as I can.”
She stared at him for a long moment, then seemed to come to a decision.
“Well, there’s no more to be said, then,” she announced, and ignoring his outstretched arms she turned away and started to walk back down to the village.
“Oh, I almost forgot what I came to tell ye,” she called back from the edge of the dip. “Will ye all be back from your raid by a week Friday?”
“Aye, we should be,” Angus said. The other men, finding their voices again now the danger was past, agreed. Ten days was more than enough time.
“Good. Peigi’s found out she’s having another bairn, and we thought to have a wee party. Celebrate that and your successful raid before the snows come and we canna dance outside.”
“The raid hasna been successful yet,” Dougal pointed out. “We dinna leave till tomorrow
.”
“Ye’d better make sure it is, then,” Morag said. “For we’re needing a wee dance to lift our spirits. It’s been a hard year.”
Angus watched her until she was out of sight, and then he watched some more, a variety of expressions crossing his face. The other men came back and started sharing the stew out into bowls.
“Thank ye kindly for supporting me in my time of need,” Angus said sarcastically, accepting a bowl from Allan. “You could have forbidden us to marry, mo bhràthair. You’re the chieftain.”
Alex held his hands up.
“I make a point of never fighting a battle I ken I canna win,” he said. “Anyway, I gave ye the same support ye gave me when I tried to get Beth to leave me after she found out I wasna Sir Anthony.”
“That was different,” Angus retorted, then looked across and caught the look of raw anguish on his brother’s face. Alex had spoken lightly, but was clearly now remembering what her refusal to leave had cost her. Had cost both of them. Both brothers fell silent.
“Ye were a wee bit hard on the lassie, though,” Kenneth said, clearly trying to divert them from their thoughts. “It’s clear she loves ye, though I canna for the life of me think why. And the Church acknowledges handfasting, even in peacetime.”
“Aye, I ken that. But what else could I do? I canna offer her any kind of life while I’m away most of the time killing redcoats. And what if I get her wi’ child, and then I’m killt? Ye heard her, she wouldna take no for an answer.”
“She’s awfu’ thrawn, always has been,” Hamish commented.
“It’s one of the things ye love about her though,” Alex said, rousing himself with an effort from his dark thoughts.
“It is,” Angus acknowledged sadly. “But she’ll be better off without me.”
The others weren’t so sure that was the case, but it wasn’t for them to argue. It was his life, and he was old enough to make his own decisions.
And so was Morag.
* * *
Four days later nine of the ten men returned in great high spirits. The ambush had gone exactly as planned. The river, to Graeme’s relief, had indeed only been three feet deep when they crossed it, the two sentries had been dispatched silently by Dougal and his brother Hamish, and the remaining soldiers had, in the main, been killed before they had time to do more than register that there was something amiss outside their tents. It was one of the easiest attacks they’d made, and Angus was praised highly, as it had been his idea.
Alex had stood back and let his brother take command, and was happy with the result. It was now certain that John Murray of Broughton had turned king’s evidence and that the information he had given about the Fraser chief would certainly condemn him, although in fairness even without Broughton’s testimony there was no doubt that Lord Lovat would be executed. But he’d also named several of the English and Welsh Jacobite leaders, and was universally hated by every Jacobite from Prince Charles to the poorest clansman.
Alex knew it was only a matter of time before he would have to leave the country and let it be publicly known that he had, and then his clanspeople would have to take to the heather for a time if they were to have any chance of surviving the vengeance that would certainly be visited upon them. And in that case they would need a new chieftain, and Alex had decided that new chieftain would be Angus.
Duncan’s death had changed them both, but Angus had loved Beth and Maggie fiercely, and his experience at the bothy, coupled with the fear that his older brother would also die, had forced him to take on an almost unbearable burden for which he had not been prepared. That he had done it, and done it well, was a credit to him. If he did have to take on the chieftainship full time, he would be able to cope.
Nevertheless Alex, who had so often worried about Angus’s recklessness and carefree attitude in the past, now found himself missing that aspect of his brother, and hoped that one day circumstances would allow the old Angus to resurface.
As the raid had gone so well, and had taken less time than the men expected, Alex had decided to visit Ben Alder in the hopes of seeing the prince, Lochiel, and Cluny Macpherson and getting the latest news. He returned the day before the party and called an impromptu meeting of the clan to relay his news, which was important.
“Charles has finally sailed for France, and Lochiel with him,” he said without preamble, once the clan was assembled. It was cold and raining, so they had retired into the cave to stay dry. Someone had lit a fire, and the light showed the shocked expressions of the MacGregors on hearing the news.
“That’s good news, then?” Janet asked. Some of them had hoped Charles would winter in the Highlands, and lead a new campaign in the spring.
“No’ for the Camerons,” said Kenneth. “Who’ll lead them now?”
“Lochiel couldna lead them anyway,” Alex said. “They were in more danger of further reprisals while he was in Scotland than they’ll be now it’s known that he’s gone. He kens that. He’d no’ have left otherwise. It must have fair broke his heart to do so. So aye, it’s good news. Charles will be safe from capture once he’s in France, and hopefully he’ll be able to persuade Louis to raise an army and invade again, maybe next spring.”
“Ye dinna sound so sure of that,” Iain said.
“Aye, well I hope I’m wrong, but Louis makes Lovat look positively honest and transparent. Charles will have his work cut out to persuade him that putting a Stuart back on the throne is in France’s or more importantly, Louis’ best interest.”
“But while he’s free there’s always a chance of a restoration. And he’s shown he can lead an army now. And we’ve shown that we’ll rise for him,” Angus said, to general approval.
“That’s true. But the English in the main have shown they willna.”
“It would still be in France’s interest to have a Stuart king on the throne of Scotland and to break the union though,” Kenneth pointed out.
“Christ, you mean that I’m going to have to move here permanently if I want to be ruled by James?” Graeme said gloomily.
“Aye, we’ll pass a law that says ye have to wear the kilt to live here, just for you,” Kenneth quipped.
“I’m not sure I wouldn’t rather have German Geordie on the throne, in that case,” Graeme said insincerely. “There are limits to what any man should have to endure, even for King James.”
There was laughter and someone threw their bonnet at Graeme, which he caught deftly and placed on his head at a jaunty angle. Alex smiled and waited for the noise to die down before continuing.
“Cluny has said that he’ll keep me informed by letter when he hears that the prince and Lochiel have arrived safely. He’s got a big clan and they have ears everywhere, so his information’s good. He’s still living in his cave, and intends to stay there in readiness for the next rising. He’s also promised to contact me urgently if he hears anything more about Broughton.”
A brief silence greeted this final sentence, then Kenneth spat on the floor of the cave in disgust.
“The bastard,” he said. “I dinna ken how he sleeps at night.”
“I doubt he does,” said Angus. “I canna understand why he turned on us, and him Charlie’s secretary an’ all, and a Jacobite to his bones.”
“I’ll break every one of his bones, an I ever see him again,” Kenneth said.
“He was sick, and his wife’s about to have a bairn,” Alex pointed out. “We dinna ken what they threatened him with. And he didna surrender – he was taken.”
“How can ye defend him, after what he’s done?” Iain asked incredulously.
“I’m no’ defending him. But the man’s no’ a soldier, remember. He’s no’ used to pain. And he loves his wife dearly. But no, he’s still a traitor. What I canna understand is, they’ve had him for over three months now, and he kens that I was Sir Anthony, and yet he doesna appear to have tellt a soul.” Following the news of Broughton’s betrayal, the clan had lived in the cave for a few weeks, and then, with no sign of the e
xpected redcoats, had posted guards and moved back down to the village.
“No’ yet,” Iain said. “But he may.”
“Aye, he may,” Alex agreed. “But hopefully no’ till after the morrow, at least. Peigi, is the party for ye still going ahead?”
Peigi grinned, along with all the other women.
“Aye, it is, now ye’re back. We were going to wait for you. Now all we need to do is pray the rain stops. We canna use the barn, for it’s full of cattle.”
“And if it doesna stop raining, we’ll have the party in here,” Morag said. “Angus said ye brought back more candles from the raid. We can light the place up like day if we have to.”
“Would we no’ be better to wait a day or so, if it’s raining tomorrow?” Angus suggested.
“No,” Janet put in firmly. “We’ve waited a long time for this party. It’s happening, no matter the weather.”
“Ten days isna a long –” Dougal began.
“It’s happening,” Peigi interrupted, to a chorus of agreement from the other women.
The men surrendered. It appeared the party was happening, and it would certainly be wiser to go along with it and dance in the rain than suffer the consequences of displeasing the womenfolk.
* * *
To everyone’s relief, although it rained all the following morning, in the afternoon the clouds blew over to reveal a blue sky and a somewhat watery sun. It seemed that they would not have to dance in the rain after all, although it promised to be somewhat soggy underfoot.
Food was prepared and set out in the chieftain’s house, it being the largest dwelling in the village, with whisky and ale to drink. The fiddlers assembled in the clearing in the middle of the houses, and the party began.
A couple of hours into it, Alex had to admit that the womenfolk had had the right idea in suggesting it. The last months had been tense for all of them, with them never knowing when they’d have to flee their houses and take to the hills. It was true that they were used to danger, but the brutality of the so-called ‘pacification’ of the Highlands had surpassed anything they’d ever known.
Pursuit of Princes (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 5) Page 36