by R. W. Hughes
Broadsword
Books also by R.W.Hughes
‘Aurthora Celtic Prince.’
[Battles of a Celtic Warrior.]
The Criminal Escapades of
Geoffrey Larkin
Broadsword
R.W. Hughes
Copyright © 2018 R.W. Hughes
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.
Disclaimer
This novel is based on historical events.
Names of places and characters are correct where they have been discovered in historical documents during the author’s research.
Other characters and incidents are purely coincidental and used in a fictitious and imaginative manner by the author.
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To my Rock of 55 years. My wife Susan.
Contents
Acknowledgements
Author’s Introduction
Synopsis
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
End Note
Acknowledgements
‘The Jacobite leaving Loch Rannoch.’
Front cover: By kind permission.
The artist: Robert Griffing.
And Paramount Press Inc. New York, USA.
AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION
I studied construction engineering at Stockport Polytechnic College and with my wife Susan we ran our own business. Along with our staff of specialist craftsmen we purchased, restored, advertised and sold period properties, mainly in the Cheshire area and the Peak National Park, from the early 1970s until our retirement in 2003.
My father was born in Liverpool and for twenty years he was a professional soldier, serving before, during and after the 2nd World War as a Sergeant Major in the Prince of Wales Lancashire Regiment. Tracing my ancestors on my father’s side of the family whose surname was Hughes, led me to my grandmother and grandfather, who were married in 1840 in what is now Northern Ireland and from there they eventually moved to Liverpool.
My grandmother’s maiden name was MacKay; this surname is not Irish but Scottish, and with further research, it transpired that her family had been evicted from their home near Tongue. MacKay County, Scotland during the Highland clearances that took place in the 1800s up to the early 1900s from what is now the county of Sutherland.
It was during my research that I came across two books on the MacKay clan history. The first historic record was written by Robert MacKay in 1829 and the second by a Reverend Angus MacKay in 1906. These two detailed and intensively researched records were written in response to a book called The History of the Sutherland Clan. This book was written by a Duncan, a member of the Sutherland family, in which he disparaged the Clan MacKay family name by brazen manipulation of the recorded historical facts.
These books motivated me to write this adventure novel about George Charles MacKay, leader of the ‘Clan MacKay’, and to incorporate some of the historical facts during that period
All the Scots were excellent warriors, but Scottish history records the MacKays, with their associate clans, were one of the most ferocious and feared of the Highland clans.
Throughout their history, as with all the Highland clans, the MacKays were in constant disputes with their neighbours in long running family feuds. They were also regularly employed as mercenaries, an example which is when their clan chief, the first Lord Reay, obtained permission from Charles 1st to raise an army of 3500 men, to fight for King Gustave of Sweden and the Protestant cause in the Thirty-Year War, 1618-1648. To fund this campaign, Lord Reay mortgaged his estates and was unfortunately never paid for his services when King Gustave was killed in battle.
This novel takes place during the period before and after the Battle of Culloden 1746, in incidences which the Clan MacKay and their leader, the third Lord Reay George Charles MacKay, were involved.
Synopsis
For readers who enjoy a thrilling action adventure novel—also a must for anyone who has a trace of Scottish blood running through their veins.
George MacKay had returned to Scotland from fighting the Spanish in the protection of the colonies’ new state of Georgia with the 42nd Highland Regiment of Foot.
In despair he had signed forms in Inverness to join this regiment and travel to the America’s after the parents of the girl with whom he had fallen in love, had instructed their daughter to finish their relationship. On his return he had found employment in his old position in the solicitor’s office of Forbson and Forbson. After only several months back in Scotland he was now on his way to bury his father and elder brother, leader and next in line to the Clan MacKay, both of whom had been assassinated.
Even though he did not want or relish the position, he felt duty bound, as tradition demanded, to accept the Chieftainship of the Clan MacKay.
Under pressure from his followers he formulated a plan to wreak revenge on his neighbouring clan the Sutherlands, the perpetrators of that dastardly deed. But the year was 1745 and dark clouds of unrest were spreading over the country of Scotland, and both clan and family loyalties would be stretched to the limit.
As Charles Edward Stuart, known as Bonnie Prince Charlie, landed at Glenfinnan, raised his Royal standard, gathering around him a Jacobite army, and in the process throwing the country headlong into a civil war.
And as Bonnie Prince Charlie and his Generals led their army into England in an attempt to dispose of the Hanoverian George 2nd and lay claim to the English throne, George MacKay was following hard on their heels, attempting to fulfil a pledge made to the family of a man, who had given his life in order to save his.
And as the Scottish army was forced to retreat back into Scotland, George MacKay was also racing ahead of them to reach and organise his forces for the protection of MacKay lands and its residents. At the insistence of Prince Charles and ignoring the advice of his generals that the proposed battle field was not suited to the highland way of fighting. He personally took charge of his Scottish forces and turned to face their English pur
suers at Culloden. Outnumbered and mercilessly battered by superior cannon fire, the brave charge of the Jacobite Scottish Highlanders was repulsed, and they lost their final battle against the English army led by the Duke of Cumberland and the Scottish clans that supported him.
After this defeat Scotland was placed under Martial Law—brutally enforced to friend and foe alike by an English and Hanoverian army under their General, Prince William, the Duke of Cumberland. Or as known by his foes, “Butcher Cumberland”.
With this in mind, I have titled this book, Broadsword. The favoured weapon at that time of the Scottish Highlander.
MACKAY CREST.
One
George Charles MacKay had just buried his father and older brother; both had been murdered by Nicolas Duncan, nephew of the Earl of Sutherland the Chief of the clan of that name.
All the male members and many of their families of the septs that made up the MacKays had turned out for the double funeral. The service was being held in the small kirk situated in the hamlet just below the MacKay stronghold of Tongue House. There was only room in the small church for the immediate family and close relations. The other mourners, who had come to pay their last respects to their leader, were gathered outside, spreading out along the narrow path that led to the old stone building.
It was a hot day in the month of July; one of those few times that sometimes occurred in the Highlands. There was not a breath of wind, and it seemed even the song birds were dozing in the sticky heat. It had been unbearably hot in the small kirk, and he was deeply concerned for the wellbeing of his mother, as she, understandably, had taken the murder of her husband and Donald her first born son very badly.
George had supported her small frail body throughout the service, and on occasions he felt her legs buckle; she would have surely collapsed if he with the help of his youngest brother Riavach had not been on either side to support her.
His uncle, his mother’s brother the Reverend Alistair Monroe, had conducted the Presbyterian service; it had not gone unnoticed by him that it was much shorter than the ones he had attended in the past. His uncle had obviously observed the distressed condition of his sister, modifying the lesson accordingly.
George had been relieved to leave the confines of the small kirk; even in normal conditions he always felt uneasy in small spaces and he suffered several panic attacks during the shortened service. He had overcome these, forcing himself to concentrate on trying to control his emotions. It had been very uncomfortable in his thick woollen Highland dress suit; the sweat had run down his neck and his back gathering at his waist, where the broad leather belt was fastened to support the traditional kilt dyed in the tartan of the MacKay clan. He had not shown any sign of discomfort, it would not be considered fitting for the next in line as leader of the MacKay’s to show any sentiment or weakness.
This differed from his younger brother, Riavach, who had sobbed throughout the short service to the obvious disdain of some of the older male members that were present. As members of the clans passed each by taking their turn to touch the plain coffins, Riavach burst into further bouts of uncontrollable sobbing. Afterwards it was George who supported both Riavach and his mother as they went through the many groups of mourners and associate clan members, all offering their condolences.
Even though Kathleen MacKay, was both mentally and physically exhausted, she still insisted on stopping to thank the many individuals for attending her husband’s and eldest son’s funeral. This left him fretting with the delay; he could see the condition of his mother deteriorating by the minute, the colour draining from her face as she made her way slowly down the narrow path. His main concern was to see her back as quickly as possible, to rest in the cool rooms behind the thick granite stone walls of Tongue House.
He felt relieved when eventually having directed his mother through the assembly of mourners and along the path leading up to the large fortified property he finally left her in the safe keeping of his younger sister, Ailie, and Riavach, who by now had regained some of his composure.
He avoided the groups of mourners that were congregating near the small kirk instead making his way to the rear of the building; he then followed the narrow overgrown path through a small coppice of silver birch and spruce, the murmur of conversation quickly faded, to be replaced by the chatter of small birds in the overhanging branches disturbed by the presence of this solitary human figure below them. He crossed the sandy beach free of water now at low tide then forded the small Rhian burn that emptied into the Kyle of Tongue.
Removing his heavy cloak and his father’s broadsword, he left them alongside his jacket above high tide mark, and he had started to climb the steep hill towards Caisteal Bharraich, the ruined stronghold of previous generations of MacKays.
He found himself crying uncontrollably as he had pulled himself up the steep sides of the rock by the patchy heather. Bypassing the hidden cave supposedly used to shelter his more famous forbear, Robert Due MacKay, centuries before, who had been forced into hiding there when being hunted by a group of assassins.
He was now forcing himself upwards even though the exertion was leaving him gasping for breath, and his lungs seemingly on fire. He passed the castle standing like a lone sentinel overlooking the Kyle of Tongue before he reached the summit of the hill called “‘An Garbh”, a name given to the outcrop by a nation of forgotten people that had occupied the area many thousands of years previously.
He felt so terribly guilty that he should feel the way he did; this was one way of punishing himself for the thoughts that were passing through his mind.
Why had his father and eldest brother allowed themselves to be so deceived then murdered… the unbearable anguish and stress they had placed on him his mother younger brother and sister. He should have been there with them… to protect them, instead of continuing his work on his return with the Forbson brothers.
The terrible feeling of guilt he felt he could not shake off; it kept constantly recurring. He was also deeply concerned about the present condition of his mother, she was not a strong women. She had suffered greatly in giving birth to all her four children, never having quite recovered after the difficult birth of his younger sister, sixteen years previous. This worry, on top of the added responsibility of now being the head of the Clan MacKay—which suddenly out of the blue had been placed squarely on his shoulders— had caused him many sleepless nights, ever since the messenger had delivered the tragic news many days before. He had realised that this was a responsibility that could not be shirked; unless someone else came forward to challenge his position. He had wistfully half-hoped that somewhere, which was most unlikely, there may be a legitimate challenger to his position. It was most unfair! He was not ready! Nor did he ever desire nor want to be Laird of the Clan MacKay. It had always been accepted, never being disputed by any other member of the family or the associate clans that his eldest brother, Donald, would in due course take over the leadership after their father, it was he who had been schooled for this position.
Previously George while in Inverness had been quite happy with his life working in the city. He had been fortunate to find employment with a firm of solicitors, Forbson and Forbson based in Inverness. He had joined this practice after studying law at the University in Aberdeen. It had helped that the Forbson brothers were some distant relation of his mother’s family, and a letter of introduction from his uncle had persuaded them to offer him a six-month trial with this old established firm. He had worked hard, and had been retained after his trial period. His salary as a junior was not very high, barely sufficient to pay for his lodgings and food.
But he enjoyed the sophistication of city living, against the boring drudgery of the country life in the Highlands. He especially enjoyed the evening discussions and lively debates with his friends, [some which became quite heated,] about the political and economic situation of their country, and in which direction it was heading. He did have
a small allowance from his parents, which was spent on laundering, the repair and occasional renewal of his clothes, so if nothing else, he always liked to be clean and smartly dressed.
But above all, was the joy he felt when in the company of a particular female, and it was this which helped to make life for him in Inverness most pleasant. He had first come in contact with this young lady when she and her parents had arrived at the offices of his employers. While they were discussing their business with one of the senior partners in his office, she had been left for a short while to her own devices in the office library.
From his desk near the entrance, he had seen them arrive and had been immediately struck by her clear complexion of this young lady, her bright ginger hair hanging at shoulder length showing below her bonnet, which at that time was the height of fashion with young ladies, but this showed her delicate, but firm, high-cheeked bone structure of a beautiful face. To him it was love at first sight, and without thinking he grabbed a sheath of papers off his desk and entered the room.
‘Can I be of any assistance, ma’am,’ he said as if surprised to find someone in the library.
The young lady turned from looking along the shelves of books on Scottish law. His heart melted as she smiled at him, her light green eyes sparkling with amusement at his obvious nervous discomfort at being alone with a young lady without a chaperone.
‘My parents had an appointment with the senior members of this practice, so I accompanied them. because it was so boring being alone in the large house my parents are renting.’
He did not know what came over him, but he was talking before he really had time to think, unusual for him, as he was rather shy in the company of the opposite sex.
‘If you forgive me for asking, ma’am, but I would escort you if you wished to visit places of interest in the city. With a chaperone of course,’ he added quickly.