The Gathering Storm (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 3) (55 page)

The nineteenth. And today was the tenth. Nine days.

“This is it, then,” said Iain in wonder. “After all these years of waiting, this is finally it.”

“When do we leave?” asked Angus, his eyes bright with fervour.

“Wait,” said Alex, holding up his hand. “I need tae think.”

“Think?” cried Angus. “What’s there tae think about? The whole of Scotland’s rising for Charles!”

“No, it isna, ye bloody fool,” said Alex, rounding on Angus so fiercely that he flinched backwards. “I wouldna hesitate for a second if it was. A wee bit o’ Scotland’s rising for him, that’s all. I canna believe Lochiel’s been bewitched by him. Christ, we’re no’ ready. It’s suicide.”

“Aye, well I’m sure it will be, if everyone thinks like you,” retorted Angus scornfully. “If we wait for the French, we’ll all die of old age, wi’ our swords rusting under our beds and Geordie mouldering on the throne till he’s ninety.”

Alex lunged, grabbing Angus by his shirt with such force that he lifted him from his seat.

“And if we rise now, when we havena sufficient arms or the northern clans behind us, and no support frae the French or the English, we’ll all die in the field, wi’ our weapons rusting in the mud and Geordie’s kin ruling forever, wi’ no one to stop them.” He threw Angus back down on the bench with a thud, and only Duncan’s arms wrapped round the young man’s chest stopped him from retaliating.

“It’s no’ the time, Angus,” Duncan said quietly. “Leave it.”

There was silence for a few minutes. Alex rubbed his hand through his hair again. Angus’s breathing slowly returned to normal. Everyone looked at their chieftain with anticipation.

“Have ye no’ heard anything of what’s going on, down here?” Alasdair asked.

“There have been rumours,” Beth said. “But there are rumours all the time. If we believed them, then we’d be in a permanent state of readiness for war. A couple of days ago the Elector put up a reward of thirty thousand pounds for anyone who captured the prince, and it was said there were vague rumours he’d embarked from France. Otherwise, no, there’s been nothing substantial.”

“It’s no’ such a stupid time as it seems, though, is it?” said Iain. “Wi’ most of the British troops in Flanders, and losing, too. They’re being pushed back all the time. Cumberland’s away, and Geordie’s in Hanover. If we strike fast we could be in London before they can get the army back to stop us.”

“That’s true,” said Maggie. “Ye said yourself, Alex, that there’s no more than seven thousand troops in the whole of Britain right now.”

Alex showed no sign of having heard any of this. He sat at the table, head bowed, soup congealing in his bowl.

“If we leave tomorrow, we could make it tae Glenfinnan in time, just,” said Angus.

“I canna go,” Alex said quietly.

Angus shot to his feet.

“What do you mean, ye canna go!” said Angus.

“What I said.” Alex looked up at his brother. “I canna go. Nor can Beth. No’ yet. We’ll have to stay a while, and see what the British intend to do when they find out what’s happening. I’ve got arms coming in too, that I’ve tae pay for and arrange to get up to Scotland.” He sighed. “Duncan, it’ll be up to you to raise the clan for Charles. But only those that really want to go, ye ken. No one’s to be coerced, and no boys under fifteen, no matter how they plead. And if ye get to Charles and find he’s only got a handful of men after all, I want ye to go home, taking all the men with ye.” He looked pointedly at Angus.

“We canna do that!” said Angus. “We’ve sworn to support him. We canna betray him now!”

The others half expected Alex to go for his brother again, but he merely looked at him, and when he spoke, his tone was calm.

“Angus, you’re a man now. Think like one. Aye, I swore to support him, if he had French backing. And I’ll support him without that, if I think we’ve a chance of success. But it’s no betrayal to prevent a man from killing himself when he hasna a hope in hell of winning. James will never come to claim the throne himself, now. He’s too old and sick. Charles is all we’ve got. And he’ll only get the one chance. If he canna see when the time is wrong, it’ll be up to his friends to do it for him.”

“Do you think the time is wrong?” asked Beth.

“I dinna ken. Iain and Angus have a point. The French may never give us troops, and most of the British army is tied up abroad right now. But if enough of the clans willna commit, then I’ll no’ get my men killed out of misguided loyalty. We’ve had enough aborted attempts at a rising before. The next one must be a success, or the Stuart cause is lost. That’s my view.”

“What will you do then, if Duncan takes the men home?” asked Beth.

“I’ll go up there and tell Charles myself why we’ll no’ fight for him. I owe him that at least. I wouldna expect anyone else to tell him such a thing to his face.”

“Would he be awfu’ angry, do ye think?” said Maggie apprehensively.

“No,” smiled Alex. “He’d be awfu’ persuasive. He is. I’ve nae doubt that’s how he’s won Lochiel over. He could persuade the devil himself to sing psalms if he’d a mind to. That’s why he’s so dangerous. If he’d as much sense as he’s got charm, I’d no’ be worried.”

“I’ll stay here too, Alex,” said Maggie. “Ye canna keep up the pretence of Sir Anthony wi’ no servants at all. I can at least do the cooking, and keep the important rooms clean. Ye’ll have to hire a man for the heavy stuff, though.”

“No,” said Iain. “I’ll stay with ye.”

Everyone looked at him in surprise.

“It’ll no’ be for long, I’m sure,” he said. “Duncan has to go, he’s the next in line after Alex, and the men’ll listen to him, and wild horses wouldna keep Angus away, that’s obvious. I can wait until ye’re ready, Alex.”

“It could be a few weeks,” Alex said.

“Aye, well, ye’ll be needing a footman, I’m thinking. If ye hire a coachman, he can live out, and then ye’ll no’ need to be Sir Anthony all the time when you’re at home.”

Alex smiled, slapped him on the back by way of thanks, then lifted his spoon, looked at the soup, and put it back down on the table. There was another short silence, during which Angus positively fizzed with excitement, and the others displayed various expressions, beneath all of which was the dawning realisation that it seemed the rising was, at last, finally about to happen.

“Well, then,” burst out Angus after ten seconds, when he could stand the endless contemplation no more. “Are we going to celebrate, or is it a nice wee cup of chocolate and an early night?”

As nobody felt partial to chocolate, but everyone felt the need, one way or another, for alternative liquid refreshment, it turned out to be a very late night indeed.

In the end it was a few days before Duncan, Angus and Alasdair left, because once they realised that it wouldn’t be possible to raise the clan and get to Glenfinnan in time for the unfurling of the standard on the nineteenth, the need for haste diminished somewhat.

Alex, driven to distraction by Angus’s boundless optimism, coupled with continual reassurances that his brother was no more than a Job’s comforter and reflections on what it would be like to march triumphantly into London a few weeks hence, finally dispatched the unquenchable bundle of energy off to the coast to arrange shipment of the arms to Leith, and advise the smuggler Gabriel Foley of what was transpiring, if he didn’t already know. Once Angus was gone, everyone could get down to packing, and discussing the situation in a more practical relaxed manner. Certainly Alex and Duncan were more relaxed, the former because the temptation to strangle his brother was at least temporarily removed, and the latter because holding yourself continually in a state of readiness to throw yourself between your siblings to prevent fratricide was somewhat wearing after a while.

Over the next day or so the plan took shape, on the assumption that the rising would not be another abortive one. It had been decided that the men would leave quietly by night, in the hopes that their absence would not be noted. The elevated circles in which Sir Anthony moved hardly registered servants at all, and wouldn’t notice if his coachman suddenly changed. Or his footman. Or his whole household, for that matter. In the meantime, to cover up the sudden lack of staff, Sir Anthony would declare that he had just received his tailor’s bill and had decided to retrench and give no entertainments for a while in an attempt to save money. His friends would see it as one of his little moods, soon to pass, Beth could moan in public about how frugal he had become about ridiculous things, whilst not economising at all on his wardrobe, and everyone would laugh at Sir Anthony’s little foibles. In the meantime, as letters from Scotland to London would certainly be viewed with suspicion by the authorities, any coded missives from Duncan would be routed to Gabriel Foley via John Holker, a respectable and trustworthy Manchester cloth merchant who Beth had met briefly once in an alleyway room over two years ago. At a convenient time, when there was no more useful information to be gleaned in London, the Peters would pack their bags, announce their intention to go for a short trip abroad, and disappear. Then the MacGregor chieftain would rejoin his men, hopefully in plenty of time to engage in some interesting fighting before the triumphal entry into London which Angus was so enamoured of. And once Charles was safely installed as Regent for King James in London, Alex would send for his wife, who would of course be waiting safely and patiently with the other women at Loch Lomond for his summons.

Beth had her own views regarding her prospective role in this plan, but recognised that now was not the best time to discuss them, with Alex in a state of heightened tension. He was already worried about committing his clansmen to a rising he was unsure of, concerned for the safety of his over-enthusiastic youngest brother, and frustrated that he could not abandon Sir Anthony immediately and charge off to battle as he wanted. It was unlikely that he would receive with equanimity the news that his wife had no intention of meekly sitting in a Highland hut for months awaiting his summons to join him. Time for that later. Right now there was something more pressing to attend to.

“Duncan,” Beth said, having finally succeeded in catching him on his own in his room. “I need to speak with you alone.”

He looked up in surprise as she closed the door behind her. On his bed was a small pile of favourite books, from which he was trying to select one to take with him.

“Aye, what is it?” he said, obviously expecting her to ask him to look after Angus, or something of the sort.

“What are you going to do about Sarah?” she asked.

The emotion only revealed itself on his face for a fraction of a second, but she was observing him closely, and saw it. He looked away.

“Nothing,” he said. “We’re friends, that’s all.”

She snorted derisively, and he looked back at her, saw there was no point in continuing this line.

“Aye, well,” he said. “What can I do? I can hardly go and tell her I’m away off tae fight for Prince Charlie, can I now?”

“She’ll be terribly hurt if you leave without saying goodbye, Duncan,” Beth said softly. “She really likes you.”

He ran his hand through his hair in the way of his brother.

“Better that than she suspect something and go to the authorities,” he said.

“She won’t do that,” Beth said. “And you know it. She already knows Maggie’s a Jacobite, and that I’m a Catholic at the very least.”

“And that’s more than she should ken,” he said. He held a hand up as Beth made to speak again. “Ye dinna need to defend Sarah to me, Beth,” he continued. “I was being unfair. She willna go to the authorities. But they may well come to her at some point, if you and Alex disappear. And the less she kens the better. If they believe she has no information, they’ll no’ harm her. If they find out she kens a little, they’ll want more. I wouldna have her hurt.”

“What will I tell her? She’ll notice you’ve gone. She’ll ask.”

He sat down on the bed to think, and she went and sat next to him.

“Tell her I’ve had to go home, on family business. That my granny’s died or something of the sort, and I’ve tae go to the funeral, sort out her affairs. And that I’ll come back, when it’s all over,” he added softly.

“Will you?” she asked, taking his hand, which had been smoothing the sheet. He closed his fingers around hers and looked at her, his grey eyes clouded with unexpressed emotion, and behind that, apprehension.

“Aye, I will,” he said. “If it all goes well. And if it doesna…well, I daresay she’d no’ want to see me anyway, in that case. Tell her, will ye?”

“No,” Beth said. “Tell her yourself. It’ll come better from you. You can call in on your way to Scotland, explain you’ve got to rush to get there for the funeral, that it could take some time to sort out everything, with all the cousins and suchlike. But you tell her, Duncan, or she’ll be hurt. You’re the first man she’s trusted in years, and you owe it to her…”

“Tae tell her a pack of lies,” Duncan interrupted.

“She’ll understand that, later, when you come back and tell her the truth. But she won’t understand if you leave without saying goodbye. She’ll harden her heart against you, and you’ll never get her back.”

In the end, he didn’t go on his way to Scotland, but the evening before, and he didn’t rush off, but stayed for a few hours. When he came back in the early hours of the morning he seemed happier. And sadder, too. What he said, and what Sarah replied, remained a mystery, because neither of them ever spoke of it to anyone else.

“Ridiculous upstart!” Lord Edward announced, inadvertently interrupting Beth, who had just been assuring the Earl of Highbury in a low voice that there was really no need for him to apologise yet again for the behaviour of his wayward son. The earl glanced coolly across at Edward, awaiting further comment before he defended his son from what appeared to be, in Beth’s view, a fair accusation.

“Cope will soon send him packing, never fear,” said Lord Winter. “All a storm in a teacup, if you ask me.”

The earl relaxed, gathered his bishop’s robes about him, and turned his attention back to Beth.

“I am surprised you didn’t choose to attend this little masquerade as an Amazon warrior, Lady Elizabeth,” he said. “It would be more fitting than a demure mediaeval lady, surely?”