An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition (62 page)

“Aye, that’s th’ law,” the soldier said. “But there was some resistance o’ a kind among th’ men an’ th’ Major says ter shoot th’ devils and have done with it. Tis less trouble in th’ long run, but ’tis cruel ’ard on th’ women an’ children. I ’ear as ’ow folk are afraid to give ’em food an’ lodgin’ round ’ere when they ’ave been burnt out.”

“The woman must have been walking to Skaig for help,” Iona said. “That is why she is on this road. Look at her feet.”

She pointed to the woman’s feet, which, cut and covered with congealed blood, were bare save for a few rags.

“Yus, that’s one o’ th’ women right enough,” the soldier remarked.

He raised his lantern and looked at the Captain. Iona’s eyes were on him too. It was with an effort that he seemed to come to a decision.

“Move the woman to the side of the road. We can do nothing for her. I will send some men to bury her tomorrow.”

“No, you can do nothing more for her,” Iona said stiffly.

She waited while the two soldiers lifted the pitiably light body and laid it by the side of the road, then she placed the baby in the crook of its mother’s arm again. She whispered a prayer and turned away quickly to hide her tears. After Captain Moore had joined her in the coach, they journeyed for some minutes in silence and then he said a little awkwardly,

“There are always tragedies of this sort when there are wars, ma’am. It is impossible to prevent such happenings.”

“Impossible?” Iona queried. “When you heard the soldier say that the men of the households were shot?”

“They offered resistance,” Captain Moore said quickly.

“Resistance!” Iona said scornfully. “How could they resist against trained soldiers? The weapons you searched for were in the thatch, but the men resisted with their fists. Bare fists against muskets, is that the English idea of fair play?”

“It is not a question of fair play,” Captain Moore retorted. “These people are rebels, they strike our men down in the dark. All the time they are plotting, ready to rise again just as soon as the opportunity occurs. We bring peace and justice to Scotland, but it must be at the expense of those who break the law.”

“And so you think that peace and justice can be gained by shooting defenceless men, by leaving their women and children to starve?” Iona said sarcastically. “You must be a great idealist, Captain Moore.”

“That is unfair!” Captain Moore’s voice was young and impetuous. “If you think that I can see such a sight unmoved, you are mistaken. I hate many of the things we have to do here. It is not a man’s job to fight women.”

“I agree with you.”

“But Scottish women are as treacherous and wily as their men, and I assure you that it is not easy to stamp out their worship of the Stuart Kings.”

“And replace it with an allegiance to a German usurper,” Iona finished. “No, I can understand that.”

Even as she spoke, she realised that she had been indiscreet. Her words seemed to bring a sudden silence to the jolting coach and after a moment Captain Moore spoke in a very different voice.

“If you have such sentiments, ma’am,” he said, “may I warn you not to express them in front of the Governor of the Fort?”

His words sent a sudden chill through Iona and she remembered the way Lord Niall had spoken of Major Johnstone. But she knew that Captain Moore’s warning was spoken in a friendly manner.

“Why have I been arrested?” she asked.

“To be honest, I have no idea,” Captain Moore replied. “I am but carrying out the orders given to me by my superior officer.”

“Of course, I should not have asked you that question. I apologise.”

“Pray do not. I must admit I was astonished and surprised when I saw you. I was expecting an older woman, a hardened, elderly Jacobite. It does not seem possible that you, who are so young could have done anything which might be considered dangerous, but I do beg you to guard your tongue.”

Despite her instinctive antagonism to anything that was English, Iona could not resist the friendliness and sincerity in the young man’s tones.

“I am grateful for your advice, sir,” she said.

The Captain made a sudden movement in the darkness.

“I wish we had not encountered that woman,” he said. “It has distressed you and I swear it will haunt me. You have spoken frankly to me, ma’am, and I will be frank with you and say that I have already asked for a transfer to the South. I cannot stand it here, the work we have to do, the poverty and suffering, and the feeling that one is hated wherever one goes. There are enemies behind every clump of heather, lurking in every pile of stones.”

There was no mistaking the raw suffering in his voice and Iona felt her enmity and anger melt away.

“I will respect your confidences, sir,” she said. “I am glad to hear that there are those amongst the English who are not deaf to humanity and to the cries of injustice.”

“Things seem so very different when you are not mixed up with them. When I was at home, the Rising seemed a stupid, insane action on the part of the Young Pretender. I thought it was just because he was ambitious for personal power. I did not understand then what the Scots feel about their rightful king, how bitterly they resent the thought of being ruled by someone of German blood, and how willingly they will lay down their lives for what they believe to be right.”

“You can say all that,” Iona said softly, “and yet you continue to persecute us?”

“Not me personally,” Captain Moore said. “As I have already told you, I have asked for a transfer.”

“But your countrymen will go on butchering the Scots, imprisoning them and torturing them. Have you not heard how the Duke of Cumberland’s troops behaved after Culloden? Can you imagine that such treatment of a vanquished enemy could ever be wiped out by anything but the spilling of blood and more blood?”

“The Duke had his reason for what orders he gave, ma’am,” the young officer answered. “I was too young to be present at Culloden, but I have heard other officers explain what happened. I feel no good will come of our discussing it, for after all what was done then has been done – ”

“ – and will never be forgotten,” Iona said softly. “One day after we are dead, when history comes to be written, I believe that the English will be ashamed of their behaviour that day, and indeed of the behaviour of their troops now. And yet despite all that, despite the persecution, the suffering, the horror of it all, you will never be able to stamp out and destroy the love of the Scots for their rightful King James III and for his son, Prince Charles.”

Her voice rang out and then before Captain Moore could answer her, the horses drew up with a jerk, and there was the sound of voices and the flashing of a light outside the window. They had reached the Fort.

In the light of the raised lanterns Iona saw Captain Moore’s face. He was looking towards her and the expression on his face was of a man moved to the very depth of his being. Their eyes met and as the door was flung open he just had time to whisper almost beneath his breath,

“Take care of what you say.”

Then Captain Moore rose from his seat and stepped out.

A new voice roared an order and there was the crash of men presenting arms.

“Allow me to assist you to alight, ma’am,” Captain Moore’s said, his voice now cool and detached.

Iona gave him her hand and stepped from the carriage.

She had a quick impression of curious faces and a gaudy predominance of red coats and shining buttons, of a long, uncarpeted passage, and then the door of a room was opened.

“Miss Ward, sir, from Skaig Castle.”

Captain Moore’s voice was curt and military and in curious contrast to the man Iona saw facing her. She realised at once that she had been taken to Major Johnstone’s private sitting room. It was a big room with a bright fire burning in the fireplace, and well furnished in a somewhat masculine manner. In a big wing-backed chair Major Johnstone sprawled before the fire. His coat was unbuttoned, showing a stained white shirt. There was a glass of red wine in his hand. His face was crimson, the purple veins predominant on the huge swollen nose. It was the face of a gross liver, a coarse character. His wig was pushed sideways on his head and he still wore his riding-boots, dirty and mud-spattered from the day’s riding.

He made no effort to rise, but sprawled in his chair regarding Iona from the top of her head downwards. His glance was somehow lewd and indelicate and despite all her resolutions she found herself flushing a little under his scrutiny.

“Gawd’s truth!” he said at length in a thick voice. “So this is the filly they suspect of being a damned Jacobite. Well, gal what have you to say for yourself?”

He raised his glass to his lips and took a great gulp of wine, and as he rolled it round his mouth, he waited for Iona to answer. When she did not, he swallowed the wine and shouted,

“Have you lost your tongue? Answer, can’t you?”

“Are you speaking to me, sir?”

“Who the hell else did you think I was addressing?” the Major thundered.

“As a guest of the Duke of Arkrae,” Iona answered, “I must request that you give me an explanation of why I have been brought here.”

“
You
request! Gad, that’s rich!” Major Johnstone said.

He gave a deep and what purposed to be an ironic laugh but which turned instead into a belch.

“Let’s get this straight, my girl,” he said. “You may have been the guest of all the bloodstained Scottish Dukes in Christendom, but if you are a Jacobite – and it’s up to me to decide whether you are or not – it’s lucky if you keep your head.”

“Am I not correct, sir, in believing that by English law a man or woman for that matter is innocent until proved guilty?” Iona asked.

The Major glared at her, but as he did not answer, she went on,

“I would but ask you, sir, for proofs of my guilt, for I have no knowledge of them.”

The Major looked her up and down.

“You’ve got guts, I’ll say that,” he remarked. “Take that cloak off and let’s have a better look at you.”

His tone was coarse and the look in his eyes frightening, but Iona thought it best to comply with his request. Besides, the room was very hot and the air almost suffocating with the stench of spirit and stale tobacco. She was relieved to slip the heavy cloak from her shoulders and the hood from her head. Captain Moore stepped forward and took it from her.

“That’s better,” the Major said approvingly. “And now, Moore, sit down, pour yourself a drink and we’ll have some fun.”

Captain Moore put down Iona’s cloak on a chair near the fire and hesitated.

“You heard me you young jackanapes,” roared the Major.

“The lady, sir, shall I fetch her a chair?”

The Major glared at him.

“A chair for a prisoner! Has the sun turned what little brain you had?”

He glanced at Iona.

“Ah, ah – now I understand! A pretty face and she becomes a lady. If she was plain as a pikestaff, she’d be just a woman and a prisoner! All men are the same, I know ’em, and all females are the same too, under their airs and graces and their gowns. Sit down, man, and do as you’re told. If you don’t want a glass of wine, then that leaves the more for me.”

There was nothing for Captain Moore to do but to cross the room to the chair on the other side of the hearthrug. He seated himself while Iona stood between them, her face almost as white as her dress, but her head with its rebellious curls remained high.

“Ve-ry pretty, ve-ry pretty,” the Major drawled, his eyes taking in every detail of the low-cut gown, the curve of breast and waist and the grace of Iona’s bare arms.

“Now then,” he said sharply, “tell me in your own words, and no lies mark you, I want the truth – what you’re doing in Scotland?”

“As you have doubtless been informed,” Iona said quietly, “I came here but a short while ago from Paris with papers which sought to prove that I was the Duke’s half sister, the Lady Elspeth MacCraggan.”

“And did they believe you?” the Major asked. “Not on your life! You damned Jacobites are up to any trick and always ready to pretend to something or other like those rascally Stuarts! We’ve had the Old Pretender, the Young Pretender, and now they have got a Woman Pretender. Who the hell is going to believe you? Not me, at any rate.”

“It would, of course, be impossible for you, sir, to come to any decision on the matter without seeing the proofs that I brought with me,” Iona said.

The Major glared at her and his lower lip stuck out in an ugly fashion.

“Are you being impertinent or trying to teach me my business?” he asked. “I know what I shall believe and what I won’t believe. Now, when did you last see that imposter, Charles Stuart?”

“Do you mean the Prince?” Iona asked.

“Prince? He’s no more a Prince than I am,” the Major growled. “I’ll call him the Young Pretender, if you like it better, but Charles Stuart is his name and you know full well of whom I speak. Now then, gal, speak up – when did you last see him?”

Iona took a deep breath.

“I think you are making a mistake sir. I have already asked you to give me your reasons for bringing me here and for subjecting me to this examination. Until I receive a satisfactory reply to that request, I cannot acknowledge that you have the right to question me in any matters appertaining to my private life.”

The Major set down his glass on the table with such violence that the wine was spilled over his hand and on to the floor.

“Zounds!” he exclaimed. “Dare you defy me and speak to me in such a manner? Do you realise, you cheeky wench that I have the authority to have you taken from this room and thrown into the deepest dungeon in this Fort? Or better still, give you over to my men for their amusement?”

Iona’s chin, if possible, was raised a little higher.

“I must ask your pardon, sir, if I was mistaken, but I understood that you represented here in the Highlands the justice of the English throne.”

The veins seemed to swell on the Major’s face and he grew so crimson that it almost seemed as if he must burst a blood vessel.

“You Jacobite baggage,” he said, the words coming so forcibly from his lips that he literally spat them out. “I’ll teach you to speak to me in such a manner, I’ll – ”