An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition (64 page)

Her voice was faint, for already they were moving swiftly forward, and as the Duke did not reply, she did not repeat the question. She would know all in his good time, she was sure of that, and she was content to trust him utterly, to ask nothing more than that he should control and guide her actions. She wished only to obey what he should command, and the wonder of what had occurred swept over her again like a flood tide so that in very happiness she must hide her face against him and not even watch where they were going.

This was no time for talk, and Iona felt that words were meaningless and unimportant when all that was essential could be said by the closeness of their bodies, by the strength of the Duke’s arm around her and by the throbbing of his heart against hers.

This was happiness, this was a loveliness beyond anything she had ever imagined. Even more than that – this was being alive.

Never, she thought, had she felt so vividly, so throbbingly alive as she did now. She knew instinctively that there was danger ahead. They had enemies behind them, in front of them, and for all she knew around them. But at this moment she was supremely unafraid and she knew with an unquestionable clairvoyance that the Duke would win through whatever the odds against him.

He drew the stallion to a standstill. Iona raised her head. Behind them was moorland stretching up to where it joined the darkness of the sky. Ahead were the abrupt, rough sides of a mountain. Where they stood there were a few scattered trees, while the ground was rough and stony with an occasional boulder.

Swinging himself down from the saddle, the Duke held out his arms to Iona. For a second she waited, savouring the delicious moment before he should take her, before she would feel her breasts crushed against his chest. Then she leant forward and she was in his strong grasp.

“You are so small,” he whispered softly, “so tiny that I am half afraid to touch you, and yet you are big enough to fill my whole world.”

His lips were against her hair before he set her free. As he did so, Iona gave a little cry of terror. A dark shadow moved by some bushes and she saw it was a man. Instantly the Duke’s arm came out to protect her.

“Do not be frightened, my love,” he said. “It is only Raild whom you can trust as I have always done.”

“Theer’s nae doot aboot that, Yer Grace,” a voice replied.

A man came forward in the moonlight and Iona saw that he was elderly, his shaggy hair and heavy eyebrows white against a lined weather-beaten face. He was wearing a kilt and there was a dirk at his waist and a knife in his stocking.

He reached out to take the bridle of the black stallion and the horse nuzzled its nose against him as if it asked for a caress.

“Sae ye remember me?” Raild said, rubbing his hand against the horse’s nose.

“Thunderer, like myself, has a long memory, Raild,” the Duke said. “Will you tether him to one of the trees, for we must not linger here?”

“Aye, Yer Grace, I’ll dae that,” Raild replied and led the horse away into the shadow of the trees.

Iona looked at the Duke inquiringly. He was staring at the great pile of stones ahead of him and now he went towards them.

Wonderingly and in silence she followed him. She thought for a moment he was about to climb the side of the mountain till she saw him brush aside some briars of a straggling bush and bend down.

He must have set some hidden mechanism in motion, for almost immediately there was a slow grating sound as a great boulder of rock moved sideways and a dark, gaping hole appeared where it had stood.

There were quick footsteps from behind them and Raild came swiftly from the trees. Without saying a word he bent his head and entered the dark aperture in the mountainside, Iona heard the sound of a tinderbox in use and a moment later there was the yellow flare of a light.

It flickered in the darkness and she perceived that Raild had kindled a candle in a lantern. He picked it up and held it above his head. As he did so, the Duke put out his hand to Iona.

“Come,” he said, “there is no need to be afraid.”

“I am not! I am with you,” she replied simply and felt the answering response of his fingers.

She had to bend her head to pass through the opening in the rock, but once she had done so she found that the ceiling was high and it was easy not only for her but also for the Duke to stand upright.

Ahead lay a flight of roughly hewn stone steps, while behind her Iona heard the rumble of the stone that covered the entrance being set back in its place.

Raild started up the stairs, the lantern throwing a wide circle of light making it easy for Iona and the Duke to follow him. Up, up they climbed until the steps were succeeded by a passage also sloping upwards, beyond which they came to another flight of steps.

It was cool inside the passage, but the air was sweet. Although she wondered where it would lead them, Iona asked no questions for both men were silent. But her curiosity was aroused as they climbed higher and higher until at length the passage widened into a vast vaulted chamber, a cavern in what she thought must be the very heart of the mountain.

The roof was so high that the light of the lantern only flickered on it uncertainly, but round the walls, rough hewn, glittering and shining in the light, were stacked a number of articles. Raild stopped in the cavern. He set down the lantern on a bench close to the wall and took down another from where it was hanging on a strong nail.

“I’ll gang an’ see if onybody iss tha’ the noo, Yer Grace,” he said. “Wait ye here wi’ the leddy!”

“Yes, we will wait here,” the Duke said. “Be careful not to show a light.”

“Nay, I’ll pit doon the lantern i’ the inner cave,” Raild answered. “Theer’ll be moonlight on the rock.”

Having kindled the second lantern from the first he moved away and disappeared through an opening at the far end of the chamber. Iona turned to the Duke.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“This is the Chief’s Cavern,” he said. “It is a secret known only to the Head of the Clan and revealed by him to one or two of his most trusted servants. It is actually a natural formation of rock and at one time could be reached only from the caves leading directly on to the Black Rock, which was originally the Judgment Seat of the MacCraggan Clan.”

His words awoke a vague memory in Iona’s mind. The Black Rock! She remembered now she had seen it from the Duke’s Library, jutting out almost at the top of the mountain that bordered the west side of the loch.

“The steps we have just climbed,” the Duke continued, “were made by my great, great grandfather, MacCraggan Mor, and it was his idea to make the Chief’s Cavern a refuge and a hiding place for those in trouble. It has served both me and my forebears.”

“It is an amazing place,” Iona said, looking around her and putting out her hand to touch the walls themselves.

They sparkled as if they were frosted, from the minute particles of quartz embedded in the granite, giving the whole place a strange, almost ethereal beauty.

“I can understand what a splendid hiding place it must be,” Iona said and as she turned from the walls intending to move towards the Duke, she glanced down at the things which lay piled on the floor.

There were weapons of all sorts and descriptions. There were broadswords, claymores, dirks and muskets, and beside them a pile of tartan plaids, philibegs, and shoulder belts stacked in a tidy pile.

“Why are those here?” Iona asked and knew the answer even before the Duke replied.

“Weapons and articles of Highland dress are forbidden to my people. They are therefore stored here in safety until the day that we are free again both to carry arms and to wear our national costume.”

It was then that Iona would have asked him the question for which she had come all the way from France. But as the words came to her lips, she turned her eyes away from the weapons and tartans and saw something else by the light of the lantern.

It was a long box, resting on the very bench on which Raild had set down the light. In shape it was not unlike a coffin, but it had a glass top and through the transparency of the glass something attracted Iona’s attention and made her look more closely.

What she saw held her spellbound and she lifted the lantern to be quite certain she was not mistaken.

In the box was a kilt and jacket, and lying on top of them was a white sporran, the silver clasp gleaming in the light of the lantern. Above it, laid neatly on the breast of the jacket, was a bonnet, trimmed with three white eagle feathers. Iona set down the lantern and turned to the Duke, who was standing in the centre of the cave watching her, a faint smile on his lips.

“Whose clothes are these?” she asked and there was a tremor of excitement in her voice.

“They belonged to my great, great grandfather,” he said, “the MacCraggan Mor, of whom I have just spoken.”

“Who knows they are here?” Iona asked.

“No one save myself and Raild,” the Duke replied, an expression of surprise on his face at the urgency of her question. “They were placed here in my great, great grandfather’s time and have remained here ever since.”

“Then it was you who wore them at Culloden!”

Iona’s voice was low, yet its vibration seemed to echo round the vast cavern.

“Who told you that?”

“Dughall told me of how your men, fifty of them, went to Culloden. They had no leader and they would all have been killed had not MacCraggan Mor come back from the grave to save them.

“They recognised the white sporran and the three eagle feathers in his bonnet. He led them to safety and then vanished. Now I know who was there, fighting, as they had never seen a man fight before. It was you!”

The Duke took three steps towards Iona and put his hands on her shoulders.

“Yes, my darling,” he said quietly, “I was there, but I came too late to help our Prince. He was already defeated.”

Iona’s eyes were suddenly full of tears.

“Oh, I am glad,” she whispered, “glad beyond words that you were loyal, that you did what you could to help him – our beloved Prince.”

The Duke took his hands from her shoulders.

“I was too late,” he said and there was the sharpness of pain in his voice.

He took a few steps across the cavern and then walked back again.

“I did not hear of the Rising until the Prince was already in retreat. I was in Italy, for I had been travelling abroad for two years, doing a grand tour of Europe and buying pictures and furniture, at my father’s request, for the castle.

“It was interesting at the time, but I bitterly regretted later that I was not here in Scotland when the Prince landed. As soon as I heard what had occurred, I set sail for home. We were held up by storms and I did not reach Moraig on the West Coast until April the 14th. I bought a horse and rode as fast as the poor beast could carry me towards home. Five miles from the castle on the outskirts of my father’s territory is Raild’s craft.

I arrived there late at night and as my horse was almost too exhausted to go farther without a rest, I stopped and asked Raild for food for the animal and myself.

“It was fortunate I did so, for Raild was able to tell me what was occurring at the castle. I learnt that my father was dying, that my stepmother was openly in favour of the English and that my half-brother, who was always in attendance on her, was also of her way of thinking.

“Raild told me, too, of the position of the Prince’s army and of the English forces, which were at Nairn. There was no time for argument or even for me to go to the castle if I were to help the Prince. I had neither clothes nor weapons with me, having left all my luggage on the quay at Moraig.

Then I remembered that my great, great grandfather’s kilt was in the Chief’s Cavern. My father had revealed the secret of it to me before I went abroad, being aware that he was an old man and might not live to see my return. Raild and I came here that very night.

I dressed in MacCraggan Mor’s clothes, armed myself and after mounting a fresh horse I set out with all possible speed towards Nairn. You know what happened at Culloden. I arrived when the fate of the battle had already been decided. The clans were running away and the English with their fresh, well-fed, well-trained men were sweeping everything before them.

“With the greatest of good fortune I found the little band of MacCraggans fighting against overwhelming odds, surrounded and in danger of being completely annihilated. I managed to extricate the majority of them and lead them to a place of safety. One of them addressed me as MacCraggan Mor and I realised then that they mistook me for the ghost of my great, great grandfather.

“I decided it would be best for me to disappear as mysteriously as I had appeared. I set the clansmen on their homeward way and rode back by a different route to find Raild waiting for me at the foot of the mountain where he was waiting tonight. I had been wounded in the battle, my leg was bleeding from a sword cut, and I had lost a lot of blood.

Raild brought me here to the Chief’s Cavern and while he was binding up my wound I told him what had happened. When he heard that the clansmen had not recognised me, he begged me to lie hidden, for already tales were being told abroad of the cruelty being inflicted by the English on the Highlanders who had taken part in the Rising. Raild persuaded me that I must keep myself hidden until my wound was healed. I was safe enough here and no one but he knew of my return to Scotland.

“I remained here for over three weeks and by that time I had learned that the Prince was in hiding and that the sufferings of those who had been loyal to his cause were almost beyond endurance. I knew then that I could do little good in declaring myself to be a Jacobite, for not only would my own head be forfeit but, because my father had died in the meantime, my people would be killed and tortured, their houses burned over their heads, my castle and lands confiscated.

I had been too late to help the Prince personally but at least I could try to save those who had served him as I had longed to do. With Raild’s help I went back to Moraig, repaired to the local inn and then sent word to the castle of my arrival. A coach, outriders and servants were sent to meet me. No one had any idea that I had not just arrived from Italy.