An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition (65 page)

“I took up my position as Duke and Chief of the MacCraggans, aware that it was a precarious throne. My stepmother and my half-brother hated me. Niall wished to be Duke and they had already agreed that the easiest way to achieve this was to incriminate me as being a Jacobite.

These past five years have been long and tortuous. Every moment I have had to be on my guard, every word I have uttered, every action I have done has had to be considered and examined cautiously lest they should betray me.

It is not my own skin I have been intent on saving, I swear to you that I am not in the least afraid for myself. But if I am implicated, my people will be punished with me, for most of them hold allegiance to one person and one person only, our rightful and most beloved Prince Charles Stuart.”

The tears were streaming down Iona’s cheeks as the Duke stopped speaking. Impulsively she swayed towards him, her arms outstretched.

“Thank God you can say that,” she breathed.

The Duke held her closely, but before he could speak, there was the sound of footsteps at the other end of the cavern and they saw the light of Raild’s lantern. They drew apart, but the Duke still held Iona’s hand in his.

“There be many a-comin’ the noo, Yer Grace,” Raild said.

Iona turned to the Duke, a question on her lips.

“Things have happened,” he explained quickly, “which have led me to think that my people will invite the suspicions of the English. Despite the most drastic penalties of transportation and death the majority of them still have weapons or articles of Highland dress hidden in their crofts. Since the early hours of this morning I have been riding round the estate stopping at every croft, speaking to the head of each family and bidding them bring me here this very night everything which is forbidden and for which they will suffer dire punishment should it be found in their possession.

They will come to the Black Rock, as the MacCraggans have come since the beginning of time, and when they have gone. Raild and I will hide what they have left behind in the Chief’s Cavern.”

Even as the Duke was speaking, he drew Iona forward towards the passage where Raild was waiting. Once again the lantern lit the way for Iona’s feet. There were more steps leading upwards, some of them so sharp and so steep that she was breathless when she reached the top, where a big stone, manipulated by a pulley, had been moved aside to reveal a small opening into a low cave.

The cave was dark and dirty. There was, too, the pungent scent of fox as if an animal had sheltered there the previous night. The first cave led by a narrow aperture into a larger and higher one, and as they stepped into it, Raild extinguished the lantern.

Now by the light of the moon Iona saw that they had reached the Black Rock. It was wide and flat, a natural platform formed of black granite. The Duke led Iona forward until they stood at the end of the cave, the rock stretching before them to where it jutted out over the loch, the water of which shimmered silver hundreds of feet below.

There was a path on the edge of the mountainside, winding up to the Black Rock. It was a narrow, dangerous path, seeming to afford hardly enough foothold for a sheep, and yet coming up it sure footed and in silence was a band of men.

It was hard to see them in the darkness for they seemed a part of the grey mountain itself, but every now and then the moonlight glinted on something that shone like steel, something that they carried beneath their arms or tucked securely into their belts. Instinctively Iona looked towards the castle. There was a blaze of light in almost every window and the reflection of them glittered like a multitude of fallen stars in the water beneath. It was lovely beyond words and yet Iona felt that at this moment its beauty was menacing.

Here on the windswept mountain the loyalty and sacred tradition of the Clan was centred in its leader – a man whom they could trust and who trusted them. In the castle there were enemies, their minds twisted and warped with hate and envy.

Iona shivered. Instinctively she moved a little nearer to the Duke. She had a sudden sense of danger, a premonition so acute and strong that impulsively she turned to speak of it, to beg him to be careful. But even as she did so, the first clansman stepped on to the Rock, a rugged giant of a man, a grey beard hanging over his chest, a plaid thrown over his shoulders, two naked broadswords in his hands.

The Duke stepped forward. The clansman made a respectful obeisance, and then he gave the swords into Raild’s keeping.

Another clansman appeared and another, and soon there was a continuous stream of them stepping out of the darkness on to the Black Rock, advancing towards the Duke, making obeisance, then handing the weapons they carried to Raild who took them away into the inner fastness of the cave.

At length there were no more arrivals. By this time the Rock was closely packed with clansmen standing facing the Duke in a silence that seemed to hold a strange tension and yet at the same time a sense of comradeship as in a danger shared. Then the Duke looked at those around him, and in the moonlight that was gradually brightening, his expression seemed softer and strangely tender.

“My people,” he said quietly, “I asked you to come here tonight because we live in times of grave danger. You have answered my call and trusted me with what are to many of you your most treasured possessions. I will guard them well until the day comes when we shall walk proudly as free men again, free to wear our own tartan and to carry weapons for the protection of our homes and families.

“There are many things I would like to say to you at this moment, but there is not time. It is dangerous for us to linger even on this spot hallowed by long tradition and in itself a part of the history of our clan.”

The Duke paused and at that moment two people came up the path and appeared at the edge of the Rock. Several heads turned in their direction and Iona saw that the late arrivals were Dughall and the old woman who had offered her a drink when she had visited the croft.

“Good evening, Dughall,” the Duke said, “I feared that you were prevented from joining us here tonight.”

“Nay, Yer Grace, I came as ye commanded an’ brocht wi’ me ma claymore. ’Tis vexed I am tae part wi’ it, fae it hae gi’en guid sairvice but I mak nae doot the day’ll come wheen I’ll wield it agin.”

“I believe it will,” the Duke said, “and this is your mother?”

He looked down into the wrinkled, wizened face of the old woman peeping up at him from under the folds of her black woollen shawl.

“Aye, Yer Grace,” Dughall replied. “Her wad come wi’ me an’ naught would keep her awa’. She hae someat tha’ she wishes tae place for safe keepin’ intae Yer Grace’s air hands.”

“Ma’s richt,” the old woman piped up. “wha’ I hae I’ll gie tae Yer Grace an’ nae ither.”

Dughall’s mother moved her shawl and Iona saw that she carried a small, roughly made wooden box.

“Whatever you give me,” the Duke said quietly, “I will endeavour to preserve until such times as you can take it again into the safety of your own home. The only assurance I can give you in taking charge of your treasures is that I will guard them as if they were my own, and if necessary with my life.”

His words were simple and so sincere that Iona felt an almost overwhelming pride well up in her heart.

“Those be brave words, Yer Grace,” the old woman said. “An’ wha’ I hae iss worthy o’ them. It was gied me, Yer Grace, by ma nephie’s wifie after he haed been killit at the Battle o’ Culloden. ’Tis a brave lassie she is, an’ wheen he didna come bac’ that black day she gaed tae look fae him. Wi’ only Gawd tae protect her she gaed alane amang the deid an’ dyin’ an’ by the maircy o’ Heaven she fund her mon, my nephie, wheen she hed thocht tae gie up the sairch. Tha’ was but a wee breath lef’ in him, puir laddie, fae his wounds wa terrible an’ theer was little she cud dae tae succour him. But he haed maur tae think o’ at tha’ moment than his ain pain.

“Wi’ death itsel’ dimmin’ his ee he drew summat frae the bosom o’ his jacket an’ gied it intae her hands. ‘Guard it weel, wifie,’ he said, an’ he told her whit it weer. He deid in her arms an’ the next day she came walkin’ ower the moors tae ma ain hame, an’ she tellit me wha’ haed happenit. ‘They’ll be searchin’ ma hoose, auntie,’ she says, ’fae they ken weel tha’ Jock hae followit the Prince. Keep it safe, fae it wa wi’ his last breath tha’ Jock handit it tae me.’ An’ I hae guardit it weel thees four years, Yer Grace. Noo I gie it tae ye.”

The old woman lifted the box and set it in the Duke’s hand.

He looked down at it.

“Will you tell me what it is?” he asked quietly.

“Lift ye the lid, Yer Grace, an’ see fae yersel,” the old woman replied.

The Duke did so. He looked down into the box, then put his hand in to touch something soft.

“A bonnet?” he asked.

“Aye,” Dughall’s mother replied. “A bonnet, Yer Grace, an’ it was Prince Charlie’s ain, tha’ flew frae his blessit heed wheen he rode frae the battlefield.”

Iona gave a little gasp of astonishment and it was echoed by the clansmen standing round. They pressed forward, straining their necks to see the precious relic of the Prince they loved.

“Prince Charles’s bonnet!” the Duke said in astonishment.

“His ain, Yer Grace.”

“Then we will indeed keep it safe,” the Duke said proudly, “until such time as His Royal Highness shall return-to claim it.”

He closed the lid of the box.

Iona moved forward and touched his arm.

“Please,” she said, “may I say something?”

He looked down at her and a tender smile curved his lips.

“If you will.”

Iona turned towards the clansmen.

“I came here but a short while ago from Paris,” she said, her voice low but clear so that even those standing farthest away could hear her. “Before I left that city, I saw our Prince, I spoke with him, and among other things he asked me, when I was in Scotland, to discover if I could if there was any trace of his bonnet which had blown from his head after the Battle of Culloden. The reason he was so interested in this article of clothing was that the night before he went into the battle His Royal Highness was given by a lady of title a valuable collet of diamonds. These diamonds were sewn for safety into the Prince’s bonnet and when he lost it he lost them, too.”

Iona turned towards Dughall’s mother.

“Will you allow me,” she asked, “to look inside this bonnet you have kept so carefully all these years and see if the diamonds are still there?”

“Aye, look ye, mistress.”

The Duke raised the lid of the box and held it out to Iona. Very carefully and with reverence she drew from its hiding place the blue bonnet with the white cockade. For a moment she held it high in her hands and the clansmen pressed forward to look. Then she felt within the broad band. For a moment her fingers encountered nothing, then they discovered a hard, round lump, another and yet another.

With a sense of mounting excitement Iona’s fingers explored further. The stitches, which had held the diamonds in place, had grown rotten with the years, and with a small tug they fell apart so that the necklace was free.

In the moonlight, the diamonds sparkled like tiny stars as she drew the whole chain from the bonnet and held it high in the air so that all could see what she held. A deep sound went up from the little throng.

“The Tears of Torrish!” Iona said, and her voice was shaking with excitement. “These are what our Prince asked me to find for him.”

“But fortunately he will never receive them,” someone snarled.

Everyone turned. Standing on the rock at the head of the path was Lord Niall and at his side stood Beatrice Wrexham. For a moment it seemed as if everyone was turned to stone. Lord Niall’s interruption was so unexpected and as he and Beatrice stood there, their very appearance in the moonlight seemed to make them unreal, the fancy of a distorted mind.

Lord Niall was wearing a coat of ruby velvet embroidered in silver. There were diamonds at his throat and diamonds glistening on his fingers, but his face beneath his white powdered hair was dark and sardonic. His eyes glittered and there was an expression of evil in them that held Iona spellbound so that she could neither move nor cry out.

Slowly and with a menacing deliberation Lord Niall took several steps forward on to the Black Rock. Beatrice moved beside him, the wide skirts of her yellow satin gown sweeping against the rough clothes and bare knees of the clansmen.

Lord Niall drew near to the Duke, raised his quizzing glass, looked at his half-brother and laughed.

“So, my dear brother,” he said, “at last we know the truth, at last we see you in your true colours as a Jacobite and a traitor. I have indeed suspected it for some time and tonight, when I learnt that the clansmen were gathering at the Black Rock, I knew that my moment had come, the moment for which I have waited so long and so patiently.”

He dropped his quizzing glass and looked away from the Duke to the clansmen standing around. Their rough faces were expressionless and no one had made any movement or sound while he was speaking.

“As for you,” Lord Niall said to them, his voice as biting and as scornful as if he had used a whip, “are you such fools that you do not realise when you are well off? Or has this man who calls himself your Chief bewitched you? Of all the clans in the North we alone have not suffered at the hands of the English. Are you crazed enough at this moment when the Pretender is defeated and driven into exile to invite martyrdom – for it will be little else? The English are our masters, let us face facts and make friends with them while we can.

“I have been wise and astute enough to do this and in consequence the English trust me, as I trust them. But the Duke, beguiled by the promises of a King without a throne, would have you throw away your comfort and security and lastly your lives in a lost cause. There is only one way to treat Chieftains who deliberately betray their people. The Duke’s head is forfeit, but we will leave it to the English to judge him and to carry out the sentence, as he well deserves. I will be Chief of our clan. I will lead you with common sense, and under my rule we will follow no upstart Prince, no Jacobite Pretender to a throne that is already amply and ably filled. Down on your knees, you dolts, and pay me the allegiance that is my due as your Chieftain and your new Duke.”