Clandara (15 page)

Very few carried muskets compared with the regular soldiers in the Lowlands and across the border, but this did not dismay the company present in Perth that day.

“My last accounting of our forces was about six thousand,” Colonel O'Sullivan announced, “and more are coming every hour.”

“But there is still no word from Macdonald of Sleat or MacLeod of MacLeod,” Lord George Murray interposed.

James nudged his father and said quietly: “The new Joint Commander-in-Chief of the Army. The Prince has divided the appointment between him and the Duke of Perth. I don't like his looks.”

“You like nothing and no one,” his father snapped. “There's nothing wrong with the Murrays.”

He was irritable and profoundly disappointed to find that James was unchanged by the encounter of the previous evening, of which he had received a full report from Hugh. He had found himself a woman, and a rich and handsome one according to his brother, and slammed out of the house without a word, as dour and quarrelsome as ever. He had already insulted one of the junior officers of Glengarry's men and a duel between them was prevented only by the summons to the Prince. The itch to fight was on him; the old man could see it in his son's eye. James reminded him of some tethered beast of prey, straining at the chains which kept it from leaping off and flying at the world. Murray was still speaking.

“I hope you realize, Highness, how important these two chieftains are; they can call up hundreds of men and their money would be vital to us at this moment. I must advise you that their neutrality is a serious blow to us.”

“There is no serious blow which can't be parried,” the Prince remarked. “Personally, gentlemen, if the Macdonald of Sleat and the MacLeod don't have the courage to join me, then I prefer to fight with a few brave men rather than any number of cowards. Let these two remain aloof, we shall not need them.”

Lord George bowed and sat down. He was not impressed by the bravado of the young man sitting beside him, so full of belief in himself and his own power to charm that he could dismiss the defection of two of the most powerful men in the Highlands as if it were a trifle. Lord George had joined Charles because his family had risen for the Prince's father in the '15, and the rightful Duke of Atholl was an old man who had come back with his young master after an exile of thirty years. Lord George had a brother sufficiently venal to accept the dukedom when it was withdrawn from the rebel holder, but this brother had fled before the Prince's advance. There were moments even after two days when Lord George began to wish he had gone with him. It was all very well for Prince Charles Edward to set out on the conquest of Scotland, but it horrified the older man to hear him talk of marching into England.

He leant back in his chair with an expression of disapproval and listened to Aenas Macdonald, the sober-minded banker who had also come from France with Charles. Like most men with financial connections he had contacts everywhere, and the information he gathered through dealings in London and Paris was the best source of information the Prince had on how his enemies were reacting to him.

Aenas was a pleasant man with a streak of fierce fanaticism, a passionate attachment to his country and that country's rightful ruling family. He told the Prince that his finances were good and would be better when a full accounting of the gifts of plate and jewels from sympathizers were converted into sterling. And then he put his hand up to his mouth and coughed; it was a gesture which James and all those men of war who sat around the Prince were to know very well in the long months to come.

“Your Royal Highness. I have one item of bad news. I have heard from an impeccable source that the Duke of Argyll and the Earl of Breadalbane and all the Clan Campbell have declared for the Elector of Hanover.” There was a moment of silence, broken only by the whisper of one of the young chiefs who enquired of his neighbour who the Elector of Hanover was, and was told angrily that this was the correct title for the German Prince illegally known as King of England. Old Macdonald of Keppoch was the first to speak.

“Well, sir, I say what of it! There's not one of us could sleep easily at night with the most treacherous ruffians in the Highlands among us. Let them fight for England! By God, there'll be enough Macdonalds ready to march in and punish them for it when Your Highness is victorious!”

“Let them march with the Hanoverians.” James sprang up. “They've always been the scum of Scotland. There's no place for any Campbell here!”

“One moment, sir.” That was a Fraser, younger son of one of Lord Lovat's cousins. “It's all very well for you and Keppoch to dismiss the Campbells. I, for one, would rather have them with us than ready to fall on our backs on the march. We're not all Macdonalds, remember.”

In the long, cruel history of the clan wars, no deed of savage treachery surpassed the murder of the Macdonalds at Glencoe by John Campbell and his men. They had broken the sacred laws of hospitality by falling on the Macdonalds who gave them shelter and putting men, women and children to the sword while they slept.

James glared at him; he seemed unaware of his surroundings or of the presence of the Prince as he faced a distant kinsman of the Frasers of Clandara, and all his hate and bitterness boiled up in him.

“The murder of our kinsmen at Glencoe, when those swine of Campbells ate their bread and then fell upon them in the night, may seem a trifle to you, sir,” he said slowly. “No doubt the Frasers would do the same if there were any clan fool enough to turn their backs upon them!”

“Repeat that plainly, sir!” the young Fraser shouted, and now he was on his feet, his hand on his sword. “Repeat it and be ready to give satisfaction for it!”

“Gentlemen!”

Lord George Murray cut across them with a roar of anger. He pointed at James.

“Apologize! You're here to fight for the Prince, not for any private grievance. Apologize, sir, or leave the Prince's presence.”

James faced him and he began to smile. His voice was very soft and almost mocking when he answered.

“I'm damned if I'll do anything of the kind.”

Charles had been silent while the quarrel developed, but he had been watching James carefully. He possessed a violent temper and he was on the point of losing it himself. Murray had already irritated him with his gloomy expression and gloomier remarks. Now he stared round the table at the men he had summoned to help him, two of whom were about to fight in his presence, and the rest arguing and standing up as if they were at a cockfight instead of a council.

“One moment! Sir Alexander Macdonald of Dundrenan, remove yourself and your sons since you cannot control them. And you, sir” – he glared at the Fraser – “leave us, and do not return until you know how to behave in my presence. If you want to fight so badly, make ready to engage Sir John Cope and the English. The first man here who risks his own life or takes another's will be imprisoned at Perth until after the war. Now, my lords, perhaps we can resume our business!”

Without a word the Fraser bowed and walked out of the room.

“Come!” The old Macdonald rose and saluted the Prince. “My apologies, Highness. My son will earn your pardon for this by leading his men in the first rank of the first battle. We will retire as you command.”

As they left the house he turned furiously to James, who walked in silence beside him.

“I ought to break your skull,” he snarled. “You damned fool! You've brought disgrace upon us! What's the matter with you? Can't you see a Fraser without venting your spleen about that cursed woman at the expense of your Prince and your family's honour! Don't argue with me,” he roared as James started to reply. “Hold your tongue, sir, and listen to me. You may be my eldest son, but, by the living God, if you can't behave like it I'll send you back to Dundrenan to wait with the women and children!”

“I will see you and the Prince himself damned to hell before I stand and apologize to any man for speaking my mind,” James snapped at him. “And if I go back to Dundrenan, half our clan will go with me. If you think they follow you alone, Father, try them and see!” And then he turned and walked away from them.

“He's mad,” his father said savagely. “God knows what's to be done with him … Hugh, go after him. In this mood he's likely to begin a brawl in the street and you heard what the Prince said. David, come with me!”

James walked on through the narrow streets and those who were in his path stepped hurriedly aside. He walked without seeing where he went and when Hugh caught up with him he turned on him with an oath.

“To hell with you! Stop following me!”

“I want a drink,” Hugh said. “There's a tavern at the end of the street there. Come on.”

It was a small place, badly lit by guttering torches and roughly furnished with benches round the walls and stale straw on the uneven floor. It smelt of sweat and liquor, and there were a few men in it already drinking and talking in little groups. Most of these were members of the Prince's army and a few called out to the Macdonalds as they entered, but James did not answer and Hugh only gestured, indicating that they wished to be alone.

James drank a cup of whisky down in one long draught and then looked round contemptuously.

“We're in good company, I see,” he said. “This place stinks like a cesspit. You've had your drink now, brother. Get out and leave me alone!”

“Before I go,” Hugh said quietly, “let me tell you one thing. This is a war we've undertaken, not a gentleman's game or a foray after someone else's cattle. If you can't take it seriously – and I mean this, James – you'd better to do as Father threatened and go back to Dundrenan. Or to Clandara, if you like, and finish your business there. Here, give me your cup.”

“I want no advice from you,” James said slowly. “Unless it's how to kill a man by running him through from behind!”

Hugh grinned at him and filled his own cup with whisky.

“I told Father you had never forgiven me for that,” he said. “What a fool that woman made of you. How did she do it, James? How did she kill your love for your own family and still send you away like an outcast cur when you went to her that night at Clandara?”

“If you speak of her,” James told him, “I'll kill you here and now.”

“As you wish.” Hugh shrugged. “But tell me one thing, brother, and then we'll talk of something else. Did you tell her it was I who killed her precious brother?”

“I did,” James muttered. He did not want to talk to anyone of that last meeting with Katharine, least of all to the mocking brother sitting opposite and watching him with his pale eyes like a mountain cat's. But he could not help himself. “I did, but she did not believe me. You left one of his men alive and he said I was the one. I made no pretence about it; I told her I would have done it if you had not, but that in fact I wasn't guilty. But she wouldn't listen.” He raised his head and looked at his brother. “You want to know what happened, don't you, so that you can mock and jeer? … Well, so you shall. I went on my knees to her and begged forgiveness … yes, Hugh, I knelt, and I'd have died happy if she had forgiven me. But do you know what she did? She struck me in the face and wished me dead. And then I left her. Does that satisfy you, or must I tell you more? Tell you how I sprang on her and held her and how she weakened for a moment and responded to me? …”

“You love her still,” Hugh said slowly. “You were weak, James. You should have seized her that night and kept her at Dundrenan. She would have submitted in the end. Now there will never be peace between us or happiness for you as long as she lives.”

“Submitted!” James laughed bitterly. “It's you who are the fool, my clever brother, with all your talk of women and your knowledge of their ways. I didn't want her lust! I loved her; I valued her virtue because I loved her. I thought she loved me as much in return. But that woman yesterday, that woman who lay in my arms and gave me everything of herself in exchange for nothing but my insults, she was more true than Katharine Fraser ever was …”

“Then why not seek her out?” his brother suggested. “We've another day or two here before the army marches out to catch up with Cope and the English. You could do worse, James. You need company and not the company of men this time. I'm meeting my little Macpherson this evening; her husband has taken fright and gone off on a visit to his uncle. I'm afraid our men were none too gentle with him and he doesn't care to complain or to stay here while we remain in Perth. I'll give a message to Mrs. Douglas. She'll expect you this evening. Come on now, we'll go and find David and Father. Remember – we've got to fight a war.”

4

“Milady!”

Katharine was alone in the Library, sewing. The whisper was so close to her chair that she started; she had heard no one enter the room.

Jean Macdonald, maid to her step-mother, stood by her, her eyes blinking nervously in her pale face.

“What do you mean by creeping up on me like that, girl? What do you want?”

“Milady, if you please, come with me. It's my mistress sends for ye. I daren't make a noise for fear the Earl would hear and send me back.”

Katharine folded her sewing, threading the needle carefully into the work. The Countess had not been allowed to leave her rooms since Robert Fraser's body had been brought back from Ben Mohire.

“What does your mistress want with me?” she asked coldly.

“She's sick, milady, fearfu' sick, and she needs help. I beg of ye, show a little pity to the poor lady and come with me!”

“Very well. But if my father hears that you came down here and spoke to me behind his back, it will go hard with you. Come, then.”

Jean stood back and curtsied as Katharine rose and went ahead. She did not see the servile expression on the girl's face vanish as she passed and a look of intense hatred take its place as she followed her out of the room. The Countess had not sent for Katharine. She was hardly able to walk, and there were moments when she wandered in her speech and woke crying out with terrible dreams, so that her maid feared that she was going mad. And still there were nights when the Earl came in to her and threw Jean outside the door, and she crouched there, listening to his voice raised, cursing and threatening, and the helpless weeping of her mistress. Jean had taken the initiative in asking Katharine's help. Unless the Countess was reprieved from her husband's sentence of confinement and ill-treatment she would die within the next few weeks. Jean was sure of this. She was ready to beg and whine to the hated Fraser's hated daughter if she could trick her into helping the Countess.