The Wild Rose of Kilgannon (29 page)

"Mary, dear, I said that Angus has arrived. Shall he join us?"

I nodded. Of course Angus should
j
oin us for breakfast, It would be rude to leave him standing In the foyer and he should eat, I thought foggily, as though it were of vast importance that Angus be well fed on this of all mornings. And then Angus stood in the doorway and I gasped, halfway out of my seat. For just a moment, with him standing there, dressed in Highland clothing, his blond hair pulled back, I'd thought it was Alex and my heart had taken a wild leap. Just as quickly I knew my mistake and could feel the color drain from my face.

"Angus," I said, meeting him halfway across the room. I embraced him, feeling how rigid his body was.

"
Mary
," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I couldna let ye go alone." He released me and looked at my uncle. "I mean
no’ insult
, sir," Angus said to Randolph, "but I would have Mary have a Highland guard with her. My men are waiting outside."

Randolph nodded. "I expected you, Angus. I am bringing several of my men as well. I've ordered two coaches."

We rolled through the streets of London, tucked safely in Randolph's coaches. The streets were clogged with people, and the street vendors called out their wares as the crowds passed on their way to this latest amusement. I tried not think of Alex's trial being of
no’
more importance than something to discuss over a mug of ale, but I knew that was all it would ever be to most of these people. For a moment I hated them, the ones for whom Alex's trial was only a diversion. Angus sat opposite me, silent and withdrawn. When I asked him where Matthew and Gilbey were, he looked at me without expression. "They'll be there," he said.

"Is Gilbey with Alex?"

He nodded. "He was earlier this morning, for a bit. But they werena allowed to be alone. Alex says he's ready."

As we drew at last to the curb and I stepped from the coach, Angus and several men surrounded me, to my surprise Duncan among them. He winked at me as he offered his hand for my descent.

"We're here, Mary," he said, sounding for a moment like the Duncan I remembered from happier times. "And we'll be with ye throughout the trial. Never ye fear that ye'll be unprotected."

"I am not worried about myself, Duncan," I whispered and he nodded, but there was
no’
time to speak further.

I raised my chin as I heard the cries of recognition around me. Some were speaking kindly, but I was called a traitor and a whore by others. The men pressed
tightly
around Louisa and me as we followed Angus and Randolph in a phalanx to the door.

Westminster Hall. Sir William Wallace had been condemned within these walls. Charles Stuart, once King of England, had been tried here and beheaded a stone's throw away. Sir Thomas More, Guy Fawkes, Perkin Warbeck, and the Duke of Somerset had received sentences of death in this room; Edward II and Richard II were deposed here. I wished I did not know my history. I needed
no
reminders of what happened when the Crown of England was challenged. I paused at the top of the stairs before descending into the hall itself, taking in the sight before me.

The massive room had been transformed since my last visit, a large section set aside for the public. The stone walls were glowing with light from the

many chandeliers, and far overhead the carvings of dark hammered wood cast shadows on the spaces behind. The benches for the public were raised and separated by a railing from the floor of the courtroom, and behind the railing, facing the audience, was the dais where the judges sat. To the left and right were lower and smaller daises, with three tiers of benches cushioned in deep burgundy velvet. Above the judges' dais was a large wooden screen, decorated with a relief of blind Justice holding the scales. Blind justice indeed, I thought. Not with this trial. It was a travesty, a sham. A spectacle.

It was as public as Robert had said it would be. The crowds pressed against the doors outside, and the anteroom was filled with those hoping to get a seat. Inside the hall the benches were full, although the trial was not scheduled to begin for over an hour. I was grateful to sink down between Angus and Louisa and pleased to note the Duchess in the row behind me as she patted my shoulder and whispered encouragement.

But I was not afraid. I was angry. Angry that they had chosen to make an example of Alex, angry at Malcolm and the MacDonald, at the Earl of Mar and James Stewart, and Robert, and DeBroun. And Alex. Angry that there would be
no
one to raise a cry of outrage for him and
no
one to stop this farce. I knew they would find him guilty and that they would then sentence him to die. Part of me still hoped for a miracle, but I would be here, miracle or no. I put my hands in my lap and concentrated on the carving on the railings while around me the elite of London discussed Alex's chances of living as though it were a horse race. I tried not to see those I knew pass in the aisles before me, searching for good seats. Janice and Jonathan Wumple pretended not to see me, which meant they had to ignore the Duchess as well. Small price to pay for letting the world know they had
no
connection to me, I thought, and groaned inwardly as more faces from my past went by. Rowena deBurghesse hung on Edmund Bardett's arm. She did not have to pretend not to see me as she simpered up into Edmund's face. And Rowena, whose only talent as far as I could tell was gossip, would spread the fate of this day all over London. They were all here, I thought.

We waited in silence until a voice droned from the floor that the proceedings would begin and asked us to rise. There was
no
one yet to see on the floor, then a side door opened and several men in uniform stepped into the hall. Following closely behind them were men in dark robes, the barristers, I discovered. They filled the benches on each side of the floor. The five judges

filed in slowly from a door behind the dais, their robes gleaming satin and their wigs starkly white against the dark wood. It was difficult to tell what they looked like in the robes and wigs, but they were of varying ages. Edgar DeBroun sat to the left of the middle judge, his dark eyes scanning the crowd until he found me. He nodded almost imperceptibly and I turned my eyes away.

There was a pause during which all on the dais looked at something hidden from us, then a ripple from those in the crowd far to the left, where they could see between the dais and the benches into the doors that still stood open. The
clamour
grew as Alex was led in.

His hair was pulled neatly back, and he was clean-shaven but pale. He wore his green velvet doublet and the plaid I'd seen him in last, fixed at his shoulder with the old brooch. And he'd been correct; not a mark of abuse showed. He looked devastatingly handsome as he towered over the men who stood on either side of him, and seemed not the least intimidated by his surroundings. He looked, I realized, like a Gaelic laird, and I knew many would consider him the picture of the barbarian they'd like to believe him to be. Dear God I prayed, protect my love. Alex's expression was carefully blank as he stood next to the raised benches, and he looked straight ahead until a voice rose from behind us, shouting a Gaelic phrase I did not know. Alex turned then and grinned, raising a hand in salute.

I had recognized the voice and craned my neck to find him. Next to me Angus did the same. "Is it Gilbey?" I asked and Angus nodded. "What did he

say?"

"The Maclntyre was here
, lass," Angus whispered. "I'd say Alex kens Gilbey's here." He nodded then to the courtroom floor where two men led Alex to stand in front of the judges, then stepped back. One of the lawyers, a man I'd never seen before, came to his left, and I regretted anew that Kenneth was not allowed to represent Alex in England. I had
no
idea who this lawyer was or what he intended to do, for I had been barred from talking with him. The judges motioned for silence and I watched Alex's stiff back. As the crowd
settled
, the center judge, a thin man with a dissatisfied expression, leaned forward, speaking in a demanding tone.

"Sir, I am Lord Webster, your high judge. Are you Ian Alexander James Fraser MacKenzie MacGannon, the Earl of Kilgannon?"

No, I thought, he Is not Ian Alexander, and said as much to Kenneth, leaning across Angus to do so. I supposed it made
no
difference, but Kenneth Ogilvie wrote it down.

Alex's answer was clear and calm. "I am Alexander Ian James Keith Fraser MacGannon, the Earl of Kilgannon."

The judged nodded. "The charges against you are most serious, Kilgannon. There will be
no
further outbursts from the audience. Do you understand?"

"I am
no
in control of the audience, your
honour
," Alex said, "but I understand English quite well." The crowd shifted in their seats and some laughed. The judges exchanged glances.

Lord Webster frowned. "Kilgannon, you will be read two charges and then asked how you plead. Answer clearly."

Alex lifted his chin. "I do
no
plead, sir."

The crowd snickered and Webster leaned forward, his frown deepening. "Sir, you are accused of two charges. Do you understand that?"

"I understand yer trumping up charges against me, aye."

"These are not trumped-up charges, Kilgannon."

"One is, your
honour
, but at least yer saving the Crown the expense of two trials. I admire yer economy." The laughter that rippled through the stands was excited. They used to enjoy bearbaiting, too, I thought. The judge waited as the crowd settled.

"Kilgannon, do you understand the seriousness of the charges?"

"I understand the accusations, sir. Do ye understand that I dinna agree with them?" The crowd
rusted
again and some clapped.

"You are not asked to agree with them, sir." Webster straightened his back and began to read in a stentorian voice. "To the charge of high treason, by your
wilful
rebellion in
Scotland
, in September 1715, against His Majesty King George, King of all Britain, and by your
wilful
participation with the Jacobite troops at the battle of Sherrifmuir against the forces of His Majesty King George, King of all Britain, in November 1715, how do you, Ian Alexander James Fraser MacKenzie M
acGan
non, the Earl of Kilgannon, plead?"

"I told ye, sir. I dinna plead. And I am
no
guilty of treason against George of Hanover, for I am
no
his subject."

Alex's lawyer stepped forward, bowing. "The Earl of Kilgannon pleads not guilty, your
honour
," he said in an obsequious tone.

Alex watched the lawyer with a sideways glance and then nodded again. "Aye," he said to the judge. "That's what I said."

Lord Webster spoke again.
"To the charge of wilful murder of Douglas Campbell, a British citizen, in Brenmargon Pass, Scotland, in February 1716, how do you, Ian Alexander James Fraser MacKenzie MacGannon, the Earl of Kilgannon, plead?"

"That was
no
murder and ye ken it well, sir," Alex said harshly. "It was war and if that's murder, then ye should include the men I killed at Sherrifmuir as well, aye?" Alex frowned while his lawyer stood before him, talking
intently
. Alex nodded and stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest, his anger evident.

Lord Webster glared at Alex. "Kilgannon, I will not tolerate this
behaviour
. This is a court of law, not some Highland gathering. You will refrain from outbursts or I will have you removed. Do you understand?"

Alex glared back at him and nodded
curtly
.

"Do you understand, sir?" the judge repeated.

"Aye, your
honour
, I understand entirely."

"How do you plead?"

"Not guilty," the lawyer said before Alex could answer, and the judge sat back and placed both hands on the table before him.

Lord Webster explained the procedure at great length and then a clerk stood and read the additional charge against Alex. I was outraged. Apparently the charge of treason was not sufficient. They had added this second, absurd charge. Either was enough to sentence him to death, and the picture they presented together was of a dangerous and violent man.

A wave of conversation filled the time it took Alex to be led to the dock, where he stood facing us, searching the audience. He found us at last and nodded. Hundreds of eyes followed his gaze and when I forced a smile Alex winked at me.

"Kilgannon," Judge Webster said in a menacing tone, "I expect you to behave in a proper fashion as befits this courtroom. If you cannot, I will try you in absentia. When the witnesses come forward you will be silent and you

will speak only when spoken to, or I will have you removed. Is that understood?"

"Perfectly," said Alex, raising his chin, and for a moment he looked so like Jamie that I caught my breath. "If I defend myself you'll find me guilty with me gone rather than with me here."