White Rose Rebel (38 page)

Anne spun round. The redcoat who’d fired was several hundred yards away, well ahead of the rest, running towards them. She grabbed her pistol from the saddle bow, turned and fired. The man’s face exploded with the shot. Anne hoisted herself behind Lachlan, gripped the boy’s plaid to stop him sliding to the ground and kicked the horse away. Tired though he was, Pibroch leapt forward and cantered half a mile before slowing to a trot. There was no life in her passenger but Anne could not let the body slip to the ground. She held on grimly until she reached the forge, called Màiri out and delivered the dead son into his mother’s distraught arms.

As he crawled over moorland grass, head split and bleeding, Robert Nairn heard heavy breath beside him. He looked towards the sound. No one was there. The breathing ceased. He lurched on. His right arm, almost severed, dragged behind. The breathing rasped again. It was his own, gasping roughly in his chest. His head bumped against stone. Painfully slow, he turned over, rolled his back against the shelter of the dyke. His head lolled, eyes closed.

∗

Heavy-hearted and weary, Anne walked the tired horse on to Moy, letting it take itself into the stable. She’d strip and rub it down later. The loaded wagon was at the door. Nothing had changed since she left.

Inside, Elizabeth and Jessie both jumped, startled when Anne came in, relief lighting their faces as they rushed to her side.

‘Are you hurt?’ Her sister stared at the blood staining her clothes.

Anne shook her head. ‘We’re defeated,’ she said.

‘Will, did you see Will?’ Jessie asked.

Again, Anne shook her head. ‘I didn’t reach the field,’ she explained. ‘Lachlan’s dead. I brought him home. He’s the only one I know about.’ She turned to Elizabeth. ‘You should be away to Invercauld.’

‘I couldn’t go, not till I knew. We can go together now.’

‘I have to stay.’ Anne started to peel off her bloodied dress. ‘Our men need to know where to find me, when things settle. I won’t have them think I ran away.’ Tears came then, hard, sore.

Elizabeth took her in her arms, held her tight. ‘Don’t cry, please don’t cry.’ She rubbed Anne’s back, rocked her. ‘How will we cope if you cry?’

A row of drummers marched before Cumberland into Inverness. He rode beside Cope, red uniforms pristine, brass buttons shining. The regiment that marched with him cheered, encouraging the few folk on the streets to do the same.

‘All we have to do now, Johnny,’ he said, ‘is allow no respite. We’ll clear the rats out while they’re on the run, every single one of them.’

Lord Boyd rode up from scouting ahead. ‘The best lodging is the house their Pretender occupied,’ he said.

‘If it suited my cousin, it will suit me well,’ Cumberland nodded.

When they reached the house, the Dowager Lady M
^c
Intosh stood outside waiting to welcome him into her home. He drew
her a look of contempt. Highland men were uncouth, savage and not to be trusted. Their women were worse.

‘Throw that woman in jail,’ he said.

Washed, dressed in her clean riding habit, the only clothes not packed, Anne stood by the fire, a tankard of ale in her hands. Her belongings were back inside, piled upstairs, the man and boy sent home. Hope was not gone. Hundreds of warriors ran off that field. Others would have fled in different directions. The Prince had sought engagement far too soon. Half their army was still on its way. They would regroup. One battle was lost, not the war.

‘George will gather them together,’ she said. Her cousin would not easily give up.

‘If he survives,’ Elizabeth answered. ‘And they won’t gather here. We should’ve gone home. What are you waiting for?’

Anne watched her sister pace about. She should know why. ‘MacGillivray,’ she said. It wasn’t hope or expectation; simply the truth. She should have been with him. She wasn’t. Now she would wait. It was a necessary vigil, like a penance. He would come to her, or word of him would. She could not go till then.

Elizabeth stopped pacing, reached into her pocket, withdrew a sheet of paper and held it out.

‘His note,’ she said, shame colouring her face.

Cottars ran from their homes. Soldiers on horseback fired into them. Those on foot chased after, cutting them down. Old Meg’s cott burst into flame. The torch-bearers moved to the next. Cath, her baby clutched desperately to her breast, ran from Ewan’s cott. Inside, old Tom lay on his bracken pallet, coughing. Ewan’s two young daughters cowered behind. The cott door was yanked shut. Outside, a soldier thrust a spar of wood through the handle, across the frame. Another put a burning torch to the turf roof. Cath scrambled up the slope, grabbing at heather to pull against. Two redcoats ran behind. The nearest raised his musket, crashed the butt down on the back of her head. Stunned, she dropped. He
yanked the screaming baby from her, tossed it to his companion, turned her over, ripped her skirts up, spread her legs. The second soldier rammed his musket into the rocks, bayonet pointing skywards, raised the struggling, howling baby above his head and brought its body down, sharp. The crying squealed to a thin stop.

Jessie ran in from the kitchens. Elizabeth stopped pacing. Anne looked up from the note.

‘
Isd!
Do you hear guns?’ Jessie asked.

All three of them listened. Faintly, there was the crack and echo of sporadic fire.

‘It’ll be groups of soldiers fighting some of our own,’ Anne reassured them. ‘We’d do the same, trying to take as many prisoners as possible.’

Frightened, Elizabeth turned on her. ‘Why are you involved in this?’ she wailed.

‘I was feeding thin soup to people who need meat. Poverty is all we can expect in this Union. They only use us!’

‘And killing us is better?’

‘Elizabeth –’ Anne caught hold of her sister’s hand, wanting her to understand ‘– the English make slaves of their women. They have no rights, no power, no names. Their bodies, children and homes are owned by the men. If we don’t win, we’ll become like them.’

‘That’s nonsense,’ Elizabeth retorted. ‘No man could stop me being who I am, or from doing what I want.’

The front door was flung open. They all turned towards it. Anne pushed MacGillivray’s note down the front of her dress. Donald Fraser, bloody and torn, carrying a crumpled plaid, stumbled in.

‘Fetch water and towels, Jessie.’ Anne went to help the blacksmith.

‘There’s no time,’ Fraser said, as she and Elizabeth got him to a chair. ‘They’re on the estate.’

‘Dè?’
Elizabeth asked. ‘Who?’

‘The
Sasannaich
.’

‘We heard the guns,’ Anne said. ‘Have you been home?’

‘No, they’re hunting us, killing the wounded. Shameless got me away.’ He stopped to cough up a little blood. ‘I came to warn you, they’re coming here.’ He broke off, coughing again.

Jessie hurried back, a bowl of water splashing in her arm. Fraser shook his head, pushing away the help.

‘I can’t stay. If they find me, you’d all be shot.’

‘Did you see Will?’ Jessie asked.

Fraser got unsteadily to his feet, held out the ragged, stained plaid over his arm.

‘His belt was cut. It fell.’ He shook his head. ‘He ran up front, with me. Killed five or six of them before…’ his voice broke. ‘Him that couldn’t fight.’ He slumped as Anne caught hold of him.

‘He can’t go back outside,’ Elizabeth said. ‘They’ll catch him.’

Chained in the cellar, Aeneas strained to hear. There had been gunfire on Moy land, near the northwest cotts, he was sure. The key was put in the lock. He stood, chains rattling, to watch the stair. The lock turned, the door opened, lamplight lit the steps. Two pairs of feet came down, others behind.

‘Anne!’ The relief he felt changed quickly to concern as he saw the wounded blacksmith being helped down. ‘Donald!’

Elizabeth, with lamp and basin, followed at their backs.

‘We have to hide him here,’ Anne said. ‘Careful,’ to Fraser as they reached the bottom step. She guided him to Aeneas’s bunk.

‘I can help,’ Aeneas insisted, gripping her arm, ‘if you get these chains off.’

‘There’s no time.’ Anne reached round and took the towels and bowl of water from Elizabeth. ‘Here.’ She thrust them in his arms, then followed Elizabeth, hurrying back up the stairs. Half-way up, she stopped, turned round. ‘Whatever you hear, keep quiet, or they’ll find him.’ The cellar door shut, the key turned in the lock again.

Jessie had not moved from the spot where they’d left her. She stood, holding Will’s tattered plaid over her swollen belly, sobbing. The
sound of horses’ hooves could be heard outside. Anne slid the key back into Jessie’s pocket.

‘Don’t let on you have that,’ she said. ‘Not to anyone.’

The front door pushed open. James Ray stalked in, two redcoats beside him, half a dozen armed Black Watch behind. He looked Anne up and down, smiled.

‘Colonel Anne,’ he said, clicking his heels.

‘Do you not have manners to knock, Lieutenant?’ Anne asked.

‘Arrest her,’ Ray said, casually nodding his head towards her.

Two Black Watch soldiers rushed forwards to either side of her, the others swarmed the house, searching. Anne glared round at them.

‘Will you have your men treat my home with respect?’ she said to Ray.

One of his redcoat guards stepped forward and thumped his musket butt into her chest. Anne winced. The Black Watch lad on her right side raised his gun, pointed it at the redcoat.

‘Don’t touch that lady again,’ he said, threateningly.

Anne looked at him properly. She knew that voice, that face.

‘Shameless!’

‘We won this time,’ he grinned. ‘I can come home again.’

‘Yes, you can.’ There was no point explaining he should not have left.

‘And that will do for the pleasantries,’ Ray snapped. ‘Attention!’

Both Shameless and her other guard jumped to it. A shadow moved at the door, a thin man in black, followed by two more redcoats, stepped through the doorway. It was General Hawley, sword swinging casually in his hand.

‘Well, well,’ he sneered. ‘The viper’s nest.’

‘My apologies, General,’ Anne said. ‘I should have asked you to dinner.’

‘We’re far from Falkirk now –’ Hawley pushed his face close to hers ‘– and from Miss Forbes.’ His thin smile returned, more alarming than his ire.

‘You have a warrant to be in my house?’ Anne fought to keep her voice calm and steady.

‘Very amusing.’ He withdrew an order paper from inside his coat, a smirk on his skinny lips. ‘For your arrest,’ he said. ‘Signed by His Royal Highness, Prince William, the Duke of Cumberland, no less.’ He put the warrant back in his jacket and considered Elizabeth. ‘You’re Elizabeth Farquharson, yes?’

Elizabeth nodded. Hawley snapped his fingers to the two guards at his side.

‘Take her out,’ he ordered.

The redcoats moved forward and took hold of Elizabeth.

‘She’s done nothing!’ Anne protested. ‘It’s me you want. My sister is loyal to the government!’

‘On the contrary,’ Hawley corrected. ‘She rode from here to Inverness, the night of February sixteenth, to spring a trap you had set for Lord Louden’s troops.’

Elizabeth grabbed Anne’s arm.

‘I didn’t mean to hurt you. I wanted MacGillivray, that’s all.’

‘I know. It’s all right, I know.’

‘So,’ Hawley leered, ‘a catfight over the red-haired savage.’

‘Do you have him?’ Anne asked.

‘You’ll see him soon enough,’ he said, turning back to Elizabeth’s guards. ‘She wants a man,’ he smiled. ‘So give her to the men.’

The two guards tore the terrified girl away from Anne.

‘No,’ Anne shouted, trying to catch hold of her sister again. ‘It was me she betrayed, not you!’

Hawley placed the point of his sword at Anne’s throat to stop her moving as Elizabeth was dragged, struggling and pleading, outside. Shameless and the other soldier swung their muskets in to lie, crossed over, in front of Anne. The move might have been for restraint, or protection. Hawley’s eyes flicked up from one Highlander to the other. Both of them stared straight ahead. The other Black Watch soldiers clattered back downstairs and out from other rooms. Hawley lowered his sword, turned to James Ray.

‘Your Captain M
^c
Intosh is a prisoner somewhere in this house,’ he said. ‘Find him, and return his liberty to him, after we’re gone.’ He scrutinized Anne again. ‘I’m told you’re a fine dancer, Mistress M
^c
Intosh.’

‘Farquharson,’ Anne said. ‘Colonel Anne Farquharson, the Lady M
^c
Intosh.’

‘Whichever alias you use, Colonel,’ he sneered. ‘I will see you dance, at the end of a rope.’ He stood aside, indicating that she should precede him.

From outside, a slow drumbeat set up, the dead beat, the march of those going to the grave. Anne drew a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and walked out through the door.

A bright, afternoon sun hung over Loch Moy, its warmth lingering. Four drummer-boys stood in pairs on opposite sides of the steps, drumming the dead beat. Pibroch had been saddled up. The horse snickered gently as she approached. She stopped, hearing rude calls, grunts and squeals from near the stable. As she turned, a hand grabbed the back of her hair, twisted her head round.

‘You want to watch?’ Hawley spat into her face. ‘Is that why you’ve stopped?’

‘No, let her go, please.’

‘Mount your horse or I’ll have you stand over your sister till every man here has done with her!’

He let go. Head down, blinking back tears, Anne put her foot in the stirrup and got herself into the saddle. A redcoat held the reins. Two more, weapons carried abreast, stood ready either side of the horse’s head. The four drummers formed in their pairs at each side, still sounding the slow beat. Shameless and the other Black Watch fell in behind. Hawley took the lead, intense satisfaction written on his face. Anne did not look towards the grunting, scuffling group near the stable. Men were given strength to protect women and children, not for this. Not for this. A cold horror spread inside her. She could not speak, cry out, weep, could only sit, erect, back stiffly straight, eyes front. There was some compassion in shock, the human mind put up barriers of disbelief against what could not be borne.