Clandara (10 page)

“The Camerons are with him.” That was Lochiel, committing himself to crippling wounds and exile and his people to extermination. Lord Nairne, one of the great landowners and reputed to be very cautious, came to the Prince's representative and held out his hand. To Robert, standing still and silent among the shouting throng, there was a look of desperation in his face as if he could foresee his doom and was yet powerless to escape it.

“My possessions and my men are at his service,” Nairne said.

“Where will the Prince's army assemble?” demanded Sir Alexander Macdonald.

“At Glenfinnan, on August 15th. The Prince will raise his standard there and then set out for Perth.”

“Two hundred Macdonalds of Dundrenan will march with him,” James's father promised. “With myself and my three sons at their head!”

“One hundred and fifty of us,” called out Glengarry.

“Seven hundred Camerons, brought by myself!” Lochiel's voice rang out.

“And you, sir,” Sir John O'Reilly swung round to the one man who had not pledged a sword or a clansman. “What will the Frasers of Clandara bring to Glenfinnan?”

Robert could see that one by one the other chiefs were watching him; the eyes of James seemed to burn into his back as he turned to face his questioner. When he answered, his voice was quite steady.

“The Frasers of Clandara will not be at Glenfinnan,” he said. “We are not joining the Prince. That is my father's decision and so he instructed me to say if such a thing were asked of me. We supported the Prince's father in '15, as you pointed out,” he added. “My grandfather was beheaded and a fine was levied against us that has made us poor for generations to come. In my opinion, now more than ever, the whole enterprise is utter madness and I see nothing but death and disaster for the Prince and for Scotland. I make no heroic gesture, gentlemen, in which I do not believe,” and he looked coldly at Glengarry. “We will not support the Prince, but you have our word that what I have heard will be kept secret, and that not one cup of meal or drop of water will we give to the Prince's enemies.”

“You will not fight!” James pushed forward, thrusting aside O'Reilly, and stood glaring at Robert, one hand upon his dagger. “You stand there and talk about your grandfather and a miserable sum of money! Mother of God, were the Frasers at Clandara the only ones who shed their blood and emptied their purses for the Stuarts? I say you are a coward and a dog, to stand there and refuse to aid your Prince!”

Robert flushed. “You may say what you please,” he said. “You are my sister's affianced husband and for that reason I will not call you to account. You are at liberty to rush to your ruin and carry as many others with you out of folly and moral cowardice as you can. But your insults do not move me. I wish the Prince well, sir.” He turned to Sir John O'Reilly. “If he wins, and I hope indeed that he does, he may exact what vengeance he pleases for our neutrality. And now, my lords and gentlemen, I bid you good day. I have no further business here.”

No one spoke or moved as he left them; they could hear his voice in the courtyard outside calling for his servants and horses, and then, very quietly, Sir John O'Reilly turned to the Macdonalds.

“I hope you know what you have done,” he said. “Inviting that traitor here has betrayed the whole enterprise. The Prince's life and the life of every man in this room is forfeit because of your misjudgment!”

“That is a lie!” James swung on him angrily. “The Fraser gave his word. He will not break it. He may be a coward but he's not a traitor!”

“There's a short step between the one and the other,” was the answer. “For my part, I believe there will be a message sent to the English garrison at Inverness as soon as that renegade sets foot in his own house. And if they hear of it and intercept the Prince it will be your doing, sir,” he pointed to Alexander Macdonald. “Yours and yours alone. There will be no meeting at Glenfinnan, because most of you will be arrested before the fifteenth!”

“If this is true,” Lord Nairne's ruddy face had grown pale, “all our lives are lost before we fight …”

“You brought him,” O'Reilly said to James's father. “And you must see that, whatever happens, the Prince and the Cause are not betrayed.”

“It shall be done! James, David, Hugh, ride after him. Take three men with you.”

“Father,” James faced him desperately. His own fierce anger against Robert had vanished and in its place there was a sense of horror. “Father, Robert Fraser will never break his oath! I swear it. They may not be joining us but didn't you hear him swear to give no succour to our enemies? Whatever he is – and I'm not defending him – neither he nor his father will speak one word to injure the Prince or any of us here! What are you asking, sir?” he demanded savagely of the Irishman. “Safety or vengeance, because the Frasers have not joined you?”

“In the name of your honour,” O'Reilly addressed the old Chief, “I ask for that traitor's life.”

“It shall be granted you. My sons, mount up! If you remain here, James, it will only be for the sake of a woman, and if her brother means more to her than you, then she is not worth having. Hurry, he's had a good start already! And when you find them, leave no witnesses alive.”

As they mounted up some minutes later, accompanied by two clansmen armed with broadswords and dirks, Hugh moved over to his brother.

“You'll have to kill him. Ach, Jamie, what will the bride say?”

“Hold your damned tongue or I'll cut it out for you!” James snarled, and he raised his fist to strike the handsome grinning face that mocked him. But Hugh only kicked his horse and bounded forward towards the gate. James could hear him laughing as he galloped through it.

“Is it the Fraser we're after?”

Red Murdoch, his milk brother and therefore closest friend among the clansmen and one of the ugliest fighters he had ever known; came close up beside him, both horses stretching into a gallop. “It is,” James shouted. “He has two men with him. None must escape alive. But they've a start on us, Murdoch. We'll have to ride like the devil to catch up with them before dark.”

“I know a short cut,” Murdoch said. “There's a wee path up Ben Mohire which comes down to the main track before it disappears into the moor altogether. We can take the horses up there and we'll be down at the foot of Ben Mohire before the Frasers have ridden around it.”

James shouted to his brothers and they slowed up and took the rough, steep track in the wake of the big redhaired Highlander who urged his sturdy horse along, talking and arguing with it as it stumbled among rocks and potholes. He had killed a dozen men in everything from a brawl over the whisky pots to an ambush in the dark, but he cared for his horse with the tenderness of a woman for her favourite child.

“Och, come on now; you're a wee clever lassie and you'll get to the top before James Macdonald's horse now, and shame the devil out of them all … Come on now, my wee one … ye'll see a fine fight before the day is out, just step lightly and be patient now …”

The others followed him in single file, James staring straight ahead, his mind a terrible blank, refusing to think further than the murderous task which lay ahead of him, refusing to imagine that within an hour he was likely to kill the brother of the woman he loved. But the thought and all its implications forced itself upon him and for a moment he weakened and pulled up his horse so violently that it reared and slipped on the treacherous path.

“Gently,” Red Murdoch admonished. “It's a horrible pebbly place this, and even my wee mare goes easy. Another fifteen minutes and we'll be at the top; the descent is no' so steep as this.”

“What are you stopping for?” David Macdonald demanded suddenly. “You heard our father. We're in honour bound to do it. Ride on, James.” In honour bound. Men had died for their honour and killed for it because it distinguished the gentleman from the lowly born. It was possible for a man of ignoble birth to be a liar and a coward or to think of himself and his own happiness in a situation such as this, but it was impossible for one who was a gentleman. Whatever it cost him in terms of Robert Fraser's life or his own happiness, or Katharine's grief, James knew what had to be done.

“Be of good cheer,” Hugh called out to him. “Do it properly and she'll never know it was you … No one can prove it, brother, and if she does find out later she'll be married, and there'll be little enough she can do about it then. Come, Murdoch's a hundred yards ahead of us!”

“She will never forgive me,” James said. “But that can't stop me now.”

“If you can't make her fond enough to forget a mere brother, then you're not the man I thought you,” Hugh mocked. “Besides, he's a fair fighter, our canny Fraser. Who knows, he might kill you!”

The Red Murdoch glanced back at the sound of Hugh Macdonald's laughter. He was a superstitious man and it disturbed him; at Dundrenan it was whispered that the devil himself had got into the bed with Lady Jean and sired that terrible, evil, laughing boy …

The light was just beginning to fade when they reached the bottom of Ben Mohire and here James took command, disposing his brothers and Murdoch and the second clansman among the bushes in a bend in the narrow mountain track. Their horses were hidden farther up. Nearly an hour later they heard the sound of horses round the bend of the mountain. James drew his sword and, drawing the long thick end of his plaid round his left arm, sprang out into the middle of the path.

It was Annie's suggestion that Katharine should try her wedding dress to pass the time while they waited for Robert. The seamstress and her two little assistants at Clandara had been working on it for nearly two months, and when it was finally ready they slipped into her ladyship's bedroom and watched while the dress was tried on. It was made of pure white satin, and Jeannie the seamstress had embroidered the whole bodice with a delicate design of flowers in silver thread and hundreds of split pearls. Magnificent lace hung in ruffles round the low neck, and covered Katharine's arms from the elbow to the upper wrist. The under-petticoat was cloth of silver and the same shining silver tracery of flowers crept down the sides of the satin overskirt and vanished round the hem where the dress fell into a short train. Her veil was a priceless piece of Brussels lace, as fine as cobweb and worked with such intricacy that it seemed impossible that the human eye and hand could have fashioned it more than three centuries before. The veil had been an altar-covering once, until the Reformation when one of the Earls of Clandara had gone over to the reformed religion and given the exquisite veiling to his wife as a present. His descendants had returned to the old faith of Rome, but the veil passed on from mother to daughter, and it hung down from the narrow pearl-and-diamond diadem which was all that remained of the once famous Clandara jewels. Her father had given the diadem to Katharine, remarking ungraciously that it was not as fine as the great vulgar necklace given her by James, but it was one of the few family pieces saved from the depredations of the English after the Rising in 1715. She stood before the long pier-glass, watched by Annie and the women who had made the dress, and slowly turned to see herself from every side.

“I am very well pleased,” she said at last. “My thanks to you, Jeannie, and to you, Mary and Morag. The dress is perfect.”

“May God send your ladyship every happiness,” they said quickly.

“Don't be too proud of yourselves now,” Annie said sharply. “It's not the dress that's taking all our breaths away, but her ladyship's beauty. She'd be the fairest bride in Scotland if she were dressed in rags.” In three weeks her mistress would be married, standing before the altar in the thirteenth-century chapel with James Macdonald beside her, and a new life in a new home would take her, and Annie with her, away from the place where both had been born. At the thought of children, Annie's eyes brightened. There would be a wet-nurse, of course; it was unthinkable that ladies of high birth should breast-feed their children, but Annie would have the care of them, wet-nurse or not … Life held great compensations through others whom one loved. Annie often said that and firmly believed it. All her happiness had been centred, unselfishly, on the interests of her mistress. They were still standing there, grouped round the glass, when the door of Katharine's room opened suddenly and she turned round to find her father standing there. He was dressed in his riding coat and boots, and was wearing the plaid wound round his shoulders. She could see the shadows of men behind him.

“I know your mind is occupied with dressing up for this damned wedding,” he snapped. “But I thought I'd tell you that Robert has still not returned and there's no sight of him. I sent Angus out to meet him at midday and he came back at two o'clock and said there was not a sign of Robert or his men. I'm going to look for him, if I have to go to Dundrenan itself!”

“Father, I'm sure there's no need. Perhaps he decided to stay on.”

“Robert told me he would be back at dawn. He's nearly ten hours late and that's not like Robert. And
I
know he's not stayed on at Dundrenan unless it's against his will. I'm going out now. You'd better pray to God I find him!”

“Wait!” Katharine ran to him. “Wait for me … I'll be changed and mounted in ten minutes … Please, Father, don't leave me behind. I didn't mean to be unthinking, but Jeannie brought my dress and I was trying it. Here, help me out of it and hurry … Annie, my riding dress and boots.” And then, suddenly tormented by fear, a fear which held Robert in its cold centre, she tore the delicate fastenings in her hurry to take off the glittering dress and trampled it impatiently on the floor.

Twenty minutes later, Katharine and her father rode out of Clandara at the head of twenty men.