Clandara (25 page)

“If you tell Mr. Ogilvie I'll never forgive you,” Katharine repeated. “If you dare to speak one word of this to anyone, I'll dismiss you!”

“You'd let that scoundrel try to murder you and not take a revenge? Ye're mad, milady. If Mr. Ogilvie knew that he'd so much as touched ye – if he saw your wrist all marked like that – he'd call him out and kill him!”

“He'd call him out,” Katharine said, “and
he'd
be killed! Do you think he could match swords with Hugh Macdonald? Annie, he's one of the best swordsmen in the Highlands … nothing would gladden him more than to butcher Henry as he butchered Robert!”

“When I think of it,” Annie's voice trembled. “When I think of that room and him with his hands round your neck. Mother of God, I feel like going out in search of him myself!”

“It doesn't matter,” Katharine said wearily. Her head ached. “Nothing matters any more. I've found out what I wanted to know and that's an end of it. James is well now, and he's the lover of this Mrs. Douglas, just as you said. Handsome and rich … that's how he described her. And he's forgotten me.”

“I told ye so,” Annie said fiercely. “Ye didn't need to come here and risk your life to hear it from someone else. Forget the villain! Put all thought of those misbegotten Macdonalds out of your head!”

“I will,” her mistress answered. “I will now, I promise you. Go down and tell Mr. Ogilvie I'm sleeping. Tell him it was the excitement and the heat that overcame me.”

“Promise to sit where ye are then,” Annie said. “I'll be back in a moment and get you into bed. My poor wee lamb,” she added gently. “God's curse light upon them all!”

When she was alone Katharine leant back in her chair and closed her eyes. It still seemed as if the last few hours had been a nightmare; she could almost imagine herself in the little dark room and feel the pressure of those powerful hands as they closed over her throat and her foot catching in the little stool whose noisy fall had saved her life. But more terrible still was the moment when he had taken her in his arms and kissed her, and she had felt some dreadful stirring of passion in him, cruel and animal and more terrifying than his attempt at murder. She began to shiver, and even the memory of James was suddenly tainted with the horror she had experienced with Hugh. They were brothers; the grinning, savage killer who had held her and defiled her was the same blood and bone as the man she had loved, the man to whom she would gladly have submitted. She touched the wet bandage on her wrist and shuddered. He had taken a mistress; even while she lied to those who loved her and made a fool of Henry by bringing him to the city full of false hopes in order to search for James, James was with another woman, a rich woman who had nursed him and driven all thought of her out of his mind. She felt suddenly sick with disgust for herself and shame for the deceit she had practised on Henry. Slowly she got up out of the chair; the pink dawn light was spreading over the sky and through her window she could see the shafts of golden sunlight touching the rooftops of the city. When Annie returned she found Katharine kneeling by her bed, her head resting on her clasped hands. She addressed a short and simple prayer to God, the God she had neglected in her bitterness and loss and her unlawful passions. She had prayed for forgiveness and for forgetfulness. And in return, she had promised to marry Henry Ogilvie.

“I reassured him,” Annie said. “I did as ye said and told him you were fast asleep and there was no cause to worry: you'd be fresh and well after a few hours' rest. He was terrible anxious, the poor man.” She looked at Katharine and then glanced away. “He loves you very much, milady. I know ye'll be angry with me, but I must speak my mind. Ye could do far worse than settle for him.

“I know that.” Katharine spoke very quietly. “I've done with Edinburgh and all that's in it. We'll go home tomorrow, Annie. I shall try and persuade Mr. Ogilvie to leave the Prince and come back to Clandara with us.”

The little cavalcade of horses riding northwards out of Edinburgh paused on the crest of a steep ridge. Before them the countryside rose under the shadows of mountains and fell into the plunging valleys beyond which Clandara lay; behind them, three hours' ride distant, the city of Edinburgh spread out under the sentinel castle, still flying the flag of England in defiance of the Prince who had not troubled to waste men and ammunition on reducing it.

Katharine was not tired, in spite of the arduous ride which was becoming slower and more exhausting as the track grew rougher; she had spoken very little to Henry Ogilvie, who kept at her side, and as if he sensed her wretched spirits, he let her ride on in silence. When she drew rein and turned in her saddle he did the same, and behind them Annie and Angus, with two pack horses and their luggage, paused and stretched.

“Why have you halted, Katharine?”

She did not answer him at once. It was impossible to describe the despair and pain which suddenly assailed her as she gazed backwards at the city. A moment of weakness had made her stop for a last look at the past, for she felt that all her life was being left behind in Edinburgh, and every memory of it was poisoned by grief and shame and a savage sense of waste. Love was behind her too, and trust and joy. Why had she halted? … For one mad moment she was tempted to turn and tell him why, and see his happiness and faith destroyed, and then perhaps she might escape the destiny which seemed to drive her to him when in her heart she did not want to go. The temptation came and went and she shrugged.

“I have never seen this view. Look, Henry, what is that enormous cloud of dust? Down there to the south!”

He twisted farther still and followed her hand as she pointed, and down below them there was a haze which moved outwards from the city like a snake; the air was full of dust and from the heart of it the sun struck flashes. And then a faint sound came to them upon the wind, borne so fitfully upon the changing currents that it might have been the wind itself that cried in imitation of the pipes.

Ogilvie shielded his eyes with one hand; the column was long and moving at a steady pace; the flashing lights were bayonets, the distant sounds the music of the clans as they marched out to war behind their chiefs.

“That is the Prince's army,” he said slowly. “They're moving southward towards England.”

The moments passed and still they waited, all silently watching that invisible army creeping forward on its journey to the English border.

“May God go with them!” Ogilvie said suddenly.

“Why do you say that?” Katharine asked him. “Do you regret not joining them already?”

She turned away, unwilling to watch or to think that down below the men she had seen at Holyrood, charming, light-hearted Perth, the strange young prince with his bright brown eyes, and many hundreds more, were marching against the might of England and might nevermore return.

“I have never said I wouldn't join,” he said quietly.

“But you're coming back with me,” she exclaimed. “You would have been down there with them otherwise.”

“I'm seeing you safely to your home,” he corrected. “My poor Katharine, I know how much the thought of this war horrifies you – your heart is not in it, and there's small wonder. But as I sit here and watch
them, I
know my place is there among them. There goes the Prince of Scotland, and the Ogilvies of Spey shall go with him. Just as soon as I've returned you to Clandara. Come, my beloved. You wouldn't have it otherwise. Would you sooner have me hang back like that poltroon Charles MacLeod, or fight against my own like the Campbells?”

“I don't want you to die,” she said slowly. “And as I watched them go I felt that they would die. All of them, sooner or later. I had hoped you were not mad like the rest.”

“And now that you find I am,” he said gently, “you will have to forgive me. Come; it's a long ride from here on.”

The streets were full of cheering people; women threw kisses and ran up to the Prince's stirrup, and he smiled and waved and promised them victory, while the war rants of the clans were played behind him, and the Highland army marched out of Edinburgh. His Life Guards, commanded by Lord Elcho, rode with the Prince at their head, followed by the mounted troops of the Lords Balmerino, Kilmarnock and Pitsligo, and the seventy Hussars under Baggot. Seven thousand infantry, one thousand of whom were Atholl men under the command of Lord George Murray, seven hundred Camerons and the same number under the Duke of Perth, and all the Macdonalds, Stewarts, Robertsons and Gordons followed their chiefs and their prince on the road to England, and sang the war songs of their clans on that bright October day. His piper marched beside each chief, and just behind the piper marched his boy, apprenticed to him and his personal servant, many of whom had taken charge of the pipes at Prestonpans while the piper drew his broadsword and charged into battle with his clan. Sir Alexander Macdonald of Dundrenan rode with his two elder sons on either side, and the younger David just behind, and the Macdonald piper played the fierce traditional marching tune, the words and melody of which were as old as the soil on which Dundrenan House was built, three centuries before.

Sir Alexander glanced at his eldest son. James had recovered from his wound; the arm and shoulder were a little stiff, but that was no great trouble in a left arm which was protected by his buckler in a fight.

And a fight was what he needed most, his father insisted again and again in the intervals between their frequent quarrels and his angry discussions of them with Hugh. He had come to rely more and more upon his second son; normal contact was now so difficult with James that he found it impossible to avoid conflicts of opinion on subjects where they normally agreed. It astonished the old man that his son should have found personal favour with the Prince; and yet when he listened to the bitter wrangles which took place among the Prince's council and sometimes joined in them himself, he had to admit that James and Charles shared the same reckless impulses in their estimate of the campaign.

Danger and uneven odds only spurred Charles and urged him to defy them; he fretted under the restraining influence of his older advisers like Lord George and Sir John Macdonald who had come with him from France. He was full of hope, hope that all England would rise in his name when he came among them, hope that the armies of King George of England would run from him before the gates of London as they had run at Prestonpans, and whatever the older and wiser men on his council said, he much preferred the advice of men like James.

“Where's Mrs. Douglas?” he hissed at Hugh. “I suppose she is following again.”

“No,” Hugh answered. “I called on her two days ago and she said she had business to attend to; her house must be shut up and her servants dismissed. As far as I know she's going back to Perth.”

“Thank God for that,” Sir Alexander said. “No merchant's daughter is going to sit at Dundrenan.”

“We could make use of her money,” his son pointed out. “After this campaign we'll be a sight poorer.”

“If we win we'll have reward enough from the Prince,” his father retorted. “And if we lose, my son, we'll either be dead on the field or dead on an English scaffold. But we won't lose, be sure of that. Victory is all about us today! Only wait till the English Jacobites have their first sight of the Prince!”

“Aye,” Hugh said softly. “He says they'll rise in thousands and sweep him on to London.”

James had come up closer beside them. “Who needs the English?” he demanded. “We'll carry the Prince to London without the help of any of them … Do you need them, brother? By God, I'd rather trust to my own sword than to the sorry loyalty of that sorry race!”

“For once, you're right,” Hugh said. “I don't think they'll rise. I think they'll lie low and wait and let us shed our blood … I dare say they'll all raise a bonny cheer for us if we win, though.”

“You're both fools,” their father snapped. “If we weren't counting on support from the loyal English, do ye think we'd be mad enough to invade England? Of course they'll rise; they'll rise as soon as we cross the border!”

The brothers exchanged a look behind his back as he pressed forward.

A new roar of cheering greeted the Prince and the van of his army.

“James,” Hugh said suddenly. “Do you think we'll win?”

For a moment James did not answer. He rode at a steady walk, keeping his fresh and irritable horse under a short rein. The noise and the press of people were making the animal very nervous.

“That's a damnable question to ask now,” he said at last. “We must win; it's the end of us all if we don't. But personally, I'm relying on nothing but the men who are marching with us now.”

“Father said victory was all around us,” Hugh said. “I wish I could see it as he does. But I can't, brother, and I don't think you can either.” He shrugged and took off his bonnet to a group of ladies waving from a window. “It's not important. We're not a family who've paid too much attention to survival. If there's a bonny battle and a lot of dead English, I shall be content. After all,” the twisted grin flashed out at James, “I'm not the eldest son!”

By evening the cavalcade had left the city far behind and the dust had settled; the army was already on its way by the West Coast route to the English border.

The house in King Street was shuttered and empty; the furniture was shrouded in dust-sheets and the valuables packed away, and its mistress rode out of Edinburgh three days after the Prince's army had left, on her way to Perth. She was travelling part of the way in a hired carriage with her luggage following by pack horse; she had brought a great many household goods and clothes in order to equip the house in the city for the comfort of the man she had finally parted with after their most bitter quarrel.