Clandara (29 page)

“I can't believe it,” she said suddenly. “I can't believe that all is lost, that we're retreating. James, can't I stay with you?”

“No,” he said. “The orders are clear. We must move at speed, and now there is no place for women. You'll have a better chance of getting back if you go without us. Cumberland may fall upon us yet. In a way I hope he does.”

“Are you so anxious to die?” she said. “Is that what brought you with him, and why you urged advance?”

For the first time that night he smiled.

“Death is unimportant,” he said. “All men die and all women too, though I think sometimes that you're indestructible, Janet; God knows I've done my best to destroy you. Don't fret for me; we'll make our way back to Scotland and for all I know I shall be paying my respects to you in Perth before another month is out. I must go now.”

She reached up and kissed him.

“I shall find you,” she said. “If I have to come to the battlefield itself. God go with you, Macdonald.”

For a moment he looked down into the face he knew so well, the face he had seen transformed by passion and grief, now pale as death, and he kissed her fiercely on the lips.

“Farewell.”

He picked up his bonnet and wrapped the long ends of his plaid around him, for outside the night was very cold; he mounted the horse the Red Murdoch had been holding for him and they rode off towards their clan's encampment. By the time their sentries called out a challenge, James had forgotten Janet Douglas as if she had never existed.

At dawn the next morning the citizens of Derby watched the Scottish army march out of the city, its pipers playing and the Prince riding his white horse at their head, but there were no waves or cheers and the Prince himself rode past them in silence, looking neither to the left nor the right where Lord George and Lord Ogilvy rode beside him. That night he had written a letter to his commander-in-chief expressing the wish that he had died before seeing such a day. The bitterness in that letter was a true reflection of the bitterness in his heart; as the Highlanders marched out of Derby, their faces set towards home, the young man who had drawn them together and persuaded them to risk so much on his behalf rode with them, devoid of all hope in the future, angry, despairing and bitterly resentful. More than once on the long march the Prince refreshed himself from a small flask of brandy which he carried on his person; it was a habit which was to grow with the years. On December 20th, Charles's twenty-fifth birthday, the army forded the risen waters of the River Esk and once again stood upon the soil of Scotland.

When the Council proposed the time-wasting pursuit of capturing Stirling, while the pursuing English army made straight for Edinburgh and took command of the city, the Prince was too disheartened to argue. Lord George's authority was all the higher because he had fought a brilliant rearguard action with the advance dragoons of the Duke of Cumberland's army and sent them flying back in defeat. He felt sufficiently confident by then to demand that the Prince submit the further conduct of the war to a committee, and in his letter he pointed out the disadvantages of the Prince's constant interference in the decisions of his commanders. It was the greatest humiliation which had so far been forced upon Charles, and this time he did not submit.

He absolutely refused Lord George's advice, and the army set out from Stirling for Bannockburn where it was hoped they would engage the main English army under the command of General Hawley, whose nickname of “the hangman” was well illustrated by the gibbets erected in the squares all over Edinburgh in expectation of the prisoners he hoped to take among the rebels. But they were occupied by unfortunates from the English army, executed as a punishment for the defeat the Highlanders inflicted upon Hawley at Falkirk close to Bannockburn, when the English troops broke and ran from the charge as they had done at Prestonpans. For a brief time the fitful light of victory shone on Charles once more, only to fade and be extinguished as the news of the Duke of Cumberland's arrival to take command of the war against him filled Lord George and the chiefs with prophetic gloom. Their council had brought Charles back to Scotland and it was then mercifully unknown to him that the messenger from Sir Watkyn Williams-Winn had ridden into Derby just two days after he had left it, with the news that Wales was ready to rise for him. Now the same faint-hearted voices cried out against following the victory at Falkirk by a battle with Cumberland at Bannockburn. They once again cried for a retreat, and by then Charles and even Lochiel and his few supporters were too dispirited to resist. On January 30th the army began its march back into the Highlands just five months after its triumphant advance upon England. Even at Falkirk it might not have been too late to drive the English out of Scotland and secure a respite for the rest of the spring and summer when much might have been accomplished, including even aid from France. But Cumberland marched northwards unhindered, followed by his supply ships, while the forces of Charles dwindled from retreat and sickness in the bitter weather. Falkirk was to be their last victory.

The Countess of Clandara smiled up at her step-daughter. Whenever Katharine saw the Countess that same smile greeted her, friendly and unvarying, and it always made her feel uncomfortable. And yet she could not refuse to see her on the rare occasions when Jean Macdonald slipped downstairs and begged her to come up. The Countess was never allowed out of her room; for her own safety she was advised to stay out of sight of the Earl, and her only source of news was Katharine. Jean heard little or nothing unless she eavesdropped in the kitchens, for none of the household servants spoke to her.

“It's kind of you to come,” the Countess said. “I try not to trouble you more than I can help.”

“It is no trouble,” Katharine said quickly. She looked round the bleak room; it was badly lit and the fire in the big grate smoked. Outside the windows the wintry sky was growing very dark.

“What can I do for you?” she said.

“Just talk to me a little and tell me what is happening in the outside world. Sit down, please. Do you know, I feel sometimes as if I were already in my grave in these two rooms? … What has happened to the Prince and his army?”

Katharine shook her head.

“Nothing but failure,” she said slowly. “They have come back to Inverness; half their number have deserted and the Prince is in despair. The English army are coming up through the countryside towards them, burning and hanging in every town and hamlet where they pass.”

“How terrible,” the older woman said. Her voice was very flat, almost uninterested. “But they won't harm you; the Frasers didn't join.”

“Some of them did,” Katharine answered. “Lord Lovat sent his son to the Prince; he's the head of our clan and for all I know we may be punished without any discrimination being made whether we joined or not!”

“I can't believe that.” the Countess said. “Even in the '15 they didn't punish those clans who stayed aloof.” Her smile diminished a little and then suddenly it disappeared.

“Have you heard if the Macdonalds are still with him?”

Katharine turned away; she did not wish her step-mother to see the colour that rose in her face at the mention of that forbidden name. She looked down at the ring which Henry Ogilvie had given her and twisted it round and round upon her finger until the central sapphire was hidden in her palm.

“I know nothing more than what I heard in Edinburgh,” she said. “They are still with the Prince.”

“They would be,” Margaret Clandara said. Her eyes began to glitter. “I can't imagine Sir Alexander or James and his brothers deserting, can you? I imagine that when the final battle comes they'll be at the forefront of it … James was such a great fighter. You have no idea how much he loved to fight; his spirit was too wild for this dull age. A few centuries ago he would have been a king …”

“If you are going to speak of him,” Katharine stood up, “then I shall leave you. I'm surprised at your lack of tact, madam. I have never reminded you of my dead brother or of the betrayal I suffered at James Macdonald's hands. I never thought it would be necessary.”

“Don't be angry,” the Countess said quietly. “Now that you are betrothed to someone else, I thought your heart was mended. Forgive the indiscretion; I meant no harm.”

“I know.” Katharine did not sit down again. She had stayed long enough and there was something in the atmosphere which troubled her. If it were not for the Countess's smiling manner and her frequent expression of gratitude for Katharine's kindness, she would have explained the tension in the room as hostility. She was glad to escape, and she said good night to her step-mother and left as quickly as she could. At the door, the Countess called her.

“When will Mr. Ogilvie be back? When will you be married, my dear Katharine?”

“God knows. He's gone off to offer his services to the Prince. He says he's in need of every man now, and as far as I know he'll be joining him at Inverness before the end of the month. As for the wedding – after the battle, I suppose.”

“After the battle,” the Countess repeated. “Of course. Good night, Katharine. I will remember your intentions.”

“And to whom will ye address them, milady?” Jean came out of the inner room and closed the door. She knelt down and began poking the fire and feeding it with logs.

“To the devil, who else! Did you hear what she said, Jean? Ogilvie's gone to join the Prince's army. Haha, I wonder what will happen when he comes face to face with James Macdonald … she's wearing a ring, too, and talking of a wedding after the battle. There'll be no wedding! James will kill him if the English don't! No one ever took a woman from James, even one he didn't want.”

She began to rock backwards and forwards in her chair, staring at the fire. “They're at Inverness, Jean. They're at Inverness with the Prince!”

“What good is that to us?” Jean answered sourly. “They're at Inverness and we're shut up here.”

“Not for long, Jean.” The Countess turned to her and her sallow face was flushed; she looked excited, almost gay.

“While I was asking her questions I was thinking. There's going to be a battle … win or lose, there'll be Macdonalds left alive at the end of it, and where will they go when it's over but home to Dundrenan? And how far from here will they pass on their way? A mere ten miles! Don't you see, you foolish girl, the time is coming when we'll send that message to them you've been blabbing about – and they'll come here in force and set us free.”

“How?” Jean asked. She had witnessed these outbursts before, and seen the aftermath of tears and hysterical despair. “Wouldn't it be better to run away? Now that the fiend himself is often out for half the day and night seeing to his own affairs, why don't we fly, milady? The doors aren't locked on us; I could choose a good time and we'd be away without a soul seeing us.”

“Away on foot, and most likely captured half frozen on the moor,” the Countess retorted. “I wonder what my husband would do to us both then … I'll wager that wretched daughter couldn't save us. You're a fool, Jean. I've no mind to crawl out of here like some beggar-woman! There are too many marks still left on my back to let me walk away without revenge. We'll wait for our kin, you and I. And then we shall see what we shall see.” And she laughed. “As for that noble step-daughter of mine, I'll pay back her acts of charity to me by giving her to the Red Murdoch as a present! Do you remember him, my child? A great ugly man with hair and beard as red as her accursed hair, naked as a baboon under the plaid … How I shall laugh, Jean. How I shall stand there and watch it and laugh.” She looked up suddenly and saw the girl's expression as she watched her. “And I'm not mad,” she said. “Unless it's mad with hatred. I just pass the time sitting here by thinking. And my thoughts amuse me, that's all. You know I'm going to send you to our people, don't you?”

“I shall be ready,” the girl answered. “And the sooner the better. Now I'll bring up your supper, milady.”

“As you please,” the Countess said. She leaned back in her chair and smiled. “I'll make that devil watch,” she said to herself. “I shan't let Alexander kill him, I'll make them keep him alive so he can watch her …” There were nights even now when she woke in terror, dreaming that Clandara was standing by her bed, that the hands which had never once caressed her were tearing her fiercely out on to the ground, and that the upraised fist would crash into her unprotected face. Once when he was drunk he had dragged her by the hair; as she screamed he kicked and belaboured her, and shouted “For my son, for Robert” with every blow, until he lost his balance and fell back against the bed. He had stood there, cursing at her as she tried to crawl away. Jean thought that she was crazy. Margaret knew it and it amused her. Mad … a little, perhaps. What punishment could she devise for the man who had starved and scorned her body and then maltreated it so that the marks would never heal? … She got up and began to walk about, opening and closing her fists; the sound of that restless pacing was the only sign of her existence in that house. The Cause was ruined. She had understood Katharine well enough, but the news hardly affected her. Like a trapped animal her mind pursued its vengeance, unable to consider anything beyond that one obsession. The ruin of her prince and her family and many of their friends did not concern Margaret any more. It seemed unreal beside the pressing urgency of her plan for Clandara and all its occupants. When Jean came back with her supper she found the Countess back in her chair by the fire, gazing into it and smiling. Neither of them spoke again.

“Why don't you marry him, Katharine?”

The Earl stood warming himself before the blazing logs in the Library fire. He looked down at his daughter, who was sitting in a high-backed chair, her hands listlessly in her lap, staring at nothing.