Clandara (36 page)

“Are there Macdonalds here?” she called out. A voice answered her from the stuffy gloom within.

“Aye, three of us, men of Clanranald. And others too whom we don't know. For the love of Christ, bring us some water …” Stooping, Janet went inside, and very slowly she scanned the desperate faces turned towards her; now that her eyes were used to it, she could see well enough to recognise that none of the unconscious ones was James. “Water!” Hands caught at her skirts, and now they were as red as her cloak.

“Macdonalds of Dundrenan … are any here?”

“There's one in the corner there; we brought him with us. But he's dead now. 'Twas the son of the Chief …”

He lay on his side, his head leaning back against the wall, and both his legs were broken and torn by a direct discharge of grape-shot. She knelt beside him, trembling, and turned the cold face towards her. The dead man was Hugh Macdonald. As she knelt there and very slowly let his head turn back to the wall again, the party of Cobham's Dragoons found the bothy. They fired their pistols into it first, and killed two of the injured men; then they came one by one through the low doorway, and the setting sun shone for a moment on their sabres. That was when Janet found the Mackintosh's pistol. One of them was coming nearer, stepping over two bodies, while his comrades cut down the Clanranalds. She had never fired in her life before, but she brought the pistol up with both hands and pointed it at the dark stooping figure with the curving cavalry sword half raised in his right hand, and taking aim at him she fired. The sound of the shot cracked through the tiny place, and the air was acrid with powder. A second later the dragoon lurched forward and fell. In the shouts and cries that rose from the wretched hovel that afternoon, one of the younger members of the troop, who had remained outside, swore that he heard a woman's voice cry out above them all, “God save Prince Charles!” He never knew whether his imagination, already overburdened with the horrors he had witnessed, played him a trick, or whether indeed a woman was among those killed in the bothy. He never knew because he was too sick and nervous to ask his fellows when they came out; but one of them was wounded, and while they dressed the wound they set fire to the thatch, and burnt down the place and the dead that were left in it.

“Have you seen her ladyship?”

The steward at Clandara shook his head; he was hurrying across the Great Hall to the Earl's study with a bundle of papers under his arm when Annie stopped him.

“I've not seen her since early this morning; she may be out riding; ask your grandfather.”

“He's asleep in the kitchens,” Annie said. “And I've looked all over the house for her.”

“She's out for a walk then,” the steward said. “I can't stand here wasting time with you; his lordship can't be kept waiting.”

Annie muttered angrily and turned away. She had not seen her mistress since dawn; she had dressed her and brought up some breakfast and hot chocolate on a tray to her room, and after that Katharine had disappeared. Pulling her shawl over her head Annie opened the heavy door into the outer courtyard and set out to look for her.

It was a cold day and the sky was dark and overcast; the sullen clouds flew before a biting wind. “Out for a walk,” Annie grumbled to herself. “What a fool the woman is! She'll catch her death if she is, that's certain.”

There was no sign of Katharine in the formal gardens at the back of the house, and with increasing anxiety Annie went to the stables to look for her. One of the Earl's grooms confirmed her fears. The Lady Katharine had taken her horse out very early and gone riding alone. She had not said where she was going, and refused his offer to accompany her. Seeing Annie's worried face, he added: “There's no harm now, lassie, if she goes off without Angus … There's no Macdonald left within many miles to harm her.”

That at least was true, but Annie ordered the groom to have her grandfather's old mount made ready, and hurried back to the Castle to wake him. “Ye ought to be ashamed,” she stormed at him. “Sleeping away there while her ladyship goes out alone and runs into God knows what dangers! Get up and rub the sleep out of your eyes … Your horse is ready; go and look for her!”

“Aye,” the old man said, stretching himself. “I dare say I know where she'll be, too.”

“Oh, do ye?” Annie faced him angrily. “And how would ye know something about her ladyship that I do not?”

“Because she's been going back to the same place ever since Mr. Ogilvie left to join the Prince. She's over at the Loch, where she and James Macdonald used to meet. I'll go and bring her back if that'll ease ye.” And he pushed past her, whistling triumphantly. He did not often get the better of her.

The waters of Loch Ness were steel-grey, its surface rippled by the gusts of wind, and the bare trees, not yet in full bud despite the month of April, bent and swayed by its shores. In this lonely place under the shadow of the mountain, Katharine tethered her horse and walked up to the place on the rising ground where she and James had lain in each other's arms nearly two years ago. It was not her first visit; as old Angus said, she had ridden out here many times in the last few weeks when Henry had gone to call out his clansmen and join the Prince's army.

This time she had not wanted even the old man as witness, and drawing her tartan cloak around her, she sat down in the hollow and leant back until the smell of the heather was so strong, and with it the memories of that other day when she had lain back, pressed down by the weight of James's body, that she covered her face and slowly wept with shame and the most torturing regret. She had married Henry for nothing, given herself in haste to a man she did not love and never could in the hope that the union might give a grandson to Clandara. But now she knew that hope was vain. And she knew too that whatever happened, and in spite of her promise, she could never return to Henry as his wife. Above her the wild heron flew, and its cry echoed out over the Loch. In vain. The bird's call seemed to mock the bitter words that came from her own heart. In vain. Robert's death and the loss of James, poor Henry's unrequited love and failed marriage, her father's grief and the ruin of her own life. There was no child, no desire for the future, nothing left but bitter memories and the agony of her love which would not die.

She had not had the heart to tell her father, or to disclose to Annie that she was not with child; and yet she saw the question in their eyes when they looked at her, and a letter had come from Henry's mother, full of affection and hope, asking for news of her and writing proudly of her son. The old lady was on her way north to take shelter with her MacLeod cousins until the war was over. Spey House was too close to the gathering armies for a woman to remain alone. The letter spoke hopefully of the time when Katharine could join her and they could wait together for Henry's return. There was no mention of his death, no sign of the fear she must be feeling for her only son. She was a brave woman, and Henry had inherited her quietness and her courage. But they would never meet again, for Katharine knew now she would not leave Clandara and go back to Henry if he survived the war. The short, unhappy marriage was already over. She had never belonged to anyone but James.

“Milady! Milady, are you up there? Come down, it's Angus!”

She rose, brushing the heather from her dress, and began to walk down the hillside towards him.

“Annie sent me,” he explained. “She's been awfu' anxious for ye, knowing ye were out alone. I'll bring your horse now, and we'd best start back.”

“There was no need,” Katharine said. “Nothing is left that can harm me now.”

They rode slowly back down the loch shore and turned their horses' heads for home. And two miles from Clandara they saw a little group of men stumbling through the heather, and as one fell and his companions tried to drag him upright, Katharine broke into a gallop and came up with them. Two knelt beside the fallen man, and she saw that they were young, and the plaid of the man they were supporting was soaked in blood. Their torn and dirty tartans were of the Chisholm sett, and they crouched back when she came up to them, the youngest of them grasping a naked dirk.

“Who are ye? Stand away, woman, or by God I'll cut your heart out!” The wild, bearded face that glared at her was gaunt with hunger, and the bare chest was covered in dried mud and scored with half-healed cuts. Katharine shouted to Angus and he slipped from his horse and ran to join her.

“I'm the daughter of the Lord of Clandara,” she said. “Put up your dirk, we mean you no harm, we only want to help you. Who are you and what has befallen him?” She pointed to the groaning man upon the ground. He had come to the end of his strength and lay back, his head supported by the third man and blood oozing from a blackened hole in his ribs.

“We're Chisholms,” the bearded clansman said. “Sons of Dugal whom you see here. The battle is lost, and the Prince is fleeing for his life. We're trying to get home before the English find us.”

“The battle—” Katharine tore off her white scarf and began to wipe the fallen man's wound; he moaned and winced and every movement brought more dark blood until the scarf was sodden with it. “The battle is lost?”

“Aye, and lost is the Cause with it. We've been fleeing for two days, with those dogs behind us hunting the clans down and murdering them where they find them. Get to your home, lady, and bolt fast the door before they come … We'll make our way as best we can!”

“He's dying,” Katharine said gently. “He'll go no farther. You can put him on my servant's horse and come with us. We'll shelter you. Angus, come and help them!”

“God's grief,” the old man muttered. “God's pity … easily now, I'll hold the horse still … can ye sit, man, if I support ye?”

“Take me home,” the dying man whispered, his grey head propped against Angus, while his son's hands lifted him and eased him on to the horse's back. “Take me home and bury me. I'm done … Aah, Jesu, receive me! Jesu …”

“He's dead,” one of the Chisholms said. “Lay him across the horse.”

“Come back with me,” Katharine said. “We'll feed you and find some clothes for you and send you on your way with horses. Come now, don't waste time! Where were the last English soldiers you saw?”

“Outside of Inverness, lady. We carried our father to a croft we found beyond Drummossie Moor and hid him there for the night. But the soldiers were searching everywhere, and they were shooting every man they saw, wounded or no. We set out again at dawn and struggled here on foot, sleeping in the heather … They must have found the poor woman who sheltered us, for we saw the smoke and flames of burning crofts all round that place. We've eaten nothing since the crusts she gave us.” He stopped, panting for breath, and for a moment he swayed. Angus came up and tried to help him, but the clansman shook him off.

“Mount up beside your father,” Katharine said. “And your brother can ride behind me. Angus, there's not room for all of us, and we daren't waste time walking you back with us. Make your way on foot and I'll send men out to bring you back.”

She mounted and the younger Chisholm, his face grey with shock and weariness, climbed up behind her. He had not spoken a word, but she felt his body trembling as he put his arms around her waist.

“Follow me,” she called. “We'll be in Clandara in less than an hour, and you'll be safe!”

She kicked her horse into a gallop and they sped down the rough moorland towards the distant Castle, Katharine turning to make sure the second horse with the dead man and his son were following, and at last she shouted back to him and pointed at the grey stone turrets on the side of the hill.

“Walk your horse, we're almost there and the path is very steep. Hold on now,” she said to the silent, trembling man behind her. “In a few moments you'll be safe inside.”

“You fool!” The Earl stood facing her, his face pale with rage and fear. “Do you know what you've done? The English have won and you've brought fugitives from the field into our own house! Do you know what this will mean if they're discovered? And make no mistake, I've questioned them and every house is being searched for Rebels. Neutrality won't save us if it's known that we took them in!”

“What should I have done?” she asked him bitterly. “Passed by and left them on the Moor to die or be caught and murdered! No, Father, I'd rather the English came and sacked Clandara than have such treason to my people on my conscience. I'm not afraid of what I've done. Thank God, I've no cause to be ashamed like you!”

“Chisholms,” he raged at her. “Blood cousins of the Clan Macdonald! Did you know that when you brought them here? Oh, God give me patience with you. What is to be done with them?”

“They're being fed and given clothes,” she answered coldly. “And horses will take them back to their own glen. We will bury their father here, out on the moor. A night's rest, that's all they ask of you! You can't refuse it! Where is your heart, Father, what has become of you? … You didn't want to fight, so well enough, but have you joined the English, your country's enemies?”

He turned on her angrily.

“What influence will I have on Henry's behalf if it's discovered that I gave them even a cup of water? You accuse me of betraying my own, in your high-handed way – but have you thought of that? What of your husband? I see no sign of fear for him, no thought, no loyalty.”

“He may be dead,” she said at last. “And if he's not he wouldn't want his life from you at such a price. Turn them out if you must, Father, but I'll ride home with them myself and see them safe!”

“My son died because of you,” the Earl said slowly. “If it weren't that I hope for a child from you, I'd thrust you out and shut my doors on you for ever for what you've said and done today.”