The Blood of Roses (5 page)

The Chalmers house was modest by country standards, but its grounds were impeccable. An avid Greek historian, Harriet’s father had transformed the formal gardens into a fairyland of avenues, mazes, and statuaries. One of Catherine’s favorite places was the grotto where Aphrodite, the goddess of Love, dwelled with her silent flock of stone doves, and so it was not entirely by chance that she found herself sitting on an iron bench gazing solemnly up at the cool white face.

“I should hate you for what you have done to me,” she whispered.

There was no response, save for the distant hooting of an owl.

“Indeed you may well laugh, for was there ever a party or soiree where I preferred my own company?”

Sighing, she leaned back and surrendered blissfully to the need to take off her shoes and wriggle her cramped toes in the evening air. The sky overhead was a vast, crystalline amphitheater filled with a million fragments of starlight, and she allowed the smallest smile to steal over her lips, imagining that somewhere, sitting under these same stars, Alexander might be looking up, wondering if she was thinking of him. It was the first time she had considered the possibility—that he might be thinking of her as often as she thought of him, that he might even have regretted his hasty decision to send her away. He had no real faith that Charles Stuart could raise an army capable of combating the might of the British military. He had to pledge his sword alongside those of his brothers and his clansmen because he was too proud and too loyal to do otherwise, but he had admitted once in a whispered confidence that he expected the prince would realize his folly at the first roar of Hanover artillery—of which the Jacobites had none—and would sue for a peaceful resolution before his supply of clean breeches ran out.

Catherine laughed softly, but the sound was barely out of her throat when she turned her head and listened carefully to the breeze ruffling through the branches. The alcove in which she sat was blanketed in shadows, the wroughtiron bench placed well back beneath a cleverly trained arbor of sculpted boxwood. She was grateful for the shadows and the privacy, never more so than when she confirmed the sound of voices and footsteps approaching down one of the paths.

Thinking it might be someone sent to look for her, she quickly thrust her feet back into her shoes and, careful not to rustle a fold of tulle or let a single ruffle catch the shine of starlight, pressed herself as far back into the niche as she could, hoping whoever it was would pass without noticing her.

To her annoyance and discomfort, not only did they not pass by, they halted beside the marble sweep of Aphrodite’s gown and, after a long and cautious scrutiny of the paths that converged like spokes on the statue, they struck up a conversation not ten feet from where Catherine huddled.

“Damned nuisance this. It had best be deuced important to interrupt my nephew’s wedding celebrations.”

Catherine recognized the gruff voice at once belonging to her uncle, Colonel Lawrence Halfyard, a brusque, short-tempered bull of a man who spoke with the blunt authority acquired through twenty-two years of military life. A twitch of the beetling white eyebrows had been known to send a junior adjutant into paroxysms of fear. An equally cryptic slash of his pen could make or break a rising young officer’s career. Hamilton Garner, the man whom her family believed she would marry, had been one of the colonel’s protégés, and it was mainly due to her uncle’s influence that Garner now found himself a captain in His Majesty’s Royal Dragoons, reporting directly to General Sir John Cope.

“C-Captain P-Price, back at headquarters, thought it was important enough, sir,” the second man stammered. “I was ordered directly here the moment I arrived from Edinburgh.”

“Well then, out with it, boy, so you can go directly back.”

Catherine risked peeking around the fringe of boxwood and saw a young corporal standing so rigidly to attention, his shoulder blades were surely scraping together. She had no real desire to eavesdrop on their conversation and was on the verge of showing herself, but the corporal’s next words sent her melting back into the shadows instead.

“As … as you know, sir, General Cope was ordered to Scotland three weeks ago in response to the rumors that Prince Charles Stuart had raised his standard at Glenfinnan and was gathering an army to march south.”

“An army!
Hmphf!
Bare-legged savages in skirts, more the like. Waste of good military manpower, if you ask me. Damned upstart couldn’t raise his mother’s teat without help. Go on. Go on.”

“Yessir. Well, sir … the general set out from Edinburgh with every good intention of intercepting the prince’s forces and dispatching them back to their farms with a severe chastising. On the way to Fort Augustus, he was met by Captain Swettenham and—”

“Swettenham?” The colonel tore the soggy end of his cigar out of his mouth and spat a shred of tobacco at his feet. “Who the devil is Swettenham?”

“Captain Swettenham, sir. He was with Colonel Guise’s regiment when they were attacked and overpowered in a skirmish with the rebels outside of Fort William.”

“Did you say …
overpowered?”

“Y-yessir. Apparently they were outnumbered ten to one. They were caught in an ambush and … and they were held prisoner for a week until eventually being released on their own parole.”

The colonel grunted. “Go on.”

“Yessir. According to the captain, sir, they were in grave fear for their lives in the beginning. They were overrun by a hoard of MacDonalds, who might well have allowed their enthusiasm to overtake them if not for the timely arrival of another clan—the Camerons, it was, led by their chief, Donald Cameron of Lochiel.”

“So. The reports we heard last week were true,” the colonel mused. “Lochiel was one of the more reasonable savages, and it was to be hoped he could help the prince see the futility of his venture and persuade him to return home to Italy.”

“According to Captain Swettenham, it was all he could do to persuade the MacDonalds not to hang them all from the nearest tree.”

“Is that a fact? Churlish bastards. I trust General Cope repaid them in full for their impertinence.”

“W-well, sir, as it happens, he barely avoided leading his own army into an ambush. He had received information that the prince had heard he was on the way and was planning to attack when he attempted to march through the pass at Corriarick. You would have to see the pass to appreciate the gravity of the threat, sir. It is a narrow, winding trail that cuts between two impassable mountain ranges, the entire length of it fraught with cliffs and sheer overhangs, where the mist pools so thick in places a man cannot see his horse’s ears. An armed force of a few hundred rebels could have easily concealed themselves high in the crags and made quick work of several thousand troops caught in the narrows. General Cope held an emergency council with his officers and it was decided to turn northeast and make instead for Inverness, where the ground would be more favorable to a confrontation.”

Colonel Halfyard narrowed his eyes in disbelief. “Are you saying General Cope took his entire force north and left the road to Edinburgh free?”

“N-not entirely, sir. He left the Thirteenth Dragoons at Stirling and the Fourteenth to support the garrison inside Edinburgh Castle—some five hundred seasoned veterans. The general thought it more than adequate protection, assuming the prince would split his forces—as any military strategist would have done at once—and send the majority of his troops chasing after them to Inverness, if only to safeguard his own flank.”

“Charles Stuart is no military strategist! He is a romantic gaylord who thrives on impossible fantasies. Any fool worth his oats would know his first goal would be to reclaim the royal court of his ancestors, and that, my good man, means occupying Holyrood House.”

The corporal swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a chestnut on a string. “That did indeed appear to be his objective, sir, for the rebels advanced through Dunkeld to Perth, remaining there only long enough to resupply before they struck out for Edinburgh.”

“And General Cope?”

“He was in Inverness, sir. Naturally, as soon as he realized the rebels had no intentions of splitting their forces, he arranged for ships to carry his men back to Edinburgh by sea, but—”

“But by then the Thirteenth Dragoons were under siege? Dear God, are you about to tell me Captain Garner and his men have had to shoulder the burden of Cope’s incompetence?”

“N-not exactly, sir. The captain knew a single regiment could not hold out against an army of several thousand men.”

The colonel’s fist closed around his cigar, removing the abused end from between his teeth. “He
retreated?”

“He … thought it best to
regroup
, sir. To join forces with the Fourteenth and hold the road until support could arrive from the garrison at Edinburgh. Unfortunately, Colonel Guest suffered some delay in responding to his request for reinforcements, and, by the time he thought to do so, the vanguard of the rebel army was already advancing over Colt’s Bridge, the last defense before Edinburgh.”

“And?” The single word was as ominous as a gunshot.

“And—” The corporal flinched, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other. “The men claimed the rebels were led by the devil himself. A tall, black-haired specter mounted on a coal-black stallion fully twice the height and breadth of any other beast on the field. It was said even Captain Garner was so dumbstruck by the hellish sight, his senses deserted him for a time and the captain of the Fourteenth had to knock him down to keep him from charging the bridge single-handed.”

“God’s teeth, what did the captain of the Fourteenth expect him to do, turn tail and
run?”

“Actually, sir, that’s exactly what did happen. Both regiments broke rank and fled. By the time the officers realized what was happening, the men were halfway back to Edinburgh. Nor did their cowardice end there, for they kept running long after the rebels gave up pursuit.” The corporal’s posture had sagged somewhat during the telling of the sorry events, but now, under Colonel Halfyard’s relentless stare, he stiffened again. “The city fell the next day, sir, on the seventeenth.”

“Edinburgh? The castle? The entire garrison?”

“Not the garrison, sir,” the corporal said quickly. “When I left, it was still in the hands of Colonel Guest— eighty years, if he’s a day, sir, and vowing to level the city with his own guns before he will surrender a single man.”

“A little late for such histrionics, wouldn’t you say? And dare I ask where Cope was during
this
fiasco, or had
his
wits abandoned him as well?”

“The general was landing his troops at Dunbar even as I was receiving my orders to ride south with the news of Edinburgh’s capture. And he has not abandoned anything, sir. He has sixteen hundred infantry and six hundred Horse with him, while the rebels have had to distribute their forces between Perth, Stirling, and Edinburgh to consolidate their position. At last report, there could be no more than fifteen hundred Highlanders occupying the city, and I would happily stake my career on another rider arriving within the week to bring news of the complete and utter defeat of the Pretender’s army.”

The colonel threw down his cigar and crushed it to shreds under the heel of his boot. “If I hear one single word of what you have told me here repeated, your career will be the least of your worries, Corporal.”

“I … I was ordered to report only to you, sir. Captain Price thought it best not to alarm anyone until we hear from General Cope.”

“Captain Price’s caution is well founded. Cope may have the rebels outnumbered, but his troops are green and raw, too smitten by their shiny leather crossbelts and scarlet tunics to want to soil them. If word gets out that the more experienced, seasoned veterans of the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Dragoons broke and ran like beaten dogs, their shame could spread to undermine the morale of the entire army! A crucial mistake in any battle is to underestimate the strength and convictions of the enemy. This must not be allowed to happen again! Take yourself back to headquarters on the instant and inform Captain Price I will be there within the hour.”

“Yessir. On my way, sir.”

The young officer saluted smartly and hastened back along the pathway, no doubt relieved to be walking away under his own power. After a few moments of contemplating the sky to the north, Colonel Halfyard turned on his heel and followed, his angry footsteps fading away across the gravel.

When she was sure it was safe to emerge, Catherine stepped cautiously out from beneath the shelter of the arbor, her heart pounding erratically.

Today was the twentieth. If what the corporal said was true, if Edinburgh had fallen on the seventeenth and General Cope’s army had been but a day’s march from the city, then it was quite possible a battle already had been fought and the outcome decided.

Yet it was not so much the prospect of fighting that had caused her skin to turn clammy and her breath to rasp dryly in her throat. It was the image of Alexander Cameron seated on the back of his magnificent black stallion, Shadow, that had shocked her the deepest. The combined effect of the mighty black beast and the savage splendor of his master was indeed enough to conjure pictures of the devil himself, and if Hamilton Garner had seen and recognized the pair at Colt’s Bridge, it was no wonder his senses had deserted him. What else would stir Hamilton to such a blind rage he would charge against an enemy single-handed? What else but the sight of the man who had mocked him, humiliated him, and played him for a fool? He had vowed to win his revenge if it cost him his last dying breath to do so, and Catherine had no reason to doubt Hamilton would act upon that hatred if the smallest opportunity presented itself. And if they were to meet in the heat of battle, where there were no rules of gentlemanly conduct, where a sword killed as swiftly if thrust through the back as through the belly …?

“Dear God,” she cried softly. “Alex …”

A fresh wave of fear tore at her heart as she lifted her blurred gaze to the serene, compassionate features of Aphrodite. “Please keep him safe for me. Please. I could not bear it if … if …”