CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Scotland, March 1748
The two groups of MacGregor men had jogged steadily for a few miles, but now that they were nearing home they slowed to a walk, chatting whilst eating their provisions of bread and cheese, and handing round a couple of flasks of ale they’d taken from the redcoats they’d encountered the previous day, who were now sleeping peacefully and eternally under a foot of peat and some carefully arranged heather.
Angus brought up the rear with all but three of the clansmen who were still engaged in the business of ambushing British soldiers, either for the sheer love of killing the enemy, or in the fulfilment of the blood oath they’d sworn. A few months ago they had finally abandoned the feileadh mòr in favour of the legal breeches and stockings. They still carried illegal arms, of course; but if a large group of redcoats was to appear on the horizon, they would have time to abandon them in the heather and gorse, becoming a small group of innocent Campbells out hunting for food and unlikely to be arrested. Since the Act of Grace had been passed in June the military presence had been scaled back somewhat, and those soldiers who were still stationed in Inversnaid, Fort William and the other barracks were no longer raiding the villages and isolated homesteads with the frequency and savagery they had eighteen months previously.
Which was making it harder, though not impossible for the MacGregors to find redcoats to kill. Angus had already decided that as soon as they reached the requisite number to call the oath fulfilled, he would tell Alex that he wanted to stop the ambushes. He had changed in the last months, partly due to becoming a father, partly due to the sheer weariness of killing, and partly because of the three men walking together in front of his group.
Alone of all the clan, Alex, Iain and Kenneth had opted to continue wearing the illegal belted tartan kilt of the Highlander which would identify them immediately as outlaws even from a distance, and which they could not abandon in the heather and gorse.
This was the outward demonstration of an inner problem that Angus had been thinking on since shortly after his brother had returned from France the previous October. At first Angus had been overjoyed to see Alex back with his clan. The first thing he’d done of course was to show off Alex’s new nephew and namesake, about which Alex had been genuinely delighted. Then he had told him the clan news, and the decisions he’d made as stand-in chieftain.
Alex had called a clan meeting the day after he’d returned, had accepted the commiserations about Beth’s death coolly and then had changed the subject before anyone could request details about what had happened in London, instead telling them about his visit with Lochiel and Charles, and stating that he now believed any chance of a further attempt at restoring the Stuarts was minimal, but that for himself he intended to continue killing redcoats until his oath was fulfilled, after which he would decide what to do next.
And then Alex had retired behind a wall of emotionless detachment that no one, in spite of numerous attempts, had managed to breach in five months. Outside of conducting clan business, which he did as efficiently as ever, he never laughed, rarely smiled, spoke only when necessary and spent the evening hours staring into the fire, his face hard and devoid of expression.
Initially Angus and Morag had thought to remain in Alex’s house after his return. There was certainly enough room for them all and Alex had told them they were welcome to stay. But the change in the MacGregor chieftain was so profound it cast a gloomy atmosphere over the household, so that after a couple of weeks of attempting and failing to engage him in conversation, or indeed in anything of a light-hearted nature, they had moved out, leaving him to stare into the fire alone of an evening.
Now, listening to the laughter and chatter of the men with him, and contrasting it with the grim silence of Alex, Kenneth and Iain ahead, Angus felt the unbearable sadness that comes from watching someone you love profoundly die by degrees, whilst being helpless to prevent it. In fact, this was even worse than that, for Alex, still young, strong and physically healthy, might well live for many years. But inside he was all but dead, and Angus could see no way to bring him back to life again. He had thought about it all through the long winter nights, and had discussed it with his wife, already pregnant with their second child. Neither of them could come up with any solution.
Finally he had gone to see Kenneth, who had listened intently while Angus poured out his worries about his brother and his concerns for the clan. He ended up saying more than he’d intended to; but then Kenneth had always been there for him, solid, dependable and completely trustworthy, and had loved and protected him for as long as he could remember, whenever Alex or Duncan had not been around to do so.
“Duncan’s dead, and I’ve come to terms with that now,” Angus had told the older man, “but Alex isna, yet I feel like I’m grieving for him as though he is. What can we do to make him happy again?”
Kenneth had smiled, but without humour.
“Ye canna do anything for him, laddie, no more than ye can do anything for Iain, or myself for that matter, although I’m a different case frae they two. Iain and Alex are just passing their time here until they can join Maggie and Beth. It’s worse for Alex, for he had the hope of her being alive, and he canna find a way back from the second blow, except for the killing. It’s the only thing keeping him going, the hate. I can understand that, for I’ve felt it myself.”
“But you’ve laughed and danced since…” Angus hesitated, afraid to speak the name no one ever uttered to the giant MacGregor’s face.
“Since Jeannie died. Aye, I have. And sometimes I’ve felt the pleasure of being alive, and felt guilty for it because the woman I loved is in the grave, and I put her there, which makes it worse, although I ken it had to be done. I’m about ready to move on wi’ my life now, though. But they two, no, they canna do it, and it grieves me too, but there’s nothing to be done.”
“So why are you still wearing the kilt, and still keeping wi’ them on a raid, if ye can move on? Ye ken the danger of wearing the tartan, man.”
Kenneth had stood then and clasped Angus by the shoulder, gently for him, although it still left bruises.
“Because they’re fighting recklessly with no regard for their lives, and perhaps it would be kinder to let them die in battle, but I canna do it. I’m protecting them as best I can, and praying every night that they’ll find a reason to live other than hate. Ye’ll no’ be telling them that, though.”
Angus hadn’t told them that. But it had made him love Kenneth even more than he already did, and it reassured him that the giant clansman was still looking after Alex and by doing so was looking after him too. Because as damaged as Alex was, Angus could not imagine a life without him in it. He had always had a somewhat unrealistic belief that he and his two brothers would grow up together, get married, have children who played and squabbled with each other, and then, in some far-off distant future, surrounded by grandchildren, would die, old and fulfilled.
Duncan’s death had shaken that belief badly. But until last October he had still had Alex. There must be something he could do to get him back. He would think of a way. He had to think of a way.
But now, as they made their way along the track that led to home, the snow melting and winter turning to a watery spring, Angus was still no closer to finding a way to breach Alex’s formidable emotional defences.
About two miles from home they were met by Lachlan and Jamie.
“What’s amiss?” Alex, the first to reach them, asked.
“Nothing!” Lachlan replied. “It’s just Ma sent us to see how far away ye were, that’s all. Isd!” he added to Jamie who, hopping from one foot to the other with excitement, had been about to speak.
“Well, it’s clearly something then,” Alex observed.
“It is,” said the irrepressible Jamie. “But Ma said she’d hang me from the roof beam an I tellt ye.”
“Then ye mustna tell me,” Alex said. “Learning when to keep a secret is a very important lesson for a clansman, and I’m proud of ye for keeping silence. Away hame and tell your ma we’ll be back soon.”
“They could have walked back wi’ us,” Dougal said, the group at the rear now having caught up.
“No they couldna, because Jamie would have tellt his secret, and then been upset about it,” Alex replied.
“Seems like it’s good news, anyway,” Angus said.
“Aye,” Alex said indifferently. “Well, we’ll find out soon enough.”
They carried on together, six of them discussing what it might be, three of them, as was their custom, keeping their speculations, if they had any, to themselves.
When they arrived back at the settlement, the clansfolk were sitting silently on the ground near their chieftain’s cottage. Janet was standing next to the bench outside Alex’s house, and sitting on the seat was a very old, wizened and filthy man dressed in rags, who none of them recognised. As Alex neared them the old man made a move to stand, but Janet laid a hand on his shoulder and he subsided.
“I tellt ye,” Janet said belligerently, looking up at her chieftain with tears in her eyes. “I tellt ye, but ye wouldna believe me.”
Alex’s brow furrowed slightly, and he looked from her to the stranger on the bench. His thin greying hair hung matted and verminous to his shoulders, he had a long unkempt beard, and the tattered remains of what had once been a shirt revealed a skeletal body covered with scars and sores, some weeping, some scabbed.
Angus stepped forward and was just about to recite the formal offer of hospitality to a stranger, as Alex showed no sign of doing so, when to his surprise his brother showed an emotion, for the first time since he had greeted his tiny namesake.
“Jesus Christ,” Alex said, dropping to his knees in front of the man and clasping him very gently by the shoulders. “Simon?” With great care, he drew the man into an embrace, heedless of the suppurating wounds and the lice. “Dear God, man,” he said, his voice breaking, “what have the bastards done to ye?”
The skeletal figure laid his head on his chieftain’s shoulder and started to weep.
Angus looked at Janet in shock. Simon? This couldn’t be Simon! Simon was at least thirty years younger than this man and stockily built, with thick brown hair. It wasn’t possible that this man could be Simon.
“I tellt ye,” Janet repeated, her voice almost a whisper now, tears running down her cheeks. “I tellt ye he wasna dead, that he’d come home. Ye wouldna believe me, none of ye.” Her face crumpled and Kenneth moved forward, scooping her up as though she was a child and hugging her.
“It’s as well ye didna say aye to me when I proposed to ye, then,” he said. “I’d have made a bigamist of ye, and a cuckold o’ him. We’d have had a blood feud on our hands.”
“Put me down, ye big loon,” she said, laughing through her tears.
Alex was talking to Simon very softly, so softly that no one else could hear what he was saying. Then he shifted position slightly, and lifted his clansman off the bench, his face registering shock at how little he weighed.
“Janet,” he said. “Ye were right, lass, and I’m sorry we doubted ye. Ye’ll be moving into my house until Simon’s recovered.” When she opened her mouth to object, he shook his head and she subsided into silence. “I’ve a comfortable bed, which he’ll be needing, and a good fireplace wi’ a chimney to keep the room warm for him. Get the bairns and the belongings ye’re wanting. I’ll move into your house for the present. Lachlan, away and fetch some water for warming and some cloths. Peigi, bring some of that comfrey salve of yours.” Then he turned and without another word carried his fragile burden into his house, closing the door behind him.
Angus turned to the rest of the clan, who had all clearly been expecting some sort of a speech from their chieftain, a welcome for Simon, a request to know what had happened to him, a declaration of an imminent celebration for the return of a man who all of them, excepting only one, had believed to be dead and rotting or buried somewhere on Culloden Moor.
“This is wonderful,” he said. “I canna believe it. I dinna think any of us can. Janet, I’ll say as Alex did; I’m sorry we doubted ye, and I’ve never been so glad to be wrong in my life as I am right now. Away and fetch the bairns. We’ll find out where Simon’s been the last two years and we’ll celebrate his homecoming soon enough, but let’s wait until he’s well enough to enjoy it too, shall we?”
There was a chorus of agreement, and then the clan dispersed. Angus knew without a doubt that by the end of the day Janet would be overwhelmed with clothes, salves, food and anything else that the others could provide to aid Simon’s recovery.
Within an hour Simon had been carefully washed and shaved by Janet and Alex, his hair, which was matted beyond combing, shorn off, and all his clothes burnt, which got rid of the vermin. Then salve was applied to his sores and his bloody and infected feet were bathed in whisky, the fact that Simon was too weak to do more than moan softly at the pain that caused being noted by the company with an exchange of worried looks. Angus in the meantime made some stew. Simon, placed gently in the bed by Alex, managed two spoonsful before drifting into sleep. While Janet sat by his side, stroking his hand, Angus beckoned Alex out of the house.
“D’ye think he’ll live?” Angus said bluntly as soon as they were out of earshot. “I’ve never seen anyone look like that and be breathing still.”
“Aye, he’ll live, if anything I can do will make it so,” Alex replied with a ferocity that surprised Angus, who had grown accustomed to his brother speaking emotionlessly, if at all.
“Where do ye think he’s been?”
“In prison,” Alex said. “He tellt me so, but I’d have kent it anyway. Sarah tellt me that Beth—” He stopped abruptly and his face closed down, becoming grim and hard again.
“I wanted to say, I think it wise if the bairns stay wi’ me and Morag for a few days, until Simon’s a wee bit stronger,” Angus said after it became apparent that Alex was not going to divulge what Sarah had told him about Beth.
“Aye, that’s a good idea,” Alex agreed, his voice steady again, his feelings back under control.
But for a moment he had showed emotion, then and earlier too, when he had first recognised the ancient cadaverous creature to be Simon. That was a good sign, surely? Whether it was or not, Angus grasped onto it in the way that a drowning man would grasp at anything that floated past him.
Later in his house, as Morag bustled around cleaning and he kept an eye on Simon and Janet’s two children, who were playing on the floor while he rocked the cradle containing the sleeping Sandy, Angus thought about the crack he had witnessed in Alex’s seemingly impenetrable armour.
It would take time, maybe a lot of time, but the brother he had known and loved his whole life would come back to him. They just had to keep him alive long enough for that to happen.
If anyone in the clan could stop Alex being killed in a fight, the enormous red-haired Kenneth with his unnatural strength and unstoppable ferocity in battle was the one to do it. Angus would help him as best he could, and would continue to pray for something to happen to break down Alex’s defences and bring him back to life again.
To paraphrase Alex, it would happen, if anything he could do would make it so.
Over the next few weeks Simon started to recover, sustained by his wife’s devotion and determination and the support of the whole clan, who rallied round to make sure that the only task Janet had to concern herself about was the care of her husband. Meals were brought to the house three times a day, firewood and peat delivered, several changes of clothing were provided for when Simon was well enough to get dressed, dirty washing was taken away and returned a few days later, clean and dry, and the couple’s two children, four-year-old Simon and three-year-old Jean were brought by Angus or Morag for short visits to become acquainted with the father neither of them could remember, then taken away again the moment Simon showed any sign of tiredness.
Under this deluge of care and love Simon put on a little weight and his sores started to heal, although his feet still gave cause for concern. After three weeks he could sit up and had started to show a real interest in life again, but still could put no weight on his feet.
When he’d expressed a fear that he’d never walk again to his chieftain, Alex had dismissed it, telling him that after Culloden Lochiel had been unable to walk for a long time, but was now completely healed and leading a regiment in France.
“Ye’ll walk again, laddie, dinna fash yerself,” Alex said. “Give it time. You’re feeling it more because we’re all sound now, but Dougal took a good while to recover from his wound, and I was walking wi’ a crutch for months after Culloden.”
“But I wasna wounded at Culloden,” Simon said. “No’ even a scratch.”
“Aye, ye were. The wounds and scars ye’ve got now are from Culloden, even if ye didna get them on the day. Ye’re just a wee bit behind the rest of us in the recovery, that’s all.”
One day towards the end of March, when the sun actually held a little warmth in it, Alex called a clan meeting.
When everyone arrived, Simon was once again sitting on the bench, but looking considerably better than he had the last time he’d sat there. Although still very thin and with his feet bandaged, he wore a clean shirt and breeches, and had put on weight. His hair was starting to grow back, a mixture of its original brown and grey, and his eyes had life in them now.
Next to him Janet was sitting clasping his hand, and Alex stood in the doorway.
“I’ve called ye all together, because I ken that ye’re all very curious to find out what Simon’s been doing the past two years, and he tells me he’s feeling strong enough now to talk about it a wee bit. If he gets tired, though, or just doesna want to talk more, I’ll end the meeting and ye’ll all understand why.” That last was delivered as an order rather than a request. Alex knew only too well how difficult reliving traumatic experiences was, let alone talking about them to others.
The previous evening when Simon had expressed a wish to tell the others what had transpired, Alex had sat down next to him.
“Are ye sure ye’re ready?” he’d said.
“Aye. Everyone’s been so good and patient wi’ me. They deserve to ken what happened.”
Alex had not been leader of the clan for so long without getting to know his clansfolk well. It was obvious that on one level Simon felt inferior to the others in some way, partly for not having sustained a wound at Culloden, and then for allowing himself to be taken prisoner when the others had either died or escaped in spite of their injuries.
Alex had told Janet to go off and visit her children, and then had talked to Simon, who, once he had no need to put on a brave front for his wife, admitted that he was also worried he’d never be able to walk again and would be a liability to the clan for the rest of his life.
“I was so desperate to get home, that I didna think any further than that,” Simon said. “Perhaps it would have been better if I hadna come back. Janet could have married again, a whole man.”
“Simon, ye loon, Janet wouldna ever have married again. She was convinced ye were alive, and never wavered for a moment from that conviction. It’s no’ just a story she’s telling ye. And I firmly believe ye’ll walk again, but even if ye dinna, ye’re no liability. Ye’re one of the bravest men in the clan, braver than I am.”
Simon had looked at his chieftain in shock.
“No,” he’d started, but Alex had gently laid a finger on Simon’s lips.
“It wasna your fault ye were taken. It was just bad luck. Dougal would have been taken or maybe killed, but a redcoat helped him off the field and tellt him to hide. I’d have been taken too if Angus and Kenneth hadna been there to carry me away. We all got to come home and heal together, but you’ve had two years of hell, man, and survived it. And how ye managed to get home, the way ye were, I canna think. There isna a one of us that doesna admire you for that. And now ye want to talk about it all.”
“I should tell ye all, for ye’ve been so good to me,” Simon said.
“Aye, well, I should tell ye all what happened to me in London in October, but I canna find the strength to do it, and I doubt I ever will,” Alex said softly. “And that’s why I say ye’re a braver man than I am. And it’s why if ye find it too hard tomorrow, ye must tell me. Promise me.”
Simon had promised, and his chieftain’s words to him had boosted him a little, although he still believed that Alex was just being kind, but he sat upright, and for the first time since his return found the courage to look his clansfolk in the eyes as he spoke to them.
“First I want to thank ye all for the help ye’ve given me and Janet these last weeks,” he said. There was a general chorus of ‘nae need’ and ‘ye’d do it for us’ or words to that effect, which was true. He looked round at them and smiled shyly.
“It’s time tae tell ye what happened,” he said. “Alex tellt me last night that Dougal was wounded, but was rescued by a redcoat. And ye’re perhaps thinking that man was the only decent one of the enemy on the field, but I owe my life to another.
“As I tellt Alex and Janet, I wasna injured at all in the battle. I dinna ken where the rest of ye were, but I ended up in a big crush of men trying to get to the redcoats, too crushed tae swing our swords even, wi’ the guns o’ the British playing on us. I lost my footing for a minute in the mud and went down and the others ran over the top of me. I think someone caught me in the head, for I lost a few minutes somewhere, and when I came round there was a heap of bodies on top of me, and not a one alive.
“I managed to push them off me, but when I could see what was going on, everyone was running away, and it was clear that the day was lost. I kent well that if I’d have tried to get up and run too, I’d have been dead, for the redcoats were nearby, laughing and stabbing at anything that moved or groaned. Maybe I should have at least tried to kill a few of the bastards, but I thought it better to hide and wait for them to pass on, so I could get away to Ruthven and hopefully join ye all to fight on.”
“Ye did right. Ye’d have thrown your life away to little purpose otherwise,” Alex said.
“Aye. So I pulled someone’s body over me and lay there as still as I could, listening to the redcoats laughing and suchlike, and then after a time they moved on and I couldna hear them any more, so I thought it safe to move and see if I had a chance to escape. And when I heaved the body off me, I looked straight into the face of a soldier. I’d lost my sword when I fell, and anyway he had his bayonet ready, so I just closed my eyes and waited for him to finish me.”
“But he didna?” Allan asked, his face rapt.
“Of course he didna, ye wee loon, or he’d no’ be here the day,” Alasdair said, to general laughter and Allan’s embarrassment.
“No, he didna,” Simon answered, as though the question had been perfectly reasonable. “When I opened my eyes again, he was still standing looking at me. He was nobbut a boy really, and he was a Scot, too, a lowlander by his accent. And then he said, ‘I canna do it. I canna kill any more,’ but soft, to himself, like. Then he asked me if I could walk, and when I said I could, he looked around and tellt me to be quick. So I got up and we both ran off behind they walls that ye said should have been pulled down to the right of us, and we sat there for a while in the rain.
“He tellt me that he hadna wanted to enlist really, but his brothers had so he felt he should too, and he wanted to stop the papist Charlie frae winning, but that he hadna kent it would be like this, and tae hell wi’ the war, he was going back to Glasgow. He said he thought that if he kept his head down when he got home, it might be thought he’d died on the field, for there were so many dead it wouldna be possible to identify them all. He was a redcoat, but he was a kind young laddie.”
“Aye, the dragoon who took me away, he was a good man too,” Dougal said. “The redcoats were no’ all bastards.”
“I’ve met many good supporters o’ the Elector in my time,” Alex put in. “Two in particular, who I call friends, and would kill or die for.”
At that astounding sentence from a chieftain who was currently slaughtering every redcoat he could find with neither remorse nor mercy, the whole clan as one moved their focus from Simon to Alex. He reddened slightly.
“Go on, man,” he said softly to Simon.
“Aye. So we’re sitting there having a wee blether and waiting for a chance to get away, when along comes another redcoat, an officer of some sort, because the puir wee laddie stood to attention and when the officer asked what the hell he was doing talking wi’ the enemy, he thought fast and said that I’d surrendered to him, and that he was going to take me to Inverness as a prisoner. So the officer said that they’d been tellt to give no quarter and he must kill me and have done with it, and he drew his sword. And the laddie, Archie his name was, stood in front of me and said he couldna kill me or let anyone else, for he’d given his word of honour that he wouldna.
“And the officer tellt him he was a stupit wee loon and no’ worth shit, but if he was determined, then he’d take me to Inverness wi’ the other prisoners. Which tellt me that Archie wasna the only one who’d refused to give no quarter. But I couldna escape then, so I was taken to Inverness wi’ hundreds of others. I’ll never forget that laddie, though. I hope he got back to Glasgow.”
“So is that where ye’ve been, Inverness?” Dougal asked.
Simon shook his head, and wiped his hand across his face.
“Have ye had enough?” Alex said, instantly concerned.
“No, I’m well, just a wee bit tired, but I’d rather tell it all, now I’ve started,” Simon replied. “There’s no’ so much to tell, really. When we got to Inverness there wasna any room in the prison, so we were put on a ship. A man came and asked our names and regiments, and I said I was Simon Anderson and that I’d fought under Glenbucket’s, because I kent I couldna say my name was MacGregor.
“We were kept on the ship for a long time it seemed, and then we were tellt we were being taken to Newcastle for trial, but when the ship got there we couldna stay, I dinna ken why, so we carried on to Tilbury. And then we thought we’d at least get to go on shore, but we were kept on the ship. I canna begin to tell ye how bad it was,” he said.
“Ye dinna need to,” Angus commented. “We saw ye three weeks ago.”
Simon shook his head.
“No, it was worse than ye can imagine. I was one of the lucky ones,” he said. “We were kept in the hold, and at first there was so many of us we couldna lie down. We werena allowed up on deck at all, and we had to piss and shit where we were. The food was thrown down to us and we just had water to drink, and not enough of that. Then the fever came and it took a lot of us, so once the bodies had been taken away those of us left could lie down, at least. When the guards leaned in to throw the food down to us, you could hear them retching from the stink, but we’d grown used to it then and we couldna smell ourselves, thank God.
“When we got to Tilbury and they tellt us that we were staying in the ships until our trials, I prayed harder than I ever have that I’d get the fever too, because I couldna stand the thought of living worse than an animal for months, maybe years, only to be hung at the end of it.”
“I’m glad that ye didna get it. Ye mean the gaol fever?” Alex said.
“Aye. I did get it, though, but I didna die. I’ve never felt such pain in my life. I thought my head was going to burst open, and all my body was on fire. I thought I’d died at one point, and was in hell. But then I got well again, and realised that I was alive, but it was hell all the same.
“One day a soldier came, and they brought us up on deck. Some of the men couldna manage to crawl up the ladder, but those of us who could were tellt that we were to draw straws, and that out of every twenty, one of us would stand trial and the others would receive the king’s mercy if we signed a petition saying that we were guilty of treason for rebelling against our lawful king. So we drew straws and I was one of the nineteen, but I said I wasna signing anything, because I’d risen for the rightful king and that the Elector of Hanover wasna the lawful king of Scotland, or England for that matter.”
Simon’s next words were lost in a great cheer from the assembled clansfolk, and he took the opportunity to drink some ale. Alex leaned over and asked him a question, but he shook his head and waited until everyone was quiet again.
“I thought then that they’d hang me anyway, but they didna. We were tellt that the so-called king’s grace was that we’d be transported to the Colonies for life, or some of us might be given the chance to enlist in his army instead. A few of us tellt the soldier to tell the Elector to go and fuck himself wi’ his grace, and I think he’d have had us flogged, which would have killt us, for it was all we could do to stand, but no one would come near us because we reeked so bad and we were alive wi’ vermin, so they put us back down in the hold.
“We found out later that the soldiers signed for those that wouldna in any case, but at least we kept a wee bit of pride. But those that signed, we didna blame them. Living like that, it takes the fight out of ye, some quicker than others, that’s all.
“So we waited to be transported, and more of us died, and then one day we were tellt that there’d been an Act of Grace, and we thought it was another load o’ shite about being slowly killt in a different way. After that every few days men were taken up on deck and didna come back. I thought they were being strangled or suchlike and thrown overboard.
“Until it was my turn and I was tellt I was free, and given two shillings. Then I walked home. I kept away from the towns, because I looked bad, and I ken that the English have no love for the Scots. I spent the money on food, and then I stole some, because it being winter there wasna anything to be had in the fields, and I wasna strong enough to hunt. I washed myself in the rivers at first, but by the end I didna have the strength to do anything but just keep walking.
“I wanted to wash in the loch here before anyone saw me, to be clean at least, but then I saw Peigi and Janet on the track and my body just gave up and I couldna carry on.”
“Ye walked all the way frae London, in just your shirt?” Alasdair asked. “Wi’ no shoes at all?”
“Aye,” Simon said. “I wanted to get home, and I did it. It would have been easy if I’d been in my strength at the start, but we’d been starved for so long. I really believe they thought we’d die trying to get home anyway and save them the trouble of burying us. When I started walking, I tellt myself that I’d be damned if I’d die in England, and that gave me the strength to get to Scotland, then once I was there I kept saying that it wasna far now, so I might as well keep on. I’m so glad we dinna live in Aberdeen or some such northerly place.”
“I canna believe ye made it at all,” Kenneth said. “I thought I was the strongest in the clan, but Christ, man, to walk so far, an’ ye a skeleton before ye started…” He shook his head in wonder. “Ye’re a miracle, that’s what ye are.”
“That was a brave thing ye did, Simon, telling yon soldier that the Elector could fuck himself,” Allan said. “I’m no’ sure I could have done the like, in your position.”
“He’s a MacGregor,” Dougal commented. “They’ve tried to kill us all for over a hundred years, but while we’ve men like Simon, we’ve nae need to worry they’ll manage it! We’re no’ so easy to kill!”
There was a great roar of approval, and this time when Alex leaned down to ask him if he had had enough, Simon didn’t even hear him.
He was too busy looking around at the sea of admiring faces, and realising that what Alex, and, separately, his wife had told him was true. They were not just being kind. No one thought him a coward for allowing himself to be taken prisoner. No one except himself thought he was a lesser man for allowing himself to be treated like vermin for two years by the British. Quite the opposite; they thought him a hero, and the admiration on their faces was quite clearly genuine.
Alex leaned down again, and this time Simon did hear him.
“I tellt ye so,” he said softly. “Ye should believe your chieftain when he tells ye a truth. Ye’re a brave man, Simon, and I’m proud to call you my clansman. Now, are ye tired?”
“Aye,” Simon replied, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “I’m a wee bit tired. But let’s have the party soon. I dinna need to be able to dance to enjoy it, not now I ken that…” His voice broke with the effort of holding the emotion back.
Alex gave one of his now rare smiles, and bending, lifted Simon in his arms and took him back into the cottage, thereby bringing the meeting to an end.
* * *
Manchester, England.
She stood for a short time in the lane leading to her destination, plucking up the courage to take the final steps. She was being ridiculous, she knew that; her welcome was assured. But still she dreaded the bad news that might be awaiting her there. If she loitered too long though, she might attract unwanted attention. So she pulled herself together, straightened her shoulders and walked briskly down the lane, stopping at the gate of the house she was heading for.
Last time she had been here the garden had been only partly tamed; now it was completely so, with vegetable beds neatly laid out, some showing shoots, while along the edge of the little path leading to the door daffodils were already blooming. At the right side of the house, his back to her, a young man was wielding a spade to good effect; a young man she didn’t recognise, and who most definitely was not Graeme. Her heart sank as she opened the catch on the gate and made her way up the path.
She knocked on the door, hoping that someone she knew would answer. She didn’t want to have to introduce herself to a complete stranger, not here, in a place she thought of as her second home. So when she got no answer to her knock she made her way round to the back of the house via the left side of the house. Maybe the occupants were in the back, it being a fine day.
She was in luck; in the back garden were a woman and a little girl. The woman was taking washing from a line and handing it to the child, who was putting it in a large basket on the ground. As she saw the visitor approach the woman turned, her arms full of a sheet she had just unpegged from the line.
“Hello,” she said cheerily. “How can I help you?”
The visitor responded by taking the hood of her cloak down, revealing a head of brown wavy hair and a pale face, blue eyes underscored by dark shadows of fatigue. She smiled.
“Hello Jane,” she said.
Jane froze for a moment, then dropped the sheet she was holding onto the child, covering her in washing. The child giggled, enjoying this new game.
“Beth?” Jane said hesitantly, as though unable to believe what she was seeing. “My God, is it really you?” All the colour had drained from her face and Beth moved forward, putting a hand on Jane’s arm to steady her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to shock you. Is it safe for me to be here?”
“Safe?” Jane repeated, still stunned. “I…we thought you were dead. Sarah wrote to us and said that you were transported to the Colonies and had died.”
“Ah,” Beth said, realisation dawning. “I can explain that.” She bent down and lifted the washing off the child. “Hello, little sunflower,” she said, using John’s pet name for Ann.
The little girl beamed up at her.
“Hhhrrrr!” she said.
“You’ve done wonders for her,” Beth said, looking up at Jane. “I hardly recognise her.”
This wasn’t strictly true; the hideous scarring inflicted on the child’s face by Richard in his attempt to kill her rendered her instantly recognisable. But apart from that, this sturdy, well-nourished little girl with shiny curls was a far cry from the filthy emaciated urchin Beth had dropped off at the house almost three years before.
Beth straightened up and Jane lifted her hands, cupping her former mistress’s face and staring intently at her.
“It really is you!” she said. “I can’t believe it! Are you here to stay?”
“If you want me to, I can stay for the night.”
Jane leaned forward, kissed Beth soundly, then embraced her.
“You can stay as long as you want. You can live here, if you like. I can’t believe it. I have to tell Thomas. He’s in the kitchen. Come on,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. Leaving the remaining washing on the line and the basket on the floor, Jane led the way and Beth followed her into the kitchen, which was, as always, warm and welcoming, and smelt of freshly baked bread.
Thomas was sitting at the table polishing a pair of shoes, but looked up as the two women entered, and, like Jane before him, froze at the sight of Beth.
“Look who’s come back to us,” Jane said, her voice shaking with tears and excitement. “She’s not dead at all!”
Very carefully Thomas put down the shoe and the brush, and stood up. Then he reached out and pulled Beth into an embrace so crushing that she could hardly breathe.
“Beth,” he said into her hair. “Oh, this is wonderful.” He stepped back, holding her at arm’s length, taking her in. “Your hair…” he said.
Beth reached a hand up.
“I dyed it,” she said. “My hair is my most recognisable feature. I know everyone thinks I’m dead, but even so, if someone recognises me…if I’m arrested, I’ll be executed.”
“Sit down,” Jane said. “Are you hungry?” Without waiting for an answer she bustled about, putting together a meal.
“Why would Sarah tell us you were dead?” Thomas asked. “She wrote to us last year, said one of her clients found out you’d been transported and died. We’ve all been in mourning for you.”
Once the food was on the table they all sat down, and Beth told them briefly what had happened, about Captain Marsal attacking the transport ship and taking them all to Martinique, about the governor setting all the prisoners free, and about her asking him to add her to the list of dead.
“I made a very powerful enemy when I was in prison, because I wouldn’t reveal Sir Anthony’s identity,” Beth explained, “an enemy rich enough to send assassins out to Martinique to kill me, so I thought I’d be safer if it was believed that I’d died. I wasn’t planning to return to England then, but even if there are notices out for the other prisoners who were freed, there won’t be about me, which is good. I’m sorry. I couldn’t take the risk of writing to tell anyone I was alive, in case the letter fell into the wrong hands.”
“No, of course you couldn’t. But I’m so glad you decided to come back!” Jane said. “I’ll light a fire in the drawing room. You can sleep there tonight and then tomorrow we’ll work out something more permanent. You are staying?”
Part of her wanted to say yes, desperately. She had been so lonely for so long, and now she was with people who cared for her, the thought of setting out alone again on a dangerous journey with, most probably, terrible news at the end, made her feel sick. A wave of sadness washed over her and she knew that she would have to leave soon, or her courage might fail her.
“I can stay tonight, maybe for a couple of days,” Beth said. “But I have to go then. I have something to do.”
“What do you have to do?” Thomas asked. “Is it something we can help with?”
“No, it isn’t,” Beth replied. “I have to find out what happened to…someone. That’s why I came back.”
“Beth, you look tired and you’re very thin,” Jane commented. “At least stay until there’s some flesh on your bones. This someone, whoever it is, can wait until you’re properly rested.”
“It’s Sir Anthony or whatever his name was, isn’t it?” Thomas said, his voice hard. “It’s him you’re looking for.”
“Yes,” Beth admitted. “I have to know if he’s alive or dead.”
“Why? He abandoned you, didn’t he, when you weren’t of any more use to him? I know you loved him, but he’s never tried to find you, has he? Why are you risking your life to look for someone who left you to rot in prison?”
“He didn’t abandon me…he wouldn’t,” Beth said. “He promised me he’d come for me, and he wouldn’t have broken that promise unless something had happened to stop him.”
To say Thomas looked sceptical would be a vast understatement.
“Well, if that’s the case, then he must be dead. And if he’s alive, he’s not worthy to kiss your feet. So why waste your time? You can stay here, with people who really love you. We’ll keep you safe.”
Beth’s eyes filled with tears.
“I can’t, Thomas. I want to, but I can’t. It’s too dangerous for you, for one thing. And I know you hate Anthony, and I understand that, but you don’t know the whole story. I can’t tell you, either. I’m sorry. But I have to find out whether he survived Cul…whether he’s alive or not. It’s burning me up, and I can’t go on with my life until I know.”
“He was alive this time last year, at any rate. I can take you to him, if you want,” a voice came from behind her. Beth turned to see the familiar, if somewhat facially altered figure of her former gardener standing in the doorway.
“Graeme?” she said, standing up. “He’s alive?”
Graeme smiled.
“As far as I know he is. Christ, lass, but it’s good to see you,” he said.
She burst into tears and he moved forward, catching her as she fainted dead away.
She was sitting on Graeme’s lap, supported by his arm, her cheek pressed against the worn leather of his waistcoat. She inhaled the familiar scent of leather and green growing things, and was transported back to when she was a child and had sat on his knee after a long day of playing in the fields, listening to the conversation of the adults going on over her head as she drifted off to sleep. Then she remembered the last time she had sat like this, after Richard had hit her and driven John away. And then she became aware of what had happened just before she fainted, and opened her eyes, to see the young man who had been digging in the garden and a young woman sitting at the other side of the table, looking at her with concerned but elated faces.
“She’s coming round,” the young man said in a strong Manchester accent.
Graeme looked down and shifted position slightly, allowing Beth to sit upright while still retaining the support of his arm.
“I know I’m ugly now,” he said conversationally, “But I’m not used to women swooning on me. Hurt my feelings, it has.”
Beth smiled
“I’m not used to swooning myself,” she said, her voice sounding distant to her ears as she attempted to shake off the disorientation of the faint. “I must have become a delicate young miss after all.”
Graeme snorted disbelievingly.
“Here,” he said, holding a glass of brandy under her nose. “Drink that. We’ll have you climbing trees and falling in the pond again in no time.”
She took the glass and drank, then leaned back into him, revelling in the familiarity and comfort of the man who knew her better than anyone. Anyone, that was except…
“You said he’s alive?” she said. “Where…?” His hand tightened warningly on her shoulder, bringing her to full consciousness and reminding her that there was a room full of people who, although they loved her and were trustworthy, did not know, and should not know anything more about her husband than they already did.
She looked across the table.
“Ben?” she said, “and Mary? You’ve grown up! Last time I saw you you were children!”
The couple blushed in unison.
“We have, miss,” Mary said. “And Ben and me’s going to be married, as soon as we’re old enough!”
“Not for a good few years yet,” Thomas said with mock sternness.
“When I arrived here I saw you digging and I didn’t know who you were. I thought you’d replaced…I thought you were dead,” Beth said, looking up at Graeme.
“Hmm, well, it was a close thing,” Graeme said. “The redcoat bastard tried his best to do the job, but made a mess of it. Sorry, Jane.”
Beth laughed out loud. Until she’d arrived here, it had seemed to her that the whole world had changed, profoundly and irrevocably. But here in this tiny corner of England, Graeme was still swearing and Jane was still shocked by it. And she was still Beth Cunningham, the master’s daughter, and their friend.
“Oh God, I’m so glad to be here,” she said. “I’ve missed you all so much. I thought I’d never see you again! It’s so good to be home!”
Then she burst into tears and was joined by Jane and Mary, while the men all tut-tutted and made comments about the foolishness of women and suchlike. But when Beth, still ensconced on Graeme’s lap, looked up at him, his one remaining eye was moist.
The following day, after a good night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast, Graeme announced that he was going to show Beth the garden, as though he owned a vast estate that would take a day to ride around rather than a vegetable patch, a herb bed, and a henhouse. Nevertheless the others took the hint and kept out of the way while Beth accompanied Graeme to the end of the yard, where the ramshackle shed had been replaced with a neat painted henhouse. Outside it were several chickens pecking about in the grass. The log was still there, where she’d sat a lifetime ago, listening to Sir Anthony telling her he was afraid while Graeme and Thomas had watched from the kitchen window. Automatically, she looked down the yard at the house.
“I knew then, when I saw him grab you up off that log, that he was the only one for you, and that there was a lot more to him than met the eye,” Graeme said, reading her mind. “Sit down. We’ve a lot to talk about.”
They sat down. The previous evening they’d spoken of the things that they could talk about with the others; that Richard was dead, but not who had killed him; that John had escaped from Newgate Prison, as told to them by Sarah, but not where he was now, because no one knew that. Beth had told them about her time in the Tower, in Newgate, what Richard had done to her, how her friends in London had saved her life, and of her, pointless as she now knew, attempt to discredit Richard which had led to her transportation. She told them about Martinique, and Paul and Elizabeth, about Pierre, Antoinette, Raymond and Rosalie. It had been a very long evening and she had been emotionally exhausted at the end of it, but it had felt good to be able to talk about anything she wanted to.
Almost anything she wanted to.
Now she sat on the log with the man who had been a second father to her, while he told her about Duncan’s death and held her as she cried brokenly, stroking her hair and murmuring words of comfort until she was able to pull herself together. And then he told her about Alex’s injury, how they’d feared for his life after Angus had told him Maggie’s dying words, and how he’d slowly come back to life, fuelled by the wish for revenge.
He made her laugh with his account of the cattle raid and the exploits of Tobias Grundy, George Armstrong and the idiot John, who’d pissed in the soldier’s mouth. He told her how Richard had died, and what he’d told Alex before he died, and at that she’d cried again, not for Richard but for Alex, because, even before Graeme told her, she knew that he’d believed her alive, only to find out she was dead again. Because he must have come looking for her.
“He came for me, didn’t he?” she said.
“He did. I came with him as far as here,” Graeme explained. “I’ve never seen a man so determined in my life. We all thought that Richard might be lying just to hurt him, but he never doubted for a minute that you were alive. Angus tried to stop him and Kenneth pulled them apart, and then I threatened to shoot Alex to bring him to his senses. I wouldn’t really have shot him,” he added hurriedly, seeing Beth’s look of alarm. “Anyway, we got here, and he took some of your money and then carried on to London. I came here and read the letter you’d sent telling us you were alive, but it was too late to go after him to tell him.
“It was September when I got a letter from him, or rather from my business acquaintance Adam Featherstone, telling me that the package he’d gone to enquire about had unfortunately been lost at sea, and that he was going on a short trip and then would continue with business as before. I knew then that you were dead, and I was trying to think of a way to tell the others without giving away that I knew about Alex, when Jane got a letter from Sarah two days later saying that you’d been transported and died on the way to Antigua.
“I’ll be honest with you, Beth, I haven’t heard anything of him since then. I don’t know what the short trip was, and I can’t imagine how he must have felt, thinking you were dead for the second time.”
Beth sat quietly for a while, thinking this over.
“I don’t know what the short trip would be, but you said he’d taken the revenge oath, and that you hadn’t reached the number when he left?”
“No. I wasn’t keeping an exact count. Angus was, but we were a good way short of the two hundred.”
“Then the ‘business as before’ is his oath. He would keep that, no matter what. Which means that he went home after his trip. So I have to go to Scotland. That’s where he’ll be,” she said.
“If he’s still alive,” Graeme pointed out gently.
“If he’s still alive,” she agreed. “But if he isn’t, then if the MacGregors don’t know, no one will. So I’ll stay here another day or two, because it’s lovely being here and because I need to go and get some more of that gold you buried, and then I’ll leave. In fact I think we should tell the others about the money and bring it back here. Now Richard’s dead, and as far as the authorities are concerned I am too, no one’s going to look for it. I expect they think Sir Anthony gave it all to the prince to buy swords. I’ll take as much as I can carry without raising suspicion, and you can all have the rest. I’ll write to tell you what happens, whether I find the ‘package’ or not.”
“No you won’t,” Graeme said. “Before you fainted so clumsily into my arms yesterday, I told you I’d take you to him, and I will.”
“You don’t have to,” Beth said. “I know the way. And you’ve got cabbages and things to plant, surely?”
“Ben can manage that,” Graeme said. “I’m teaching him everything I know, so he can take over the heavy digging when it gets too much for me. Not yet,” he added, cutting the retort about old men off before it could be uttered. He really did know her. “And I got very fond of the purple popinjay, once I got to know him properly. I’d like to see him again. And that big redheaded bastard that kept trying to make me wear a skirt. I want to see what he looks like in breeches now it’s against the law for the Scots to dress like women.”
Beth laughed so hard at that that she almost fell off the log. And from Graeme’s point of view it had the desired result; it stopped her raising any further objections to him accompanying her.