Tides of Fortune (Jacobite Chronicles Book 6) by Julia Brannan (20)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Swiss Confederation, September 1748

The man and woman stood in the graveyard of a small church nestled on a slope on the outskirts of Geneva, while down below on the road the postilion waited with their hired carriage. Monsieur Dubois had made his money from the clothing business, he said; and certainly the couple were dressed expensively, if not ostentatiously. They were from Normandy, although Madame Dubois had a strange accent. When the postilion had commented on this she told him that she had spent some time in the West Indies, but the climate had not suited her and she was very glad to be home.

They were a pleasant couple, and clearly very much in love, which made the elderly postilion smile, remembering his own youth and a red-haired beauty, long dead, who had once captured his heart. He settled back to reminisce and took out his pipe and a pouch of tobacco to while away the time until his services were required again.

In the graveyard M. and Mme Dubois were standing looking down at a gravestone. Being out of earshot, they were no longer speaking French.

“He’s done it, then,” Alex murmured. “I confess I didna think he would.”

Beth reached down and pulled away a strand of ivy, revealing the lettering beneath:

“You mean Highbury?” Beth said, looking at the lettering. The last lines looked new, and must have been carved very recently.

“Aye. I tellt him that one day, if I could, I’d add Anthony’s name to the stone, to let the world know that this wee bairn and his family were in no way connected to the Jacobite spy. He said that if I couldna for any reason, that he would if a way could be found.”

“He believes you to be dead, then,” Beth said.

“Aye. It’s maybe better that way. He’s a good man, and there’s a bond of trust between us. He took a risk to do this only for a whim of mine.”

“No,” Beth said. “It was more than a whim, I think. It was a pledge of honour, and Highbury is an honourable man, as are you.”

Alex smiled, and kneeling down placed the small bouquet of flowers they’d brought with them on the grave. He ran his fingers lightly over the lettering, then looked up at his wife.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I brought you all this way for nothing.”

“Not for nothing,” she replied. “You wouldn’t have known otherwise. And it’s been nice to see a little of France without having to wear uncomfortable gowns and make small talk with dull people while thinking about every word I said. But I’m ready to go home now. I miss our house, and the loch, and the mountains. I’m even missing Angus! And I owe him a debt for throwing me in the loch,” she added, referring to her brother-in-law’s successful attempt to sober her up after the joint celebration party for her and Simon, which had taken place shortly after her return. Since Angus had learned that he no longer had to accept the burden of chieftainship, at least not on a permanent basis, he had regained much of his former humour and boyishness, although the carefree recklessness had gone forever.

“Ye’ll no’ be duelling wi’ my brother for a good few months yet,” Alex said warningly.

He turned, still kneeling, clasped his wife about the waist and placed a kiss on the soft swell of her stomach, a roundness still small enough to be concealed beneath the folds of her skirts, but which was nevertheless on the minds of the two lovers constantly.

Beth placed a hand on his head, and they remained this way for a moment, during which the postilion looked up the slope, and seeing the gesture, recognised the significance and smiled to himself. They were a lovely couple; kind, generous and devoted to each other. Their child would have a good start in life with such loving parents, he thought.

Alex stood, and turning, they started to make their way back down the slope, holding hands.

“I was thinking about names for the bairn, if it’s a boy,” he said.

“You want to call him William?” she asked. “After Highbury?”

“Would you like that?” He answered her question with another.

“No,” she answered candidly. “Although I wouldn’t object if he didn’t have the same first name as Cumberland. I don’t want our son to be named after that bastard, or for anyone to think it.”

“Good,” Alex said. “I wasna thinking of William. I ken it’s customary to name the first child after his grandfather, but Angus has done that already and I’d like to name ours Duncan, if ye dinna mind.”

“Mind? No, I think that’s a wonderful idea!” Beth said. “And if he grows up to be like Duncan, I’d be very happy. I miss him.”

“Aye, so do I, every day.”

“I wish Sarah had told me about Màiri,” Beth said. “I’d love to have met her.” They had talked about Sarah and Duncan’s ill-fated love and the result, as they’d talked about many things in the past months.

“Maybe we can find a way to do that, one day. But no’ for a good while, I’m thinking.”

“No,” Beth said. “It’s too risky. Thank you for allowing me to write, though, and tell her I’m alive. Or rather that her cousin Adam has discovered his sweetheart hadn’t died of the fever after all, and that she’s to be an auntie in February.”

“Ye’d have done it anyway, an I’d allowed it or no’,” Alex replied drily.

Wisely, she didn’t answer this, not least because it was true. She, or rather Adam, had asked Sarah to pass on the good news to Sir Edwin and Lady Caroline, and to thank them for their kindness.

“If the baby’s a girl, could we call her Margaret, then?” she asked instead.

Surprised, Alex stopped, bringing her to a halt too.

“Margaret? I thought ye wanted to name her after your mother, ye being so close and all.”

“I did. But talking about Duncan and how we miss him made me think of Maggie. I’d like to name a daughter after her, and I’d like Iain to be the godfather too. I think it would please him, maybe make him smile again.”

Alex smiled. And then he embraced his wife, lifting her off her feet and swinging her round until she giggled.

“That’s a wonderful idea. And ye’re right. I’ve wondered for a long time how to bring Iain back to us. That might do it, having a stake in our bairn.”

He set her down carefully on her feet.

“Only if it’s a girl though,” she said. “I don’t think calling a boy Maggie would have the same result.”

“Well, if it’s a boy, we’ll just have to keep on trying till we have a wee Maggie to make Iain smile again,” he observed.

“Only to make Iain smile? The sacrifices you make for your clan,” Beth said, smiling.

“Aye. I take my responsibilities as chieftain verra seriously.”

“We’d best be getting home straight away, in that case,” she said. They carried on down the hill to the smiling postilion.

Above them the late summer breeze coming down from the mountain moved through the churchyard, ruffling the brightly coloured petals of the little bouquet of flowers on the grave, and rustling the leaves of the tree which grew by the cemetery wall.

Then it continued down the mountain to gently lift the chestnut hair of the tall handsome man currently handing his wife up into the carriage, leaving the tree, the graveyard and its occupants in tranquil silence once more.