CHAPTER FOUR
Scotland, late May 1747
Frozen with shock, Angus, along with the rest of the MacGregors watched Alex walk purposefully across the saucer-shaped depression, Richard’s blood still dripping from his gore-soaked hand. It wasn’t until his brother had disappeared over the edge and was heading down the slope that Angus realised he’d meant what he’d said on emerging from the cave.
“Mallaichte bas,” he swore under his breath, before racing to the edge of the depression and looking over it. Alex was striding downhill, careless of the low-growing gorse scratching his legs or the danger of stepping into rabbit holes.
“Alex!” Angus bellowed at the top of his voice. “Stop!”
Although half the clan flinched at the combined volume and desperation of Angus’s call, Alex appeared not to hear and continued on his way. Angus hesitated for a moment, then coming to a decision, went after him. As one, the rest of the clan took up a position where they could see what was about to ensue.
Angus caught up with Alex when he was about a quarter of the way down the slope, grabbing his arm to bring him to a halt.
“Alex,” he said breathlessly, “Ye canna just go off like that!”
Alex looked at his brother as if seeing him for the first time in his life.
“Did ye no’ hear what I said?” he asked. “Beth’s alive.”
“Richard tellt ye that, did he?”
“Aye.” He looked down at the hand that still clutched his shirt. Angus let him go, and he immediately continued on his way.
“He’s lying to ye, man! Surely ye ken that? Beth’s dead. Maggie saw her shot! It’s a trap,” Angus said, following behind.
“No,” Alex replied. “He knew she’d been shot, in the head, here.” He tapped his left temple.
“So do we, but that doesna mean she’s alive!” He sped up a little, grasping Alex’s arm and bringing him to a halt again. “Maybe someone tellt him. He is her brother, after all!”
“Was,” Alex said.
“What?”
“Was. He’s dead. Ye need to take him back to the hut and make sure he can be found. I want the Maynard lassie to know she’s a widow.”
He started to pull away, but this time, instead of releasing him Angus tightened his grip.
“Alex, ye’re no’ thinking right. Ye canna just go off to England or wherever, like that. That bastard knew ye loved her, and he’d do anything to hurt ye, even if he wouldna live to see it.”
Alex turned to face Angus and looked at him properly now, his eyes dark with pain and the remains of his rage against Richard, his mouth hard with determination.
“Angus, I made her a promise. I tellt her I’d come for her. I have to keep it. You can lead the clan while I’m gone. Now let me go. That’s an order from your chieftain.”
Any other human being, on hearing Alex’s tone as he uttered that last sentence, would have obeyed him. When Angus didn’t, Alex wrenched his arm free and turned away, intending to carry on down to the lochside.
He managed maybe five paces before Angus ran after him, wrapping his arms round him from behind and dragging them both to the ground, Angus landing on top of his brother, who was face down in the heather.
“And as your brother,” Angus said desperately, “I canna let you go. They’ll kill ye. I canna let that happen.”
Alex’s temper exploded immediately and with a strength born of blind rage he succeeded in heaving his brother off his back, and then seeing Angus immediately reaching for him again, hit him full in the face as hard as he could to stop him.
Angus fell backwards for a moment, the force of the blow causing him to see stars, then he threw himself forward again, gripping Alex’s legs as he tried to stand and bringing him down in the heather and gorse once more, then punching any part of his body he could reach, desperate to incapacitate Alex enough to stop him dashing off to certain arrest and execution.
Their last serious fight had been over two years before, and Angus had matured considerably since then, both physically and in experience. Both brothers were emotional and determined, and as a result were evenly matched, and what had started as a difference of opinion soon degenerated into a no-holds-barred brawl.
“Christ,” Graeme said after a few minutes of watching the vicious fight taking place on the hillside below. “Are you just going to let them carry on until one of them kills the other?”
“No, they dinna intend to kill each other. If that was their intention, they’d hae drawn their dirks by now,” Alasdair pointed out matter-of-factly.
Graeme watched as Angus managed to struggle to his feet briefly, his face a mask of red; he aimed a vicious kick at the supine Alex which contacted with enough force to make the chieftain’s whole body jerk in pain. Then Alex caught Angus’s foot as he took aim again and twisted it hard enough to have broken his ankle had he not gone with the blow and fallen. A series of grunts drifted up the hill as more blows connected and were returned.
“If they carry on like that, one of them’s going to get killed, dirk or no,” Graeme observed. “I know Alex is your chieftain and all that, but I don’t think he’ll thank you if you let him kill his brother while he’s not thinking right.”
Kenneth sighed.
“Christ, Duncan, I miss ye, laddie,” he said under his breath, and then indicating to Dougal and Alasdair to follow him he strode down the hill towards the warring brothers, stopping a few yards away from them for a moment to assess the damage. Then he waded in, and grabbing hold of the nearest combatant, which happened to be Angus, he lifted him off his brother and in an impressive feat of strength threw him several yards down the hill, where he landed in an undignified and somewhat startled heap.
“Hold him,” Kenneth said brusquely to Dougal and Alasdair, who, not without trepidation each gripped an arm of their bruised and bloody chieftain as he tried to go after Angus, pulling him back down to the ground, while Kenneth walked down to where Angus was just regaining his feet and grabbed him from behind, pinioning his arms.
Angus struggled in his grip, his chest heaving with emotion, sobbing the same incoherent sentence over and over through swollen, bloody lips;
“Icannaloseyoutoo, Icannaloseyoutoo, Icannaloseyoutoo.”
It took a few moments for Kenneth to understand what he was saying, but when he did he closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed, then sank down in the heather, pulling his distraught captive with him.
“Isd,” he said softly, “We’ll no’ let that happen. Stop now, stop, for God’s sake, laddie.” He sat, maintaining his iron grip on the young clansman until he felt the resistance drain away and finally Angus relaxed back into him, his chest still heaving, but now with the effort of holding back the tears. Kenneth relaxed his grip enough for it now to be more of an embrace than restraint, but was ready to tighten it again if he had to.
“Let it out, laddie, there’s no shame in it,” he said gently, and with that Angus gave up the fight, both with his brother and his emotions, and started to cry in earnest, with great racking sobs. Kenneth turned his body, and Angus buried his head in the big man’s chest and wailed like an infant, finally releasing the grief for the death of his brother and sister-in-law that he’d held in for so long.
In the meantime Graeme had made his way down to where Alasdair and Dougal were struggling to maintain their grip on their enraged chieftain, not least because he was commanding them to release him and their inbred instinct was to obey the order.
Graeme had no such instinct. Pulling his pistol out of his belt and cocking it, he pointed it at Alex’s head and said, his voice hard and cold, “Calm yourself, man. It’s over. Look at him, for God’s sake. He’s grieving and not thinking clearly. Neither of you are.”
Alex froze, his survival instinct telling him that while Graeme would not kill him, he would have no compunction about shooting to disable if he absolutely had to. He looked past the elderly Englishman and down the hill to where Angus was cradled in Kenneth’s arms, and his rage drained away as quickly as it had risen.
“Dear God,” he said quietly, then he looked at Dougal and Alasdair. “Ye can let me go now. I’m all right. I canna go and leave him like that.”
Graeme lowered the pistol and the two clansmen let Alex go. He struggled to his feet and limped down the hill to the two figures huddled on the ground, then knelt down next to them.
“Ye did well, Kenneth,” he said. “Let me take him now.”
Kenneth carefully relinquished his grip on Angus and transferred him to his brother’s arms.
“It’s alright,” Alex said softly to Angus, who was hiccupping between sobs. “I’ve asked too much of you. I’m sorry, mo bhràthair.”
Kenneth stood and made his way back up the hill to Dougal, Alasdair and Graeme.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s away up to the cave.” They walked back up to the rest of the clan. Someone had sent for Morag, who had been tending Graeme’s new vegetable patch on the far side of the hill, and Kenneth intercepted her as she made her way down towards them.
“He’s fine, a graidh,” he said, wrapping one huge arm gently round her shoulders and leading her back up the hill. “They’ve had a wee stramash is all, and need a few minutes alone. It’s no’ as bad as it looks.”
In spite of Kenneth’s assurance to Morag, when the two brothers rejoined the clan some time later it did look pretty bad, even to the hardened warriors. Both of them were shirtless at the moment and had been down to the loch to wash the worst of the blood away, so their hair and kilts were dripping wet.
Alex was limping, Angus cradled his left arm in his right, and both men’s torsos were covered in rapidly blackening bruises. But it was their faces that seemed to have taken the brunt of the action. Angus’s nose was clearly broken, his mouth was split and puffy, and he had a nasty cut above his right eye which was still bleeding, the flesh around it swollen and purple. He sat down heavily on a rock outside the cave, and winced slightly when Morag sat down next to him and put her arm round his waist, her face drawn with worry.
“I’ll be fine, mo chridhe,” he assured her. “I wrenched my arm is all, and need someone to pull my nose back into place. After a wee dram,” he added hastily on seeing Kenneth start to rise.
Alex sat down opposite Angus on the grass, and gingerly massaged his leg.
“Ye’ve no’ broken it again, have ye?” Peigi asked.
“No. I just twisted it is all,” Alex replied. “What?” he asked as he looked round at the sea of horrified faces staring at him.
“Have you seen the state of your face?” Graeme said.
“No, of course I havena,” Alex answered. “I havena got a mirror. Hurts like the devil, though. I think it was when yon gomerel there tried to mash my cheek into the gorse.” He gingerly put his hand up to the left side of his face and it came away bloody.
“I’m sorry, Alex,” Angus said indistinctly. Alex waved his hand dismissively.
“We’ve done the apologies, man, no need for more,” he said. “We both lost our way a wee bit, I’m thinking.”
“It looks like a piece of raw steak,” Graeme elaborated.
It did. The whole side of his face, from temple to jaw, was raw and bloody.
“Your own mother wouldna recognise ye,” Janet added.
“Truly?” Alex said. “Have any of ye got a wee bit of a mirror?”
“I have,” Morag said. “Shall I fetch it?” She got up and disappeared into the cave, returning a minute later with a small piece of silvered glass. Alex took it and held it up to his face, then to everyone’s astonishment, he smiled.
“Aye,” he said to himself. “That’ll do it.”
“That’ll do what?” Kenneth asked.
Instead of answering, Alex handed the mirror back to Morag and then looked around.
“Call the others,” he said. “I need to talk to you all. And get the whisky for Angus. The sooner his nose is put back, the better.”
Once everyone was assembled, the whisky had gone round, and Angus’s nose was straight again, Alex started talking.
“First of all, Angus was right to stop me from just walking away like that. I wasna thinking properly, thanks to that bastard.” He nodded his head towards the small cave where Richard’s corpse still lay. “Kenneth, Dougal, Alasdair, thanks to ye for doing what Duncan would have done, had he lived. That took courage, for we were both of us a wee bit insane, I’m thinking. I can tell ye, I’ve never missed Duncan as much as I do right now. We both need to grieve for him something fierce, and I think we’ve made a start on that today. We were wrong to just hide it away and no’ speak of him, to each other or anyone else. It’s harmed us and done Duncan an injustice, for he deserves to be remembered.
“Having said that, I still made a promise to Beth, and I intend to keep it.” He held his hand up as Angus and several others started to speak, and they fell silent.
“I’m going to tell ye what Richard tellt me, and then ye’ll at least ken why I have to go to London and find out for myself if he spoke the truth or no’. He said that Beth stabbed a soldier in the throat and was shot in the head, here.” He lifted his hand to his temple. “As Angus said, it could be that she is dead, and that someone tellt him, although I dinna ken how, for she’s unlikely to have tellt anyone her name before she was shot. But it is possible he found out. He was her brother, although there was a time when he forgot that, which is why I killed him in the way I did.”
“I thought ye did that because of the woman in the wee hut,” Kenneth put in.
“Aye, well, that as well. But I’ll no’ talk of that now. He said that she didna die, and Cumberland sent her to London, had her treated in the hope that she’d betray me. But she didna. So Newcastle sent her to Newgate Gaol, and let Richard torture her…” His voice trailed off, and he closed his eyes, swallowing hard to try to keep the emotion down.
“He said that she was with child, that Newcastle knew it, but still let Richard torture her, and that she lost the bairn because of it. He boasted about it, said that he got to make her pay for everything and that Newcastle hates her, which I’ve no doubt he does if she hasna tellt him anything.” He swiped his hand through his hair, wincing as he touched a bump inflicted by his brother earlier. “I have to find out the truth of it. I canna rest till I do.”
There was a shocked silence for a few moments, which Angus broke.
“Do ye no’ think he made it up in the hopes that ye’d do exactly what ye’re intending?” he asked. “Ye’d been married for three years. What was the likelihood of you getting her wi’ child just before she was shot? Graeme, you said ye’d known Richard since he was a bairn. Is it the sort of thing he’d do?”
“It’s possible,” Graeme said. “Although he was never a good liar as a child. But he knew he was dying, and this could be his way of trying to get you to betray yourself. After all, the authorities have no idea what you look like, but if you turn up at Newgate, or any prison in London for that matter, asking about Beth, you’re sure to be arrested.”
“Aye, that’s right!” Angus said. “Ye canna go, Alex. It’s madness.”
“I would,” Iain said suddenly, causing everyone to look at him. He was sitting on the ground, his long legs bent, his chin resting on his knees, but now he looked up, his eyes moist with unshed tears. “If I thought there was even the slightest chance that Maggie was alive, I’d do anything, anything at all to find out and get her back if I could, whatever the risk. I ken well she’s dead, Angus, for ye buried her yourself. But ye didna find Beth’s body, did ye?”
“No,” Angus admitted. “But that was because the redcoat bastards burnt all the women in the bothy. I couldna recognise anyone.”
“What exactly did Maggie say about Beth?” Alex asked.
“I tellt ye already,” Angus said. “She was shot and killed.”
“Is that exactly what she said?” Alex persisted. “Think, Angus. Take a minute and see if ye can mind exactly what she tellt ye.”
Angus sighed, but he closed his eyes and concentrated, recalling the horrific day that he’d spent over a year trying to push from his mind.
“She said that she was holding someone’s bairn, trying to stop it from crying, and the sergeant killed it then stabbed her with his bayonet. Beth threw her knife and took him in the throat, then ran. She said that while they were going after Beth she managed to crawl away, which is why they didna burn her wi’ the others. ‘They shot her in the head. She’s dead.’ That’s what she said. Then she said she passed out for a time, and when she woke the soldiers were raping the women.” He shuddered and ran his hand through his hair, exactly as Alex had done earlier.
“But she didna say she’d seen them bury her, or put her body in the bothy. She didna say anything about that, did she?” Alex said.
“No. But she tellt me that Beth was dead, and—”
“So it’s possible that she was shot, but didna die, and that Cumberland had her taken to London,” Alex interrupted.
“How would Cumberland even ken about it?” Angus argued. “He was too busy watching his men butcher our wounded to go looking at every woman to see if it was Beth! He didna even ken she was there, for Christ’s sake!”
“He’s right,” Kenneth said. “Cumberland wouldna have expected Sir Anthony to be fighting at Culloden – he’d more likely have thought ye both to have escaped to France.”
“Even so,” Iain persisted. “If there was a doubt about it, about Maggie I mean, I’d have to go and find out for myself.”
“Iain, will ye haud yer whisht?” Angus said, exasperated. “Ye’re no’ helping.”
Alex sat deliberating for a few minutes, looking down at his hands, while the clan awaited his decision. Finally he looked up, and to everyone’s surprise, he was smiling.
“The last time we had a fight like this one, ye were fashed because ye thought I should have gone to Manchester to bring Beth back,” he said to Angus. “And this time it’s because ye think I shouldna go to London to bring Beth back. Do ye no’ find that a wee bit amusing?”
“No, I dinna,” Angus replied. “Because Beth was alive then, and she loved ye. Ye just needed to talk it through, sort out what was between ye. But this time—”
“We dinna ken if she’s alive,” Alex interrupted. “But if she is, I need to find out. I’m sorry, mo bhràthair, but I have to do this. I made her a promise. But now I’ll make you a promise, all of you,” he added, looking round at his clanspeople. “I’ll think it through, and I’ll be very careful about it. I’ll no’ take unnecessary risks, and I’ll no’ do anything in temper. And if I’m delayed for any reason, I’ll write to the post in Glasgow, to James Drummond, and tell ye, in a way ye’ll ken, but no one else would.”
“And if ye find she’s dead, ye’ll come back?” Angus said.
“Aye. I’ll come back, either with or without her. Dinna fash yourself. I’ll no’ kill myself if I find that Richard was lying. I’m past that now.”
“Ye swear it?” Angus persisted. Normally at this point Alex would have become irritated; his promise should have been enough. But when he looked at his brother, Alex’s eyes were gentle, understanding.
“I swear to ye, I’ll no’ take unnecessary risks, and I’ll no’ kill myself, whatever I find out,” he said softly.
Angus nodded.
“It’s no’ what I’m wanting, but it’ll have to do,” he said. “When will you be leaving?”
“No’ the night, anyway,” Alex replied. “It’s too late now, and the afternoon’s entertainment has left me a wee bit tired. And sore,” he added. “I’ll wait a couple of days, think it through a wee bit. So let’s get drunk. I think we all need to. I certainly do. We can take that lump of shite back where we found him tomorrow. He’s no’ going anywhere.”
That was the first thing he’d said all afternoon that the whole clan was in accord with.
Two days later the MacGregors gathered once more, to say farewell to their chieftain, who was now dressed legally in the brown woollen frockcoat and breeches that he’d worn the previous summer as Tobias Grundy, but this time instead of a badly fitting wig he wore his own hair, tied back, and the sword at his side showed no signs of rust. He intended to travel down to Glasgow on a garron, the small but sturdy Highland pony, then exchange it for a different mount once there. He had packed a small bag with spare clothes, and for some reason known only to him, the two crutches that Angus had manufactured for him were strapped to the horse.
As he was making his final preparations Graeme approached, leading a garron of his own which was similarly packed ready for a journey.
“I’m ready when you are, lad,” he said once he reached Alex.
“Ready for what?” Alex asked.
“I’m coming with you. I thought I could maybe protect you from all those savage Highlanders people talk about. I hear there’s a fearsome band of barbarians hereabouts called the children of the mist or some such nonsense. You won’t be wanting to travel alone.”
Everyone laughed except Alex.
“Graeme,” he said, “ye canna come with me. I need to do this alone.”
“I know. It’s my face, isn’t it?” Graeme responded. “I’m not pretty enough for you. Mind, you’re no picture yourself at the moment.” Alex’s cheek had started to heal, but was still a mass of scabs. “Don’t worry,” he continued, “I’ve no intention of going to London. But it’s time I went home to Manchester. I’m too old to be skulking round in the rain all day and sleeping on a hard floor at the end of it. I want to go back and see what a mess my garden’s become while I’ve been away, sort it out, and then rest in a warm bed at night. I’ve been teaching young Morag my secrets, and she’s got a natural talent for growing things, so you’ll not go short of vegetables without me.”
“Just to Manchester,” Alex said.
Graeme nodded. “Not a step further.”
They set off together, riding in silence for a while, both of them caught up in their own thoughts.
“Are ye sorry ye fought for him?” Alex said after a time.
“For Charlie? No,” Graeme said. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. I was in the ’15, before you were born and fought at Preston, but of course King James wasn’t there, and by the time he arrived it was all but over. This was a different thing altogether, the best chance the Stuarts have had to take the crown back. If we hadn’t turned back at Derby, maybe we’d have succeeded.”
“Aye, maybe,” Alex said. “It would have depended on the Londoners, I’m thinking. And on how Charles conducted himself. And on whether Georgie would have abandoned the throne or fought for it. But I agree, we should have carried on. I doubt we’ll get another chance as good as that one.”
“Will you rise again for him, if it comes to it?” Graeme asked. “With all that’s happened since?”
“God, aye, in a heartbeat,” Alex said without hesitation. “But I’m no’ sure how many others would. It depends on whether Cumberland’s cowed them or enraged them. The MacGregors have got nothing to lose anyway, ye ken, being proscribed. We’re outlaws no matter what. Our only chance to lift the proscription is wi’ the Stuarts. But to have a chance of succeeding we need French help, and that wily bastard’ll no’ be giving it, I’m thinking.”
“You mean King Louis,” Graeme said.
“Aye. And it depends on Charles too, on how he’s behaving in France. It’s an annoyance to me that there’s no’ enough news getting through to me. I think when I get back I must pay Cluny a visit, see what he kens.”
“Well, if there’s another rising before I’m too old to lift a sword at all, I’d like to join you again, if you’ll have me.”
“You’re an honorary MacGregor as far as I’m concerned, for what it’s worth. Ye’re welcome back any time, rising or no, man,” Alex said.
“That’s worth a lot to me,” Graeme responded quietly. There was another short silence.
“Sometimes I forget you were Beth’s gardener,” Alex said. “I think of you more as a father-in-law.”
Graeme smiled.
“Thank you, lad. I’d be proud to have you as my son-in-law. And yes, Beth was like the daughter I never had. I loved her.”
“What was he like?” Alex asked.
“Her father? He was a good man, kind and generous, but weak. He hated conflict of any kind. I think that’s why he let Arabella spoil Richard. It was easier to let her have her own way than to deal with her tantrums and sulks. And then after she died Henry didn’t know what to do with him, so he either ignored him or, when the boy did something too bad to be ignored, he whipped him.”
“Do you pity him?” Alex asked softly.
“Richard? God, no. He was an evil bastard and deserved what he got. No. He always had a cruel streak in him, from being a small boy. But I don’t think it helped that his mother indulged him in everything and could see no wrong in him. He was never punished for anything. Richard was six when his mother died, and he took it very badly. Henry should have taken him in hand then, because he was lost and wild with grief. I think he would always have enjoyed hurting others, but he might have learnt to keep it in check with the right guidance. As it was he was desperate for attention, and the only time he got it after that was if he did something wrong.
“And then of course Ann came onto the scene, and he saw that as a betrayal of his mother, I think. Ann tried to befriend Richard, but he’d have nothing to do with her. Then Beth was born, and both Henry and Ann doted on her. She was an easy child to love.” Graeme smiled sadly. “Anyway, needless to say Richard hated her from the moment she was born, and he became completely unmanageable. I think it was a relief to his father when he ran away, but going into the army was the worst thing he could have done in my opinion. It encouraged the brute in him. No, maybe I pitied him for a while when he was very small, just after Arabella died, but a lot of children are neglected. They don’t all grow up to be like him. He made his own choices.”
This was the most Alex had ever heard the normally taciturn Graeme say at one time.
“Beth and I have never spoken much about Richard,” he said quietly. “I ken well she hates him, but when I found out why…” his voice trailed off.
“At Manchester,” Graeme said.
“Aye, at Manchester. After that, after we made up what was between us, I tellt her I’d kill him the next time I saw him, and then we didna talk about him again.”
“I know what happened,” Graeme said. “Or I think I do. She told me they’d argued and she’d kicked him in the balls. He couldn’t walk straight for two days afterwards, and he took it out on young Sarah, beat her very badly. At the time I never suspected there was any more to it than that, and, as close as we were, Beth wouldn’t have told me or Thomas, because she knew we’d kill him. There’s no need to tell me,” he added as Alex made to speak. “It’s over now, in any case. But no. I’m glad he’s dead, and I’m glad he died the way he did. May he rot in hell.”
“And I’m glad you were there for Beth, when I was too proud to bend,” Alex said.
On the way south they slept in the open when the weather was good, and in cheap inns when it rained, travelling at a more leisurely pace than Alex would have, had he been alone. He used the time to plan his strategy, to practice patience, which he would almost certainly need once he reached London, and to get to know this gruff-natured, thoroughly likeable man better. Just before reaching Manchester they made a small detour and retrieved some more gold from the chest Graeme had buried years before.
“I may well need something to bribe keepers or other officials with, or to change identity,” Alex explained in the northern English accent he’d adopted since they’d crossed the border and had maintained, even when alone with Graeme. “I’ve no idea what I’ll need. But I know that money can admit you into almost anywhere.”
“Have you got a plan for when you get there?” Graeme asked. “I don’t expect you to tell me the details, but I’d be happier knowing you’ve got some idea of what you’re doing.”
Alex laughed.
“Yes, I’ve got a plan, but I’ll probably need to adapt it when I’m there. I have no idea where Beth is. Richard said Newgate, but he also said that was a few months ago. That’s what I need to find out first, and I think I know how to do that.”
“Be careful, lad. All the way here when we’ve spoken about Beth, you’ve talked as if she’s alive. I want it to be true as much as you do, but remember, whether she’s alive or not, she wouldn’t want you to risk your life for her.”
“If she is alive, and what Richard told me is the truth,” Alex said, “then she’s risked not only her life, but the life of our child for me, and for the clan. I’ll do whatever I need to do to free her. I promised Angus I won’t take unnecessary risks, and I’ll hold to that. But I will take necessary ones.” He looked at Graeme’s worried countenance, and laughed.
“Don’t worry, man. Hiding in plain sight and obtaining information is what I’m good at. I spent over three years as Sir Anthony perfecting that, to help the Stuarts back to the throne. But now I’ve got something far more precious to fight for than the Stuarts, and I’m not about to get myself arrested and executed before I’ve achieved it. That won’t help anyone.”
“Well, I’ll try not to worry, but I can’t promise I won’t,” Graeme said. “Do you want to stay the night in Didsbury, meet Thomas and Jane? You don’t have to tell them who you are.”
“No,” Alex said. “They met Sir Anthony, and servants are more observant than the nobility. They might recognise my features. And from what you’ve told me, they’re good, honest people. I wouldn’t want to put them in a difficult position.”
“For all her faults, and she did have a few,” Graeme said, “Beth knew how to choose the right man. God go with you, Alex. And if you see her, tell her I love her, will you?”
The two men embraced roughly, and then Graeme turned to head along the Didsbury road.
“Graeme,” Alex called after him. The older man reined in and turned back. “If you were to get a letter, would the others open it?”
“No,” Graeme said.
Alex nodded.
“Well, then,” he said. “I’ll write to you when I know what’s happened to her. Or someone will. It will be an innocent letter, full of uninteresting trivialities. But I think you can read between lines.”
“That I can, lad,” Graeme replied, smiling. “Thank you.”