by Joan Wolf
The laughter had died out of Van's face. "We all do what we have to do," she said in a hard, abrupt voice. Jean looked bewildered and Frances compassionate. Niall took his wife's small hand in his own comforting grasp.
Of the three women gathered in the room with him, only his sister had it in her to do as Lady Mackintosh had done, he thought. His mother and his wife were too gentle, too feminine, ever to stand alone so defiantly. They would follow their husbands' lead, in war as well as in peace.
Van was different. Van might love a man, but that would not stop her from going the road she hersel deemed right. He looked at his sister's proud face. I was not that she was unfeminine, though. She was just... Van.
Jean's fingers curled within his. The man who loved Van would never feel for her the overwhelming protectiveness he felt for Jeannie, he thought. Or the intense possessiveness. Van was too strong a spirit to be loved like that. Niall had a brief vision of the Earl of Linton's splendidly tall figure and hard blue eyes. A man very different from himself, was Edward Romney. Niall looked into Jean's great brown eyes and smiled. He loved his sister, but he decidedly preferred marriage to someone like his Jeannie.
Alan was in Stirling as well and he came to see Van the day after she arrived in the city. They had had only a few brief hours together in Glasgow before he had had to leave for Lochaber, so Van was delighted to see him when he called at her mother's lodgings in the Stirling High Street. When he asked her to ride out with him for the afternoon, she accepted with alacrity.
They went to Bannockburn, the field where Scotland had won its independence from England five hundred years since.
"Impossible to imagine this peaceful place as the scene of a bloody battle," Van murmured. They had dismounted and were standing on the winter-hard ground, their horses' reins in their gloved hands. There was no one else in sight. The cold January wind whipped their plaids but, true Highlanders that they were, Van and Alan ignored the weather.
"The Bruce had six thousand men, Van," Alan said. "Six thousand Scots against the King of England's twenty thousand. And we won."
Van stared up at the boy beside her. Alan's jaw was set—hard. Not a boy, she thought. Not any longer the boy she had grown up with. Alan was a man now. As was Niall. And she—God knew the heart she carried was no longer that of a carefree young girl.
Alan was looking around him with narrowed eyes. "We won because our cause was just," he said. "On this field we became our own country, with our own king." The eyes that met hers were slits of green. "We will do it again, Van. I know we will do it."
His face was grim, dedicated. For all its youth, it most definitely was not a boy's face anymore. These last months had changed Alan. If he had been like this before... If she had not met Edward...
"Alan." Her voice was not quite steady. "You have the heart for it, of that I have no doubt. But..." He was the first person she had said this to. "What if we should lose?"
"If we should lose... His reddish hair was blow ing in the wind. "Then we will have the Sassenach in our glens once more. The chiefs will have to flee to France. They will take away our arms and our pride and our dignity." His Hps smiled. "A good reason to win, is it not?"
"Aye." She too looked around the field. Pride flooded through her, pride in the men of her blood who risked so much in the face of such an enemy. "I wish I were a man!" she said fiercely. "Do you know how hard it is to sit and wait?"
"Ah, Van." There was a new note in his voice. "Do not ever wish that, m'eudail. There is no man who knows you who would have you other than you are."
She lifted suddenly shadowed eyes to his face "Alan..." she began uncertainly.
He gave her a warm smile, with his eyes as well as his mouth. "Do not worry yourself over me. If I still keep some hopes over you, that is entirely my own affair."
She laughed, and the guilty feeling vanished. He was the dearest man. "Is that true?" she retorted.
He looked down into her beautiful face. It was the first time all day that he had seen her smile. Her great light eyes were regarding him with undisguised affection.
Aye, Alan thought as he playfully pushed her bonnet down more firmly on her head. I can wait. She said something, ducked her head, and laughed again. The Earl of Linton was a long way away, he thought comfortably, and on the wrong side. All he needed was a little patience. Patience would come hard, but the prize was worth the effort. More than worth it. He grinned and said, "Come along. Your mother invited me for dinner and I do not want to be late."
"I'm starving," Van agreed 'Then, wonderingly, "It's the first time in weeks I've been hungry."
"You need more fresh air," he replied easily. He gave her a sidelong look and there was the faintest trace of a satisfied smile in his eyes. He took her hand into his own as they walked toward the horses and her fingers curled intimately around his. They made it back to Stirling in time for dinner.
The chiefs advised Charles Edward to disband the army for the winter. Many of the clansmen were sick, most had not seen wives or children for months, all hated the dreariness of laying futile siege to Stirling Castle. The men had fought long and faithfully for their prince, Alasdair argued. They needed time to rest and recover.
Charles Edward was horrified at the suggestion. "My God! Have I lived to see this?" he exclaimed, and absolutely refused to disband the army.
The result was exactly as Alasdair had foreseen. By the end of January nearly half of the army had deserted.
On January 31 the Duke of Cumberland reached Edinburgh, where he replaced Hawley as commander-in-chief of the government forces.
The prince gave up his siege of Stirling Castle and marched north to Inverness, which surrendered to him without a struggle. The castle, called Fort George and a symbol of English rule, was gleefully blown up by the Highlanders. Charles Edward and his followers settled into the town, the traditional capital of the Highlands, and made themselves comfortable.
The social scene in Inverness soon became reminiscent of the prince's first glorious occupation of Edinburgh. There were dances and receptions and social gatherings of all sorts. But the mood in Inverness was different from the mood in Edinburgh, Van thought. The high-hearted excitement had gone. The Duke of Cumberland was in winter quarters in Aberdeen, and with the spring would come what might be the decisive confrontation between the Jacobite and English armies. Van often felt as if they were people dancing and laughing and talking on the edge of a smoldering volcano.
She spent all of February and most of March in the company of Alan MacDonald. It was to Alan alone that she was able to open her heart and talk about the fears that weighed on it. Niall had gone south with Lochiel to try to take the two English fortresses of Fort Augustus and Fort William, so he was not around. Nor could she talk to her father. He was as worried as she, Van thought, but he was putting so much effort into keeping her mother happy that she had not the heart to put any more strain on him. For almost the first time in her memory she could not talk to her mother. Frances was looking like a girl again, her blue eyes unshadowed, her brow smooth and serene. Van could not intrude between her father and her mother now. And Jean was carrying a baby and looking forward happily to Niall's return. Van was extremely thankful for Alan those long weeks in Inverness.
Alan was not unmindful of the problems that beset the prince's army, but still he felt that, given a fair battle, the Highland army would prove the victors. It gave Van heart just to be with him. She said as much one evening as they were talking together at a reception at the home of the Dowager Lady Mackintosh, where the prince was residing during his sojourn in Inverness.
Alan looked at her soberly. "I am glad to hear that." He hesitated, then went on. "I am leaving tomorrow, Van, for Lochaber."
Van felt her heart sink. She had become very dependent upon Alan these last weeks. He was a shield between her and her own thoughts—a shield between her and Edward. "Why?" she asked.
"To recruit," he responded briefly. She needed to ask no more. Desertions had been he
avy this winter, and with the coming spring the Highland army had to increase its strength. A number of chiefs had gone home to raise more clansmen to the standard.
"I see." She looked up at him and made herself smile. "I shall miss you."
He did not smile back. "Will you, m'eudail?" His voice was as grave as his face.
Van felt a flash of fear. She had been living each day as it came this winter, trying desperately not to look ahead, and even more desperately not to look behind. She had found Alan useful in this struggle, and so she had used him. But what had it meant to him?
His eyes were very green as he looked down at her. He was looking splendid himself tonight, in his dress kilt and his velvet jacket. He wore his hair unpowdered and it glinted richly auburn under the sconce that hung above them. She did not just find him useful, Van admitted to herself. There was more between them than that.
"I said I would be patient," he was going on, "and I have been trying to be. But, Dhé, Van, it is hard going!"
"Alan..." She searched his face. "I care for you, you know that. But I don't know if it is enough."
He took her hands and drew her closer to him. Their faces were very near. They might have been alone in the crowded room for all the notice they took of those around them. "Let me be the one to worry about that," he said.
The temptation to give in to him was tremendous. Edward was so far away now. In her mind she had given him up. Yet still she hesitated. Don't do anything rash, he had said to her. Marrying Alan was exactly the thing he had been cautioning her against; she knew that well. But they were at war, and Alan might be killed.... "I need a little more time, Alan," she said breathlessly. "I don't know." She made a resolve. "When you come back to Inverness, I'll answer you then."
His eyes began to turn from green to gold. He was the closest he had ever been to getting what he wanted, and he knew it. He was not fool enough to push her now. "All right, m'eudail," he said gently. "I can wait until then."
Van lay awake for a long time that night, turning over in her mind what had passed between her and Alan. She was not sure she would be doing the right thing to marry him. She did not love him at all in the way she had loved Edward. What she felt for Alan was deep affection and respect. She did not ache for him to take her into his arms, the way she did every time Edward looked at her. But she and Edward were finished. Would it not be easier for her to bear that if she were not alone, if she had someone else to care for and live for? She could make a life with Alan. She could stand by him and help him and bear his children and find some measure of contentment with him. But would that be enough for Alan? He loved her more than she did him; she knew that well enough. Would it be fair to saddle him with a marriage in which he would be the one doing most of the giving?
"Let me be the one to worry about that," he had said.
She went to sleep still not knowing what it was that she should do.
The months they spent in Inverness were a time of great happiness for Frances. Alasdair had refused a chance to join Lochiel's expedition to the Great Glen and she knew he had done so only because he wanted to be with her. After so many months of desolation, it. was almost unbearably sweet to have him again.
February passed and March was almost over. Frances and Alasdair sat together in the narrow parlor of their house on Church Street one evening listening to the wind rattle the shutters and smiling at each other whenever their eyes chanced to meet. Frances was doing some embroidery and Alasdair was reading a book. They had sent Jean and Van off alone to the prince's reception this evening and elected to remain home together.
Alasdair closed his book and stretched. "I'm sorry we don't have a harpsichord here," he said when she looked at him. "I would like to hear you play again, mo chridhe."
Her fingers stilled. The way he had said that... "When this is all over, I'll play for you every day," she said with an effort at lightness.
He did not reply and, almost fearfully, she looked into his face. It was very quiet, very calm. He saw her look and smiled reassuringly. "That will be nice."
"Alasdair." She put down her embroidery. They had not spoken of the future all this winter. Deliberately she had not talked of it, thought of it. But now she asked steadily, "What is going to happen to us all?"
He shook his head. "I do not know, Frances." His gray eyes on hers were clear and peaceful. "If we fail at this enterprise, we may well have to go to France."
She went to sit beside him on the sofa. "I don't mind that," she said, her head resting comfortably against his shoulder. "I don't care where I go, as long as I have you."
He touched his cheek to her hair. After a minute Frances closed her eyes. The beat of his heart against her cheek was so comforting. "What time is it?" she murmured finally. "Van and Jean should be home soon."
She could feel his chest expand under her cheek. He drew another deep breath and then said the words that effectively destroyed all her peace. "I have been thinking, Frances, that we should get Jean away to France now."
She felt herself go rigid. "What do you mean?" she demanded.
He answered carefully. "It is as I said before: I do not know what is going to happen. It would be well to safeguard the heir." He paused. Then, even more carefully, "Perhaps you would accompany her, m'eudail."
"No." Frances sat up. "No," she said again, flatly, definitely. "I will go to France only if you go too."
Their eyes met. Then, "All right," he said quietly.
Frances' eyes were strained-looking but she spoke softly. "Is it really necessary to send Jean, Alasdair?"
"It would be... wise," came the cautious reply.
She wet her lips. "Send Van with her, then."
"No." His negative was as strong as hers had been. "No. I want Van with you."
Dear God. I must be calm, Frances thought frantically, I must not let him see how frightened I am.
"I doubt that Jean will want to go," she managed to get out.
"I will speak to Niall when he returns to Inverness." Alasdair frowned thoughtfully. "She can go to Lochiel's brother, John Cameron of Fassefern. He is in France and he will look after her."
"Yes," said Frances in an unsteady voice, "you must discuss this matter with Niall."
The girls came in and she made a tremendous effort to behave normally, to hide from them and from Alasdair the terror that had suddenly filled her heart. It was not until she was lying awake next to her sleeping husband that she allowed her mind to dwell upon his words.
He had told her so much more than he had ever meant to.
He wanted to hear her play the harpsichord because he did not think he would ever have the opportunity to hear her again.
He wanted Van to stay with her.
He wanted Jean safely in France.
He was afraid he and Niall were going to be killed.
Dear God. Dear God. Dear God.
She was so cold.
It won't happen, she thought. It can't happen. But she knew that it could.
She pressed closer to Alasdair's warm back and laid her hand and cheek against it to try to draw from him the courage and the strength she knew she would need in order to face the future.
Fort Augustus fell to the Highlanders but after a full month of siege Fort William still held out. At the beginning of April Lochiel raised the siege and returned to Inverness.
Niall was delighted to be finished with siege work. Cumberland's army was showing signs of getting ready to move out of winter quarters in Aberdeen and Niall was looking forward to some real action. Consequently, his interview with his father came as a severe shock.
"You've made arrangements to send Jeannie to France?" Niall repeated, bewildered and beginning to get angry. "She said nothing of this to me!"
"She doesn't know," Alasdair returned calmly. "I have made arrangements but I waited for you to come back before speaking to her. Of course I would not do anything final until I consulted with you, Niall."
Niall was slightly mollified but stil
l bewildered. "If you are worried about her safety in Inverness, then we can send her to Morar, Father. She will be safe there."
"If we lose this upcoming battle, my son," Alasdair said somberly, "nowhere in Scotland will be safe."
Niall's black brows met in almost a straight line. "We won't lose, Father. We've always beaten them before."
"We have lost a great number of men, Niall. We are at least two thousand men under strength right now."
"The Sassenach are afraid of us," Niall insisted.
"These troops with Cumberland are hardened veterans fresh from the French war. And they have had several months of drilling in how to withstand a Highland charge."
Niall had never heard his father sound so negative. "You are too gloomy, Father," he said abruptly.
"Perhaps. I hope so. But it would be well for us to safeguard the heir. Do you wish your ghost to see strangers in Morar, my son?"
Niall's head came up quickly. "No. Of course not!"
"Well, then, send Jean to France. Lady Lochiel has found someone to accompany her. She will go to Fassefern; he will take care of her."
Niall's lips were thin. "Why can't Mother go with her?"
"Your mother has refused to leave."
"Well, Van then."
Alasdair spoke patiently. "Niall, I cannot leave your mother here alone to face what she will face. Van must stay with her. And, too, someone must be here to look after the clan back in Morar."
Niall stared into his father's eyes and realized, with deep shock, that Alasdair expected to die.
"Father..." His face was white. "Is it that bad?"
"There is no money, Niall," came the measured reply. "The gold from France was captured by English ships on March 25. I am reduced to paying my men with meal, and that is short as well. Hay of Restalrig has replaced Murray of Broughton as secretary and he is not competent." Alasdair's gray eyes were clear and steady. "I do not know what will happen," he said, "but it is best to be prepared."
"I see," said Niall. He cleared his throat. "Very well, I'll tell Jean she must go to France."
