by Joan Wolf
"So I had thought. That was before I realized you were simply staying as far away from the 'lord conqueror' as you decently could."
It was a moment before she realized he was quoting her own words back at her. She had called him a lord conqueror, she remembered. She looked now at the flinty expression on his face and understood that she had hurt him deeply.
Oh, God. What a stinking, rotten, disgusting mess she was making of this marriage.
She turned her back. She could not bear to look at him, could not bear to see that expression on his face.* She closed her eyes. "I wish we were at Staplehurst," she said. "I wish none of this had ever happened."
She heard the sudden sharp intake of his breath. "Do you mean that?" he asked.
At the note in his voice she opened her eyes. "Of course I do. The prince has brought us nothing but sorrow."
"Not that." His voice told her he was coming closer and she turned to face him. He was looking impatient. "Do you mean what you said about wishing to be at Staplehurst?" *
She thought of the beautiful golden stone house, the green fields, the horses in their pastures, the peace... to be there with Edward, to be able to love him in rightness, with a whole heart. To be able make music again. "Oh, yes," she cried in an aching voice. "Oh, yes, Edward, I do!"
He was looming over her, the golden stubble on his cheeks very evident now he was so close.
"Christ." Then he was holding her against him, holding her so tightly that her ribs ached. She didn't care, but flung her own arms around his neck and blindly lifted her face to his. She kissed him passionately and saw in his narrowed, concentrated eyes what was in his mind. The strength gave way in her knees and she swayed against him. Everything in her gave way. He might do with her as he liked. She didn't care about herself anymore, could not bear to be only herself, alone. So lonely. It was so lonely without him. Edward. She quivered all over as he unhooked the gown Fionna had just fastened, and reached up eagerly to draw him to her when he came to her on the bed.
He slid into her slowly and they lay very still for a long time, holding each other, scarcely breathing, afraid to move because that would trigger passion and they did not want passion just yet, only this quiet, this blissful, quiet union. Finally, however, the male in Edward could take no more, and he stirred and moved, and very shortly had brought them both to a familiar precipice from which they plunged wildly to earth, together.
"I will send the Sea Queen to Dublin as soon as she returns from France," Edward said to Van as they sat together in the office the following morning going over lists.
"There will be an influx of refugees into Morar once word gets out what you are doing," Van said.
He was looking at a paper, a very faint frown between his brows. "I don't care about that," he said absently.
Van's eyes were troubled. "What will the government say?"
His frown deepened very faintly. "I don't care about that, either." His eyes looked steadily into hers. She was seated on the opposite side of the desk, directly across from him. "I will give no shelter to Charles Stuart, though. Van. I promised the duke and I mean to keep that promise. Do you understand me?"
"Yes." It was the greatest effort of her life to sustain that blue gaze.
"I don't care about these other wretched souls," he went on. "Shelter as many old friends as you wish. But not the prince." There was a long silence as their eyes held. Then, "Do I have your promise on that, Van?"
Her face was bloodless. The skin under her eyes looked bruised. He knew what he was forcing on her but he felt it was necessary. "Do I have your promise, Van?" he asked again.
Her pale lips moved. "Yes," she said. "I promise."
It was the night of June 21, the shortest night of the year, when Niall and Charles Stuart walked over the moor to the summer shieling in South Uist, where Flora MacDonald was tending her brother's cattle. Neil MacEachain hid them in a barn while he went to talk to Flora. The moon was bright as Niall and Charles watched the schoolmaster cross the yard and enter the small house.
"If we do not get off this island very shortly, MacIan," the prince said somberly, "we are done for."
Niall knew he was right. The hounds were yapping at their heels and escape across the sea was their only hope. In the semidarkness of the barn the two pairs of eyes, one light and one dark, met and held. "I shall never forget you, my friend," said Charles Stuart.
Niall's teeth flashed white in the blackness of his beard. "I will hold your highness to that promise when you are come into your own." After a moment the prince grinned back. "Here is MacEachain," Niall said, his eyes swinging over Charles's shoulder to the man approaching them from across the yard.
"Come with me," said the schoolmaster, and the two figures followed him to the shieling, where they entered through the low door, ducking their heads in similar gestures. They were greeted by a grave-faced girl in her early twenties, who curtsied to Charles.
"Mistress MacDonald's stepfather is Hugh MacDonald of Armadale in Skye, your highness," MacEachain explained. "He is an officer in the militia and could certainly issue Flora a passport to cross to Skye to see her mother." MacEachain looked at the girl. "And, Flora, could you not also get a passport for a servant to accompany you?"
Flora MacDonald's serious young eyes looked troubled. She looked at the prince. "I would like to help you, your highness, but my stepfather is a captain in Sir Alexander MacDonald's regiment. It would go hard with him should Sir Alexander find out that I had assisted in this deception."
"Sir Alexander MacDonald of Sleat is one of the two great lairds of Skye, sir," Niall explained in a brief aside to the prince.
"Aye," said Flora. "And he is for the government."
"Sir Alexander is at Fort Augustus, Flora," Neil MacEachain said persuasively. "And you have good cause to go to Skye to visit your mother. There is no reason for anyone to know of your part in this affair."
Still the girl hesitated. Niall held his breath. If this chance should fail, they were doomed. He felt it in his bones. The hunt was too close for them to escape it much longer.
The prince smiled at Flora, training on her all of the legendary Stuart charm. Ragged and bearded though he was, the charm was still potent. Thousands of men had gone to their graves during the last one hundred years because of the Stuart charisma. "I beg you, Mistress Flora," he said. "Will you not help your prince?"
Flora was no more proof against that plea than Alasdair MacIan had been. She wavered visibly and then, against her better judgment as well, she said, "Yes, your highness. I will help you."
It was only then that Niall discovered that he had been holding his breath.
Flora agreed to leave for Benbecula immediately to secure the passports to cross to Skye. Niall, the prince, and MacEachain made for the hill of Hekla, where they could look across the shining water-patched lowlands of South Uist to the ford that led across to Benbecula. They settled themselves under a large rock and tried to get some sleep.
They waited for the entire day of the twenty-second. There was no word from Flora. By nightfall they were restless, as well as extremely hungry. MacEachain volunteered to go to Benbecula to try to discover what had happened to Flora.
Charles and Niall spent a very long night under their rock. Niall dozed fitfully, dreaming of Jean. He fell into a deeper sleep close to morning and, as happened too often, the nightmares moved in. He woke from the horrors of Culloden to find the prince's hand on his shoulder, shaking him roughly. He opened his eyes fully and saw Neil MacEachain approaching their rock. Niall sat up, fully alert.
"What has happened?" Charles demanded as soon as the schoolmaster was within earshot.
"Flora was detained at the ford by the militia the other night, and they arrested me as well," MacEachain explained breathlessly. "However, all is well now. MacDonald of Armadale, Flora's stepfather, arrived in Benbecula and he will issue passports for Skye. We are to meet Mistress MacDonald at Rossinish to make the crossing."
; The trip to Rossinish, through closely guarded country, to a shore under constant patrol, was a new chapter to be added to Niall's collection of nightmares. It had begun to rain again, heavy and merciless, and they sheltered under rocks as best they could, dodging the militia, getting thoroughly drenched and bitten by the midges that had come out with the warmer weather. At last they reached the bothy near Rossinish where they were to wait for news from Flora. Wrapped in their plaids, a weary Niall and Charles lay down in front of a smoky peat fire and slept like schoolboys.
In the morning they were visited by two young MacDonald militia men, who told the prince that a boat had been made ready and they were to be the crew.
"God bless the MacDonalds," Charles said with a laugh when the two youngsters had gone out into the yard.
"The MacDonalds are not traitors, whatever the service they may be forced to join," said Niall of the militiamen.
For a brief, glorious moment, it seemed that Benbecula was free of the hunters. Lady Clanranald arrived at the bothy during the course of the afternoon, along with Flora and her brother Angus. They found Niall, the prince, and the two young MacDonald militiamen cooking dinner. There was a great deal of laughter as the whole group sat down to eat, particularly when Lady Clanranald disclosed the news that they had decided to disguise Charles as a woman servant in order to throw off suspicion. His name was to be Betty Burke.
It was Niall, who had gone to the door for a breath of air, who first saw the man running toward the bothy. The runner brought fearful news. General Campbell had just landed on Benbecula with a force of fifteen hundred men.
The merry party immediately broke up and, on the advice of Lady Clanranald, moved hastily to another bothy on the shore of Loch Uskavagh. The news at the loch, however, was no better. Captain Fergusson, leading an advance party of General Campbell's men, was at Lady Clanranald's home at Nunton. Further news was that the hated Captain Scott was also approaching the area with another large company of men. According to the scout, the government forces in the area amounted to about twenty-three hundred men.
Lady Clanranald departed immediately for home to try to save her roof from burning. Left in the bothy, Flora and the men made their plans. Flora's passport was for herself, a maid, and a manservant. Charles was to be the maid and Niall the manservant, and the prince, with numerous curses, donned the women's clothes Lady Clanranald had supplied.
The boat was in the loch, a small shallop of less than eighteen feet, and they waited until the sky darkened to board. They had to row for the first four hours, but then the wind came up and they raised the sail.
At two o'clock the following afternoon they landed on a beach near Kilbride. They were in Skye.
Lady Margaret MacDonald, wife of Sir Alexander MacDonald of Sleat, was entertaining Lieutenant MacLeod of the local militia in her dining room when word was passed to her that the prince had landed on her beach. Sir Alexander was a staunch government supporter and Lady Margaret was a Jacobite. She had no wish to see the prince taken, but neither did she wish to compromise her husband's position. Lady Margaret was in a quandary. In desperation she sent for her factor, MacDonald of Kingsburgh, and the two quickly made their plans.
Niall, who had been the one to bring the news of their landing to Lady Margaret, was dispatched back to the beach to send Flora to the house to talk to Lieutenant MacLeod. The militia had orders to search all ships coming from the Long Island. Flora must show her passports and convince the young man that it was not necessary for him to physically inspect the boat's passengers.
Kingsburgh, the prince, and Niall conferred on the beach and it was decided the fugitives should spend the night at Kingsburgh's house. Niall was dispatched back to Sir Alexander's to fetch Flora and bring her as well. Flora bade farewell to a charmed and well-fed Lieutenant MacLeod and a nervous Lady Margaret, who provided them with horses, and set off with Niall for the house of Kingsburgh, some seven miles distant. About halfway there they caught up with the prince and Kingsburgh, who were on foot.
It was Sunday evening and there were people on the road coming home from church. Niall saw immediately the astonished looks directed at Kingsburgh and his odd, gawky companion. As Niall and Flora came up behind them, Charles waded across a small stream, lifting his skirts immodesty high. The sight would have been funny, Niall thought, had it not been so dangerous. He spoke to Charles in a low, urgent tone. "For God's sake, sir, take care what you are doing or you will certainly discover yourself."
Charles looked around, startled, and then he grinned. At the next stream he deliberately let his skirt hang so long it trailed in the water.
It was nearing eleven o'clock when they finally reached Kingsburgh's house. They fell into bed, exhausted. Niall felt as if he were in heaven; it was the first time in months that he had slept between sheets. But the morning brought no further comfort. Militia units were stationed all over the shores of Skye.
"You are not safe here," Kingsburgh said. "You must get away from Skye."
"And go where, for God's sake?" Charles demanded angrily. He too had enjoyed his night in a comfortable bed and was loath to leave.
It was Niall who answered. "We must get across to the mainland, sir." Niall looked at Kingsburgh. "Is that possible?"
"I can get you to Raasay, I think," Kingsburgh returned, frowning. "The Laird of Raasay's eldest son, young Rona, will help. Raasay was with your highness's army, you will remember, but young Rona was left at home to fabricate an appearance of government loyalty and so save the estate from confiscation. From Raasay you may be able to cross to the mainland."
"But where on the mainland are we to go?" Charles asked impatiently. "There are government troops all over the west."
"Not in Morar," said Niall. "Morar is presently under the protection of the Earl of Linton, who is married to my sister."
"Linton!" said Charles, clearly surprised. "The Romneys of Linton are Whigs, MacIan, and no friends to the Stuarts."
"And that is why no one will look for you in Morar, sir." Niall's light eyes were glowing. "My sister will help us. There is a cave we both know of that is perfectly hidden. If we can go to ground for long enough, the hunt may go elsewhere. Then, with the seas clear, the French will be able to send us a ship."
Charles looked thoughtful. Then he said slowly, "Very well." He gave Niall a weary smile. "It is a destination, at least. Let us go to Morar."
CHAPTER 28
The first shipload of food arrived from Ireland at the beginning of July. Van watched with admiration and pride as her husband efficiently directed the unloading of the yacht, the organization of the foodstuffs for various destinations, and finally the loading of the ponies that were to deliver the food to the glens. She was at his side for the three full days that the entire operation took, serving as interpreter between him and the Gaelic-speaking clansmen who were their workers. Edward had picked up enough Gaelic to make himself understood most of the time, but he still had difficulty understanding what was being said to him.
It was a beautiful, warm summer day when the last of the ponies was finally sent off. Van and Edward stood together on the shore of the loch and Edward said, "Do you know, in all the time I have been here, I have never been down to the sea?"
Van's eyes widened in astonishment. "You have not?"
He shook his head slowly, his eyes still on the glistening, pure waters of Loch Morar.
Van's eyes, the same gray-green color as the loch, suddenly sparkled. "Let's go now," she said. "We can taken the dinghy."
Edward looked down at her and smiled faintly. "I think we deserve an afternoon to ourselves." He gestured toward the boat. "After you, my lady."
Van glanced down at her clothing and laughed. She was wearing trews and brogues and her hair was done in a single thick braid. She did not look at all like a countess. Edward was dressed almost as casually as she, in breeches and boots and a white open-necked shirt with no coat.
"Thank you, my lord," she replied mockingly, and pre
ceded him down the incline to where the small boat lay moored. Edward pushed off, and they were out on the water, alone. The only sound in the world seemed to be the slap of the oars on the water and the cry of the birds in the mountains. The sun was warm, the sky a deep cobalt blue with a few high white clouds. Van drew a deep breath. She was happy.
"What a marvelous place to grow up in," Edward said.
Van looked at her husband as he rowed them so easily through the water. He had rolled his shirt sleeves up and the sun glinted on the golden hairs of his bare arms. He was looking about him as he spoke.
"Staplehurst is beautiful too," she said.
"Yes. Staplehurst is beautiful. But in a very different way from Morar. Staplehurst is man's beauty." His eyes met her. "Morar is God's," he said.
His skin was tanned golden from the summer sun, his blond head bleached even fairer than usual. How she loved him, Van thought. Just seeing him walk into a room made her want to cry. She smiled into his blue eyes and said, "Wait until you see the beach."
The glittering white beach of Morar was everything she had said it was. Edward stood perfectly quietly, gazing about him, and Van felt as if she had been able to give him a fabulous present. The sand was perfectly smooth, except for the little arrow-like footprints of the birds.
"Niall and I used to chase the waves," she said.
Edward sat down on the sand and began to pull off his boots. "Let's walk along the shore," he said, and she smiled in delight.
They walked hand in hand down the beach, letting the cold, clean water roll up around their bare feet, and Van talked of her childhood.
"Niall and I used to bring our ponies down here," she said, watching her bare feet splash through the oncoming wave. "We would gallop up and down the beach, playing tag. And we would make marvelous castles in the sand, then gallop our ponies over them." She laughed. "We would come home with our hair full of sand and Mother would have to wash it." She swung Edward's hand and turned her face up to the sun. "I get dark as a Gypsy in the summer," she said. "Look." And she raised her arm to hold it alongside his.
