by Joan Wolf
Van stared at her husband, her heart in her eyes. "I do trust you," she said. "I trust you more than anyone else in the world. And I love you..."
He reached for her, pulled her up onto his lap, his arms cradling her close, his lips in her hair. "I know," he said. They sat quietly for some minutes, Van with her eyes closed, feeling perfectly sheltered and safe. He spoke into her hair. "One day soon this will all be over," he said. "One day soon you will make music again." She pressed closer to him, and his arms around her tightened.
It had begun to rain by the time they went upstairs to bed. It beat against the windows of their bedroom, hard and relentless, sweeping in from the sea to cover the loch and the land. Van tried to ignore it, to seek refuge in her husband's nearness, his pulsing strength, the safety of his great body.
There were French ships in Loch nan Uamh and she had not told Edward. "I trust you," she had said to him, and she did. She trusted in his wisdom, in his kindness, in the breadth of his vision, and in his perception of morality. She did not think that he would betray the ships' presence to the government.
But she could not burden him with that decision. She lay in his arms, listening to his heartbeat, and thought of what he had said earlier. He had known all along that Alan's body was not that of the prince. What would happen to Edward if the government became aware of his deception?
He would be accused of helping the prince to escape. He would be labeled a Jacobite. People would say that his wife had converted him. He could even be arrested himself.
The military leaders in Scotland were not happy with the Earl of Linton; she had seen that in various ways over the last six weeks. They were not happy with his shiploads of food, with his protection of Morar, with his outspoken disapproval of their tactics. They would love a chance to vindicate their own actions, to put Edward in the wrong.
He could not be implicated in the prince's escape. For his own sake, he must be kept ignorant. He must be able to swear, with a clear conscience, that he had known nothing of Charles Stuart's movements at any time.
Would he ever forgive her?
"Listen to the rain," his voice said softly into the darkness above her head. It beat so hard now against the glass that it drowned out the sound of his heartbeat. Edward's arms were a refuge for her no longer.
CHAPTER 32
Lachlan discovered from a clansman of Lochiel's the whereabouts of the Cameron chief, and made for Ben Alder in order to search him out. Van had told Lachlan to first find Lochiel, as he was the person most likely to know the whereabouts of the prince.
For so long now the Highlands had been covered with troops and guarded like a city in a siege, that the easy going he had surprised the MacIan clansman. The government, however, was now convinced that the prince had gone to the east coast to make his escape, and so the guard on the west had been relaxed.
Lachlan was accosted by a MacPherson clansman on the slopes of Ben Alder and, once he had identified himself, conducted to the cave where the MacPherson chief was entertaining royalty.
Lachlan's message put the prince and his entire party into holiday spirits. "What fine, brave women these Highlanders are," Charles said to Niall. "Your sister has the heart of a lion."
Niall thought of that other brave woman, Flora MacDonald, now in prison in Edinburgh, and a little of the spark left his eyes. Van was putting herself into danger for them, but he did not see how it could be helped.
They left Ben Alder at one in the morning on the thirteenth of September and began their final journey through the Highlands, going north at first between Ben Alder and Loch Ericht, then west through the Ben Alder Forest and past the south end of Loch Laggan toward Glen Roy. They moved at night and lay hidden and rested by day. They crossed Glen Roy and the river Lochy by moonlight, in a boat that leaked badly the whole way, and came for the last time to Lochiel's ruined house of Achnacarry.
"We are to hide in the cave at Morar and get word to my sister we are there," Niall said as they sat in the moonlight eating the cow Archie Cameron had killed and the bannocks Lachlan had baked. "She will let us know when the French ships reappear."
The whole party of fugitive Jacobites marched through the mountains the following night and by morning they were in Morar. It was the seventeenth of September, eleven days after Van had sent Lachlan to find them.
Edward had missed Lachlan. Van made the excuse that the Highlander had a girl over near Achnacarry and that he was off visiting. To her relief, Edward seemed to accept the explanation. When Lachlan's absence extended to a week's time, however, he mentioned it again. This time Van said that she thought Lachlan had probably got married, a possibility he had thought might happen. Edward looked a little puzzled, but she did not try to embroider the tale further, knowing the less said in a lie the better, and he had once again let the matter drop.
Van had been going out to the cave every morning for the last three days, and on the morning of the seventeenth she found what she had been looking for. Niall and the prince were there, with Lochiel and his brother, Dr. Cameron, Lochgarry, and John Roy Steward. She flung herself into Niall's arms.
"The ships are to return to Loch nan Uamh very shortly," she said as she huddled with the men inside the cave. "MacDonald of Boisdale is to notify me the moment he sees them. I will then get word to you."
"I will go to keep watch also, my lady," Lachlan offered.
Van hesitated and then agreed. "All right, Lachlan. It will be best if you keep out of Lord Linton's way for a while. He thinks you are at Loch Arkaig, getting married."
Lachlan looked distinctly startled and Niall grinned. "Just hope Margaret doesn't hear that, my boy," he said.
"Aye," replied Lachlan so fervently that even Charles laughed.
Lachlan was concealed in the undergrowth on the south shore of Loch nan Uamh, with the sun of mid-September striking low across the still water, when the first sign of sails appeared, moving silently up the loch from the Sound of Arisaig. The flag was British. Lachlan waited breathlessly while the ship anchored. After a short pause a boat was lowered and began to row toward the shore. Lachlan went to meet it.
The French lieutenant who first greeted Lachlan spoke adequate English, although he had to struggle to understand Lachlan's accent.
"Where is the prince?" he repeated impatiently, not comprehending Lachlan's explanation but hearing only the name of the man he was searching for.
"In Morar," Lachlan replied as distinctly as he could. "He is waiting for you in Morar. He will meet you here tomorrow night."
"In Morar." The Frenchman's brow cleared. "Tomorrow night. Very well. Tell his highness that we will call in Loch Morar tomorrow night after dark. We will anchor one-half mile up the loch. Do you understand that?" The Frenchman looked intently at Lachlan.
"No." Lachlan made one more attempt. "The prince will come here tomorrow night."
But the Frenchman shook his head. "It is not necessary. We can come to Loch Morar. Tomorrow night."
Lachlan gave it up. "Tomorrow night. One-half mile up the loch. Aye. They will be there."
Satisfied, the Frenchman nodded and returned to his boat. Lachlan did not wait to see him taken aboard before he slipped away to make the journey over the hills to Morar.
The French ship would be anchoring within view of the castle. Lady Van was going to be angry, but there had been little Lachlan could do. Besides, Lord Linton would not stop them. Lachlan was very sure of that. Lord Linton was too good a man to wish ill to Mac mhic Iain.
Van did not get out to the cave until the afternoon of the nineteenth. A grim-faced Niall met her with the news of the new rendezvous.
She was furious. "You could not possibly have been stupid enough to tell them to come to Loch Morar," she said to Lachlan, her eyes blazing like a tiger's. "You know Lord Linton's position! You know how unsafe Morar would be!"
"I could not help it, my lady," Lachlan replied wretchedly. They were speaking in Gaelic. "The French soldier could not understand me when
I tried to explain. All he would say was that they would come to Loch Morar. Tonight. One-half mile up the loch."
"In full view of the castle," Van said to Niall.
"Only if you look from the west windows," Niall replied. "Can't you keep Linton away from them, Van?" Niall's mouth was set in a thin, straight line. "Occupy him with other matters," he said.
Two pairs of light eyes met. "You don't understand, Niall," Van said. "I am not afraid of Edward's stopping you. I am afraid of his being implicated. After all he has done—for me, for you, for Morar—we owe it to him not to compromise his integrity in the eyes of his government. He does not deserve to end in the Tower, Niall!"
"No one need know that we sailed out of Loch Morar," Niall replied.
"These things always get out," Van said grimly. "The L'Heureux has already taken aboard a number of Jacobite fugitives. It is not likely that they will all hold their tongues."
"And your own safety is at risk as well," Dr. Cameron said gravely.
"The ship will be in Loch Morar this evening," Charles said impatiently. "What, then, do you suggest we do?" His question was directed to the group in general and for his answer there was silence.
Finally Van spoke. "You must leave from Loch nan Uamh as originally planned. With the watch on the west lifted, Edward can reasonably say he had no knowledge of your activities."
The men exchanged glances. Then Lochiel spoke. "Very well, Van. We have waited for five months, we can surely wait another day or so."
But Van was shaking her head. "No. You must go tonight as planned. I will meet the French ship in Loch Morar and redirect it to Loch nan Uamh. It is a short sail around Arisaig—you will be able to board well before dawn. But you must leave for Loch nan Uamh immediately."
The men were nodding and looking distinctly relieved when Niall said, "It's a good plan, Van, all except for the part of your meeting the ship. There is no need for you to go yourself. Send Lachlan."
Van's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "No. There can be no confusion this night, Niall. I speak French and Lachlan does not." She smiled at her brother, a brief, flashing smile of gaiety and reassurance. "Do you not worry. I will dress as a clansman and bundle my hair under a bonnet. No one will know the messenger is Lady Linton."
Irresistibly, Niall smiled back. "Our father would be proud of you, my sister," he said.
Van bowed her head, but it was not of her father she was thinking.
The prince's party prepared to leave for the shores of Loch nan Uamh, the very place where he had landed fourteen months before, where Alasdair and Lochiel had first pledged him their support.
Charles held Van's hand in his for a moment before he left the cave. "God will bless you for your true heart and your bravery," he said. He flung up his head and pronounced ringingly, "I promise you, I will be back!"
Niall and all the other dedicated men who had followed him so faithfully cried out strongly, "Aye!" and "God bless your highness!" But Van looked at the bearded face of their bonnie prince and thought fiercely: May you never return to Scotland, Charles Stuart.
"He has the right," she had told Edward once. But as she looked now at the man who was taking his leave, she saw only the devastation his coming had brought to the Highlands. No one had the right to do that to anyone else, she thought. He would go back to Europe, to the life he had led there, but the country that had rallied so loyally to his call was in ashes. Her father was dead. Lochiel and Niall and all these others, who had not counted the cost, were condemned to the land of exile. No, she thought bleakly as she watched the party of men disappear into the mountains, I pray I never see Charles Stuart again.
All the way back to the castle she thought about how she was going to keep Edward away from the loch that night. A dozen plans, all of them fallible, presented themselves and were discarded. She finally decided she would instruct Alan Ruadh to bring news of soldiers burning and looting in the north of Morar. That would get Edward away from the castle for the night and give her time to accomplish her errand.
When she got home she sent for Alan Ruadh, who proved surprisingly reluctant to fall in with her plans.
"Lord Linton may be a Sassenach, Lady Van, but he has been a good chief to us," Alan said stoutly. "I am not liking to lie to him."
"I know, Alan," Van said. "I feel the same way. But it is for his own good, don't you see? I do not want him involved with the prince's escape. You don't want to see Lord Linton arrested, do you?"
"Na," said Alan, but he still looked reluctant.
"Your chief is Mac mhic Iain," Van said sternly. "He is the one who commands your loyalty, and it is he who will be escaping this night, Alan Ruadh."
"Mac mhic Iain is our chief," Alan agreed, "and as his father's son, I honor him as such. But the one who has been a father to the clan these last months is Lord Linton." He looked at her wretchedly. "What am I to say to him, my lady, when he sees there are no soldiers?"
"Tell him you were acting under my orders," Van said. "He will not hold it against you, Alan. Tell him it was my command."
The clansman's brow cleared slightly. "He is a good man, Lord Linton, and I would not wish him to be angry with me. I will do as you say."
"Good," said Van. "Come with the news at seven o'clock. And you must insist that you start out immediately!"
"Aye, my lady," said Alan resignedly, and took his leave.
Van sat for a long time staring at the large terrestrial globe which sat in the corner of the library, where she had interviewed Alan. Edward was going to be so angry with her, but she did not see what else she was to do.
Alan came promptly at seven as arranged. Morag showed him into the drawing room, where Van and Edward were sitting, and he delivered his story in a mixture of Gaelic and English that was very effective.
Edward frowned. "Soldiers in Morar? Soldiers from where? We have heard nothing of soldiers for weeks."
"I do not know, my lord," Alan replied. "But they are saighdearan dearg, and they have burned the cottage of Fergus of the Loy. They are moving toward Glen Achon, and there is a village there, as you know. The people are fearful. They know all too well what the saighdearan dearg did in Knoidart."
Edward's expression became grim as he too remembered Knoidart. "Will you come?" Alan asked, and Edward rose to his feet.
"There won't be anything happening at this hour," he said to Van, "and if I leave now, I'll be there in the morning to put a stop to whatever plans the bastards might have in mind."
There was such an aching cramp in her heart. He was so good, and to be deceiving him this way... Very briefly her eyes met Alan Ruadh's and she knew he was thinking the same thing. Van straightened her back. It was for his own good. It had to be done. "Very well, Edward," she said. "I think you are right."
"Were the soldiers from Fort Augustus?" Edward asked Alan.
"I do not know, my lord, where they are from," Alan replied simply. "But they have burned Fergus of the Loy's cottage."
"All right. I understand. Wait here, Alan, and I'll go and change." After Edward had left the room, Alan and Van waited in perfect silence, avoiding looking at each other. The earl was back in fifteen minutes, wearing a much-used riding coat and boots. "Let's go, Alan," he said, and as Alan turned to leave the room Edward bent over Van's chair and kissed her briefly. "I'll sort this out, sweetheart," he said comfortingly. "There must be some kind of mistake."
"Yes," Van said, "I'm sure there is." She smiled at him a little unsteadily and went to the window as soon as he had followed Alan out the door. From the front window of the drawing room she eventually saw them come out the door of the castle and begin to walk down the path toward the loch. They would cross the loch, she knew, and take to the hills on the other side, going north toward Knoidart. After they passed out of her sight, Van went to sit again in her chair and stare sightlessly into space. She felt like a traitor. But it's for his own good! she kept repeating to herself. It's for his own good.
The question was, would
Edward see that?
An hour after Edward had left, Van, dressed in trews and with her hair hidden under a bonnet, went down to the loch herself and got into the other boat. She rowed herself down the loch some quarter of a mile and waited near the shore, leaning on her oars and watching down the loch toward the sea.
She did not have long to wait. At about ten o'clock a ship came into sight, moving silently up the quiet ' waters of Loch Morar. Van waited until it had anchored and then rowed out to meet it.
She was taken aboard almost immediately and demanded to speak to the captain. Her interview with that individual, conducted in perfect French, was short and to the point. The ship was to sail back to Loch nan Uamh immediately and there it would find the prince and a few of his faithful friends. Loch Morar was not safe. It was the home of the Earl of Linton, an Englishman and loyal Government supporter. Van emphasized this latter point several times. The earl would like to see the prince captured. Morar was not safe. They must go to Loch nan Uamh.
In less than half an hour the French ship had weighed anchor again and sailed down the loch on its way around the Arisaig peninsula to Loch nan Uamh. Once there, it took on its royal cargo and, between two and three in the dark of a September morning, it sailed southwest out of Loch nan Uamh and into the Atlantic.
CHAPTER 33
Van did not sleep at all that night. Nor had she eaten much the previous evening, but even so the nauseous feeling that had been haunting her mornings of late reappeared. She was pale-faced and big-eyed when she met Lachlan in the library at seven-thirty in the morning to hear his tale of the prince's escape.
