The Pretender's Lady

by Alan Gold

  Tentatively feeling her way into the shelter through the dank light that fell in blinding beams through the holes in the roof, she cautiously inched forward, whispering “hello” to alert him to her presence. Prince Charles Edward smiled when he saw that instead of one of the Highlanders or Islanders entering his hiding place, it was the pretty young woman from Skye, Flora Macdonald. She was the girl engaged to Alan Macdonald, a handsome if somewhat forward girl who spoke her mind in a forthright way.

  He was delighted that she’d come to visit him. Flora was so unlike the ladies of the French and Italian courts with whom he spent much of his life; ladies who devoted entire mornings and afternoons trying on new dresses and jewellery and wigs just so they could preen and parade coquettishly in the night time courtly festivities. No such coquetry with Mistress Macdonald, however, for on his one and only meeting with the young woman, she’d proven herself to be bold and seductively outspoken. It had taken him aback somewhat, but during the meeting on the moors, his eyes had always seemed to turn toward her when he should have been listening to her father and her brother. And in her innocence, she hadn’t for one moment noticed that he had been looking admiringly at her. Innocence and forthrightness all in the one young woman! It wasn’t something he was used to in the courts of Europe, but it was disarmingly attractive.

  He smiled as she felt her way into the gloom of the barn and thought again about the ladies of the European courts. What would they make of her? No doubt, Mistress Flora Macdonald would be an object of both curiosity and ridicule. Yet for all the airs and pretensions and graces of the fine French and Italian ladies he knew so well, he found Flora to be . . . he searched for the correct word . . . refreshing.

  The prince remained in hiding until she was well into the barn, and it was obvious that she wasn’t being followed. She continued to look around tentatively, calling his name in a whisper.

  “Good morning to you, Mistress Macdonald. How very pleasant it is to see you. I’d expected your father or your brother, but a visit from you is a joy to my heart.”

  He threw off the covering of straw, stood, and brushed his jacket and trousers as best he could, and jumped down from the loft. Flora smiled when she saw him and walked over, not to shake his hand but to pull the vegetation from his hair.

  “Dear God, Your Highness, but you’re a mess. Is this how you appear in the royal balls and parties I’ve read so much about?”

  He laughed. “Indeed it’s not, ma’am, for at those occasions, I’m bewigged and bejewelled, primped and powdered, gloved and glorious, and I look as immaculate as one of the Borgia popes. It’s a shame you haven’t seen me when I’m in my finery, Mistress Macdonald, for I’m the most beautiful of men. I smell of the perfumes of Araby and my trousers and coats are as colorful as the fan of a peacock. I’m a thing of wonder to behold, lean and beautiful, and all the ladies swoon as I walk past them.”

  She looked at him in surprise, and when she saw the edges of his mouth crinkling with suppressed laughter, she slapped him on the shoulders and said, “Och, away with you, you lying spleeny earth-vexing malt worm. You’ve such a way with words, I sometimes don’t know whether you’re talking from your arse or breakfast time. You make everything right side up sound upside down.”

  “When I’m in the company of sensible Highland women such as you, I’m always right side up, I promise you. Now, Mistress Macdonald, won’t you join me in a seat?” he asked, pointing her to the loft where he’d been lying. “I fear there’s too much danger if we’re down here on the ground talking. I’d like to offer you some refreshments, but all I can serve you is straw from a field of oats, and that’s a poor substitute for the ale and griddlecakes your brother was kind enough to bring to me this morning.”

  She climbed the rickety ladder first, and as she waited for the prince to ascend, she was shocked by the sudden realization that she was in the presence of a man who just a month earlier had been to her a distant and mystical event. Not a man or a prince, but an occurrence, a movement to free her and all Scotland from the clutches of the English. She viewed him not as a person, but as a personage so removed from her that even speaking his name was a kind of reverence to an otherworldly being. A month ago, had she met him in Edinburgh or in the streets of a village in Skye, she’d have fainted at being in the presence of one so great and mighty. And now she was swearing at him, hitting him on his shoulder, and preparing to lie alone on straw in a barn, something she’d only ever done with boys with whom she was romantic. It was ridiculous and extraordinary. But extraordinary times led to incongruous measures.

  He sat beside her. Even in the dimness of the light of the barn, she studied his face and his body as he settled himself back onto the straw. He was handsome in a boyish way, pretty in a feminine manner, though she found the gentleness of his face quite appealing. So many of the young men of Skye and the mainland looked like young versions of their fathers, and she had grown up surrounded by boys whose faces turned into craggy, bearded, and wild Highlanders when they became men. The prince was certainly different, for he didn’t have the rough stony looks she was used to. Yet for all his gentleness and femininity, there was a strength and intelligence in his face, as though ideas and books and conversation were more important to him than all the masculine things that mattered so much to the young men she knew.

  Yet for all that, the poor laddie looked to be out of place in an island barn on the westernmost part of Scotland. Perhaps if she were to attend one of the Court events in Paris or Rome, she’d see him in his normal surroundings and would appreciate his beauty. All her life, she’d grown up surrounded by unpretentious men, devoid of powder and wigs and fineries. Only in Edinburgh, the epicenter of sophistication, did she ever see men and women dressed in finery, though a provincial, and not a courtly finery. Not even Lady Macdonald, for whom she acted as a companion, dressed finely when she was in Skye, but would don a ragged tartan skirt and warm woollen overgarments when she was in the yard chasing away the chickens and gathering the eggs for morning breakfast.

  They made themselves comfortable and it afforded Flora the opportunity to have a second glance at Prince Charlie; it was then she decided that he was a lovely looking man. He had a high forehead and thick brown hair and a strong nose and pleasing happy eyes. If ever she gained an invitation to one of his parties and found herself alone with him . . . but she immediately put the thought out of her mind when he turned to her and said, “So why have you come here, Flora Macdonald? Delighted as I am to see you, there has to be a reason for your visit.”

  She hesitated telling him. Now her arguments seemed to be so selfish. Here she was, sitting next to a young man who’d risked his all to regain the crown stolen from him and his family by the English Parliament, and she was too mean-spirited and unworthy to offer him the little service he required.

  “Is there a reason you’re not talking to me, Miss Macdonald? Surely one who was so garrulous barely two days ago can’t have lost her power of speech in so short a space of time?”

  “No, sir, I haven’t lost my speech. It’s just that I came here to say something, and now I think I’ve changed my mind.”

  He nodded. “And what was it you came to say? And then tell me what it was that changed your mind. The reason I ask is that if my presence has so powerful an effect on a clever young woman, imagine how potent I could be in changing the mind of King George, were he to grant me an audience in St. James’s Palace. Why, using the same powers, he might take one look at me and pack his bags and return to Hanover with his dastardly brood.”

  Flora laughed. “I came here to tell you that I didn’t want to accompany you on your journey to Skye.”

  “But you’ve already told me that, ma’am. Two days ago, in the foothills of the mountain you call Beinn Mhor. You made it quite clear that as a woman soon to be wed, you . . .”

  “No, that’s not it. My father and my fiancé determined that the safest thing for you would be for me to travel by rowboat to Skye as your m
istress.”

  The prince laughed. “I have many mistresses, Flora Macdonald, all of whom are in Paris or Rome. Adding you to their number would be a delight, but I fear your Mr. Alan Macdonald might object.”

  She looked at him and burst out laughing. Again, in a reaction which would later embarrass her, she hit him on the shoulder and told him “You gorbellied lewdster. You know what kind of mistress I’m referring to. But truth to tell, I refused because I felt the danger was too great for me. If you’re caught, then it’s the gallows for anybody found with you, and I’m not even wed.”

  “And you’ve now suddenly changed your mind? I think that your initial reaction was the correct one. This will be a very dangerous crossing, and I’d hate to put you in the line of danger. You’re far too young and pretty to risk your life and liberty for one such as me,” he said. “You’ll soon wed Mr. Macdonald and have many beautiful children and a wonderful life in the Islands. No, ma’am, you shouldn’t accompany me.”

  “But I’ve changed my mind, Your Highness. I’ve decided to go with you. Yes, it’s dangerous, but it’ll be far more dangerous for you if I’m not there as your mist . . . your employer. These troopers are suspicious of everybody, and a maid traveling alone will undoubtedly arouse their suspicions. If they see you, they’ll undoubtedly search you, and how long will it be before they realize you’re a man? But if I’m there, I can brazen it out and order you to the back of the boat while I deal with the troopers. So I’ve decided that I must put my fears aside and assist my Prince in his adventure.”

  Charles smiled and gently kissed her on her hand. “You are a fine and brave young woman, Flora. If the world was full of Floras and Hughs and Alans, instead of German Georges and Fredericks and Augustuses, the world would be a much finer and more fitting place. A place for heroes. I thank you, Mistress Macdonald. I’m proud that you’ll be traveling with me. It makes my heart swell with gratitude and lights a beacon in this otherwise dark and troubled world.”

  It was many moments before she realized that he was still holding his hand. Even when she returned to her home to tell her family that she would, indeed, accompany the prince to Skye, she protected the hand from the touch of others. And lying on the straw mattress later that night before the glowing embers of the fire needed to warm the cool nights of summer, she looked at the hand, and in her mind’s eye, she imagined the prince bowing to kiss it once more. She barely slept, her heart was beating so fast.

  The following morning, as Angus was preparing to take a tray of food, concealed in a cart in case he was stopped by the troopers, Flora ran to the door and said, “Brother, I’ll take that to His Highness.”

  “Don’t worry, darling, it’s no bother.”

  “You don’t understand, Angus. If I’m to help Prince Charlie pretend to be both a woman and a seamstress, then I need to spend time with him explaining to him the many complexities of his role.”

  Angus looked at her strangely. “I think I’d better inform Hugh and Alan of this conversation. You know how particular Hugh is about these matters.”

  Flora shrugged and said, “It’s of no importance to me. But it’s important to the prince.”

  She waited while Angus disappeared inside the house. When he emerged a few minutes later, she fought to restrain her smile when he told her that both Hugh and Alan thought it an excellent idea that Flora should be the tutor to His Royal Highness.

  She immediately rushed into the house and took with her a couple of bonnets, a cloak, and hood, a pair of her boots, stockings, stays, petticoats and a ribbon she often used to tie up her hair. She laid them carefully in the cart and covered them with straw. She pushed, hauled, and trundled with the beast of a thing over the rutted pathway which led toward the sea and in the direction of the barn, fully knowing the dangers if she was stopped by troopers. But she breathed a sigh of relief when the wheels cleared the final rut in the road and she was able to push the cart toward the old barn.

  What a place for a royal head to rest, she thought, looking at the barn’s shape, all bent and torn, it’s roof shingles slipped and broken. It lay like the skeleton of a dead cow in the middle of the field.

  Having seen her coming from his hiding hole beneath the rafters and ensuring that she wasn’t being followed, the prince had jumped down and was at the door to greet her.

  “My dear Flora. Again, it’s both a surprise and a pleasure to greet you. Why is Angus not with you?”

  “Because Your highness, I’m here in order to teach you the skills of being a woman. You might dress the part, but if you walk and swagger and posture like a man, you’ll be exposed in no time, and then we’ll all swing on the gallows.”

  He opened the door and enabled her to push the cart into the barn.

  “You’re right. I hadn’t thought of that. I must learn quickly what mannerisms a woman exhibits which are different from a man’s. How clever of you to have thought of that, Mistress Macdonald.”

  “Clever maybe, but practical, certainly. I’ve brought clothes which I want you to put on so that I can show you how to look like my maidservant.”

  Together, they threw the straw off the cart and exposed both the clothes and the food. Greedily he eyed the flask containing ale and the covered bowl with its oatmeal porridge, still hot from Elizabeth’s stove.

  “Dear God, but I’m ravenous. You just don’t realize how easy it is to live and eat in a palace, where all you have to do is to look at a servant and they’ll produce sweetmeats or a glass of wine or even a ten-course banquet. But living the life of a soldier is to understand the true privations which ordinary people suffer.”

  She laughed. “And how would you know of the privations of people in these parts? If it’s been a bad summer and a cruel winter, grown men and women die of swollen bellies and starvation; mothers have no milk in their teats to feed their bairns; cattle starve for want of oatcakes or grass in the fields, and a dead cow can mean the death of an entire family. You have no conception of what it means to go hungry Your Highness.”

  Chastened, he nodded and said softly, “You’re right again, as usual. I’m thinking like a member of a royal house and not like one of his subjects. But in fairness to myself, Flora, I wasn’t like the other generals I fought against who were on the English side. Men like the Duke of Cumberland feast themselves into a stupor off the battlefield while their men eat stale tack and oats. I always ate with my commanders and insisted that my commanders shared exactly the same meals as were eaten by my men. You have to believe me.”

  She smiled and nodded. “I believe you. Now eat up your porridge or you’ll be too thin to get into the bodice and petticoats I’ve brought along.”

  They hid the cart beneath bales of oat straw, which Flora told the prince was known in Scotland as groats, and carried the clothes, the food, and the drink up to the loft. She lay the clothes aside to be tried on after the meal, and she sat and watched the prince eating hungrily. As he did so, Flora poured him some ale and tore off a wedge of freshly baked oatmeal bread. Although she’d eaten not half an hour before, she couldn’t resist a taste of the moist and deliciously aromatic food.

  Unable to restrain herself, she asked the question that had been pressing on her mind ever since she’d met him in the moorland a few days ago. She’d asked the same question of her father, but he’d failed to give her an adequate answer, telling her that such questions needn’t concern one such as her.

  “How bad was it? Up there in the Highlands? After the battle at Culloden when the Duke of Cumberland was killing my countrymen? How bad was it truly,” she asked.

  The prince didn’t answer for some time, and Flora thought that she might have offended him by asking such a question. But she knew that she was ignorant of these matters, and if she was to risk her life by exposing herself to the clutches of these English men, then at least she had to know of what they were capable.

  He put his wooden spoon down on the straw and turned to her. “The duke was in London reporting back his tr
iumph to his father when it began, although I must assume that he’d given orders for the massacres to happen. He was resolved to inflict terrible chastisement upon us, both with fire and sword, to ensure that Scotsmen and women understood the true nature of English rule and the folly of rising up against London.

  “When he returned to Scotland a month after the battle, after he had enjoyed his many triumphant marches and banquets in London, he stationed himself in Fort William and Fort Augustus. From there, Flora, he dispatched detachments of his troops to devastate whatever they found. They destroyed the seats of the lords of Lochiel, Kinlochmoidart, the Macphersons of Cluny, Glengyle, Glengarry, and many others . . . just burnt them to the ground and plundered the houses and killed the crofters and tenant farmers and the lairds’ families. And I’m also sorry to have to inform you that a certain Major Lockhart, an evil and cruel man, marched a detachment of men into the country of your kinsmen, the Macdonalds of Barisdale, and destroyed everything in sight. It was described to me as being a devastation worse than a biblical plague.

  “Some of the men were killed outright, some were dragged off and hanged in public, some were loaded into galley ships and transported to the Americas; some women and children were forced to watch as their menfolk were killed or beheaded and they themselves were then beaten with the butts of muskets and were stripped naked and forced out into the frigid cold night so that they would freeze or starve to death.”

  Flora clutched her mouth and whispered, “Dear God. I wasn’t told.”

  The prince nodded. “Either Hugh Macdonald wanted to spare you the grief or he doesn’t know himself. And as if this devastation wasn’t evil enough, it certainly wasn’t an act of mercy to have left so many innocent Scotsmen and women alive. The reason the duke didn’t kill everybody in the Highlands was because he felt that there was no point expending bullets or the time and energy of his swordsmen in killing everybody, for he ordered that all the cattle to be taken from the Highlands and driven south, where they’ve been purchased for ridiculously small amounts of money by Englishmen.”