“They’d never give me up. I’d trust them with my life,” she protested, a little desperately. “This might be the only chance I’ll ever get to see them again.”
“It isna that,” he said. “I understand how ye feel, and I’d love to allow it. But it’s the one place the authorities or any villager with his eye on the reward might be looking out for you at. They’ll expect ye to visit your friends, and that’s why ye mustna. Ye’d draw attention to them too, Beth. They might be arrested, if they havena already been. Ye canna do it. I’m sorry, truly I am.”
He was right. Her eyes filled with tears and she ducked her head quickly, as though embarrassed by some compliment he’d perhaps paid her. He bent a little towards her, as if to assure her of his honourable intentions.
“I miss them so much,” she said softly.
“Aye, I ken that, mo chridhe,” he said. “Ye’ll see them again, though, when this is over.”
The music stopped, and the couples who had danced made way for those who were going to.
“I love ye, Beth,” he said. “Dance wi’ me, please. I dinna ken how long we’ll be here. I might no’ get to hold ye again for a week or more.”
A week. An eternity. She swallowed, smiled, and gave him her hand. It took all her training as the wife of Sir Anthony for her to be able to dance one dance with him and then coolly make her excuses and leave.
It was quite clear to any onlookers that the tall Highlander had been wasting his time. The lady was not interested in him at all.
* * *
On the first of December, after a council meeting in which the chiefs by a hairsbreadth agreed to carry on to Derby before reviewing the situation, the Jacobite army left Manchester, heading, as was its custom, in several different directions to confuse the enemy.
As she had hoped, at nine o’clock that morning Beth found herself back in the village where she had been born and raised, and had spent so many happy years before her father had died and Richard had turned her life upside down. It was strange to see the normally quiet village green crowded with men bristling with weapons and dressed in kilts and plaids in muted shades of green, brown and dark blue. As expected, the traditionally royalist village had turned out to cheer the army as it passed through, and if the people were disappointed to learn that the prince himself had taken a different direction, they did not show it.
The army paused, and the Duke of Perth took the opportunity to make a speech on the green for the benefit of the villagers, obtaining a few new recruits in the process. Having scanned the crowds in the hope of seeing a glimpse of someone she knew, to no avail, Beth now gave up and sat down on the grass, deeply disappointed, her arms wrapped round her knees, her back against an unused door of the inn’s stables. Jane and Thomas would probably stay at home; but she had thought Graeme would come to see the army pass, and that Joseph might possibly enlist, bringing Mary with him to see him off.
The Ring o’ Bells Pub was doing a roaring trade and on the far side of the green an enterprising villager had set up a pie stall. Beth could see Alex waiting his turn to be served, while Angus and Duncan stood to one side, chatting. She closed her eyes, suddenly drowsy. She was finding it difficult to sleep alone; last night she had had no more than two or three hours rest. Still, tonight they would be in Macclesfield, where she knew no one, and they could be reconciled. She smiled to herself and allowed her mind to drift, listening lazily to the musical cadence of the Scots tongue, interspersed here and there with the flat vowels of the locals. The weather was fine, and the sun surprisingly warm for December.
She was roused by a sudden heavy thud next to her head, which shook the door she was leaning against, and which was followed by a strange twanging noise. Her eyes flew open. Standing about six feet in front of her was a hulking figure, no more than a dark shape against the sun which hovered over his left shoulder, dazzling her. She turned her head carefully; three inches from her face a knife was embedded in the door, still shuddering slightly.
“I could have got closer than that,” said the dark shape, “but I didn’t want to frighten you.”
On the other side of the green Alex had succeeded in purchasing four meat pies, which he now carried carefully balanced on a cloth over to his brothers.
“They smell awfu’ good,” said Angus, who hadn’t eaten that morning.
“Aye, be careful though, they’re just out of the oven,” said his brother. “I got one for Beth. I’ll have to find someone to take it to her.” He looked across the green to make sure she was still where he’d last seen her. Angus reached his hand out eagerly.
“Dhia!” Alex cried, throwing the contents of the cloth aside and setting off at a dead run across the green, drawing his sword as he went.
Angus, finding himself in abrupt possession of four steaming pies which were spilling their contents all over his hands, shrieked like a banshee and let the whole lot drop to the floor.
“Christ!” he said to Duncan, shaking the scalding gravy off his hands. “What the hell’s the matter wi’ him?”
But Duncan didn’t hear, having already gone after Alex, pushing startled Highlanders out of the way in his haste to catch up with his brother. Curses drifted after him, unheeded, and more than a few men drifted in the general direction Alex and Duncan were headed, to see what was happening.
Alex was maybe twenty feet away from his wife when he stopped suddenly, Duncan skidding to a halt behind him. Both men watched, swords still drawn as Beth, inexplicably, scrambled to her feet and ran to her assailant, wrapping her arms around him in a gesture of obvious affection. The assailant responded by crushing her to him in a brief but loving embrace. Then she was holding him at arm’s length so that she could survey him, laughing and crying at the same time.
Sheathing his sword, Alex backed away carefully. She hadn’t seen him, oblivious to everything but her reconciliation with this young man she obviously knew very well. Suppressing a pang of unreasonable jealousy at the fervour of her greeting, he returned to face the recriminations of his youngest brother.
Beth had indeed not seen her husband’s headlong dash across the green, and most of those who had did not associate it with the young woman now innocently embracing her friend. There was one exception. A tanned and rugged man of advancing years and greying hair watched intently from the shelter of a tree with his keen grey eyes as the tall Scot with the long chestnut hair discreetly withdrew. He observed the man’s progress as he retreated across the green, followed by his slightly shorter, but no less formidable companion, and watched as they joined a younger, fair-haired man, who was obviously a close relation, and who now waggled his hand angrily in the face of the chestnut-haired man.
The grey-haired, grey-eyed man nodded quietly to himself, then forsaking the shelter of the tree made his way across to Beth and her companion, aware that the eyes of the three distant Highlanders were on him as he did.
“It seems I owe you an apology, lad,” he said as he came within earshot.
The couple looked round, and then Beth abandoned her young companion in favour of the older one, throwing herself at him in an embrace that almost toppled him.
“Graeme!” she cried. “I knew you’d come! I knew it!”
Graeme laughed, a sound so uncommon as to cause Beth to raise her head in surprise.
“Of course I came,” he said. “I’ve had an eye out for you ever since the army arrived in Manchester. I was sure you’d be with them, somewhere. I was looking for you by your hair. With it covered you’re not so easy to find among six thousand people.”
Beth raised her hand to her hair, which was completely concealed under a scarf.
“That’s the idea,” she said. “I don’t want to be recognised by anyone. Although I’m glad that you two have. Oh, this is wonderful! We should be here a couple of hours, at least. We’ve time for a talk.”
“More than that, I think,” said Graeme. “I enlisted three days ago. I’m with you for the duration.”
“Yo
u enlisted!?” cried Beth. “But…”
“If you tell me I’m too old, grown or not I’ll tan your arse for you, young lady. You thought all those stories I told about the ’15 were fairy tales, did you?”
“No, of course not,” said Beth.
“Well, then, did you think I was about to let my prince march on London without being a part of it? I’d never forgive myself if I did.”
“I enlisted three days ago as well, as an ensign,” said John, who in the three years since Beth had last seen him had filled out considerably from the gangling stableboy Richard had threatened to kill, and was now quite a strapping young man.
“Should you be doing that, and you a militiaman?” asked Graeme dryly. “Have you no shame?”
“None at all,” said John with a grin. “I’m merely following the orders of my legally elected parliament. They passed an Act for the militia to be raised two weeks ago. All over the country militia have been dutifully rising, and running away at the slightest rumour the rebels are anywhere near them. I read the London Gazette myself. It only said the militia should be raised, not who they should rise for. That’s what I’ll say, if I’m called to account.”
“Why did you join the militia in the first place, John?” asked Beth. They moved back to the door, where John retrieved his knife and the three sat down.
“After your brother chased me off that day, I went and hid in the woods for a while. I was mad as hell, and decided to come back secretly that night and kill him, or die trying. And then I thought a bit more. You were unconscious, Beth, you didn’t see what he did after he hit you. I threatened him with a pitchfork, and he disarmed me so fast I had no time to even think before he had me up against the wall with his sword at my throat.”
“Yes,” she said. “He’s very skilled in arms.”
“That’s what I realised, as the day wore on. And I also realised that if I came back that night, I wouldn’t have a chance against him. If I was going to kill him, I’d have to learn how to do it. So I went off and got some casual work in Manchester, and enlisted in the militia. I needed to learn how to use a sword and a pistol, and what better than to let the Elector pay for my training, so that when the time came I could kill one of his dragoons?”
“That’s why I owe you an apology,” said Graeme. “I misjudged you lad, and I’m sorry.”
“No, it was understandable,” said John. “You thought I’d turned traitor by joining the militia. I don’t blame you for hitting me that day in Manchester. I’ll tell you something, though. I’ve got a fearful respect for your right fist now. I was dizzy for hours after you hit me. I won’t be calling you an old man, even if Beth does.”
“You never came back for Richard, though,” Beth said.
“No. You moved to London not long after that, and the weapons training was a disappointment anyway. We learnt how to march about a lot, and a few basic moves, but that was about it. I spent a lot of time hanging about waiting to prime and fire a pistol shared between ten of us, so I spent that time improving my knife-throwing technique.”
“You’ve done very well,” said Beth admiringly. “Could you really have got closer to my head than three inches?”
John nodded.
“A lot closer. I’ll show you if you like,” he said eagerly, unfolding his legs and making to stand. Graeme gripped his arm, realising that John was about to pin Beth’s headscarf to the door, and she was about to let him. They might be adults in body, but in many ways they hadn’t changed at all.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said, glancing across the green. “You might be seen by those who’ll take exception to it.”
Beth looked from under her eyelashes to where her husband and brothers-in-law were casually chatting and looking the other way.
“Graeme’s right,” she said. “You can show me another time. Carry on with your story.”
John sat back down, somewhat reluctantly.
“There’s not much more to say, really. The militia was a waste of time, but at least I got a good coat and a sword of my own out of it, and the work in the Vintner’s Arms helped me to put on a bit of muscle. There was no point in coming after Richard. I’m still not good enough to take him on. I doubt I ever will be.”
“He’s a captain now, John. He was in Flanders, last I heard,” said Beth. “But he’s probably back with Cumberland’s army by now.”
“He wasn’t back two weeks ago,” Graeme said unexpectedly.
Beth and John both looked at him.
“How do you know that?” Beth asked.
“Sarah writes to us now and again. Or rather someone scribes for her, but she’s learning to write herself, now. She told us you’d disappeared, and warned us that we might be arrested. Since then she’s written twice, to tell us that she hasn’t heard from you, and that Richard’s still in Flanders.”
Beth blushed and looked at the ground.
“I wanted to write, but we…I didn’t think it was wise. If my letter had been intercepted by the authorities…”
“I know, Beth,” Graeme said gently. “We knew, or at least had a good idea what you were up to. We understood why you didn’t contact us. But we were worried about you too. We didn’t tell the magistrate anything.”
“You don’t need to tell me that!” Beth protested. “I knew you wouldn’t say anything.”
“Sarah’s letters are cleverly worded. Any official reading them would just think she was telling her friends the latest London gossip. She was interviewed by the Duke of Newcastle himself, you know,” Graeme added. “She said he seemed very frustrated by how little everyone knew. He reminded her that there was a large reward for any useful information. So she thought, and came up with something she thought no one else had told him.”
John’s face wore an expression of deep puzzlement.
“Is this Sarah the whore that Richard employed to spy on us?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Beth. “She turned out to be one of my best friends. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do, John.” She turned to Graeme. “What did she tell the duke?”
“That sometimes Sir Anthony wore lavender scent, when he ran out of violet.”
Beth exploded into laughter.
“The duke told her she’d been very helpful,” Graeme added.
“Who’s Sir Anthony?” asked John, thoroughly confused.
“It’s a long story,” Beth said. “We’ll talk about it later.”
A small boy approached, carefully carrying three meat pies.
“These are for you,” he said. “From a man,” he added vaguely.
John looked around at the hordes of men occupying the green.
“Any particular one?” he said, laughing.
“It could be any one,” she replied hastily. “I know a lot of men.”
John looked at her in surprise, but she was watching Graeme, noting where his gaze was resting. For the first time it occurred to her that John and Graeme joining the army could be a problem, if Alex didn’t want them to know his identity.
“Not in that way,” she said, realising that her statement had made her sound like a common camp follower. “I know a lot of men in a respectable way.”
“She’s married to one of them,” said Graeme.
“Are you?” asked John with great interest as Beth blushed scarlet. “Which one?”
“He’s not here,” she said hastily. Somehow she had to get to Alex, fast, and discuss the situation with him. He would know what to do. “He’s…er…with another company. I came to Didsbury without him, hoping to see someone I knew. You’ll probably get to meet him later.”
There was a general sense of movement on the green as the men prepared to continue on their way.
“Come on,” said Graeme to John, although he was looking at Beth. “We’d better find our regiment. They’ll be crossing the river at Stretford, and we’d best hurry if we want to catch up with them.”
The three companions stood.
“When will we
meet up again?” John asked, clearly reluctant to leave Beth after such a brief time, after not seeing her for three years, during which it seemed a great deal had happened that he knew nothing about.
“There’s an inn in Macclesfield, called the Angel,” Graeme said. “It’s a respectable place. Shall we meet there this evening, about nine?”
Beth agreed, thinking she would certainly be able to speak to Alex before then. She would shadow him until they were well out of Didsbury, then would take the first opportunity to get him on his own. Graeme and John disappeared into the throng.
Beth looked across the green to the pie stall where minutes before the MacGregors had been standing. The place where they had been was empty, and in spite of her best endeavours she did not find Alex, and arrived in Macclesfield that evening accompanied by a party of MacDonalds, tired and dishevelled, and considerably worried that she had not yet located her husband, with whom she was now desperate to speak before she met up with John and Graeme again.
In spite of having encountered a small party of dragoons on Sale Moor, whose brave captain had waited until the Manchester Regiment were almost upon them before hurriedly retreating, Graeme and John arrived in the middle of the largely Hanoverian town of Macclesfield in time to hear the mayor Samuel Cooper, under duress, proclaim King James III at the Market Cross and order a peal of bells to be rung to welcome the clearly unwanted prince and his army to the town. After listening to the bells, which were mistakenly rung backwards by the confused and terrified bellringers, Graeme took John’s arm and set off in pursuit of a muted green and brown plaid he had seen disappearing in the direction of the tavern he’d arranged to meet Beth in later that evening.
The public bar was crowded with Scots, but there was no sign of the man Graeme was after. He shouldered his way to the bar and asked a question of the flustered landlord, which was answered with an abrupt gesture towards some curtained-off stairs.
“Where are we going?” asked John as he followed Graeme through the curtain.
Graeme stopped.
The Storm Breaks (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 4) Page 16
