“I’m not. Haven’t I just told you that? I’ve a yen to see Scotland. I’m not a Mancunian, like John. I feel more at home with the MacGregors than the Manchester Regiment, if truth be told. And I’m not one for sieges. Even if you stayed here, I’d have gone on.” This last was not strictly true, but Graeme had no compunction about telling a white lie, or a black lie either, if it comforted Beth.
Half an hour later, after a prolonged and tear-drenched farewell to John, Beth left Carlisle flanked by an uncharacteristically taciturn Angus and an unusually talkative Graeme intent on cheering the distraught woman, who was firmly convinced that she would never see John alive again.
Two days later Cumberland’s forces arrived at Carlisle. Inside the town Captain John Hamilton, now assisted by Colonel Francis Townley of the Manchester Regiment, had organised the garrison in preparation for a siege. A party was sent out foraging for provisions, barricades of sharpened stakes were placed at all the entrances, and the artillery was set up in the castle.
For six days the Jacobites bombarded the Hanoverian position with their battery of guns, which, whilst not inflicting a great deal of damage, succeeded in keeping the Duke of Cumberland and his forces out. Then, as Lord George had predicted, the cannon commandeered from Whitehaven arrived and began pounding the walls of Carlisle, with devastating effect. Even so, the defenders bravely held out for another four days after which, bowing to the inevitable, they surrendered.
During the siege the duke had reluctantly promised that the Jacobites would not be put to the sword, but would be reserved for the king’s pleasure. He was as good as his word. No one was put to the sword, but a number of prominent citizens were promptly arrested. The rebels were locked in the cathedral for days without food or water, during which time several died, and many more would have, had they not succeeded in breaking open an old well. On the tenth of January the prisoners were moved out of Carlisle, the common soldiers sent to Lancaster Castle, where another eighty were to die due to the insanitary conditions and rotting offal they were given to eat, thereby saving the authorities the trouble of hanging or transporting them. The Scots were sent to Lincoln or York to suffer similar standards of accommodation. The officers were sent on to London to await trial.
Lieutenant Jack Holker was numbered amongst the officers. So were two of the three sons of the outspoken bishop Doctor Deacon, the third having died in prison. And so was John Betts, who because of his militia training had been given the rank of ensign. It was of little comfort to them to know that they were to be housed in Newgate prison until the authorities saw fit to try them.
After all, everyone knew that the outcome of any trial, if the prisoners survived long enough to see it, was a foregone conclusion.
* * *
Glasgow, January 1746
Beth sat quietly in the small room, waiting somewhat nervously for the large red-haired man opposite her to consider her request. While she was waiting she trapped her trembling hands between her knees and looked around the room, although there was not much to hold the interest. It was a typical town lodging room; wooden floors, a bed, small chest and two uncomfortable chairs, on one of which she was now seated, the other being occupied by Alexander MacDonald, otherwise known as MacIain, Chief of the Glencoe MacDonalds. He was a tall man in his mid-fifties, red of hair and beard, with a fierce face rendered less intimidating by a pair of twinkling blue eyes which now turned to rest on his kinswoman. Beth sat up, awaiting the chief’s decision. He did not give one yet, however, but instead asked a question.
“And ye say ye canna mend this difference between yourself and your man?”
“No. He won’t speak to me, or let me speak to him. Maybe he will, given time, but as it is, it’s doing none of us any good by me remaining with the MacGregors. They don’t know how to treat me, and Alex is…different.”
“And whose fault would ye say it is that ye’re estranged?”
“Mine,” replied Beth without hesitation, causing the chief to look at her in surprise. He had obviously expected her to launch into a catalogue of maltreatment at the hands of her husband in an attempt to elicit his sympathy and compliance with her request.
“I see,” he said, considering. “And what exactly was it ye did to turn your husband against ye?” The devotion of the MacGregor chieftain to his beautiful wife was well known amongst her MacDonald kin. He would not throw her aside lightly.
“I…I can’t tell you that,” Beth said, blushing. “It’s private. But it’s nothing that would affect your decision, I swear it.”
He shook his head.
“I canna allow it, lassie,” he said gently. “I’m sorry. If your husband were dead, it would be a different matter. Ye’d be welcome to come to us then if you wanted to, as a kinswoman. But ye married Alex for better or worse and ye must stick to your bargain, I’m thinking, and try to work it out between ye.”
“I’ve tried, truly I have,” Beth said desperately. “He doesn’t want me. He’s made that very clear.”
“I’d beg to differ on that,” interrupted MacIain. “Ye say he wouldna let ye stay in Carlisle. If he doesna want ye, it seems to me he’d have been happy for ye to stay there.”
“He believed we couldn’t hold Carlisle against Cumberland,” she said. “He thinks Carlisle will fall.”
“Well then, he must think something of ye, still. I’d advise ye to be patient, lassie, Alex is no’ an unreasonable man. If it can be mended between ye, he’ll come to see it.”
To his surprise the young woman suddenly threw herself on her knees in front of him and burst into tears.
“Please,” she sobbed. “Please. It can’t be mended, really. I’m so unhappy. I can’t bear it any more. There’s no one else I can turn to. I’m begging you, don’t refuse me. I don’t know what I’ll do if you refuse me.”
The MacDonald chief got up, bent over her, and lifting her gently sat her back in her chair before squatting down in front of her and taking her hands in his.
“Isd, a ghràidh, isd, dinna greet so,” he murmured soothingly, although, ashamed of her outburst, she was already fighting to bring herself under control, her thin shoulders shaking with the effort.
“I’m sorry,” she sniffed. “I didn’t mean to cry. I just don’t know what to do.” She wiped her eyes with a corner of her plaid, and MacIain released her hands and moved back to his seat.
“I canna just accept ye to the clan as things are,” he said. “While your man’s living, ye belong to the MacGregors, and I’ll no’ risk a feud wi’ them by taking ye. But I’ll say this. If Alex comes to me and tells me that he’s willing for me to take ye under my protection, and that what’s between ye is nothing to concern me or the clan, then ye can join the MacDonalds, for as long as you or Alex wishes it.”
She looked up at him, her cornflower blue eyes red-rimmed, a tremulous smile at the corner of her mouth.
“Thank you,” she said earnestly. “I’ll find a way to ask him. I’m sure he’ll agree. Thank you.”
After she’d gone, presumably in search of Alex, the MacDonald chief sat looking into the meagre fire for a time, wondering whether he was going soft in his old age. He should have stuck to his refusal. But the lassie was in a terrible state. She was deathly pale, and the shadows under her eyes from lack of sleep resembled bruises, they were so dark. He remembered her at the ball in Edinburgh two months earlier, laughing and vibrant, confident and heartbreakingly beautiful. They had all changed since those heady days. Derby had shaken the spirit of many of the men. But this woman was more than shaken; she was on the point of collapse, and she was, after all, his kinswoman. To get Alex to come to him she would have to find a way to speak to him. If she did, maybe they would resolve whatever was between them. And if not, he would take her willingly – once he had found out what had caused the MacGregor chieftain to reject her.
Graeme was waiting for her in the street and walked beside her as she went back to the MacGregors, who were mainly lodged around the Gallow
gate area of the thriving town of Glasgow. They had been in the town for five days now and were eager to leave as soon as possible, in spite of the availability of lodgings and food. The mood of the mainly Whiggish inhabitants ranged from sullen at best to openly hostile, which became wearing after a while.
“Did he say no, then?” Graeme asked.
“Yes, at first,” Beth said. “But then he said that if Alex agrees, and tells him so, he’ll take me.” She stopped and looked at Graeme. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I feel a bit guilty.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Well, you didn’t stay at Carlisle because you knew I needed a friend, and you were right. I don’t know what I’d have done without you, these last two weeks.”
“You’d have managed,” said Graeme. “The MacGregors are still your friends, Duncan and Angus particularly.”
“Yes, I know. But it’s difficult for them. They owe their first allegiance to Alex. But you don’t. I feel as though I’m deserting you in some way.”
“Bullshit,” replied Graeme bluntly. “If I could share my time between the MacGregors and the Manchester Regiment, I can just as easily share it between the MacGregors and the MacDonalds. Makes no difference to me. And I already told you, I came to Scotland for a lot of reasons. If you think I’m trudging through endless miles of snow and ice just for you, when I could have been sitting in front of a roaring fire at Carlisle instead, you’ve got far too high an opinion of yourself. I see your father should have thrashed you a damn sight more than he did.”
She laughed and flung her arms around him.
“Oh Graeme, you are wonderful!” she cried.
“Steady on, there,” he said, detaching her carefully. “You’ll have people talking about us.”
“Since when did you ever care about that?” She grinned. “You really won’t mind if I join the MacDonalds, then?”
“No,” he said, suddenly serious. “If it makes you happy, I don’t mind at all.”
“I don’t think anything could make me happy,” she replied. “But I can’t think of anything else to do.”
“What will you do now, then?”
“Talk to Alex. But I need to get him on his own when he can’t just ignore me or ride away. That’s going to be the difficult part. I’ll have to wait until we’re out of Glasgow, at least.”
* * *
In the end it wasn’t until they were two days out of Glasgow and close to Stirling that she got the opportunity she had been waiting for, one frosty morning. She followed at a good distance as Alex made his way from the camp down a wooded slope to the stream to wash. Normally he would do this in the company of the other MacGregors, but lately he had taken to spending more and more time alone, and his men, more than one of whom had borne the brunt of his uncertain temper in recent weeks, were happy to leave him to himself.
Beth had learnt a lot about how to move quietly through the landscape in the last months; but even so, she could never have got within twenty yards of Alex without her presence being observed, as she did now, had he not been obviously preoccupied with other matters.
What those matters were, she had no idea. It could have been the fact that in spite of the MacGregors having passed within a day’s walk of Loch Lomond, not one of them had taken the opportunity to go home. He could have been working out strategies to take Stirling Castle, which was still in Hanoverian hands and would be a major blow to the enemy’s morale if it could be taken for Charles. Or possibly he might be contemplating with relish the addition to the Jacobite army of some four thousand reinforcements, consisting of three thousand Scots raised by loyalists and over a thousand men landed from France.
Whatever it was, she managed to hide behind a rock whilst he performed his ablutions without him being any the wiser. She would wait for a short while, she decided, until she was sure no one was joining him. Then she would make her move. She watched as he stripped off his plaid and shirt, then undid his swordbelt, allowing his kilt to fall to the ground, leaving him naked and shivering in the freezing air. He had lost a little weight, as had they all, but was still very impressive, his broad, heavily muscled shoulders tapering down to a slim waist and flat stomach, firm buttocks and long, powerful legs. He walked into the stream up to his knees and began to wash, throwing the icy water over his body without flinching.
Beth closed her eyes and turned away, as without warning a terrible longing for him flooded her, the desperate need to feel his arms warm and comforting around her, his lips on her breasts, the glorious melting sensation as he moved inside her… she swallowed hard and resisted the urge to run down the slope to him and beg him to love her, just once more, please, just once.
When she had gained some measure of control, she opened her eyes. He had waded out of the stream now, his heavy chestnut hair sleek and wet, and was sitting on a rock combing the tangles out with his long, strong fingers. Then he put his shirt on, pleated his kilt and belted it round his waist, before taking out his sgian dubh and a small piece of lye soap and squatting down at the edge of the stream to shave.
If anyone had been going to come, they’d have been here by now. She was as calm as she was ever going to be. Moving out into the open she walked down the slope, coming to a halt a few feet from where he was crouching and rubbing soap over his face.
“I need to talk to you,” she said, her voice cool and steady.
He did not jump in surprise, but then she hadn’t expected him to. He would have known she was there the moment she left the shelter of the rock. He did not get up and walk away. He didn’t react in any way at all, just carried on smoothing the soap over his face.
“I went to see MacIain the other day,” she said. “I went to ask him if I could join the MacDonalds from now on.”
She paused, waiting for his reaction. Calmly, he picked up the small knife and began to scrape it over his cheek. After a moment, she continued.
“He says that he’s willing to take me if you agree to let me go and assure him that what’s between us is nothing that would affect the MacDonalds.”
Alex dipped his knife in the stream to clean it, then continued shaving. Unnerved by his utter lack of acknowledgement of her presence, Beth began to feel that he was a figment of her imagination. She would blink and he would be gone, like a ghost, and she would find herself addressing the air like a madwoman.
“Will you go and talk to him?” she asked.
“No,” he said. He carried on shaving, and for a moment Beth thought she’d only imagined that he’d spoken. Then his answer penetrated and she felt the first flickering of anger.
“Why not?” she asked.
“You’re a MacGregor,” he answered. He stretched the skin tight over his upper lip and rasped the knife across it. His hair hung long and dark to his shoulderblades, dampening his shirt and causing it to cling to his body. Beth took a slow calming breath.
“I’m a MacDonald too,” she pointed out. “You don’t want me. The clan feel uncomfortable with me around. Let me go to those who will make me welcome.”
“No,” he said again.
“Alex,” she persisted. “I can’t go on like this. It’s been over a month since we argued. You won’t accept my apology, won’t talk to me about what happened. I wanted to stay at Carlisle and you wouldn’t let me. I’m asking you to let me go to the MacDonalds.”
He paused, looked up at her for a fraction of a second, then away again.
“Carlisle was too dangerous,” he said. “Cumberland will be there by now. He’d have recognised ye.” He dipped the knife in the stream again, running his finger along the blade to clear it of hair.
So that was it. He hadn’t wanted her to stay at Carlisle, because he thought she would betray him to Cumberland the first chance she got. Tears sprang to her eyes at the thought that he could believe her capable of such a thing, and she blinked them away. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing how he had just hurt her.
“Very well,” she said. “Carlisle was too
dangerous. But it’s no more dangerous for me to be with the MacDonalds than with the MacGregors. Talk to MacIain, please.”
“No.” He had finished shaving, was dipping his knife in the water for the last time, his back turned to her. In a minute he would get up and walk away. The blind rage of despair exploded in her, without warning. Before she was fully aware of what she was doing, she moved forward and kicked him in the back with such force that he went sprawling on his hands and knees in the stream.
“Don’t ignore me, you bastard!” she screamed.
He leapt to his feet in one fluid movement, knife in hand, and turned to face her, looking at her properly for the first time. Water poured from his sodden kilt, and his eyes were dark and threatening. She was not afraid of him. She stood rigid, her fists clenched by her sides, her eyes flashing.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she cried. “Is it your way of punishing me, to torture me by making my life hell until I go mad, or kill myself? Because if it is, let me tell you, it’s working. Whatever I did to you by not telling you about Richard, you’ve repaid me, and more.” Her voice broke suddenly and she looked away from him, fighting for control. Then she looked back. He had lowered the knife now and was staring at her, his face hard, unreadable.
“I never knew you were so vindictive, Alex,” she said, her voice cold. “You said you loved me, once. How can you be so cruel? You’re no better than Richard!”
The blood rushed to his cheeks, his mouth twisted and he lunged forward, gripping her arm painfully.
“Dinna say that to me!” he roared. “Ye dinna dare say that to me!” He shook her, hard, his fingers biting into the soft flesh of her upper arm, and she made no attempt to fight him or to get away. Her anger faded as fast as it had risen, and she stared at him bleakly. Then she looked down at his right hand, which still clutched the sgian dubh.
“Do it, please,” she said softly.
The Storm Breaks (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 4) Page 26
