During the hour after Alex left, Beth learnt a great deal about the women she was shut up with as they sat around the candle, talking in soft voices. They were in little danger at the moment, they knew that. All the soldiers of both sides would be gathering on the battlefield. The danger would come later, when the battle was over and the men were looking for plunder, their blood still fired from the fighting.
There were nineteen women in all, four children and a three-week-old baby. They were of varying ages, from various clans, and numbered both Catholics and Protestants amongst them. But they all had several things in common.
They were all passionately devoted to the Stuart cause, and to the men they followed; these were some of the women who had stayed after others had gone home, vowing to see it through to the bitter end. Many of them believed this was the bitter end, and they were all afraid that they would never see their husbands alive again, although none of them voiced this fear in case saying it were to make it so. Instead they spoke in hushed voices about the great deeds of Prestonpans and Falkirk Muir and how those deeds would no doubt be repeated today.
In short, they talked as men would, and Beth realised that these women were independent, courageous and strong. She would not have to accept all the responsibility of leading them to Ruthven if no one came for them. They would go together, as equals.
Once they had reassured themselves that the day would go in their favour, talk turned to how they had come to meet and marry their man. Many of them had married the suitor chosen either by their parents, or by the chief to cement relations with another clan. One of the older women, Annie MacColl, had a more romantic story to tell. Her husband was known as Donal Bòidheach or Donal the handsome, and she had been abducted by him when she was twenty.
“I fell in love wi’ him the first time I saw him, but my parents were against the match and wouldna entertain him at all. They said it took more than a fair face to make a man, so he took matters into his own hands,” she said, smiling. “Frightened me half to death, he did, when he took me, for he covered his face and I didna ken it was him at first. I fought him like the devil and nearly got away, but then I recognised his voice when he cursed at one of the blows I gave him. I didna fight so hard after that,” she finished, a twinkle in her eye. The other women laughed and then fell quiet, remembering where they were.
“Your man’s awfu’ handsome too,” one of the younger women said to Beth. “Did ye fall in love wi’ him the first time ye saw him?”
Beth thought back to her first meeting with Alex over three years ago when he had come mincing into Isabella’s drawing room, a painted vision in lilac silk and lace, drenched in violet cologne.
“Ah…no, not exactly,” she said. “He didn’t look his best the first time I met him.” She stopped, aware that she couldn’t tell the truth, and was trying to think of a convincing lie when Maggie stepped into the breach.
“It was the same for me,” she said. “I didna like Iain at all, at first. I’d a yearning to see the city, so I went down to Edinburgh for a wee while and got a job as servant to Mr Ross, a tailor and his family there. Iain was working as footman to a magistrate, who was a friend of my master. The first time I saw him I thought I’d never seen anyone so thin and ugly in my life.”
There was a subdued burst of laughter.
“I don’t think Iain’s ugly,” Beth commented. He was very thin, though. There wasn’t an ounce of spare flesh on him, and with his long legs and arms he reminded her of a cranefly.
“He looks better now he’s put on a few pounds,” said Maggie. “But he isna bòidheach like Donal. I’m no’ much to look at myself, mind.”
Beth tried to imagine how Iain could possibly have ever been any thinner than he now was, and failed.
“Ye’ve got verra bonny hair,” Annie offered. It was true. Maggie’s hair was a mass of heavy auburn waves whose glory had not been dimmed even by the privations of the last months. Maggie smiled.
“Thank ye,” she said. “Anyway, we used to meet often when his master came to the house, and Iain always sat apart frae the rest of us servants a wee bit and didna join in the conversation overmuch. I thought he had a verra high opinion of himself. I ken he was shy now, but I didna then, and when he asked me to walk out wi’ him one Sunday I laughed in his face and tellt him to go to hell. He didna speak to me at all after that.”
“How did ye end up marrying him, then?” the young woman asked.
“A couple of months after I’d rejected him, I had a wee stramash wi’ the lady of the house. I canna even mind what it was about now, but she threatened to turn me off and I couldna afford that at the time, for I was sending money home to my family, so I had to swallow my pride and apologise. I was in an awfu’ black mood, and so I took the opportunity to go to the post, thinking it’d gie me a chance to cool down a wee bit. Ye’ll no doubt mind that the streets in Edinburgh are verra narrow.”
The women nodded.
“Well, I got the post and was coming back down this wee close, and there was a grand lady coming the other way, wearing one o’ they stupit dresses a mile wide. She took up the whole close, and I couldna get past her.”
“She could have collapsed her hoops up under her arms, or turned sideways,” Beth said, who had some experience of such things.
“Aye, she could,” agreed Maggie. “But she didna. She tellt me she wasna going to move aside for the likes of me, and that I’d have to go round by another way. I’d been angry all day, and I lost my temper. I took her by the shoulders and pushed her up against the wall, which was all green slime, by the way. And then I just carried on walking. I didna even slap her, but ye’d hae thought I’d stabbed her, she let out such a skelloch, screaming that I’d robbed her. I didna wait to hear any more, just took to my heels and ran, wi’ all these people who’d appeared frae nowhere coming after me.”
The women had forgotten all about the battle now. Their whole attention was concentrated on Maggie’s story.
“I tore off round the corner, down one close and up another, and I got a wee bit ahead o’ them, but I was tiring and I kent that if they caught me they wouldna believe that I hadna harmed the woman. Then I turned another corner and ran straight into Iain, and I was sure then that I’d hang, for he took hold of me and wouldna let me past.”
“What did he do?” asked Annie.
“I think he was going to ask me what the matter was, but then he heard all the noise of the people round the corner, and before I kent what he was doing, he picked me up without a word and threw me through the open doorway behind him into some sort of wee storeroom. I was still holding the letters frae the post and they went all over the place, and I banged my hip hard on one of the crates that were piled up in there. Then everyone came round the corner, and there was Iain, standing in the doorway calm as ye please, telling them that aye, he had seen a lassie in an awfu’ hurry. Was she a plump lassie, wi’ brown hair? And they said aye, that’d be her, so he said that she’d took off away down Anchor Close and that he’d thought it a wee bit strange, but it wasna his job to be apprehending young women. That was for the Town Guard, in his opinion. When they’d all gone off after me he stood for a while longer, then he came in, picked me and all the letters up and sat wi’ me while I calmed down and tellt him what had happened.”
“Were ye fat in those days, then?” asked another girl, who was also clearly wondering what hair dye Maggie used.
Maggie laughed.
“No, I wasna. I’ve always been thin. I thought I’d have to leave town straight away, but he tellt me that it was obvious no one had seen me clearly, and now the whole city would be looking for a fat girl wi’ brown hair, and I realised that the close had been dark and he was probably right. I also realised that Iain had just saved my life. He saw me home safe, and then I asked him if he’d still care to walk out on Sunday, for I’ve never been shy, ye ken. He said he would, and we were married six months later.”
There was a collective sigh.
&n
bsp; “Oh, that’s awfu’ romantic!” said the young woman who’d commented on Alex’s looks earlier. Beth wondered what they’d think of her story, and was saddened that she couldn’t tell it to them. They had been completely entranced by Maggie’s tale, and their faces were no longer sad and anxious.
Then the guns were heard, and the talking stopped and the anxious expressions returned. The Catholics amongst them crossed themselves before they prayed, but they all prayed in their own ways for the safe delivery of those dear to them. And then they waited. The wind was blowing away from them towards the battlefield, but the brave sound of the pipes reached them, rendered plaintive by distance, interspersed by the clearly audible thump of the cannon. Then they heard the distant roar of five thousand male voices and the pipes stopped but the guns continued, and they knew the men had charged. They sat in silence, heads lowered, praying and listening, but they were too far away to hear the details of what was happening.
If the wind had been in their direction they might have heard the cries of the fallen, and the joyous shouts and jeers of the cavalry as they rampaged around the battlefield mutilating the wounded, but as it was they only knew the battle was over when the guns stopped firing, and they had no idea of who had triumphed.
“We have to wait,” Beth said softly. “Someone will come, when it’s safe. And if they don’t we have to wait till dark and go to Ruthven.”
“Aye,” nodded a brown-haired angular woman sitting opposite her. Jean was her name, and she and her sister now sitting beside her had married brothers. “I ken the way. The hardest part’ll be the rivers. They’ll be in spate now, wi’ the spring thaw and the rains.”
They waited in silence for a while, each wrapped in their own thoughts. Then there was a sudden whispered commotion in the corner, and all the women looked round.
“What is it?” asked one.
It was the young mother with the small baby. Beth had noticed her pallor when Alex had brought her across the moor with the others, and had thought her to be merely tired and hungry. Maggie took the candle and knelt by the woman’s side, and as the meagre light fell on her it became obvious that she was a lot more than tired; she was ill. Her face was now flushed scarlet and she was sweating heavily, yet shivering so much that her teeth were chattering. Maggie felt her brow.
“She’s badly fevered,” she whispered worriedly.
“She hasna been right since the bairn came,” another woman said. “She had a hard time wi’ the birthing and she’s bled ever since, but she kept insisting she was all right. She couldna go home, for her and her man are both frae Edinburgh.”
“She isna all right,” said Maggie. “But we canna do much for her now.”
One of the women moistened a cloth with water from a flask and wiped the sick woman’s face, while another held the bottle to her lips, trying to persuade her to take a few sips, although she was beyond hearing anything. Maggie gently removed the sleeping baby from his mother’s shivering arms, cradling it tenderly against her chest.
“If she fits, she might harm him,” Maggie explained. “I’ll gie him back when she wakes.”
Suddenly there came a loud banging on the door and all the occupants of the hut fell instantly silent. This was not the way a clansman would announce his presence. Several of the women inhaled sharply. No one moved.
From outside could be heard the sound of a group of men muttering together and laughing. After a moment the knock came again.
“Open up, in the name of the king!” shouted a harsh voice. There was no need for him to state which king he was talking about. That was obvious.
“Oh holy Mother of God,” one woman murmured to herself.
“Will they go away, d’ye think?” whispered another.
This question was answered by the man’s next words.
“If you do not open the door and come out in ten seconds, we will fire the building,” he shouted.
“We have to go out,” said Beth. “Once they know we’re women, we’ll be taken prisoner.”
Hopefully. Doubt was written on all the women’s faces, along with fear and defiance. Any thought Beth had had of advising them to plead for their lives went unvoiced. These were not the sort of women to beg for mercy, any more than she was, the mothers excepted of course, but that was understandable. Protecting their children would override any personal notion of pride.
Beth made sure her hair was completely concealed by her scarf, then her hand moved to her pocket and she took out her knife, concealing it in the folds of her skirt. She stood.
“Maggie,” she whispered. “I don’t want them to hear I’m English.”
Maggie nodded, and took a breath.
“We are all women, and bairns,” she shouted. “And we are unarmed. There are no men here.”
“Open the door and come out, and if you’re telling the truth you won’t be harmed,” the soldier replied.
There was more muttering outside and someone guffawed, which was not reassuring, but they had no choice. They opened the door and walked out into the light, blinking in the sunshine until their eyes became accustomed to the brightness. Only the sick woman remained inside, lying shivering and burning in the corner.
Standing in a semicircle around the front of the hut was a group of redcoat infantry, muskets levelled at the doorway, bayonets fixed. There were perhaps thirty of them and they remained in place until all the women were clear of the door.
“Is there anyone else inside?” asked the spokesman, a sergeant.
“Only a girl, but she’s fevered and canna come out,” said Annie.
The sergeant nodded to his men, and a few of them moved forward to slip inside. After a moment, they came out again.
“She’s telling the truth, sir,” one of them said.
The men relaxed visibly, lowering their muskets and eyeing the women with avaricious eyes. The sergeant smiled, and in that moment Beth knew they were in trouble. Several of the other women did, too. She felt the fear run through them, followed by a general straightening of shoulders as they all found their courage. The baby in Maggie’s arms, woken by the light and cool air, began to grizzle, and Maggie rocked him gently, making soothing noises. The sergeant glanced at her, then around at the rest of the women, who were bunched together in a group, the children sheltered behind them.
“The battle is over,” he announced, “and your men are all dead.” The soldiers gave a ragged cheer.
The sergeant waited for the tears and wails of anguish, and when the women continued to stare calmly, disbelievingly at him, he spoke again.
“Those who are not dead soon will be,” he said. “We have been ordered to take no prisoners, and to kill everyone. Your little rebellion is finished.”
He waited again, and though some of the women had turned pale, there was no wailing or gnashing of teeth. One of the children cried out and was quickly hushed. The sergeant’s face hardened. He had clearly not expected this sullen defiance. He favoured them with a look of the utmost contempt, and then turned to his men.
“Well, lads, seems to me they’re rendered speechless by the sight of your handsome faces. What do you say we show them what it’s like to be fucked by a real man instead of the animals they’ve had up to now?”
This time the cheer was not ragged, but loud. The men, who were in the main far from handsome, started to scan the women, making their choices. Those with drawn swords sheathed them.
“Ye’re away off to find a few real men, are ye, then?” one woman said loudly. “For I canna see a man of any description among ye.”
The sergeant turned round to a chorus of derisive female laughter. None of the women looked afraid now. They were drawing strength from each other. His face flushed scarlet with rage. He looked at the women, trying unsuccessfully to ascertain who had spoken, then his gaze fell on Maggie, who was the only one not laughing as she tried to hush the infant, who was beginning to cry lustily now.
“Will you shut that brat up, woman?” he roared.
>
She looked up at him.
“He’s hungry, that’s all,” she said. She put her finger in the baby’s mouth and the cries stopped for a moment as he began to suck furiously.
“Now,” the sergeant said, “you will tell me who said that, or it will go badly for all of you.”
He was short and stocky, and had a cruel face; and he was a fool. Anyone who knew anything of human nature would have known that these women would not reveal who had spoken so scathingly. Maybe they would if they were alone and had been threatened or beaten into submission. But never when in a group, and when fired with hatred for these men who had, quite possibly, just killed their husbands. All of the soldiers’ bayonets were bloody, including the sergeant’s, and the blood was that of the Jacobites. Nevertheless, in spite of his threatening stance and gory weapon he was making himself look stupid and ineffectual, and knew it, and was aware that the women knew it too, and as the silence stretched he searched for a way to crush their spirit.
The baby, realising that there would be no nourishment from Maggie’s finger no matter how hard he sucked, detached his mouth from it and began to cry in earnest.
The sergeant glared at the child, and then his expression changed. Stepping forward he plucked the infant deftly from Maggie’s arms, turned and with a flick of his arm, flung it to one side. There was a dull thud as it hit the ground several feet away, and the crying stopped abruptly.
“No!” screamed Maggie, green eyes livid in the pallor of her face. She flung herself forward as the sergeant, with an almost casual gesture, lowered his bayonet and thrust it at her, the impetus of her own forward motion driving it deep into her chest. She stopped, staring at him, her eyes wide with shock. Then he took a step backwards, withdrawing the bayonet and watching dispassionately as she staggered back a few paces before crumpling to the ground.
The women froze, their laughter stilled. Beth was momentarily paralysed, although her mind was racing so fast that everything else seemed to be happening in slow motion. She saw two of the women bend over Maggie and several soldiers peel away from the group, their faces shocked. These were the men who, whilst perhaps willing to take a woman against her will, were not willing to engage in acts of such brutality as that they had just witnessed. Which left them with the ones who were. Her fingers tightened round the handle of her knife, but as she was standing to the left of the main group there were several people between her and the man she now intended to kill. She saw the sergeant’s face relax as he realised he had succeeded in cowing the women, and his expression was smug as he started to address them.
The Storm Breaks (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 4) Page 35
