She had lifted Clola’s legs by this time onto the floor and now, putting her arm round her waist, she pulled her onto her feet except that they would not hold her.
She would have sagged and fallen if Mrs. Forse had not held her up.
“Let – me – go!” Clola managed to articulate.
“Now, you’re a-goin’ to die!” Mrs. Forse said. “Ye’re going to die by the hand of a McNarn – and there’s justice in that!”
She suddenly chuckled in an evil way that made Clola realise through a haze of horror that she was insane.
She wanted to fight the woman and push her away, but she could not move her hands and Mrs. Forse was carrying her bodily across the small room to where Clola could see the open turret door.
“No! No!” she cried. “You cannot – do this!”
“You’ll die!” Mrs. Forse ejaculated. “You’ll die and for the vengeance of ma ancestors, I’ll thank the Lord.”
She paused a moment to push the heavy door a little further open.
Then she added viciously,
“Ma son Euan’ll avenge those who died by the hand of the English when he shoots doon their King who dares to set his blood-stained feet on the soil of Scotland.”
She dragged Clola as she spoke out on to the battlements.
There was a sharp wind and the coolness of it on her face seemed to revive Clola’s strength a little.
She managed to put out her hands to hold on to the high point of a crenelated battlement.
“No!” she managed to cry. “No!”
“Look doon and see how far you’ll fall,” Mrs. Forse threatened. “You’ll die when you reach the ground and they’ll say, ‘poor lady, she walked from her room in her fever and fell’.”
She laughed and it was a horrible sound.
“And who’ll mourn a Kilcraig?”
Clola could feel the rough stone of the battlement beneath her fingers, then Mrs. Forse started to pull her along to the lower part which only reached to her knees.
Her arms were strong and Clola knew despairingly that it was only a question of seconds before she would no longer be able to hold on, but must fall as Mrs. Forse intended.
“Die!” Mrs. Forse cried and her voice seemed to ring out. “Die, and may the Devil take your black soul down into Hell!”
She pulled with all her strength as she spoke and Clola felt herself about to fall.
She looked down and the ground far away beneath her was swimming before her eyes.
Then there was a sudden yell and the sound of heavy footsteps coming over the roof.
Mrs. Forse had almost pulled her free of the higher battlements, which she was clinging on to when Clola felt strong arms go round her and pull her back to safety.
“Let her die, Master Torquil!” Mrs. Forse screamed. “Her’s a Kilcraig and she has to die!”
“Let go of her, you wicked woman!” Torquil shouted.
He had one arm round Clola, but Mrs. Forse was still pulling at her and Torquil struck out. He hardly touched Mrs. Forse, but she stepped back to avoid the blow and her feet slipped on the damp lead of the roof.
As she did so, she released her hold on Clola and overbalanced and fell through the opening in the crenulation where she had meant to push her victim.
She screamed and Clola saw her face contort, her eyes wide with terror and her mouth open, before she disappeared from view.
Clola gave a sob, which was the only sound she could make, as Torquil dragged her back through the door into the turret.
With his arms round her – for otherwise she would have fallen to the ground – he stood looking at the small bed and the partially furnished room.
“You can’t stay here,” he muttered.
Then, as he realised that she was too weak to do anything for herself, he picked her up in his arms and carried her very carefully down the stairs.
He was tall and strong for his age and Clola was very light and weak from all she had been through.
It was not difficult for him to take her down the twisting turret staircase, then to descend the wider one that led from the top floor of the house down to the first where the Duchess’s Room was situated.
He was halfway down the second flight of stairs when Jamie came running from behind him.
“You’ve saved her! Oh, Torquil, you’ve saved her!” the little boy cried.
“Go and fetch Jeannie,” Torquil said. “Tell her to come quickly.”
It was the voice of command and Jamie ran past him to obey.
They had almost reached the Duchess’s Room when Clola remembered.
Her brain felt as if it was packed with cotton wool so that it was too great an effort to speak and she felt too weak to attempt it.
All she could see behind her closed eyes was Mrs. Forse’s open mouth and wide-eyed terror.
Then she made herself remember what the woman had said.
“Tor-quil,” Clola forced the name between her lips.
“It’s all right,” Torquil replied. “You are safe. She’s dead. She can’t hurt you anymore.”
“Her – son,” Clola gasped. “Her son – Euan – means to – kill the – King!’
She felt Torquil’s arms stiffen in astonishment and a moment later Clola felt him put her down on the bed.
She thought he might go away and tried to reach out her hand to prevent him.
“You – must – tell – the Duke,” she murmured faintly. “Go – to Edinburgh – warn him!”
She knew that Torquil was staring at her as if he thought she had taken leave of her senses and she added,
“Think of the – Clan – for a – McNarn to – kill the King – it – would be – ”
There was no need to say any more.
“I understand,” Torquil interrupted. “I’ll go at once. I’ll take two men with me and if it’s possible we’ll get there in time.”
“Hurry – hurry!” Clola insisted.
She heard Torquil’s feet running down the corridor and closed her eyes.
Vaguely, as she drifted off into unconsciousness, she remembered the Grey Lady saying,
“Fate has sent you. There are things that only you can do!”
*
The Duke had travelled to Edinburgh in a black rage and there was nothing that Lord Hinchley could say to disperse it.
Because of the delay caused by the Duke’s wedding and Lord Hinchley’s desire to shoot, they all travelled by sea which was quicker.
Mr. Dunblane had chartered a ship which was large and comparatively comfortable and the sea being calm the voyage only took a day.
So Lord Hinchley was spared two days of jolting over bad roads which he would otherwise have been forced to endure.
The Duke found the whole of Edinburgh en fête and it seemed extraordinary that such elaborate preparations should have been made to welcome a King from England.
There was no doubt that the Scots for the moment had put aside their hatred and their resentment of the past and the gaily decorated City and the obvious excitement in the air seemed to forecast a better relationship for the future.
The Duke found on arrival that His Majesty was to stay with the sixteen-year-old Earl of Dalkeith at Dalkeith Palace.
He was also informed that every house in Edinburgh was packed from floor to ceiling with the Nobility, who had poured in from every part of Scotland for this auspicious occasion.
He had, however, been for many years a friend of the Duke of Hamilton and he knew that if it was possible the Duke would entertain him at Holyrood Palace.
The Duke of Hamilton was hereditary Keeper of the Ancient Palace, which had been burnt by the soldiers of Cromwell.
It was later repaired and enlarged and the Young Pretender, Prince Charles Stuart, had resided there for some time during the Rebellion of 1745.
The Duke knew a great part of the building was now uninhabited, but the Duke of Hamilton had lodgings within it when he came to Edinburgh, as had several others of the S
cottish Nobility.
The Duke of Hamilton welcomed the Duke with open arms and assured him there was plenty of room in his part of the building for both himself and Mr. Dunblane.
Lord Hinchley had arranged before he left England that he would stay at Dalkeith Palace with the King.
The first night the Duke arrived he was able to dine quietly with the Duke of Hamilton and a few friends because, although the Royal George had dropped anchor, His Majesty was not due to land at Leith until the following day.
The Duke of Hamilton discussed with the Duke the arrangements that had been made, especially concerning the Cavalry Review on Portobello Sands.
Then, as the port was passed round the table, he said,
“There is a rumour which may be entirely untrue that you are married, Strathnarn.”
The Duke’s eyes darkened for a moment, but, because there was nothing else he could say, he replied,
“Yes, that is true.”
“This is most unexpected,” the Duke of Hamilton chuckled, “but we must certainly congratulate you and give you all our good wishes. There is only one thing I cannot understand.”
“What is that?” the Duke enquired.
“Why you have not brought your beautiful Duchess with you.”
The Duke looked surprised, but the Duke of Hamilton smiled.
“I have known Clola since she first came to Edinburgh when she was fifteen. She was lovely then, but I can assure you, Strathnarn, that last winter at least half the eligible bachelors of Scotland laid their hearts at her feet.”
“That is true,” another man interposed, “but she would have none of us. I always suspected that her grandmother was keeping her for someone as grand as Strathnarn!”
The Duke was too astonished to make any reply, but, as he seemed reluctant to talk of his new wife, the Duke of Hamilton did not refer to her again:
When the party broke up, Lord Brora, who was an old friend and often stayed in London, accompanied the Duke to his rooms.
The moment they were alone, Lord Brora said fiercely,
“When did you marry Clola and why was I not told about it?”
“We were married only a few days ago,” the Duke said coldly.
“It is intolerable! Absolutely intolerable that you should sweep her off in this manner!” Lord Brora exclaimed in a strange tone. “If I had any guts, I would blow a piece of lead through you!”
“What the devil are you talking about?” the Duke enquired. “Do you know my wife?”
“Know her?” Lord Brora’s voice was raw. “I have asked her to marry me a thousand times and the answer was always the same – no!”
He walked across the room, his kilt swinging from his hips as if it expressed the anger he was feeling.
“Have you not enough women in the South?” he asked, “that you should come North to carry off the most desirable woman in all Scotland from under our noses?”
“Are you telling me that Clola lived in Edinburgh?” the Duke asked.
“Of course she has lived in Edinburgh for the last three years,” Lord Brora replied. “She was brought up here by her grandmother, one of the most outstanding and certainly the most intelligent women North of the Tweed.”
The Duke was silent and Lord Brora went on,
“Surely Clola must have told you that she was acclaimed, feted and loved by everyone – especially by me?”
“She has certainly never mentioned you,” the Duke remarked truthfully.
“It would be like her not to boast of her conquests,” Lord Brora said and his voice softened. “But I am asking myself, Strathnarn, how I can live without her.”
There was a note in his voice which told the Duke that the man who had been his friend for some years was suffering. But he did not know what he could do about it.
“How did you persuade her into accepting you?” Lord Brora went on after a moment.
Then he gave an exclamation,
“I know what it is! You are both musical! How could I compete with that when I cannot tell one note from another!”
“Clola is musical?” the Duke asked tentatively.
“Of course she is musical. She plays like an angel and sings like one too. If she had not been a lady and wealthy, she could have made a fortune as a professional!”
The Duke was stunned into silence.
Vaguely at the back of his mind, he remembered assuming he was marrying someone uncivilised and uneducated.
“Well, I am going to bed!” Lord Brora announced sharply.
This told the Duke that he felt too upset at what had occurred to stay talking to him, but, as he reached the door, Lord Brora added,
“What I cannot understand is why you did not bring Clola with you.”
He gave a short laugh.
“I suppose the answer is that you are too jealous to let any of her old friends near her.”
He left the room and the Duke rose to stand at the diamond-paned window looking out into the courtyard of the Palace.
He did not see the moonlight on the roofs and chimneys. Instead he saw two mysterious eyes with flecks of gold in them and he heard the soft voice repeating the oath of allegiance.
The Duke did not sleep well that night, nor the next.
*
The King arrived and was delighted with his reception and with the large numbers of the Nobility who were in attendance upon him.
His own suite consisted of many of the Duke’s more personal friends.
Like Lord Brora, as soon as they heard that he was married, they bombarded him with questions, many of which he found it impossible to answer.
The King’s eyes were twinkling when he congratulated him.
“Caught at last, eh, Taran?” he smiled. “And from all reports the Duchess is so lovely and so attractive that I cannot understand why you are hiding her from me.”
“She was unable, Sire, to come to Edinburgh so soon after our marriage.”
It was the excuse that the Duke had given to all the other enquirers, but he could not help his voice becoming stiffer and more reserved each time he had to repeat it.
“Bring her South, my boy,” the King suggested. “Bring her to London as soon as possible. I am determined to make the acquaintance of this paragon of beauty and virtue, so don’t try my curiosity too high!”
The Duke bowed his acceptance, remembering his decision to leave the wife whom he had been forced into marrying alone in Scotland.
His Majesty held a Levée at Holyrood Palace on the 17th of August at which the Duke was in attendance.
Besides the Chieftains of the Clans, many Noblemen and gentlemen appeared in Highland dress, among whom, together with the Duke, were the Dukes of Hamilton and Argyll and the Earl of Breadalbane.
After the Levée His Majesty held a Privy Council and on Monday a Court and closed audience also at Holyrood Palace.
The following day a Drawing Room was attended by all the most important ladies in Edinburgh and there again the Duke was bombarded with questions as to why Clola was not there.
“At least she will not eclipse us all as she did at the balls last winter!” the Marchioness of Queensbury exclaimed.
While the Countess of Elgin added,
“But she was so sweet and unspoilt by her success that it was impossible to be jealous of her.”
After this there were processions, meetings, inspections and a special banquet given in Parliament House by the Lord Provost so that the Duke hardly had time to think.
Finally everyone was looking forward to the Cavalry Review that was to take place on Portobello Sands.
The Duke was surprised to learn that fifty thousand spectators were expected and the whole corps of volunteer troops numbered over three thousand.
He learnt that Mr. Dunblane had arranged for fifty of the McNarn Yeomanry, in which his father had taken a special interest, to represent the Clan.
Each Clan had its own standard, badge and piper and, when the Duke saw the McNarns rehearsing th
e day before the review, he had been very impressed by their appearance.
They were just as smart, if not smarter than those under the command of the Earl of Breadalbane who wore a yellow plume in their bonnets and a crest on their right arms.
The Duke of Argyll was to lead the Celtic Society, a body of one hundred Highlanders all superbly dressed, each in his own Clan tartan with a belted plaid.
Sir Euan McGregor, carrying the same broadsword that his grandfather had used at the Battle of Prestonpans, led the Clan Gregor. He wore an outstanding red tartan and each of the Clansmen had a branch of fir in his bonnet.
The Marchioness of Stafford had sent fifty Highlanders from Dunrobin and Lady Gwydir, a gallant band of Drummonds, their badge a holly bough.
There was a great deal of rivalry and a certain amount of jealousy among the Clansmen, but the Duke felt that the McNarns would hold their own and he found himself feeling extremely proud of their appearance,
Just before he left the Parade, Mr. Dunblane said to him,
“There are several men who would like a word with Your Grace, if you can spare the time.”
“What about?” the Duke enquired.
“Their problems,” Mr. Dunblane replied.
“Their problems?” the Duke queried.
There was a faint smile on Mr. Dunblane’s face as he said
“It is traditional, as you will appreciate, that they may bring their problems to their Chieftain, as in ancient days. It is in fact a compliment.”
“Do you really expect me to solve the problems of these men?” the Duke asked. “What do I know of their lives when I have lived in the South for so long?”
“They trust you, they believe in you and they will do what you say.”
The Duke thought for a moment,
“Very well,” he replied. “I will speak to them, but God knows if the advice I will give them will be any good!”
“I think you underestimate your sympathy with your own people,” Mr. Dunblane said quietly.
Before the Duke could think of a reply, he went to fetch the men who wished to see him.
To his own surprise the Duke found himself giving decisions on problems covering land, cattle, family difficulties and even in one instance whether a man was too young to take a wife.
The Chieftain Without a Heart Page 14
