The Chevalier

by Jacqueline Seewald

  “I’ll just say that I never hated the English more than I do now. The many wounded lying on the field were bayoneted, shot or clubbed to death by the dragoons, and we could do nothing to stop it! Do you ken it! And even after, they pursued us, went on a killing rampage, men, women, children, soldiers and civilians alike; they cared no’ who they slaughtered. Mother, I charge you with a solemn responsibility. We’ve got to see the Prince on his way. There will be others to help us. But we must get him across the river where other clansmen will be waiting to guide him on to safety. I charge him to you, for I cannot do it myself. The English are after us and if they catch the Prince, he’ll most certainly hang.”

  Andrew lost consciousness at that moment and his mother gently touched his disheveled hair, matted with sweat and dirt.

  “Rest well and grow strong again for you are the last of my sons, the last hope of the MacCarnan.” With that, she turned her misted eyes toward Madeline and Elizabeth.

  “Will he be all right?” Madeline asked fearfully.

  The toothless hag replied to her question. “Aye, he must sleep for a long time. That’s the best cure. He’s suffered much and is worn out. I’ve given him a potion to that purpose.”

  That evening over supper, Madeline spoke with the Prince and his two aides in Italian. As it turned out, she was the only one who could actually communicate with them. The Prince had picked up a few words of Gaelic, but not enough for real conversation. During the evening, he smoked a pipe and drank a great deal of wine. Indeed, he seemed far less interested in his dinner than in consuming spirits. But then, Madeline thought, who could blame him? He had to be terribly despondent. In spite of that, he was charming and polite and not at all haughty the way she heard him rumored to be. He kissed her hand, bowed to her, and told her what a lovely vision she was. She was captivated by the chivalrous manner of the White Chevalier.

  The best thing about the evening was that Maman got to meet the Prince, and when Maman went to sleep that night, she looked remarkably happy and at peace.

  The two men with the Prince, Madeline learned, were Irish but as they served the Stuarts in Italy where James Stuart held his court in exile, Italian was their language of communication. She soon realized that these men were completely devoted to the handsome, young Prince.

  Madeline looked to Cousin Anne for a suggestion as to how they could safely move the Prince across the river to the aid and protection of the next clan.

  “How shall we get Prince Charles away?” Madeline asked.

  “Mo Dhia!” Anne exclaimed. “Perhaps we might disguise him somehow. That would be a possible course of action.”

  “Of course,” Madeline agreed with some excitement. “The English will be looking for men. They would not look so carefully at a woman. What if we dress the Prince as a maid? I could cross the river with him garbed in a gown. Then if we were unfortunate enough to meet soldiers, they would be fooled.”

  Elizabeth clapped her hands together. “Mother, I think Madeline’s plan might just work. I could dress as a lad and row the boat across.”

  “Are you strong enough?” Madeline asked in surprise.

  “I can do anything the lads can. But we’ll have those two fellows with him take a turn or two at the oars. They look quite strong, don’t you think?”

  Anne agreed with the suggestion and so Madeline turned the plan over to the Prince and his advisors. At first, they seemed quite shocked, but then the Chevalier smiled and nodded his assent.

  Their only difficulty was in providing Prince Charles Edward with a maid’s costume large enough to fit him for Marie, like herself, was quite petite. But for once, Jenny MacDonald saved the day. She was an unusually tall girl and provided them with a plain linen garment that Marie was able to alter.

  On the following morning, just after dawn, the little group borrowed a small boat and set up river north; the ultimate destination of the Prince was to be the Isle of Skye where he and his devoted friends hoped to find a French ship to carry him back to the continent.

  At first things went well enough. It seemed as if there were not another person in the world around and that the Highlands in their remoteness could not be penetrated by anyone bent on destruction. But as they reached the shore of their destination, there was suddenly a rustling among the trees and who should appear but a detachment of scarlet-coated soldiers, muskets pointed at them. Madeline’s heart beat madly in her breast, knowing she must be the one to speak, and whatever she said must ultimately mean the difference between life and death for all of them.

  Nine

  Madeline began to shiver and suddenly it seemed as if her knees would not support her, but she refused to give in to the feeling. She was neither weak nor foolish she reminded herself. Her Maman had not brought her up to be either. Madeline de Marnay was gently bred but she was the daughter of a steadfast woman who had known hard times as a child and risen above them. Whatever else she might be, Madeline was her mother’s daughter. She would keep her wits about her and not succumb to fear no matter what might happen.

  “And who have we here?” the lieutenant in charge of the detail asked.

  The question brought her mind back to the present moment. Madeline stepped forward, relieved that the waiting was over. “I am the Comtesse de Sarnou and these are my servants. Furthermore, I am in a hurry to visit my friends. You will please not detain us any longer.” Madeline spoke in a haughty, aristocratic voice, knowing very well Maman was the actual comtesse, but she reasoned, these soldiers would have no way of realizing that.

  “My, a lady, is it? Now what would a person of quality such as yourself be doing in a wilderness like this?”

  The thin, young officer looked her up and down with an insulting stare at her décolletage. Madeline kept her chin high.

  “That, sir, is none of your business. I have broken no laws and I now wish to be on my way. Good day!”

  But as she moved away, his hand snaked around her arm.

  “Unhand me at once. Otherwise, I shall have to ask my retainers to defend me.” She indicated O’Neill and O’Sullivan who had wisely kept their mouths closed during the confrontation, but their hands were still poised near their sword handles. The Prince seemed very calm, the hood of Maman’s cloak pulled forward to hide his red hair and distinctive features.

  “Very well, my lady, but be apprized that we are looking for the Young Pretender and if you should be seeing him, you’d best report it.” He gave her a final, leering look and then released his hold on her arm.

  The lieutenant had not been as suspicious as the sergeant, perhaps because he was younger and not quite as shrewd or experienced. She did not bother to question her good fortune.

  Madeline gave a superior nod to the young officer and indicated to the others that they should follow her. Though her legs were still trembling from the encounter, she managed to walk quickly. Elizabeth led them on and they moved to the trail in silence with brambles catching at their feet. Madeline wondered if anyone could hear her heart pounding; it still resounded loudly in her own ears. Several times, the Prince’s men stopped and checked to make certain they were not being followed, but the soldiers, it seemed, had lost interest in them. They marched forward through the wilderness for at least a half hour and Madeline began to fear that no one would be there to help guide the Prince onward in his journey to safety. But at last they were pulled off into the sheltering trees by strong hands.

  Madeline glanced over at the Prince and with some surprise realized that he was smiling and seemed completely unafraid. Before his new Highland guides led him away, the Prince took Madeline’s hand in his own, bent over and kissed it. Then he called her bella and bowed to her.

  “I hope we will meet again,” he told her in Italian. “You are so charming and lovely, I would feel a great loss if we should not know each other under better circumstances. I will never forget the lovely French lady who saved my life. You set an example of courage in adversity.”

  Madeline smiled a
t the Prince warmly and waved goodbye to him as he was led away by the Highlanders. Never had she met a man more courteous and gentlemanly.

  “Aye, now there goes the true prince,” Elizabeth said with a deep sigh and tears in her eyes. “How unjust the world is!”

  Madeline had almost forgotten that the child was standing there. “We better go back now and hope those horrid soldiers don’t catch sight of us again.”

  In spite of the confining skirt of her elegant silk gown, Madeline moved with swift agility. Elizabeth quickly led her back to the boat. Both girls breathed a great sigh of relief when they found the soldiers were nowhere in sight. As they traveled back down the river, Elizabeth began to sing a Gaelic song in a clear, pleasant voice and Madeline listened with a smile on her face.

  “How happy your mother and brother will be when we tell them that all is well. Imagine – two girls have aided the Bonnie Prince escape the might of the English army. We outsmarted them.”

  “Aye, you were very brave, Maddy.”

  Elizabeth began to giggle and now it was Madeline’s turn to sing and she burst into an old French air that she had learned at school.

  “Oh, Maddy, what a breathtaking voice you have.” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Surely, the angels in heaven must be jealous at such a sweet sound.”

  Madeline laughed at her cousin’s flattering hyperbole. Then they joined together in singing Barbara Allen. There was no better feeling in the world then knowing that she had made a contribution, however small, to helping the cause of the Scots’ Prince. It seemed in troubled times like these, women always had to sit at home, wondering and worrying. It was wonderful she had the opportunity to do something meaningful. Perhaps it was all over now for the cause as Anne seemed to think, but as long as the Prince was alive, there could be some glimmer of hope.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  Madeline’s happiness was short-lived. When she returned to the MacCarnan manor, Anne greeted her with a somber countenance.

  “What is it?” she asked, her heart suddenly lurching all over again. “It’s not Andrew, is it?”

  “No, my child. Please, you must be strong. ‘Twas your mother. She died in my arms a few hours ago.”

  Madeline sank to her knees, swallowing hard. Hot tears welled up in her eyes, yet she repressed them. Her mother had been such a strong woman; it would reflect poorly on her memory if her only child should weep openly in front of her Scottish relatives. No, for the sake of her mother’s pride, she must not behave like a weak ninny. After all, there was weeping and grief all over the Highlands now for those who had died so tragically at the hands of the English. Hadn’t she heard the keening of the women when the remaining soldiers marched back into the village and told of the dead?

  “Your mother asked to be buried at the end of the kirkgate where her own mother lies. We’ll see to it soon, just as she would want. She asked that I watch out for you as well, and I am more than willing.”

  Madeline nodded her head numbly. She had known this was coming for sometime. Her mother told her to expect it. Yet she was in shock. She went to where her mother was laid out, and looked at the quiet, peaceful face.

  “I should have spoken to you before I left today. I should have said how much I love you.” Tears ran down her cheeks. Madeline kissed the unknowing eyes one last time and ran crying from the small bedchamber.

  The time leading up to her mother’s burial passed by in a blur of unreality for her. Although everyone was terribly kind to her, she felt alone and lost.

  She would have liked Andrew to be there with her: she sensed in the Chief of the MacCarnan a strength that had suddenly deserted her. But word had come through the glens that the English were on their way, set to swoop down upon them like hawks eager for prey. Cousin Anne ordered that the Chief be carried away to safety, hidden in one of the many caves in the mountains. Most of the villagers packed their few belongings in a panic and went into hiding as well.

  “For myself and Elizabeth, I am not afraid. I keep my dirk in my boot and my daughter shall do the same. The servants have chosen to remain with us.”

  “And so will I,” Madeline said to her mother’s cousin. “I’ll carry a weapon and use it in my own defense if I must.”

  “Good then. For the family of a chief must set an example and no’ hide from the enemy.”

  With that, they had walked the hill together to the kirk. The service was conducted by Father Ian, a young priest who looked a great deal like Andrew, which was not surprising since, according to Anne, Father Ian was yet another cousin. Sunlight blazing through the window caught the copper in the dark auburn of his hair as he chanted the Latinate prayers. There was comfort here. As Madeline looked away from the young priest, she glanced through the window, and thought her mother’s soul must be hovering somewhere above them, smiling down in approval. Perhaps Ian MacCarnan had not known her mere, but still, he was of her clan. Yes, Maman would be pleased if she could have known he was conducting the service. Perhaps she did know. Madeline prayed fervently to God for her mother’s soul to reside in heaven. Her mother had been a good woman, devout and pious in her devotion, and nobody deserved it more than she.

  The burial was much more painful because of the air of finality. Somehow through it all, Madeline managed to hold her head high and keep her eyes dry. How proud her Maman would have been, she thought. She always feared herself to be weak and soft, lacking in character, while her Maman had great courage and virtue. She wanted to live up to the memory of her mother, to reflect well upon her. She remembered with sadness those times that Maman had been forced to punish her for her disobedience and rebellious nature.

  The priest’s teal blue eyes looked dolefully at her as the casket was lowered into the earth. His words provided little comfort. After the burial, she stayed behind and stood by her mother’s grave. She was on the knoll of the hill and could look up and down the glen, but her eyes were fixed on the ground. She suddenly realized how alone and afraid she was. Unlike her mother, she was not a Highlander, nor did she still feel a real affinity for France anymore. Where was she to go? What would she do with her life? She did not truly belong anywhere. She sank down on her knees and began to pray for guidance.

  Madeline wasn’t actually aware of exactly when she heard the sound of a rider coming toward her. She looked up suddenly when it seemed whoever was riding the horse must surely be planning to run her down, for she had heard the horse jump the low wall of the kirkyard.

  Her surprise was overwhelming as she saw the brilliant celestial orbs of Gareth Eriksen gazing down on her.

  “Madeline,” he said. “I thought I imagined you.” He seemed just as surprised as she was. “What are you doing here of all places?”

  “Maman has died. This is where she wanted to be buried.” Suddenly, without warning, she could not contain her grief any longer. It spilled over and she was sobbing inconsolably.

  Strong arms pressed around her body. Soothing words were whispered in her ear. Warm, sensual lips were kissing away her anguish. He pulled her face against his broad, muscular chest, caressing her hair, kissing it.

  “I… I must not behave this way. I am not a child.”

  “Shush, it’s all right. I don’t mind. I lost my mother too and I never forgot how it felt.” His hands moved up and down her back.

  He was so kind, so gentle with her. She felt his strength protecting and sheltering her. Just how long she clung to him and he held her, stroking and caressing her face and body as if she were a small child in need of care, she could not say. But if anyone had the power to restore her, it was Gareth Eriksen. It seemed as if God had granted her a miracle; she had despaired of ever seeing him again or feeling his touch.

  He was holding her to him more tightly now as she felt a slight tremor in his body; then he held her apart from him.

  “I think perhaps I’d better let you go.” His voice had become rather husky, she noticed, and looking into his eyes, they seemed to have become darker like the color of ripe b
lueberries. She stared at him in bewilderment.

  “Gareth, how did you know to come here, just when I needed you so badly?”

  He smiled, but there was no mirth in the expression. “I am a soldier, if you recall. I was sent to find a traitor. I’m here to do my duty. Do you know Andrew MacCarnan? Can you tell me where to find him?”

  She stared at him, her eyes opening wide. For the first time, she really looked at him and saw the scarlet uniform clearly. Of course, had she forgotten? Grief had confused her, making her forget things she found painful to remember.

  “The MacCarnan? He’s not here. He’d be a fool to return with your army looking for him, wouldn’t he?” She wondered if he would believe her. Her words did not sound convincing to her own ears. Lies did not come naturally to her lips.

  “Nevertheless, it’s what the Highlanders are doing, going back to their homes. I’m under express orders from the Duke of Cumberland to find him. We believe he also has the Young Pretender with him, making the matter that much more imperative. Have you seen them?”

  She shook her head so vehemently that the pins which held her hair in place began to fall, as did her raven locks. Gareth’s hand came up and touched her hair, his fingers winding around the loose tendrils which curled around her slender neck.

  “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.” He gave her a knowing smile.

  Of course, he saw through her, she was a terrible liar! But she could hardly tell him the truth. How could this stranger, this red-coated officer be her Gareth? For the second time today, her heart ached with a leaden grief.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  Gareth saw her lip begin to tremble and was overwhelmed with the need to comfort her. She was so small, so delicate, this child-woman. He did not want to question her any further. He could not bear to intensify her grief. She had suffered too much already. In reality, all he wished to do was carry her off to some private place and make love to her, slowly and thoroughly. The moment he’d seen her again, he realized that he wanted her very badly. But this was neither the time nor the place for an assignation.