Feargan looked out across the snow-covered, moonlit gardens, telltale footsteps in the snow a sign of secret assignations in the darkness beyond. As he readied himself for bed, Feargan reflected on the evening that had just passed. He was angered by his treatment at the hands of Lord Torbay, a man whom he perceived to be no better than himself, yet who seemed to court the Regent’s favor so readily. How dare he speak so haughtily to him, as if his journey from Scotland meant nothing? If Feargan was not allowed to speak with the Regent, then he would ensure his message was heard one way or another, of that he was certain.
With this resolution in mind, he was just about to snuff out his candle and go to sleep when a gentle tapping came at his door, and a soft voice spoke from the corridor.
“Galbreth of Beira? Are you there? It’s Catherine.”
Feargan took up his candle and opened the door to find the young lady still in her evening finery, holding a candle herself against the darkness of the château’s corridors.
“I… I just wanted to check you were all right. Philip can be an absolute beast, and he treats my sister with such contempt. I am sorry he was so rude to you and he has probably seen to it that your desired audience with the Regent will not take place. Do not hold it against my sister, though, she has nothing to do with his vile moods and temper,” Catherine said.
“I daenae hold it against yer sister. I can see she is far from happy with his behavior. Though I ask myself why she agreed to marry him in the first place,” Feargan said, the two standing somewhat awkwardly in the doorway to his chambers.
“She had no choice in the matter—he was seen to be a suitable match and that was final—there was no reasoning with our father and Philip enjoys the prize of his beautiful fiancée. That is why he would not let her dance with you, the man is jealous beyond imagining and terrified that someone far better will come along and snatch her away,” Catherine said.
“There isnae danger in that if he keeps her constantly at his side,” Feargan replied.
Catherine shook her head, the candle spluttering as she held it high to illuminate the scene.
“Well, goodnight, and thank you for being so understanding. Will we see you tomorrow? Amelia and I take a walk in the gardens each day, perhaps you would like to join us?” she said, smiling at Feargan through the darkness.
“Aye, that would be very pleasant, thank ye,” he replied, as she turned to leave.
“Three o’clock, in the entrance hall. We will show you the long walk. It is quite charming in the snow. Goodnight,” she said, and like a ghost she disappeared into the darkness, the glimmer of the candle retreating along the corridor as Feargan watched.
Shaking his head, he snuffed out his own candle, setting it to the side of his bed and climbing beneath the covers. It was the first comfortable bed he had slept in since leaving home, for whatever Lord Torbay might think of Highland living, the residence of the Laird of Loch Beira was comfortable. Feargan was soon asleep, thoughts of the two sisters inhabiting his dreams, their faces a pretty tonic to the injustice of the evening.
Feargan awoke late the next morning, the warmth of the bed and the solitude of that peaceful room an antidote to all his troubles. As he rolled over, he forgot where he was for a moment, the sunlight streaming through a crack in the curtains as a knock came at the door.
The maid had brought fresh coal for the fire and as Feargan roused himself she set to work on the grate, soon kindling the merry flames which quickly took the chill from the room.
“Zi footman will bring zi hot water,” she said, curtseying to Feargan and leaving him to his ablutions.
A moment later, the footman arrived with a large pail of hot water which he tipped into the copper bath behind an ornate screen decorated with pretty painted birds.
“That will be all, thank ye,” Feargan said. Soon he was washing himself vigorously in the water.
It was the first proper wash he had had since leaving London for the Calais boat, and feeling immensely refreshed he dressed himself and made ready to descend to the public rooms below. The court in exile fascinated him and he had every intention of learning more about it.
Feargan had always been an inquisitive sort, interested in all that was going on around him. His schooling had been somewhat mundane, given in the charge of a man in Edinburgh, who charged his father a great deal of money to beat Feargan more than he taught him the rudiments of anything vaguely useful. But Feargan had taken responsibility for his own education and ensured that his reading was wide. So much so that he could converse on most any subject, and thanks to his mother, the language of this country held no issue for him.
In the grand hallways of the château, a flurry of activity was already taking place, and Feargan recognized many of the men and women from last night’s dance, going about their business. There was no sign of the Regent and he wondered whether the chance to speak with him again would arise, doubting his own ability to make his voice heard. It seemed as though all discussion of delaying a Highland uprising was forbidden, even if the good sense in it remained.
“Good morning, lad, and how was yer first night amidst these impressive surroundings?” Hamish McBride said, sidling up to Feargan as he stood watching the goings on around him.
“Very comfortable, indeed, I was asleep for hours,” Feargan replied.
“I have spoken with the Regent’s secretary, Lord Burleigh, and I am afraid to tell ye that Lord Torbay has rather soured the possibility of ye gaining an audience. I daenae have the influence to overturn the whisperings of Lord Torbay but if ye are determined to speak with him, I suggest ye take quill to paper and write yer thoughts down. Your time coming here has been wasted and the Regent leaves for Paris tomorrow,” Hamish said.
“But I must speak with him. I havenae travelled all this way only to fall at the last hurdle,” Feargan said, once again growing angry at the injustice of the situation he now faced.
“There is nothin’ ye can dae, unless ye wish to follow the Regent back to Paris and attempt to make yer case there,” Hamish said.
“But won’t anyone see the foolishness in this rebellion? The time is nae right,” Feargan cried, causing several people close by to be startled and look at him in a most perplexing matter.
“Hush, lad, yer ideas are nae popular, nae to me, but certainly nae to many here, Lord Torbay amongst them. For yer own safety, I suggest ye remain quiet, go back to Scotland, and let the Regent dae as he intends,” Hamish said, shaking his head as he walked off across the hallway.
Feargan was livid, and he strode out from the château, scuffing his feet in the snow as he went.
“Of all the imbeciles—foolish, arrogant man,” he cursed, looking back at the château and shaking his fist in anger.
He spent the rest of the morning in his chambers, the footman bringing a simple lunch of roasted fowl and vegetables to him as he worked. He was composing a letter, to be delivered to the Regent immediately and which he would seal so that only Charles Edward Stuart could read it.
His words were direct and to the point, no longer veiled in the polite terms which he had used in his earlier correspondence to the Regent. These letters had gone unanswered and now the Laird of Loch Beira laid out his grievances to the Regent, imploring him to delay any Scottish rebellion for the sake of people like Feargan who would feel the wrath of the Hanoverians if such an ill-fated expedition was to be mounted.
“I remain yours, loyally and truly, in the name of Our Lord, this day Anno Domini 1745,” he concluded, sealing the letter with his own wax seal and laying it on the desk before him.
If the Regent would not listen to his words, then perhaps he would read them. Whether they changed his mind, they might at least stir his heart, making him think again about shedding innocent blood on such a foolhardy expedition, one which could only end in disaster.
The afternoon was drawing on and he descended to the hallway just as Amelia and her sister appeared from the opposite staircase, clad in pretty matching
shawls and ready for their walk.
“It is a pleasure to see you again, Galbreth of Beira,” Amelia said, curtseying to him as Catherine did the same.
“The pleasure is mine, ladies, it is an honor to accompany ye this afternoon,” Feargan replied, still clutching the letter to the Regent.
“What is that ye have there?” Catherine asked, pointing to the letter.
“Oh… it is a… it is a letter to the Regent, though I am told it is foolhardy to attempt to send it, as foolhardy as attempting to speak with him, no thanks to Lord Torbay,” Feargan replied.
At the mention of her fiancée Amelia blushed and the Laird apologized for causing her any offence.
“I know what kind of man he is,” she said, as they stepped out into the cold and frosty afternoon.
“Then why did you agree to marry him, Amelia?” Catherine said, taking Feargan’s arm quite unexpectedly.
“Let us not discuss such things in company, we are hardly on familiar terms,” Amelia said, chastising her sister.
“Then we must come to familiar terms with him, must we not, Galbreth of Beira? Surely Philip will not begrudge me striking up a friendship, even if his jealousy is aroused by a simple smile to you, Amelia,” Catherine replied, leading Feargan onto the long walk of snow-covered trees which she had promised to show him.
“You may be friends with whomsoever you wish, Catherine, and I hope that I too shall be friends with Galbreth of Beira, whatever Philip might say,” Amelia replied, smiling at Feargan as he turned and caught her eye.
“I daenae wish to be the cause of trouble, lasses, me business will shortly take me home to Scotland. If the Regent will not speak with me, then what is the point in staying?” Feargan said.
At these words, Catherine let out a little shriek and turning to Feargan and her sister she clapped her hands together as though the most delightful thought had just occurred to her.
“I’ve got just the idea. The Regent goes to Paris tomorrow and he always seems far happier in the city than stuck out here at court. We are accompanying him and will stay at our father’s mansion on the Rue di Rivoli, just a moment’s walk from the Regent’s residences. Galbreth of Beira should join us, it would be ever such a merry party, don’t you think, Amelia?
“Well, it is rather up to him if he wishes to join us, though I admit the proposal has its attractions,” she replied.
“Then it’s decided.” Catherine said, “tomorrow we shall depart for Paris together, and what fun that will be.”
5
Feargan did assent to join the ladies in Paris, for it seemed the only way in which he might get the opportunity to speak with the Regent in person. He had tired quickly of the court at Saint Germain-en-Laye. It was a far cry from the Highland castles he was used to, and it had an atmosphere to it which he rather disliked. Though he had to admit that the company of Amelia and Catherine was delightful. The other courtiers, however, seemed to have lost something of their identity, absorbed into foreign ways and Feargan wondered if at heart many of them really wished to return home at all.
The glamor and excitement of French court life was quite different to that they would find back home in Scotland or England. The Hanoverians had not the style and elegance of their royal counterparts across the channel, and Feargan could not imagine any of these finely dressed ladies and gentlemen finding the climate of the Highlands, or rural England, to their liking.
At dinner that night he sat with Hamish McBride, who would not be travelling with them to Paris the next day, his recent jaunt there having been quite enough stimulation for the time being. Around them, the excitement of the coming days brought the dining room alive with speculation and intrigue as discussions of scandal and future liaisons rippled across the tables.
Feargan watched the Regent from afar, dining at the high table along with his retinue. The meal was lavish, great birds roasted and presented on golden salvers, and sides of fish, freshly brought from the markets of the capital. There were magnificent desserts, exquisite creations in pastry, and sweet treats covering the tables. The wine flowed freely.
“Why would the Regent give all this up for England and Scotland?” Feargan asked Hamish, laying aside his knife and fork.
“Because it is his birthright, that’s why. Ever since he was a bairn, the Regent has known that the crowns of Scotland and England are his, not that of the Hanoverian pretender. Think about it this way—would ye not fight for yer inheritance if some other man took away yer Lairdship?” Hamish asked, as around them the merriment of the dinner went on.
“Aye, I would. It is the Regent’s right to rule but I will say again that the time for an invasion is not right. Why will he not listen to me?” Feargan said, looking again at the Regent across the tables.
“Perhaps ye speak an uncomfortable truth, though it is nae one I wish to entertain, either,” Hamish replied.
Feargan shook his head and sighed, wondering whether the atmosphere of Paris would be enough to soften the Regent’s stance. He doubted it, and questions of his whole motivation for coming to this alien place arose in his mind. He had spent six months in preparation and for what? To sit in his chambers and write a letter to the Regent, one which would clearly go unread.
“I shall try again to speak with him in Paris,” Feargan said, pushing aside his plate, “and we shall see if he is willing to listen.”
Hamish simply shook his head as the two bid one another goodnight. Feargan wandered back towards his chambers in dejection. The Regent’s mind would not be changed. Charles Edward Stuart seemed set in his ways and it had been foolish for a mere Scottish Laird to travel all this way just to speak with him.
Feargan was a good man, who cared deeply for his people. He did not want to see further bloodshed or the oppression of innocent folk by an already cruel foreign power. He was a Jacobite through and through but the Regent’s determination to place himself upon the throne at any cost seemed a disaster waiting to happen.
As he snuffed out his candle that night and pulled the blankets of the bed around him, Feargan wondered just what Paris would be like in the company of the court. Prior to travelling to Saint-Germain-en-Laye he had stayed at a simple inn close to Notre Dame, but the fine houses of the Rue di Rivoli and the opulence of the French capital would be yet another new experience in this strange journey to foreign climes.
“What is a simple lad like ye doing mixed up in all this?” Feargan said to himself as he closed his eyes.
He was awoken by the maid bringing coals to stoke the fire and momentarily the footman arrived, bearing hot water and prepared Feargan’s bathing arrangements. It was not long before Feargan had risen and was ready, dressed in a fine tunic, though still looking somewhat out of place amidst the powdered wigs and white faces of the court.
A great number of courtiers would be travelling to Paris that day, and despite the snow lying thickly upon the ground they expected to reach the French capital by nightfall. Feargan had passed a very comfortable night in his chambers, and despite his distaste for the court itself, it was with some reluctance that he left the comfortably furnished room that morning and descended to the grand hallway, which was already a flurry of activity.
“Oh, there you are,” Catherine said, bustling over to Feargan as he supervised the footman with his bags. “It is all arranged, you shall travel in our carriage, and we’re about to depart.”
“And what of Lord Torbay?” Feargan asked. “I daenae doubt he is nae too pleased to have one of such low class as a mere Laird join him on the road.”
“Forget him, he’s travelling with the Regent. Anyway, Amelia shall be with us so there is nothing inappropriate in our travelling together,” she replied, smiling at Feargan, who blushed a little.
“I daenae mean that, but I doubt he is too happy that one such as I will be staying with ye both and entertained under his roof,” Feargan said.
“It is our father’s roof under which you shall be staying and I assure you that you are most
welcome, whatever Philip might say,” Catherine replied. “Come now, or we shall be late. We want to be in Paris in time for dinner.”
And she bustled off, shouting orders at the servants, and wishing farewell to those who would remain behind. Feargan watched her and smiled. She was a sweet young thing, a little given over to flirtation, a charm she appeared to employ upon whomsoever she was speaking.
“Time to say farewell, lad,” Hamish McBride said, sidling over to Feargan as he prepared to depart. “I am just sorry ye daenae get to speak with the Regent. I told ye it wouldnae be easy.”
“Aye, well thank ye for making things a little easier. We shall see what Paris brings,” Feargan said, shaking the old tutor by the hand and bidding him farewell.
“Galbreth, come now,” Catherine called to him and with a final nod of his head to Hamish, Feargan made his way out to the waiting carriage.
Highlander's Hidden Destiny: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 4
