Clandara (20 page)

“Ye're wounded,” Murdoch exclaimed. “Hold to me now, hold fast …” James's coat was soaked with blood and the weight of his buckler on his left arm hurt him intolerably.

“That swine shot at me,” he mumbled. “Pull out my sword, Murdoch. I'll lean on it.”

“Ye'll lean on me,” his clansman insisted. “Ye've no' been wounded badly, sir; there's nothing missing. Ach, what a bonny morning this has been! I saw you going through them like a reaper! What a bonny morning!”

As he supported his chief's son back through the heaps of dead and injured men, he threw back his head and began to sing a wild triumphant lay of the glories of his clan and its great chiefs in the old battles of the past.

The victorious Scots pursued and captured what was left of the fleeing enemy, and the Prince showed yet another engaging side to his character by personally attending some of the wounded and sending to Edinburgh for surgeons to care for the casualties on both sides, for the English medical officers had followed hard on the retreating figure of Sir John Cope. James lay under an improvised tent, cared for by his brother David and Murdoch. Hugh had gone so far after the flying enemy that he had not returned to the field eight hours after the battle was over.

The wound did not seem to be a serious one; the dying man's hand had been aimed at James's heart but he had wavered and the shot went in high above the chest, almost in the shoulder. But he had lost a lot of blood, and in the middle of a violent argument with his brother David, who would insist that he was injured, James fainted, and after that he was at Murdoch's mercy until one of the Prince's surgeons came to see him. There were a score of wounded lying under the canvas with him; most of them were English, many suffering terribly and without hope of recovery. James raised himself on one elbow as a Highlander passed him and began feeding drops of water to an English soldier.

“There are good Scotsmen thirsty here,” James called out. “Don't waste your water on dogs who wouldn't give you a drop if you were in their place. Bring it here, man! Give it to your own!”

The man looked over his shoulder; his face was quite impassive, with nothing showing but his native courtesy, bland and impenetrable as steel. He recognized the wounded officer; everyone had heard of James Macdonald of Dundrenan and he had personally seen him in the battle. It was an awesome sight, but a pity he spoiled his bravery with cruelty to the beaten foe. The Prince had ordered mercy, and mercy the captives were going to get. Had he told his men to cut their throats, there would not have been one man left alive by midday. He supported the dying boy's head on his arm and tipped a little more water into his mouth.

“Did you hear me, damn you!”

“I did, sir, but I've orders from the Prince.” There was an ugly choking sound and the water came back, red with blood; the boy's head fell sideways. He had received a dirk-thrust down the belly which had laid him open. He was dead, and the Highlander put him back on the ground and came over to James with a bow.

“Ye can have the rest of the water now. The laddie's dead.” James stared into the disapproving face above him; the man wore the seaweed badge of the MacNeils in his bonnet. The Prince had ordered mercy. To hell with the Prince, to hell with playing at war and cutting men to pieces only to waste time nursing them afterwards.

“Next time there'll be no prisoners taken by the Macdonalds. Water for the dying! You damned fool. Take it to that poor devil over there!” He pointed to an injured man whose chest was roughly bandaged, his head pillowed on a bloody plaid, its pattern common to many of Lochiel's Camerons. The MacNeil went over as he was told without looking back at James. He left the tent to tell his fellows that the Macdonalds of Dundrenan had sworn to take no prisoners in the future. James Macdonald was certainly a bonny fighter, but he was a man of blood. He, the speaker, did not envy the clansmen under his command. These men smelt of death and death travelled with them like a shadow. He made the sign of the Cross and many others did the same. In the tent, David ran out anxiously to seek a surgeon, for James was unconscious again and neither he nor Murdoch could staunch a sudden flow of blood.

“There have been some casualties. That's all he said, Annie, some casualties.”

Sir Andrew Maclean had called at Clandara that day, fresh from a stay at the Capital where he described the rapturous reception given to the victorious Prince on his return and the amazing victory won over the English troops at Prestonpans. Seven minutes and they were flying for their lives … And most of it done by the Macdonalds and the Camerons. Katharine had felt the colour leaving her face; she had been listening politely, caring little whether fickle Edinburgh was making much of the occupying power or not, until their guest began his description of the battle, and she suddenly saw the lines of men advancing, and the men were Macdonalds and the tallest leading them was James … James going into battle with her curse of death upon him. She remained silent while her father and Henry talked with Maclean, and then excused herself and slipped out of the room. And then she shut and locked her door and fell on her knees and began to pray that, much as she hated him, much as he deserved to die, he had been spared this time. She was roused by Annie's knocking.

“Milady, what was the matter with ye? Locking the door like that!”

“I didn't want to be disturbed: Get me some water, Annie. I feel faint.”

Annie saw the pale and drawn face and the eyes wet with tears, and tightening her lips she went and brought a pitcher of cold drinking-water and filled a basin and scented it. Then she made her mistress sit while she unlaced her bodice and bathed her face, and gave her a cup of cool water to sip.

“There's been a battle,” Katharine said at last. “Sir Andrew Maclean brought us news.”

Annie did not look at her.

“Is he dead, or only wounded?” she asked abruptly.

“I don't know,” Katharine whispered. “Sir Andrew said the Macdonalds and the Camerons did most of the fighting and there were some casualties.”

“But he didn't mention
him
?” Annie asked. “How do you know it was those Macdonalds? … It could have been any of the clan.”

“He spoke of Sir Alexander Macdonald,” Katharine said. “Then I knew it was them. Oh, my God, my God, I don't even know what's happened to him!”

“Nothing at all, I should say,” Annie retorted. “He's not the kind that gets himself killed easily. He's making merry in Edinburgh.”

“I don't think so,” Katharine whispered. “I feel in my heart that something's happened to him. Oh, Annie, if I only knew, it wouldn't be so bad! But every battle, every skirmish …”

“Ye'd have done better to go with him when he came here that night,” Annie said at last. “Ye loved him always and ye do still … God pity you. He's a scoundrel and a murderer and he's laid your whole life waste. Whatever you say to me,
I
wish him dead a hundred times over! Perhaps then ye could think of that good and gentle man who loves ye, and forget this villain.”

“Annie, I asked you once if you had ever been in love. Do you remember? You said no, and you were very scornful. Now I'll ask you something else. Do you care for me at all?”

She gazed into the plain, anxious face and saw the answer in the painful blush that covered it from forehead to neck and the bright little brown eyes growing dim with emotion.

“I care for you more than anything in the world, milady. And I know what ye're going to ask me.”

“Find out where he is, and if he's safe,” Katharine begged her. “That's all I want – just tell me whether he's alive or not.”

“How?” Annie asked her. “Why can't ye ask Sir Andrew Maclean?”

“I daren't,” Katharine said. “He knows I was betrothed to him. And if he gave me bad news, God knows how I'd betray myself! Oh, Annie, what can I do? Can't you talk to his servants, find out from them?”

“I can try,” she said. “But if nobody knows anything … what then?”

“Then,” Katharine said quietly, “you must go to Edinburgh and see what you can find out there.”

“That's what I thought ye'd ask,” Annie said sadly. “And I knew I'd be fool enough to agree to it, instead of telling your father what ye were about!”

“Try Maclean's men first,” Katharine urged her. “Please, Annie, leave the water and let me fasten my own bodice; I'm quite all right now … all I want is news. I don't know how I can go down to dinner and face them all and see Mr. Ogilvie watching me … I knew he was watching me this afternoon. Go down now and see what you can find out and then come back quickly and tell me!”

“When I've tidied ye,” Annie said firmly, “and made you look as ye should with guests in the house. And not one minute sooner!”

And then, when she was gone, Katharine began to pace up and down the room, listening for Annie's steps returning, listening also for the heavier tread of Henry who she feared might come upstairs to seek her out. He had postponed his trip to Inverness; neither she nor her father was anxious that he should leave them. The Earl depended upon him, asked his advice and talked to him about the affairs of Clandara as if he were his son, and slowly Katharine warmed towards him. She, too, depended, and he gave all she asked, without demanding anything of her. And as the days had become weeks and the weeks stretched into two months, some of her turbulent sorrow died and she grew calmer. Until that afternoon, when the cheerful old neighbour of theirs was describing the three-weeks-old battle and there was James in her mind's eye again, and suddenly Henry became a ghost and everything unreal except the torture of not knowing whether James was safe or not.

“Annie!” She ran forward and caught the girl by the shoulders. “What did they say?”

“Nothing.” Annie shook her head. “They knew nothing of the Macdonalds, father or sons, except that they were in the forefront of the battle. But our people lost little more than a hundred in all, so it's unlikely, most unlikely, that
he
was one of them. They said some of the worst wounded were taken back by litter to Edinburgh, but there are very few of them, mostly being cared for in private houses and enjoying themselves mightily.”

“Then you had better go there and find out,” Katharine said. “Annie, I'm going to send you on a shopping expedition. I need some new stuffs for gowns and some shoes and some patterns in the latest style. My father won't suspect anything. You can go tomorrow!”

“Ach, God help me, I suppose I can,” Annie managed to scowl; if she had any sense, she said indignantly to herself, she'd refuse right off now, while she had the chance. But no, no, she'd go on her traitor's errand and hunt round for that devil and his kin, and all she could hope for was the news that he was dead and buried in the mire at Prestonpans. If she came back with that intelligence, the journey and the risks of discovery by the Earl or Mr. Ogilvie would be well worth it.

“I'll collect some things,” she said. “And I'll take grandfather with me, if that is convenient to ye, milady.”

“Take anyone you like.” Katharine suddenly embraced her. “You're a dear, good girl, Annie, and I don't know what would become of me without you. If you go to Edinburgh for me, I shan't forget it, ever.”

“Then put it out of your head for tonight,” Annie said sharply. “One sign of anxiety from you and Mr. Ogilvie will suspect something. There'll be no trip to Edinburgh for me if he does, and if your father found out I was going on such an errand for ye he'd have me hanged.”

“He would,” Katharine agreed. “But he won't know. I promise. No one shall suspect anything by me. And now I must go down. Thank you, Annie, and God bless you.”

And that evening, as they sat at the long polished table in the Great Hall, she laughed and talked and displayed a fair imitation of her old sparkling self, until the Maclean was beaming and leaning across the table to her, and Henry watched her with a look of tenderness and joy, imagining that her gaiety, and the brightness in her eyes, was directed especially at him. And so it was. At him and at her father, and she acted so well that he came on her alone in the Green Salon after dinner, and hurried her into the garden where he made his request, very humbly, that he might kiss her. Unlike James, he was carefully controlled. There was no movement that might hurt her, no intimacy attempted which could offend her, and she stood with her arms at her sides while he embraced her and kissed her cold lips, and felt as if she were dead. When he stepped back, Henry looked down at her and shook his head, and she felt suddenly ashamed at having tried to cheat him.

“It was too soon,” he said. “I'm sorry, my dearest.”

“Please don't be sorry,” she begged him. “I told you I didn't think that I could bear it yet. Tonight proved one thing to me, at least.” She hesitated; in her soul she was bargaining, bargaining desperately with her own conscience and with God. “I ask nothing for myself,” the frantic cry went on, “I ask only for him, that he is safe … and if You'll grant me that, I'll put all thought of him away, all lust and vengeance and my poor misspent love, and marry this good man and be a comfort to my father if only You will keep James safe …”

“What does it prove?” Henry asked her gently.

“It proves that all is not as lost as I imagined,” she said slowly. “Next time you touch me, Henry, I shall show you what I mean. Now let's go in.”

5

The streets of Edinburgh were so crowded that Annie and Angus had to push their way through. Above their heads the narrow houses leaned and almost met, shutting out the sky, and it was made darker still by the bright cloths and tapestries which were strung from window to window. The city was
en fête
for the Prince and his victorious army, and as Annie struggled after her grandfather, she brushed against the soldiers of that army, Highlanders from every quarter of the Kingdom, and it was one of these who nearly knocked her down. The Prince had given orders that the citizens were not to be annoyed; the penalties for molesting women or robbing or brawling were severe, and Charles knew how to enforce discipline. The Highlander stepped back with an apology. Seeing the sett of the Macdonalds in his plaid, which she had come to know so well, Annie bit back her angry retort and managed to smile. Her grandfather was too far ahead to hear anything and the noise of carts rumbling and creaking down the cobbled streets was so loud that she had to shout to make herself heard.