Island of the Swans (41 page)

Where, oh where, would such a journey take her?
she wondered.

Seventeen

N
OVEMBER
1775

T
HE FIST POUNDING ON THE BROTHEL DOOR MIGHT AS WELL
have been pummeling Thomas Fraser’s skull. The continuous thuds reverberated loudly across the bedchamber, penetrating his fog-shrouded brain like the noise of cannon fire.

“Holy Mother,” mumbled a voice emanating from the feminine figure whose ample thighs draped heavily across his own. “G’way! The loo-tenen’s not here, are you?”

The harlot’s voice was slurred and laced with the scent of the ample whiskey she had shared with him the previous night. Thomas turned over in the rumpled bed. A bottle of spirits wasn’t the only thing he and the wench had shared. His groin was sore, not to mention certain other parts of his anatomy. He glanced over at his bed partner’s tousled locks. Her name was Katie, he remembered. Yes, Katie Connelly. He had chosen her instead of his usual companion, Brigid, who understandably had glared at him venomously as he retreated upstairs, his palm pressing against Katie’s broad bottom. Mistress Connelly’s enormous, pendulous breasts and bovine figure were unique in his experience. What’s more, her blue-black hair and blue eyes brought to mind that damnable vixen, Arabella O’Brien Delaney. When he’d spotted those ebony tresses earlier in the evening, Thomas had had a sudden fancy to plough the strumpet within an inch of her life. Katie Connelly had proved more than a match for him, however, cheerfully writhing beneath him most of the night on a lumpy horsehair mattress in Madame Geraghty’s finest boudoir.

“Fraser! Fraser, lad? Are you in there?”

Dumbfounded, Thomas recognized the voice. James Maxwell had somehow tracked him to the most disreputable whorehouse in all of Dublin, the retreat where Thomas assuaged his moments of loneliness and despair.

“Is Lieutenant Thomas Fraser
in
there?” Captain Maxwell bellowed. “Because if he is, I am going to wait exactly one more minute for him, and then, the Devil take him and his damnable Commission in the Fraser Highlanders!”

“Ho, there, James!” Thomas answered Jane’s uncle. Over the years, the older man had become a fast friend and mentor.

Suppressing a groan, he swung his long legs over Katie’s soft hips and slid off the bed. The room seemed to wobble around him. He was naked and the room was icy cold. Shivering, he wrapped his wrinkled kilt around his waist and cracked open the door a few inches.

“Ah… greetings, James,” he said sheepishly. “I fear I’ve overslept.”

“That’s right,” his longtime comrade said, tight-lipped. “And you’ve also missed parade. Again.”

“I didn’t think these Irish potatoes are much impressed by our fancy drills, James, old boy. Really, I—”

“God’s wounds, Fraser! You look like you’ve been in a coal mine for a month. Pull yourself together, lad! You’ll need your strength for your journey across the Irish Sea.”

“What… ?” Thomas faltered, staring at the thick parchment Maxwell thrust into his hands.

“Your new commission, I expect,” James said tersely.

Thomas was aware that Jane’s uncle soundly disapproved of the hedonistic lifestyle he’d succumbed to in this wretched outpost these past seven years, but the older man made no further comment. He merely gestured toward the missive Thomas held in his hand.

“’Tis affixed with your godfather’s seal. A few of the other lads received theirs today as well. There’s a ship bound for Greenock tomorrow.”

Thomas broke the wax crest, stared at his orders for a long moment, and closed his eyes.

“I’ll see her, you know,” he said, his voice cracking. “Simon’s asked your nephew Hamilton to raise a company for the 71st Fraser Highlanders.”

“And you’ll say, ’Good morning, Your Grace’ when you do see her,” James Maxwell said gruffly. “Dash it, man! Your life’s going by and you’re living it like a dirty dog!”

“I know,” Thomas replied quietly.

“This is a chance to change all that,” his friend urged. “You’ll get out of this hovel and see some action!”

“I had enough action at Fort Pitt to last a lifetime,” Thomas said, looking over his shoulder to observe whether the prostitute was awake. Katie had flopped on her back and was snoring like a trooper.

“Now you’ll be a Fraser Highlander, lad,” James Maxwell said kindly. “You’ll be with your own kin.”

“Aye,” Thomas said thoughtfully. “And I’ll be going home to Scotland—at least for a while.”

The potbellied sergeant by the name of Dougal Fraser hiked his heavy drum against his well-worn red and moss green kilt. He began to beat out a solemn cadence as the Gordon party approached the hulking ruins of Elgin Cathedral. The ragged stones of the ancient church etched themselves bleakly against a clear winter’s sky. The group, which included a piper and a corporal carrying a banner with the Fraser coat of arms, was headed for the market square to try its luck recruiting one more time. Hamilton Maxwell’s company of 71st Fraser Highlanders was still shy at least a dozen men.

Their journey this crisp December day took them to several villages and hamlets on the main route leading to Inverness. It seemed to Jane that the mere sight of the distinctive Fraser tartan slung about the sergeant’s broad hips had put Alex into a foul temper. Neither Hamilton, nor Alex’s brother Lord George, a local MP anxious to be seen engaging in such patriotic activities, nor even young Charlotte, could draw the duke out of his dark humor. The rest of them grew gloomy, too, as they had failed to enroll a single recruit, despite their morning’s efforts. Jane decided once more to try to rouse her husband from this glum state as the party entered the outskirts of the market town of Elgin, which flanked both sides of the River Lossie.

“Alex… look! The cathedral,” she exclaimed, pointing to the enormous, roofless structure put to the torch in the fourteenth century by the infamous Wolf of Badenoch.

The place was imposing, even in its desolation. She tried to push away thoughts of that other ruin associated with the demented Wolf—the miniature castle at Loch-an-Eilean guarded by wild swans, where she’d last seen Thomas nearly eight years before. Though neither she nor Alex had mentioned the subject all morning, both were trying to adjust to the shock of the casual announcement made by Hamilton over breakfast earlier in the day, that Thomas Fraser was transferring from the Black Watch to his godfather’s regiment.

Shifting her weight on her pony, Jane addressed her husband sharply. “Alex!” she repeated as the huge religious edifice loomed ahead, “We’re nearly there! Look at the
cathedral
!”

“We’ll all be buried there one day,” Alex replied grimly, nodding at the crumbling gable of the cathedral’s south transept. “St. Mary’s Aisle has long been reserved for the Gordons.”

“For pity’s sake!” Jane retorted in exasperation. “If you persist with this gloomy attitude, we’ll not get a single lad to sign the rolls. Come, now, m’lord… aren’t we supposed to be the ’Gay Gordons’? Well, then, let’s have a little gaiety! Sergeant, beat the drum faster…
faster
, I say!”

Alex merely stared ahead as the soldier hastened to respond to Jane’s command. He flailed his stick against the taut, stretched hide of the drum, picking up the pace.

“Aye, that’s the spirit, Jane!” enthused Hamilton, grateful his sister was attempting to lighten the leaden atmosphere.

“Mama, will the men in Elgin be pleased to join His Majesty’s army?” piped Charlotte, sitting primly on the small Highland pony Alex had recently given her for her seventh birthday.

“We shall see when we get there, pet.” She smiled fondly at her daughter who sat sidesaddle on her small mount, trying her best to appear ladylike. “That’s why we brought you with us, moppet, to charm the lads into enlisting!”

“A knock on the head’s the most likely persuader,” Lord George, the duke’s brother, commented sourly, compressing his prissy lips into a thin line. “That, and a few well-placed threats against the heathen.”

Gradually, Jane had learned that, as far as her eccentric brother-in-law was concerned, anyone who wasn’t a member of the Protestant Association, of which he was a rabid supporter, was a heathen, regardless of religious affiliation. Jane wagered that Lord George’s primary motivation for helping them recruit was to force Alex into an obligation to pay off his younger brother’s latest round of drinking and gambling debts.

Her cynical reflections were interrupted by the sight of window sashes flying up in the rows of houses flanking the cobbled streets of the quaint town. Elgin lay ten miles west of Gordon Castle and the appearance of a duke was cause for celebration. Before long, their party halted in the open square in front of the local tavern, known as the Star Inn. The duke nodded morosely to the sergeant, who gave the drum several thunderous claps. Then the corpulent recruiter ceased his banging and spoke to the assembled throng in stentorian tones.

“Drinks for you, lads! Drinks, and a chance to serve in one of His Majesty’s finest regiments. And you’ll be paid in the bargain!”

As the sergeant continued to harangue the apathetic crowd, Jane sat quietly on her pony. Slowly, the better part of the throng began to melt away. Hamilton dismounted and waded into a knot of young men who were gazing skeptically at the recruiting sergeant.

“Now you might ask… what’re Maxwells and Gordons doing, recruiting for a company of
Frasers
?” Hamilton interrupted loudly, slowing the departure of a knot of likely looking recruits. Quickly, he launched into his well-practiced speech designed to lure potential enlistees into the ranks. “Well, lads, ’tis a chance for us to put porridge in your bellies, give you a fine kilt to wear proudly after the dark years of the Diskilting, and offer you a chance to serve with your brother Highlanders! Come now, lads, have you a drink!”

Hamilton thumped the back of the boy nearest him and proffered his own tankard of ale. Bystanders on the circle’s periphery self-consciously began to edge away, despite Hamilton’s stirring words and the spirits being passed out in increasing quantity.

Alex slouched in his saddle, remaining aloof from the effort. Taking note of the rapidly thinning crowd, Jane shouted impulsively, “You, there… Piper! Play us a bonnie tune in honor of His Majesty’s new regiment. My daughter and I will dance with any man who enlists this day in the 71st Fraser Highlanders, the finest fighting force Scotland has ever produced!”

Stirred from his lethargy by Jane’s unexpected announcement, Alex stared at her incredulously. The piper struck up “Hielan Laddie,” and Jane, without waiting for assistance, sprang down from her horse and lifted Charlotte from her saddle. The little girl was thrilled to be the center of attention, along with her beautiful mother. She fell in behind Jane, who skipped in and out of the crowd in time to the music. A roar of approval rose from the throng, attracting the attention of bystanders who had drifted off to survey the open stalls of the Elgin marketplace.

As Jane and her little daughter commenced a merry jig, a strapping young man of six feet joined them in performing the dance’s high, hopping steps. Soon, a second young man, and then another took advantage of the rare opportunity to dance with a duchess. The five of them commenced whirling and turning to the wild skirl of the pipes.

“’Tis worth the risk of facing rebel cannon to step lively with you, m’lady,” gasped her gallant partner as the music came to its boisterous conclusion.

“Then you’ll accept the King’s Shilling?” Jane panted, attempting to catch her breath. She smiled up at the lad as provocatively as she dared without compromising her dignity as a duchess.

“Aye, m’lady,” he replied with a rakish grin and turned to shake Hamilton’s hand, taking the coin to seal the bargain. “And here’s me pledge!”

“Here’s mine too, Your Grace,” shouted his companion, not to be outdone.

“And mine. Duchess!” chimed in the third, accepting the King’s Shilling.

“Huzzah!” Jane exclaimed to the multitude, which echoed her shout with cheers and whistles. “What’s your name, laddie?” she asked of the strapping six-footer.