The Enchantress (Book 1 of The Enchantress Saga) (44 page)

‘And you said ...’

‘I said nothing, Analee. His lordship, who had gone to the castle, had told everyone that he was seeking a beautiful gypsy girl – see how proud he is of you Analee? He does not hide you at all – and Emma Delamain was reminded of the story of Brent and the gypsy. She asked me if she were the same person. Thank God I did not reply until I had seen the baby and when I had, I said “no”’

‘She knew my name?’

‘Yes. She had it from Mary Allonby.’

Analee leaned back against the pillow her eyes full of tears. ‘How is ... Morella?’

‘Oh, Analee, she is so beautiful, a big bonny baby. Her hair is golden and her eyes so round and blue, just like her father’s I’ll warrant.’

‘Yes they were.’

‘She chuckles and laughs, she has that dimple on each cheek, do you remember, Analee?’

‘I remember. I shall fetch her, Nelly, and ...’

Nelly pressed Analee’s shoulder trying to comfort her. ‘Analee, what I have to say is this. Is it right that you should take Morella? She was so ill on the road, nearly died of cold and hunger, and now she is so pampered and cosseted. She has her own room and a soft crib and fine linen, beautiful lawn night dresses and her very own nursemaid. She smells of sweet oils and unguents and a fire glows in the grate to warm her.’

‘You’re saying, Nelly ...’ Analee gripped Nelly’s hand. ‘You’re saying I should
leave
Morella?’

‘Yes, Analee; she is with her family, her own grandmother. In time, especially if you went back to his lordship, you may have the means to claim Morella. But as a wandering gypsy
...
Is it right, Analee?’

‘But I am her mother.’

‘What can you give her except hardship and maybe death? She will grow to be a fine lady, and you, too, Analee. As his lordship’s favourite ... in time, who knows? But I think now you must give up thoughts of claiming Morella, leave her where she is. You owe it to her, Analee.’

Analee threw herself on Nelly weeping copiously. Nelly stroked her long hair and her back, hugging her in her arms.

‘Analee, you are a young woman. You will have other babies. With his lordship’s protection ...’

‘I am
not
going back to his lordship!’ Analee thumped the bed. ‘I am a gypsy, a vagabond. I want no jewels and silks.’

‘But you loved him didn’t you?’ Nelly murmured softly. ‘Was your love not as instant as his own; just as urgent? Even that day on the field when you met?’

‘Aye, his lordship has a powerful attraction. He is a fine strong handsome man. Whether ‘tis love ... No, Nelly.  My mind is made up.  Tomorrow, whatever you decide, I will go from hence and make my way south to where I came from.’

‘And Morella? Will you take her, too?’

Analee was silent, the tears still flowing quietly in the dark.

19

To the surprise of everyone – most people having considered them defeated – the Jacobite fortunes improved despite the persistent bickering that still dogged the commanders, and the many desertions as disillusioned Highlanders made their way to their homes. Reinforcements had arrived to swell the Jacobite army to about 8,000 men and a new mood of confidence swept through the Prince’s followers.

But the Hanoverians had regrouped too, and sent for reinforcements from the South. These began to foregather in large numbers in Scotland under General Handyside and General Hawley.

Lord Falconer, not yet gazetted lieutenant-general, was sent to join General Hawley’s command and arrived in Edinburgh just as his troops were leaving to march to Linlithgow.

Hawley was a severe, unpopular man rumoured to be a natural son of George II and thus half-brother to the Duke of Cumberland. However, he and Angus Falconer found much in common. They were both tough disciplinarians and the Marquess did not share the men’s opinion that Hawley was a poor military strategist. Hawley was pleased to see Falconer and immediately drew him into his counsel with his second-in-command General Huske.

The objective was to relieve Stirling, which was being besieged by the Jacobites. An advance party, however, under Lord George Murray came upon the government army, and the Prince’s soldiers were thus withdrawn from Stirling and drawn up around Bannockburn in anticipation of an attack being made.

But the attack never came. Hawley spent much time in council with his commanders and decided to wait for the Jacobites to expend themselves. He was convinced that the rebel army was a contemptible bunch of rascals, and could never withstand well trained and disciplined soldiers such as his own, the victors of Dettigen and Fontenoy. He did, however, warn his men about the Highlanders’ barbarian tactics in order to prepare them and allay their fears.

As the Falcon – eyes hooded, ready to pounce on the foe – waited at the head of his men for the Jacobite charge that they knew must come he was possessed by an unaccustomed feeling of unease. He didn’t like the fact that the Jacobite army had formed a superior position on the barren moorland ahead of him known as the hill of Falkirk. Moreover, part of the government army had unexpectedly taken off under the impression that the Jacobites were moving south, and now that it had been reported as a false alarm, manoeuvred by Lord John Drummond, Falconer realized how clever the Jacobite reasoning was. Half the government army was still absent, including its commander Hawley who was last seen dining well as a guest of Lady Kilmarnock at Callender House. Falconer had refused the invitation to accompany his commander. He knew Lady Kilmarnock supported her husband who was with the Prince’s troops and suspected her motives in offering such lavish entertainment to a government commander.

It was cold and the Falcon shivered in the wind as the storm clouds gathered. Suddenly a bugle sounded and the Jacobite army was observed not a mile and a half away, moving up in the direction of Falkirk Muir.

There was still no sign of Hawley, and Falconer and his fellow commanders began making agitated signals to disperse their troops in order to confront the enemy. Suddenly Hawley, red faced, his jacket still undone, appeared at the gallop and ordered the dragoon regiments to march up the hill before the Highlanders got there; but as the command was given the clouds broke and rain lashed down in the face of the government army, almost obscuring their sight of the enemy.

Lord Falconer’s foreboding increased as he ordered his men to draw their swords and advance slowly. Ahead he could see the government forces with their cannon struggling up the hill right in the face of the gale which the Jacobites had to their backs. The cannon stuck in the mud and Angus urged his men forwards to assist the foot soldiers. An order came from Hawley, however, for Lord Falconer’s dragoons to break into a trot and as the run towards the enemy began the Marquess forgot his foreboding and plunged into the thick of the fight, swirling his sword about his head regardless of the onslaught of enemy fire.

But the fire took others by surprise and two regiments of dragoons on their right flank wheeled about and fled the field. The Falcon shouted to his men and, spurring his horse, dived regardless into the line of Highlanders confronting him. Savagely he began trampling them underfoot, his sword flaying to right and left.

The storm gathered momentum and dusk began to fall but, impelled by a new savagery, even for him, Falconer penetrated the heart of the enemy line relishing the crunch of bones as the men fell under his horse’s hooves. Even the wild cries of the Highlanders did not disturb him, and he was well into the enemy ranks when suddenly his horse trembled and fell, and a huge Scot, looming out of the gloom, struck Lord Falconer a blow with his broadsword that felled him. As his head crashed to the ground his lordship’s last thoughts were that this was the end.

McNeath, perceiving what had happened to his master, rushed to him just as the large Highlander was about to administer a mortal blow, and practically severed the man’s head from his shoulders. From under the Falcon’s horse another Highlander crawled out and McNeath, in white fury at seeing his lord so badly injured, despatched him to hell as well. By this time more of Falconer’s officers had come to McNeath’s assistance and, even though they thought their commander was dead, they removed him from the height of battle to the side of a nearby stream. Then they returned to the fray while McNeath tried to unloose his lordship’s tight clothes and see whether he breathed or not.

His lordship breathed, but erratically. McNeath saw, to his consternation, that the Jacobite army was triumphant in the field and that many of the dragoons were fleeing in terror at the bloody frenzy of the Highlanders. Even now some of the Jacobite troops were stripping the bodies of the enemy dead for loot. McNeath thought that if he left his master as he was, he was as good as dead, so he heaved him onto his back and lumbered with him into the shelter of the neighbouring forest. There he remained until nightfall when he was able to emerge and seek fresh help.

Both sides claimed victory at Falkirk, but for Hawley it was a bitter blow and he was to wreak vengeance on his own men by the savagery of his actions to those whom he thought had been guilty of cowardice.

The Marquess of Falconer meanwhile knew nothing of this. He remained unconscious and only came to the following day in the bed of a government sympathizer who lived nearby. He had a terrible pain in his head and difficulty in focusing his eyes, and he could hardly move his body. McNeath and his hostess hovered anxiously by and General Hawley, who had personally observed Falconer’s bravery, sent word to enquire after him.

‘Those beggardly Highlanders pierced the belly of your horse from under you, your lordship, as you passed overhead,’ McNeath muttered. ‘They did the same to a number of officers, most of whom are dead. Their dirks dug in the animal’s belly. Many of them that did it were crushed beneath, but they cared not.’

The Falcon nodded, scarcely able to reply. He looked towards the window and everything blurred. He thought he was done for. He was going to die as he had seen many men do; despatched from the world and forgotten. And who would remember him? His brother James would succeed to his title. His family would mourn for him for a while, but what had he really achieved? What had he to leave behind? No family of his own, no loving wife to mourn his passing, no children.

Suddenly Angus opened his eyes and saw very clearly the face of Analee looking at him, her deep brown eyes tender and passionate. She came nearer to him and her lips parted to kiss him, revealing her splendid even white teeth.

‘Analee ...’ he opened his mouth to return the kiss, but she was no longer there.

‘Sir?’

‘I saw Analee, McNeath, the gypsy woman. Is she here?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Ah. It was so clear. I am dying then. ‘Twas like a vision of an angel. Farewell, Analee, my love.’

Angus’ head sank back on the pillow. He had seen her. She had come to visit him; but maybe, after all, to tell him he would recover. Her face had not looked sad. She was a witch, a sorceress. He felt better already. The pain was less severe and when he focused his eyes on the window he could clearly see the skeletal trees outside and the dark, stormy clouds hovering above. He closed his eyes and Analee came to him in a vision again, her body naked and her belly swollen with child. His child. He put his hands on the belly and kissed it and the child inside moved. Analee was going to have his child; he would have a child to leave to the world. He would be remembered.

His lordship opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling his face puckered in a frown. Then he lost consciousness again.

As Analee and Nelly lay in bed at Furness Grange clasped together, half waking half sleeping, talking through the night, the snow had continued to fall and by the following day a white blanket feet thick cloaked the moors and fells of Lakeland.

Mary Delamain had refused to hear of Analee’s departure but William, however, insisted on attempting to make the journey, fearing the wrath of the Falcon if he did not return. With trepidation they watched him set out, snow half way up his horse’s legs. And still it fell. Considering the circumstances Mary was kindness itself to her guest. The two women resumed the friendship only briefly begun months past. Mary talked about Brent and the Stuart tragedy while Analee, without saying what she knew from Nelly, talked about the baby so cruelly taken from her, as though listening to her own words comforted her.

Nelly set to helping in the house and the kitchen, and the days they spent isolated from the world in that beautiful part of Lakeland were to remain in the minds of all for many a long day. The lake froze over so that even the boat could not reach them, and the hardy Herdwick sheep had to fend for themselves on the bleak snow-covered fells. But the cows could be milked and there were provisions in the larder sufficient to prevent the family and the guests from starving.

One morning Analee woke to see that the thaw had set in and, although still bitterly cold, only traces of the snow remained on the ground. The high peaks around them were still thickly covered and, outlined against the blue sky and tinged by the rosy morning sun, looked like some promised land upon which Analee knew she must turn her back, perhaps forever. She shook Nelly awake.

‘Nelly! The snow has almost gone. And I am going too. These good people have been so kind, but it is time I left.’

Nelly shivered in her comfortable bed. The thought of a life on the road again, scratching about for food and sleeping in ditches ...

‘Analee,
must
we go?’

‘I am going, Nell. You could make your way back to Falcon’s Keep or ...’

‘No. No. I will not be welcome there without you. His lordship will have me well and truly whipped! I will go with you, Analee, be with you where you are. We will find a way together. Besides you will need help with Morella ...’

Analee stood very still in the act of fastening the laces of her bodice. She looked out of the window for a long time and then at Nelly.

‘No. I will not fetch Morella. I have often talked about her with Mary these last few days and, although Mary does not know Morella is my baby, she has told me how well looked after the baby is, how much her aunt dotes on her, like a second daughter. It is all the comfort the poor woman has in the world after the tragedies of these past months. There Morella is loved and protected. What right have I to claim her?’