The Inheritance (18 page)

February 1746

Isobel looked out of the window for the umpteenth time that morning hoping to see riders approaching the castle.  They’d had no word in months.  She had a letter from Rory after he rejoined the king in December, but nothing since.  She felt isolated and scared.  What was happening?  Why the silence?  She’d heard from John a few times, but he never told her anything of importance, just instructions pertaining to various domestic matters. 

There
’d been a message from her mother around Christmas.  She had sent Isobel a beautiful shawl she’d embroidered for her, and a letter telling her that her father and brother were with His Majesty in Edinburgh, and Mary had been delivered of a healthy baby girl.  The baby was called Elizabeth and thankfully didn’t resemble her father. 

There
’d also been a note from Margaret telling her that David had gone off to join the king with their father, and she hadn’t had any word from him since.  Margaret was sick with worry, and considering running away to Edinburgh to join the Highland Army.  Isobel smiled at her sister’s impetuous nature and put the letter away.  She would have to go tell Morag the news of Mary.  The girl had been distraught when Mary didn’t come back to the castle and always asked for news of her.  She was only thirteen and had become quite attached to the older girl.

Isobel
turned from the window and left the room.  The world was coming back to life after a cold and wet winter, and she longed to be outside.  The smell of new grass and damp earth greeted her as she stepped out of the tower, and her feet turned toward the walled garden.  She closed the gate behind her, ran past the blossoming flower beds, and made her way to the back wall where she pulled aside the vine and disappeared through the little door. 

Isobel
took a deep breath of sea air and walked briskly along the cliff.  The tranquil sea lay below sparkling in the April sunshine, and she could just make out the white canvas of a faraway sail, and wondered what it would be like to be standing on a deck of a ship being carried away from the familiar shores of Scotland.  She couldn’t see what colors the ship was flying, but it didn’t look like a British man-of-war.  Maybe a French ship, she thought, which brought help to the struggling Highland Army.

She continued to walk, her cloak billowing around her and her hair whipping into her face. 
It felt good to be away from the depressing atmosphere of the castle.  All the women were anxious and short-tempered fearing for the lives of their men, and Anna was frantic with worry for Dougal. 

She enjoyed being
alone, although she was sure that she wasn’t alone any longer.  Her courses hadn’t come since December, and her breasts felt tender to the touch.  She’d been sick a few times in the morning and the smell of meat made her nauseous. She was with child, but her joy was overshadowed by the fact that she couldn’t share this news with Rory.  He would be so pleased, but of course, there was John to consider.  No matter the outcome of the rebellion, Isobel had no intention of remaining married to John.  Whether Rory returned to her or not, and she prayed every day that he would, she would leave John and return to her parents as soon as he was back.  He would certainly know that the bairn wasn’t his, and so would anyone who knew how to count to nine.  After what he’d done to Mary, she felt no desire to try to justify herself.  She only wanted to protect Rory and their child from his vengeance.

July 2010

I quietly got out of bed and made my way downstairs, leaving Danny sound asleep.  I made a cup of tea and stepped outside into the small garden behind the house.  The sky was an endless stretch of cobalt blue, the morning dew already beginning to evaporate in anticipation of another warm day.  I wiped the moisture from a wicker chair, and sat down to drink my tea.

I hadn’t told my parents that
I’d moved to Danny’s house, mostly because I didn’t want to answer any questions I didn’t have answers to.  I knew that my mother would worry about me getting hurt after the fiasco with Xavier, and I didn’t want to cause her anxiety.  Danny hadn’t said anything about the future, and I certainly didn’t want to be the one to bring it up.  We’d known each other for only a few weeks, so to expect anything permanent would be unrealistic. 

At twenty
-five, I was entitled to a sex romp, and didn’t have to feel guilty or explain myself to anyone, but it felt like more than that.  I’d be leaving Scotland in a few weeks, and the thought of never seeing Danny again made me feel hollow and bereft.  I didn’t dare use the word love, but my feelings for him were beginning to take over.  I’d never felt this way with any of my boyfriends. 

W
ith Xavier, I always felt like I had to be more sophisticated, more cosmopolitan than I really was.  I rarely felt comfortable enough to be myself, and able to say what I was thinking without censoring it first to make sure it came out just right.  I always felt out of place with Xavier’s artsy friends, and he made no effort to make me feel more at ease or accepted in his circle. 

With Danny
, I felt like I could truly be myself.  He constantly told me I was beautiful and smart, laughed at my jokes, and found my romanticism endearing.  He didn’t laugh at my desire to find out what happened to Isobel and willingly went along, spending hours of his time in dusty libraries looking for clues to her fate.  Danny was warm and solid, the kind of man I could see myself spending a lifetime with.  He would make a great daddy too.  We’d gone to dinner with some of his college friends and they were as easygoing and fun as him.  I felt completely at ease despite the fact that I was normally shy with strangers.

I sighed and went back inside.  I would console myself with reading the final letter.  I promised Danny I would wait for him, but I needed someone else’s love life to distract me from my own
uncertain future.

April 1746

Rory stared into the crackling flames as Dougal handed him a cup of wine.  They were surrounded by campfires and thousands of men, but it was nerve-rackingly quiet.  Most men sat by their fires reminiscing about their families or talking with their comrades in low voices.  The usual pre-battle bravado wasn’t on display, and there was no laughter or snatches of bawdy songs heard on the wind. 

They had been marching back to Edinburgh when they
’d been cut off by the Hessian troops.  With Hessians in front of them, and the British behind them, they had no choice but to stand and fight.  His Majesty had made a pretty speech offering to lead the charge in the morning, but the men weren’t fooled.  They were a ragged bunch with worn-out boots, tattered clothing, and lack of supplies.  Most men hadn’t had a proper meal in days, and they gnawed on stale biscuits, dreaming of rich meaty stews and freshly baked loaves of fragrant bread.  Many of them knew that this might be their last meal. 

The British had cannon
s, vast numbers of men, experienced generals and a superior position.  The Highlanders had broadswords, tarches, and their lairds, who had pledged their loyalty to the young, spoiled prince.  They would be charging barefoot across wet, swampy terrain, completely exposed to British cannon fire.  Most men were so tired and weak with hunger they hardly had the energy to walk, much less swing a heavy sword.  No Highlander ran away from a fight, but they knew the odds.  Even if by some miracle from God they managed to win tomorrow, their losses would be great, and the Highland Army would be decimated.  They didn’t believe the Stuart cause could survive either way, with no fresh troops or supplies to replenish the Highland Army. 

Someone started singing a mournful song
, and a few voices joined in.  Rory threw down the rock-hard piece of bread he was trying to chew; he was so used to being hungry that it didn’t matter anymore.  He took a quill, ink and a piece of paper out of his pack, and began to compose his farewell letter to Isobel.  He gave the finished letter to Dougal, who put the folded square in his sporran, and wrapped himself in his plaid for warmth, trying to sleep.

April 15
th
, 1746

My dearest Isobel,

I pray this letter reaches ye, although I dinna believe it will. 

The past few months have been a series of victories and defeats, but then the Duke of Cumberland took over command
of the British Army from General Hawley after he lost the battle of Falkirk.  The Duke had decided to wait out the winter, and has spent much time training his troops in Aberdeen.  The government army has been joined by Hessian, Lowland and Irish troops, and we are sorely outnumbered and outgunned.  The Hessian troops have been dispatched to block our retreat, and we are currently camped out by Drummossie Moor, a few miles outside of Nairn.  The men are hungry, cold, and most of all, scared.

We are to face the English tomorrow on Culloden Moor
, and our prospects are dismal.  The battleground is a boggy terrain making the charge difficult, and leaving us open to British artillery.  His Majesty wants to command the troops, but at this stage, the men aren’t inspired by his bravado. 

Tomorrow’s battle will decide the outcome of the rebellion, as well as the future of Scotland.

Isobel, if I am killed tomorrow, please do nae grieve me.  Ken that I died with yer name on my lips, and that yer love has been the only thing in my life that was truly worth anything.  Take care of yerself and remember me fondly.

Forever yer
s,

R.A.M.

I put down the letter wiping a tear off my cheek.  I had read enough about Culloden in the past few weeks to know how it turned out.  Danny was probably right.  Chances are that Rory was either killed, or taken prisoner along with thousands of other men. Somehow his last letter had reached Isobel, but the paper was stained and worn, and I wondered how long it had taken for her to receive it.  There probably wasn’t a happy reunion after all.  Maybe Rory’s death prompted her to kill herself.  That would be the logical conclusion.  I was still sitting on the couch staring at the letter when Danny came downstairs.

“You read it,” he said accusingly.  “So what did it say?  What happened to our Rory?”  He wasn’t mocking me, but seemed genuinely curious.

“He was basically telling her that they had no chance at Culloden and to forget him.  He was saying goodbye.”  I sniffed, and Danny sat next to me and enfolded me in his arms. 

Chapter 52

I was in the kitchen making a salad to go with the salmon I was preparing when I heard Danny’s key in the lock.  He walked into the kitchen and gave me a thorough kiss, then pulled back with a huge grin on his face.

“Someone’s had a good day,” I teased
, as he loosened his tie and threw his suit jacket over the nearest chair. 

“Your day is about to get better too.  I found something today.  Come into the living room and I’ll show you.”

I took the salmon out of the oven before following Danny so it wouldn’t overcook, took off my apron and left the kitchen.  Danny was unrolling something on the coffee table, pinning it at the ends with two large candles to keep it in place.  He looked very pleased with himself.

“I was putting together a file for you this afternoon with all the paperwork on the distillery
, but I was missing last year’s annual report.  Angus left me a box of documents along with the Will, so I rolled up my sleeves and went rummaging.  I didn’t find what I needed, but I found something else.  Take a look.”

The scroll on the table was obviously a family tree.  It had a picture of the McBride crest pasted at the top
, and an impressive list of names and dates.  I saw my own name at the very bottom.  It felt kind of strange to be the last one with nothing next to my name.  The ink was much brighter than the rest of the names, and must have been added recently.  Above my name was the name of my mother, Ellen, and next to her, the name of my father.  My mother’s name was connected to the names of Angus and Claire, with James’s name off to the side as an afterthought. 

I looked up at Danny.  Why was he so excited about this find?  We already knew that Angus believed himself to
be my grandfather.  I felt a little deflated, as I’d been expecting some great revelation.  Danny saw my face and laughed. 

“You are so transparent.  Look at the top.”

I looked at the top of the chart.  The names under the crest were Simon and Katherine McBride and the names of their three children.  There was Grace, who married and had two children: Simon, who died in infancy, and Dougal, who married Anna in 1745.  I caught my breath.  So there they were, the Anna and Dougal of the letters. 

“Keep looking,” Danny prompted. “Check out the names of their children.”

I looked down at the illegible scrawl beneath their names.  Anna and Dougal had four children, three girls and a boy.  The eldest girl was called Isobel, followed by Katherine, Maria, and Rory.  I looked up at Danny.  This was a find indeed.  Not only did I now know that I was a direct descendant of the couple, but that they named their children after Isobel and Rory.  A melancholy thought struck me as I looked at the names.

“I guess they died then
, if they named the children after them.  I don’t think they would name after the living.”  I knew that by now they would have been long dead anyway, but for some reason, the thought left me very sad.  Did they ever see each other again?  Was Rory one of the thousands slaughtered at Culloden, or taken prisoner and transported to the Colonies if he managed to survive life in prison? 

“You
’re probably right.  Anna and Dougal must have named their children after them to keep their memory alive.”  He went back to his briefcase and pulled out something else. 

“Don’t despair
, fair Katie, I have another present for you.” With that, he presented me with another rolled-up paper.  “Be careful, it’s old.”

I took the yellowed paper out of his hand and unrolled it on top of the family tree.  This paper was much older and thicker than the one beneath.  The ink was faded and smudged in some places, but still legible.  It was a blueprint of the castle, hand
-drawn, and labeled.  It was nice to see how it must have looked once, and the names of the rooms inked in each square.  I could have a better idea of what each room’s original purpose was and who might have occupied it.

“Look closer,” Danny whispered.  “Think Hogwarts
, my little Harry Potter fan.”

“Hogwarts??? Have you been drinking?”

I looked closer at the lines on the paper.  I still couldn’t understand what Danny was talking about.  Danny took my finger and moved it to the line showing a narrow corridor snaking below the castle. 

“This blueprint shows all the secret passages and hiding places.  Whoever drew this map was very familiar with the castle and all its secrets.  Look here.”  Danny pointed a finger at the square labeled library.  Inside was a much smaller square that read “P.H.”

“What does that mean?”  I was baffled.  Did someone with the initials P.H. live inside the library?

“P.H. stands for priest hole.  A lot of the great houses of the period boasted a priest hole.  It was a small hiding place where a priest was often hidden.  In the days when
Catholicism wasn’t popular, priests were in danger of their lives, and often had to hide in order not to be discovered performing mass or other ceremonies.  Some families had their own priests residing with them year round, and there was always a place to hide them and keep them safe in case someone came to the castle searching for them.  See, the little hole shows two doors, one from the library and one into the adjoining room.  It was a secret passage as well as a hiding place.”

“Are there any others?”  I was getting excited.  Maybe we could go back to the castle and find these passages.

“I don’t see anything, except there seems to be a door drawn into the wall of the garden leading onto the cliff — probably another way out of the castle that didn’t lead to the main road.  It would have been a way to get a messenger out if necessary, or maybe just a quicker way to the village.”

“Fascinating.  Where do you think Angus got this?”  I was tracing my finger over the
narrow passage leading down under the castle to the beach below.

“Angus was obsessed with the history of the castle.  He didn’t find this in a library or an archive because they would never let him have the original.  He must have found it inside the castle.  Maybe it was among the books in the library, although I don’t think there were any left by the time he was born.  All the books would have perished over the years or been donated to libraries.  He spent his last years researching family history.  If you look at the family tree
, some of the ink is darker and some is more faded.  He kept adding information whenever he found it, and you had been added last.  Your name is the darkest.”

“What an odd man he must have been,” I sighed.  I wished that I had met my reclusive, possibly mad, grandfather before he died.  We rolled the two documents up
, and put them in a safe place before going to the kitchen for dinner.  I should have been happy with Danny’s serendipitous finds, but I felt a little hollow.  The family tree didn’t prove anything, other than the fact that I had descended from Anna and Dougal, but it pointed to the fact that our lovers didn’t survive, and I felt a wave of disappointment roll over me.  I’d always been a sap for a happy ending.