The Pride of Lions (32 page)

“Welcome home, brither,” Lochiel rasped, his voice thick with emotion. “This is as it should be at long last, by God. The Camerons togither, strong an’ united. Let no man, king, or government step between us again!”

A round of passionate “ayes” rose to the ceiling beams. From somewhere two crystal glasses appeared and were thrust full into Alex and Catherine’s hands.

Donald raised his in a toast. “The Camerons!”

“The Camerons!” Family and guests responded and as
one tilted their glasses and tossed back the golden liquor in a single swallow.

Catherine, acutely aware of the eyes watching her every move, drained her glass as she had seen the other women do and was feeling quite proud of herself … until the liquid fireball plunged down her throat and sucked the air from her lungs with such a vengeance, her knees buckled beneath her. Unable to catch a breath through the flames, she grabbed frantically for Alex’s arm and would have fallen had someone not cried out to him to catch her.

“Oh dear!” Maura’s face swam before her. “Who gave her the whisky?”

“Wisna me,” Jeannie declared at once, looking as innocent as a cat with feathers clinging to its lips.

“The poor child has probably never had anything stronger than canary wine. Someone fetch some water, quickly.”

“Here, gie her this.” Auntie Rose pushed a glass into Maura’s hand. “Ye canna gie her plain water, it’ll only bring the
uisque
back up again. A wee dram o’ claret, that’ll dae it. Just a wee sip tae clear the throat.”

“A small sip,” Maura cautioned, holding the goblet to Catherine’s lips. Thankfully the remedy worked; the sweet red wine doused the embers in her throat and returned some of the sensation to her mouth and tongue.

“My Lord,” she gasped. “What was that?”

“Only the finest
uisque baugh
in all the Heelands, lassie,” Archibald Cameron boasted proudly. “A man can drink ten pints an’ still stand tae piss in the mornin’! Goes off like a cannon when ye mix it wi’ the black powder. Tha’s how ye test the virtue o’ prime
uisque
, if ye didna know. Ye mix it wi’ gunpowder, light it, an’ if it disna explode, it’s no’ warth the effort tae swallow it. Aye, an’ may God strike me deid, Donal’ has lost near a score o’ good stillmen over the years—been blown clean tae hell an’ gaun wi’out even a footprint left ahind tae tell the tale.”

“Footprints me arse,” Jeannie scowled. “I’d as like tae mix a wee bit o’ powder up yer kilt an’ see what the virtue is there.”

Lochiel cleared his throat over the laughter and smiled. “Well, now, I believe we are all present, an’ I, f’ae one, have the appetite o’ ten men.”

He raised his hand in a signal to someone out in the hallway, and the seams of Alex’s coat suffered another moment of stress as Catherine reacted to what sounded like the screams of a tortured animal. Looking quickly around, she was confronted by the innocent sight of a piper filling his instrument with air. As soon as the bladder was inflated, the raw screeching assumed a clean and distinct wail, one that was no less fearsome in substance but was at least recognizable as music.

“The pipes are inviting us to dinner,” Cameron murmured in her ear.

“Inviting? It sounds as if they are trying to frighten us away.”

“That was the original intent of the
piob’rachd
—the clan marching song—to throw terror into the hearts and souls of the enemy. Ten pipers playing at the head of a column of clansmen can do as much damage to an adversary’s nerves as a battalion of artillery.”

Catherine did not doubt it.

“And this is a cheerful tune they’re playing,” he added.

She looked up and nearly returned his smile. But then Donald was beside her, offering his arm, escorting her out of the receiving room at the head of a solemn procession that followed the piper along the hall and down the short flight of stairs to the great hall. Two long oak tables had been set up to accommodate the family and guests. The smaller of the two was mounted on a foot-high dais that ran the width of the room. The second ran at right angles and stretched the length of the hall, providing seating for the nearly fifty aunts, uncles, cousins, children, and friends who had gathered to celebrate the homecoming.

One by one the deep-chested, long-winded Scots rose to offer toasts or speeches or to recount various historic moments in the clan’s past. Many of the speeches were unintelligible to Catherine, for they were delivered in rousing Gaelic with much gesturing and shouting. She had been seated on Donald’s right, with Archibald on her other side and John of Fassefern’s wife Elspeth opposite her. A short, stout gentleman addressed only as Keppoch sat between Elspeth and Jeannie Cameron, and across from him was Auntie Rose, who never missed an opportunity to exchange winks with the futsy old fox. Lady Maura was seated well along at the far end of the table, with Alex on her right and his brother John to her left. By leaning forward ever so slightly and peering through the tines of a candelabra, Catherine could frame almost all of Alexander’s face. A small flick of the eye, however, and she had an exasperatingly unimpaired view of Lauren Cameron, who had somehow managed to win the seat next to Alex.

When the speeches drew to an end, more pipes heralded the arrival of the first course of the meal. The dish was unfamiliar to Catherine, but proved to be a delectably creamy soup of lentils and potatoes playing host to chunks of tender pink salmon. There immediately followed platters of roast duck drowning in a rich butter sauce, potato scones browned and crisped in bacon fat, mutton pies smothered in gravy; puddings, sausages, and crusty pasty shells stuffed with spiced venison. Various wines accompanied each course, and due to the diligence of Dr. Cameron, Catherine never found her glass wanting. By the time she had allowed for a sampling of everything, she was regretting the effort Deirdre had expended lacing her into her corset.

“Ach, so ye like our Heeland victuals, dae ye, lassie?” Keppoch caught her eye and winked. “Aye, I were in London no’ long ago an’ found the townsfolk too purse-proud tae make but one sauce, an’ that they poured on everythin’. The English,” he said, expanding his remarks
to enlighten everyone at the table, “have a hundred opinions, but only the one sauce. They come up here an’ tell us wha’ fine silver an’ gold they have, such fine glasses, such fine linens. I once’t bade ma clansmen tae stand round the table, each wi’ a taper in their hands, an’ demanded tae be shown a finer lot o’ candlesticks in all the land! That’s wha’ should matter tae a laird—the wealth o’ stout lads he has willin’ tae walk intae battle ahind him. Nae gold, nae silver.
Men!
” He paused and drilled a sharp eye in Lochiel’s direction. “Aye, an’ ye may have need o’ such wealth afore too long, Donal’. It willna take a kick in the heid f’ae Argyle tae know that wee Alasdair has come home.”

Lochiel nodded. “I’ve already warned The MacDonald an’ The MacNachtan tae be on the watch, them bein’ on the border o’ Campbell land. Nae doubt the Duke will be sniffin’ after blood.”

“Squint-eyed bastards,” Jeannie declared to no one in particular. “High time someone hung the lot o’ them.”

“Mayhap someone will, hen,” said a sage and tipsy Auntie Rose. “Mayhap soon.”

“Aye—” Jeannie brightened a moment. “The Prince has called f’ae an army, an’ when he gets it, ye’ll see, he’ll send all the vermin back tae England where they belong.”

“Whisht, woman,” Archibald commanded. “Hold yer tongue.”

“I’ll nae hold ma tongue!” she countered indignantly. “There’s been far too much holdin’ o’ tongues already!”

“We will not hold war councils at the dinner table,” Maura said firmly. “Nor will we start any arguments.”

“I’m no’ arguin’,” Jeannie insisted. “I’m only statin’ fact. Wee Tearlach has summoned the chiefs tae meet wi’ him, an’ they have tae go.
They have tae go!
” She glared directly at Lochiel and added with a snort, “They canna say they dinna
want
tae go, an’ they canna send an auld daft cow tae do their talkin’ for them—”

“Jeannie!” Archibald’s face was glowing red. “Mind who ye’re talkin’ to!”

“No,” Lochiel sighed. “Let her speak. She’ll burst otherwise.”

“Aye, I’ll speak. F’ae every man, woman, an’ bairn who lost kin in the last rebellion, I’ll speak. Yer faither wouldna turn his back on a Stuart! Yer faither wouldna question the right or wrong o’ it, nor send the poor wee lad cringin’ into the ground wi’ shame!”

Lochiel pushed his plate away. “My loyalty tae King Jamie has never been questioned, nor has my respect f’ae his son. Have I no’ worked all these long years tae find some way tae bring them both home again?”

“Wi’
words
,” Jeannie spat. “But ye canna fight the
Sassenach
wi’ words!”

“We could if they had yer breath ahind them,” Archibald roared. “Now hold yer silence, dragon, afore ye send
me
cringin’ tae the ground wi’ shame.”

“
Me
shame
you
?” Jeannie’s eyes bulged with defiance. “
You
, who rode tae Arisaig wi’ yer tail tucked up atween yer legs where yer manhood should ha’ been?
You
, who told the Prince he wouldna find a home here an’ tae go back tae France?”

“I told him the bald truth, woman! I told him we couldna form an army wi’ naught but a handful o’ rusted
clai’mors
an’ a few score matchlocks.”

“Bluid an’ courage will form an army,” Jeannie persisted.

“Aye. The bluid o’ Scotland’s youth an’ the courage o’ fools like you!”

Jeannie surged forward in her chair, and for a moment Catherine thought the tiny firebrand was going to fling herself across the table and physically attack her husband. She was already shocked by the very notion of a woman daring to be so outspoken in front of friends and neighbors as well as family. No one else seemed too outraged by the impropriety, however. They sipped their
wine or picked at their sweet cakes as if it were a common-day occurrence with the doctor and his wife.

“Dinna listen tae any o’ this, Donald,” John of Fassefern said, sucking a piece of meat from his teeth. “Ye’ve made the wisest decision an’ now ye must stand by it. Ye always said there could be no uprisin’ against the Hanover government unless we had solid support from France. The Prince knew that. He knew it afore he came, yet he came anyway, wi’out the men he promised, wi’out the guns or the powder. Since he didna keep his pledge tae the Highland lairds, it stands the Highland lairds shouldna be bound by a pledge tae him.”

“I am bound by ma honor tae King Jamie,” Lochiel said with quiet intensity. “An’ if he was tae command me tae fight, I would—tae the death if need be, an’ glad f’ae it.”

“Exactly,” John said, leaning forward. “But it isna yer king askin’ ye tae risk yer home, yer family, the lives o’ a thousand brave men! It’s that wee upstart o’ a pup who had tae sneak out o’ Italy wi’out his father’s permission, because he knew full well it wouldna be given. He’s naught but a lad o’ four an’ twenty. What does he know o’ fightin’ an’ dyin’? Ask me, he’s drunk on the romance an’ the sweet smell o’ power!”

“Aye, he’s young an’ he’s reckless, an’ perhaps if I were young an’ hot-bluided masel’, I wouldna find so much fault in what he has done.”

“Ye talk as if ye admire the fool f’ae what he’s done, what he wants tae do.
He wants war!
”

“He only wants what is rightfully his, an’ his father’s.”

“God’s bluid.” Fassefern looked around in dismay. “There’s never been an army invaded English soil in the past six hundred years! Even if—miracle o’ miracles—it did, who would provision it? The Royal Navy is a thousand ships strong. Unless they all mutiny against the Hanover government at the once, they’ll seal these bluidy isles off tighter than a whore’s arse an’ wait till we all choke on our pride!”

“We’ve always stipulated the need f’ae King Louis’s navy tae keep them from blockading us.”

“His navy?” Keppoch guffawed. “We would need his army, too, tae show us how tae fight wi’ cannon an’ musket, no’ just
clai’mor
an’ targe. We need trained soldiers tae lairn us the ways o’ the English army. We need leaders tae gie us discipline. Christ knows we have the heart an’ courage tae carry the fight tae the streets o’ London if need be, but wi’ an’ army o’ crofters an’ shepherds, who will keep them from worryin’ after their homes an’ crops after a few months o’ war?”

Archibald refilled his glass, topping up Catherine’s as he did so. “We should be worried mair about the clans willin’ tae turn their backs or their swords against us. The Lord President himsel’, Duncan Forbes, is offerin’ commissions in the Hanover army tae any laird who will denounce King Jamie an’ take the oath tae Fat George. Ye ken The MacDugal? He were given back all the lands an’ titles taken awa’ in the ’15 in exchange f’ae a promise tae wear the black cockade.”

“The MacDugal has taken his judas gold an’ f’ae that will have tae live wi’ his conscience,” Keppoch declared. “So will all the ithers who have declared openly that they willna take up a sword f’ae either side. It’s the quiet ones, the sneaky ones, the ones we dinna know about an’ willna know about until it’s too late. They’re the ones who would hurt us most, f’ae ye canna build an army on ghosts an’ turncoats.”

“Like The MacLeod,” Jeannie said derisively. “I told ye that bastard could ne’er be trusted. I told ye he would ne’er hold tae his word. He smiles through his arse, that one does. Thank the Christ he has a bairn who’s no’ afraid o’ his own shadow.”

“Young Andrew MacLeod? Aye, he’ll keep his vow tae fight f’ae the Stuarts, but on his own, wi’out his father tae gie the order, it will be like a single bee leavin’ the hive. A single sting instead o’ thousands.”

“It could well be thousands,” Lochiel said dispiritedly,
“if The MacKenzie o’ Seaforth follows MacLeod, or The Ross, or The Grant. The MacIntosh controls three thousand in Clan Chattan alone, an’ if he accepts the commission Forbes is offerin’—”

“If he takes it,” Keppoch predicted, “he’ll split the great Clan o’ the Cats in two. The Farquharsons will ne’er follow an order tae fight against us, nor will The MacBean or The MacGillivray. They would break awa’ from Clan Chattan first.”