Unknown (80 page)

It
was the second day of March, in die afternoon. Montrose was
roused from sad introspection at his son's bedside, and the boy in
uneasy dozing, by the sound of homs blowing at a little distance,
ululant above the sobbing wind. Rising, he moved to the window, to
gaze out. It was to see a large body of horsemen approaching from the
south, down the riverside from Fochabers village. And since no alarm
had been given by his pickets, they must be at least ostensibly
friendly. Peering, for the window glass was thick and dirty, he saw a
banner blow sideways in the wind. It was blue, with three golden
charges, two and one. In that country, such could be no other than
the three golden boars' heads of Gordon. And the banner bore no
difference, tressure, or other mark of cadency.

'Gordon,
Johnnie - Gordon !' the man cried. 'And horsed! Scores, hundreds. Do
you hear? Gordon cavalry!'

The
boy's eyes opened, over-large, glittering, filled with weak tears. No
words came, but he licked his lips and nodded, with a caricature of a
smile, as his father hurried to the door and went racing down the
winding turnpike stairway.

Two
hundred Gordon cavalry indeed came riding to Bog of Gight, Colonel
Nathaniel Gordon at their head, all gallant cavalier in great
feathered hat, gleaming half-armour and thigh-boots. Two others rode
beside him - the slight dark figure of the Lord Gordon himself, and
his young brother, the Lord Lewis. Montrose, those emotions of his at
their tricks, found his throat all but choked as he watched them ride
up in jingling proud array. He held out his two hands, wordless.

'My
lord Marquis!' Nat Gordon sang out cheerfully. 'I greet you. I
acclaim you! And
...
I bring you friends.' And he swept off his hat in a flourish that was
both salute and waved introduction of die company.

George
Gordon was more quiet, just as he was more quietly dressed, a
serious, almost diffident young man, but with a still, grave strength
of his own.

'My
lord - your servant,' he said. 'Come belatedly, to your side.'

'For
that I thank the good God. Welcome, my friend. Welcome to our liege
lord's cause.'

'It's
to
your
cause,
rather, that I am come. Of His Grace's I am less sure.'

'My
cause
is
His
Grace's, my lord. Only that, be assured.'

‘
Yet
Charles Stewart has not brought me here, sir - only James Graham. You
persuaded me to the Covenant. Then the Covenant locked mc and my
father in cells in Edinburgh. When they freed us, it was on condition
that we provided men to fight for the Covenant. I would not have
agreed. But
...
it was done. I am scarce nimble at changing my coat, my lord Marquis.
And my father is hot against you still
..
.' "Yet you are here, friend.'

Yes.
It has taken me much time and thought. But I have come, at length.
Against my father's express commands. Because I believe in James
Graham. That only.'

'Mm.'
Montrose eyed him thoughtfully, and sighed. You put a heavy load of
responsibility on my shoulders, sir. I shall dread that you find me
unworthy. But - so be it. The King's cause and mine are one.
I
welcome
you from my heart - and not only for the men you bring. We shall talk
of this hereafter.' He turned
_t
to
the younger brother with the impatient frown. 'And you, Lord Lewis.
Your spirit all Scotland knows. Now, it will serve a worthy cause. I
will have work for it, never fear.'

That
headstrong, hot-eyed youth, still in his teens but a thorn in the
Graham's flesh ere this, shrugged. 'So long as we have an end to talk
- talk, and creeping caution and care!' he jerked, his scorn of his
sober brother, and of Montrose himself probably, undisguised. If he
was the antithesis of George Gordon, he was strangely like his father
- strangely, in that Huntly's fox was replaced by Lewis Gordon's
wolf, young but unmistakable. James Graham knew well that he would
have to watch this new recruit

'Care
I cannot swear to spare you, young man. Nor a modicum of talk. But
creeping caution, I think, you may avoid in my service! Nathaniel, my
good friend — I rejoice to see you. We have missed you, indeed
...'

'My
grief,
to have missed Inverlochy!' that bold man cried. "But -
1
have
been busy.' He glanced behind to where the Gordon ranks sat their
mounts. Training these. And others. My lord of Gordon has more to
corne.'

'A
token, only,' George Gordon nodded. "Give me a week or so...'

The
Gordons had scarcely been ushered into and installed in their own
house of Gight when a second arrival kept James Graham from his son's
bedside. These were no additions to his strength, however, even
though they were two of his own servants from Old Montrose. They
brought a letter from Magdalen his wife, and had been roaming the
North-East for days seeking him, having just come from Elgin. He took
the letter up to Johnnie's room - which was also his own.

‘
My
lord,' it commenced - and he sighed at that cool beginning, not
Jamie, or James or even my dear lord.

I
send you greeting, in the hope that you are in health, and that our
son John is well. I have heard tell of a great battle in the West,
and that Thomas Ogilvy is slain. He was my good friend. Once, as a
foolish child, I thought that we might wed. God rest his soul I hope
and pray that you do keep Johnnie from all danger.

My
lord James, I must tell you that I cannot go on further as I have
done so long. I am less than well, in body as in heart. You have
chosen to be neither husband nor father to me or mine. No doubt but
that the fault is mine, for I am not of your quality, nor have the
heart to partner such as you.

These
are evil times and all the land in a stir of trouble. Of which you,
my lord, are not guiltless. There is much bitterness here, and
threats are made against us. My lord of Argyll has imprisoned your
good-brother the Lord Napier, but his son the Master is escaped they
say. Also Sir George Stirling of Keir and others of your friends.
There is talk of execution. My father fears for the safety of myself
and my children, as indeed do I, or I am no heroine and desire but to
live in peace. I have therefore left your house and gone to live at
Kinnaird with my father and brother. You will not relish this, my
lord. I know of your ill-will to my father Southesk. But you do
provoke hatred and enmity in others, yet omit to protect your own
wife and children. My father is come to some agreement with the
Committee of Estates, I thank God. And my lord of Argyll. With him I
should be safe. But there is talk of them taking Jamie, as hostage.
For your better behaviour and submission. And even little Robert they
may take from me. It is my hope and prayer to God that this may not
be. But no thanks to you, my lord.

It
is my belief that all these threats and reprisals against me and mine
who am all innocent of injury to any cause, would be lessened were my
Johnnie to be returned to my keeping. So says my father. It is wicked
and a sin that one so young and tender should be turned into a man of
blood. He is not yet fifteen years. I cannot sleep of a night
thinking of him, in war and danger and bloodshed, amongst savage
men. So, my lord, if you have any heart for me, and for him, any
regard for a mother's feelings and a father's duty, do you send him
again to me at Kinnaird, where he shall be safe. I am assured that
this will commend itself to the Committee and to my lord of
Argyll You have no right, to be sure, to engage a child in this your
rebellion. James, if you too would come back, with Johnnie, and
forswear further rebellion and war, it would greatly commend you to
your

sorrowing
but dutiful and faithful wife MAGDALEN CARNEGIE

The
lords Crawford, Maxwell and Reay, of the King's faction are all
captured, and Master George Wishart, once your secretary. They say
they are to be executed. Also the Lord Ogilvy. Because of your
rebellion. Your excommunication is renewed by the General Assembly.
And the Committee of Estates, have proclaimed you infamous
traitor, and forfeited of life, lands and goods. What have you done,
James — what have you done..

The
writing tailed away in a tear-blotted scrawl.

For
long, unseeing, James Graham stared at the letter, knowing a terrible
hurt, pain and sorrow, almost despair. When he raised his eyes, it
was to his son, lying in a snoring, restless semi-coma, thin, wasted,
broken. Was Magdalen right, then? Was this the end and price of his
victories? This, and the fate of those friends of his lying awaiting
the ave? Was it all the most shameful, appalling mistake?
His
mistake,
his arrogant faith in his mission and the King's cause? Was he
shockingly at fault, in prideful wrong?

Yet,
that pitiful letter, from a wronged and distracted woman whom he had
vowed before God to love and cherish, the mother of his children -
was not right, surely. Nothing of it was right, true, just? Nothing
of true judgment? Those were the words, in fact, of David Carnegie,
of old Southesk, a man concerned only for his lands, his properties,
his position. And behind these were the words of Archibald
Campbell's dictation - of that there could be no doubt. Magdalen
would scarcely know it, bue he could read it in every line.

Yet
...
if he had any regard for a mother's feelings and a father's duty... ?

How
long he sat there, lower in spirit than he had ever been in all Ins
days, there was no knowing. The noises of an over-full house and a
great armed camp came thinly into that high tower-room, and did not
touch him. Only the difficult shallow breathing of his son, and die
grief of that letter. Head in his hands, he groaned.

The
clatter of many more hooves below, and the shouted greetings of men
did presently penetrate his tormented consciousness - but this
time did not take him to the window. Later a while, Black Pate came
to the door, to knock and enter quietly, concern and compassion on
every line of his dark, strong features. He looked from man to bed,
and drew a deep breath.

'Jamie
...
my lord,' he said. 'Will you go down? Seaforth is come. My lord Earl
of Seaforth.'

The
other raised his haggard head to look at him, but dully, and did not
speak.

'Seaforth,
Jamie - the Earl. The Mackenzie himself. He is here. Asking for you.
Seeking the King's peace.'