White Rose Rebel (26 page)

They were still laughing when they fell in the door of Invercauld together. Lady Farquharson glared at the pair of them.

‘Can’t you two grow up?’

‘We will, we will,’ Anne promised.

‘We just won’t grow old,’ MacGillivray grinned, turning his back to the fire and raising his kilt to heat his naked backside. Anne giggled.

‘I don’t know if I should let Elizabeth go with you,’ her stepmother grumbled.

‘But she begged to come, last time I was home.’ Anne said. ‘Where is she now?’

‘Out the back, putting every piece she possesses on the cart.’

‘Good. We need to get away before the cloud breaks.’

‘I don’t know.’ Lady Farquharson sighed. ‘You’re just here and you’re off again.’

‘We only stopped to pick up Elizabeth.’

‘And will Francis and your brother be home soon?’

‘They will,’ Anne assured her, ‘with the rest of our troops.’

The Prince had been persuaded to give up besieging Stirling and come north when Cumberland reached Edinburgh. Anne had left earlier, a week after the battle, when all the prisoners had been paroled. She brought half her own company with her as bodyguards but had sent them on ahead to Auchterblair. She and MacGillivray would spend the night with them there. It would be the next day or soon after, at Moy, that she could expect trouble. Lord Louden
still held Inverness. Hawley had not taken the Black Watch companies south with him. That meant the Jacobites would have Louden to contend with when they returned and, along with his forces, Aeneas.

Lady Farquharson stopped stitching the white ribbon into yet another cockade and considered Anne. ‘I don’t suppose you brought any of that snuff back with you?’

‘No, I’m sorry.’ Anne bit her lip, trying not to laugh. ‘I didn’t get to Edinburgh this time.’

‘My little box is quite empty.’ Her stepmother turned back to her sewing, hiding her disappointment.

‘Next time, I promise.’

‘It really is rather good for clearing the head.’ She glanced at MacGillivray, then at Anne again. ‘You should try it,’ she said.

As they slept, a few inches of snow fell. The world changed overnight into its quiet winter shroud. In the morning, Anne and her party set out early from Auchterblair. Wrapped against the chill, Elizabeth begged to ride behind MacGillivray rather than in the wagon.

‘He’ll keep the cold off,’ she pointed out, clambering up behind him from the wagon step when he nodded yes. Her space in the cart was taken by a woman with a young child, who could now sit on her lap. Elizabeth tucked herself tight in at MacGillivray’s back, arms round his waist, head rested on his back. She was pleased he’d arrived home with Anne this time. Now she could make sure he noticed her. She’d never quite got over the desire for him she experienced after he fished her out of Moy loch. He was one of the more marriageable chiefs, and it was time she had a home of her own to run. Surely, by now, he would be looking for a wife.

They set off, white smoky breath puffing damp clouds into the crisp, clear air. The horses’ hooves crunched in the snow, the wagon wheels creaked through it and, behind, the march of several hundred feet crump-crumped along. Every now and then, they’d stop, scrape snow out of the horses’ hooves, clear the wagon wheels, kick ice off their shoe soles and go on again. It was very
boring. Elizabeth cuddled into MacGillivray. She wondered how long it was since he’d had sex. Probably not long. He was the kind of man to inspire lust in women.

She thought about Dauvit and all she’d learned about how to please a man and how to please herself. Anne was right. The diviner was a good teacher. However many
Sasannach
women had lain down with MacGillivray, she knew she could surprise him. She pressed her cheek into his plaid, between his shoulder blades. He was broad-shouldered, strong. She could feel his muscles moving under the cloth as he guided the horse. His taut abdomen shifted against her gloved hands with every stride.

He and Anne, riding side by side, talked about war and troops and arrangements. Elizabeth thought of love, warm skin and rumpled sheets, white like the snow-laden landscape but infinitely more fun. She hitched her hips closer and tighter against MacGillivray’s buttocks and felt him tense. Even though his plaid was tucked around and beneath him, he was aware. She moved her upper body, enough so he would know it was her breasts that shifted against his back. They were not far from Moy. Flat white flakes of snow began to fall. Her breath, hotter, came faster. She shifted her gloved hands higher, drawing them back to his waist. Perhaps, if she removed the gloves, she could warm her hands inside his plaid.

‘Snow stop!’ MacGillivray called, pulling the horse up.

It didn’t seem that long since the last one. Snowflakes drifted against Elizabeth’s hot cheek, melting instantly. MacGillivray jumped down, drew his dirk and picked out Anne’s horse’s hooves quickly and efficiently. Then he turned to his own but, instead of bending to lift the horse’s foot, he plunged his dirk into the ground and reached up. His hands gripped Elizabeth by the waist. With one quick swing he had her down off the horse. Was he going to kiss her? His head tipped forwards, his hands tightened round her waist, he let his knees bend and, with another quick swing, hoisted her up, up behind Anne.

‘Your sister’s on heat,’ he said to Anne, by way of explanation. ‘You go ahead, we’ll catch up.’

Anne urged Pibroch forwards. She seemed to be trembling. Elizabeth pressed against her, mouth close to Anne’s ear so she would hear.

‘What’s wrong with him? And why are you shaking?’

‘Oh, Elizabeth,’ Anne spluttered, laughing. ‘Can’t you behave?’

‘You sound like Mother. Does he like men now, is that it?’

‘
Isd, no!
Can’t you guess? He’s with me.’

‘What does that mean?’ Elizabeth sat back, shocked.
‘Na can sin!’
She thumped her fist against her sister’s back. ‘You told me you weren’t!’

‘When was that?’

‘Last time you were home.’ Elizabeth was furious. ‘I asked. You said not.’

‘That was then,’ Anne chuckled. ‘Things change.’

‘So he was in your bed last night, at Auchterblair?’

‘Yes.’

Elizabeth slumped. It wasn’t fair. Anne had a husband.

‘Then I hope it’s just for fun,’ she grumbled.

‘Now who sounds like mother?’

They crumped into the snowy yard at Moy, and were off the horse, kicking their boots at the door before Will realized he was needed and appeared, running from the kitchen, stumbling through the drifts.

‘It’s all right, Will.’ Anne stopped his apology. ‘Who’s at home?’

‘Just the Dowager,’ the lad said. ‘Just like last time.’

MacGillivray and the others were only a few yards behind.

‘You’re still a married woman,’ Elizabeth hissed at Anne as they went inside. ‘You have to realize that makes him fair game.’

Anne grinned, as if it was a joke.

‘I think you’d be wasting your time,’ she said. ‘But don’t let me stop you.’

Elizabeth grabbed her sister’s cloak, stopping her in the hall. ‘You mean that?’

‘Look,’ Anne smiled. ‘If Alexander wanted you, how could I be in the way? I’d be happy for you both.’ She took her cloak off and hung it up. ‘I just don’t think he will, that’s all.’

The Dowager was coming down the stairs. She stopped with surprise to see them, then hurried down. ‘Anne,
a ghràidh!
’ she cried.

Elizabeth took her own cloak off, a slow smile spreading on her face. So he wasn’t forbidden. He would just need persuading, that was all.

The Dowager was certain Moy was safe. Military duties kept Aeneas busy at Fort George. Louden’s troops harassed known Jacobites but would not raid Moy, not with the M
^c
Intosh chief among their commanders. Anne’s bodyguards returned to their homes or billeted themselves with friends or family in the surrounding cotts. The night was set aside for storytelling. This time there were six around the fire and two storytellers, Anne and MacGillivray. Outside, the snow had stopped. Inside, logs sparked in the grate. Plates of food steamed on the low table by the fire. Tankards of ale were topped up. There was the journey to Derby and a second battle to hear about, but the beginning was the place to start. For MacGillivray, that was just across the border, when they first tried to befriend the English. He had sent Donald Fraser to billet with a Carlisle blacksmith, thinking they’d have much in common.

‘So Donald goes in the house, dirk in hand in case there’s any opposition waiting for him. But the smith has fled. There’s only the wife and her grown daughter, cowering in a corner, shrieking fit to burst. He tries talking to them but, of course, he only has the Gaelic.’

‘Which they wouldn’t understand,’ Anne added.

‘Not a word of it. So, to show he means no harm, he stabs his dirk into the table, out of harm’s way. This only has the two women squealing louder.’

‘What does Donald do then?’ Jessie’s eyes shone with eagerness.

‘He did the friendliest thing he could think of.’ MacGillivray laughed. ‘And, seeing it had worked in Edinburgh, was bound to work again. He danced.’

‘Danced?’ The Dowager snorted.

‘
Seadh
. He starts diddling, puts his hands up, and he does the Highland fling all around the room.’

‘Did that do the trick?’ Will asked, expectantly.

‘Not a bit of it,’ MacGillivray chuckled. ‘The mother fell to her knees and started to pray, crying to God as hard and as loud as she could. The daughter wept, sobbing and shrieking.’

‘So did he stop?’ Elizabeth asked.

MacGillivray shook his head, near convulsed with laughter.

‘No, he diddled all the louder, thinking he just wasn’t getting through to them, and he grabs the girl’s hand, trying to get her to join in.’ He drew a deep breath, holding his chest to still his humour. ‘We were still outside, allocating the others to different houses. The noise was woeful. I had to go in and drag him out, still dancing.’

He broke down then, laughing till tears ran, the others likewise, hanging on to their stomachs, roaring themselves helpless with laughter.

‘They must have thought,’ Anne hooted, ‘that it was some kind of tribal ritual. What with his dirk in the table.’

‘And him dancing round it,’ Elizabeth shrieked.

‘That he was about to carve them up,’ Jessie laughed.

‘And have them for supper!’ Will hollered.

‘Oh, dear.’ The Dowager dried her eyes. ‘I need more ale.’

The night wore on. Not all of the stories were funny. There were some losses, and the Prince’s petulance and lack of heroism disappointed the listeners. But it ended with a victory. They all toasted Falkirk and the cause.

‘I didn’t see Clementina there.’ Anne frowned at MacGillivray. ‘The beggar girl from Edinburgh?’ He still looked blank. ‘The one who showed us the way through the marsh at Prestonpans?’

MacGillivray recalled her now.

‘She didn’t come back, stayed behind with her father at Carlisle. He’d turned his ankle and couldn’t march home. But I fancy the truth of it was he’d grown sweet on the widow woman he was billeted with.’

‘Then Cumberland has captured them.’ Anne was distressed. It
was because she’d given them money that the girl was there.

‘If an act of kindness can be blamed.’ MacGillivray took her hand and squeezed it. ‘Cumberland won’t detain children, or women either, for that matter. They might even parole most of the men.’

‘So she could be safe home by now?’

‘Or with a new mother and still in Carlisle.’

Anne wanted to kiss him for the comfort he offered, but she refrained. The Dowager was watching and Anne did not feel ready to state her rejection of Aeneas yet, not with so many for company. She let go of MacGillivray’s hand and lifted her ale tankard. There seemed to be an awkward moment before anyone else spoke.

‘The loss of Kilmarnock will be a sore one,’ the Dowager said.

‘He’s alive and unhurt,’ Anne leapt to reassure her. ‘They took him to Edinburgh Castle, is all.’

‘When we defeat them next time,’ MacGillivray said, filling his tankard from the flagon, ‘he’ll be a free man again.’

‘Next time?’ the Dowager asked.

‘In the spring. We’re home to recoup and rest. Now that Cumberland commands, they risk everything in one throw. If we win, they’ll have nothing left.’

‘Will we get the chance to see the Prince then?’ Jessie asked.

‘I’ve invited him,’ Anne answered, ‘when the rest of the army arrives back, to dine here.’

‘I’ll cook for the Prince?’ Jessie shrieked.

‘With whatever help you need. But tell no one yet. Louden’s troops in Inverness would be forewarned if they had word of that.’

Elizabeth was leaning back in her seat, watching the firelight gleam like gold in MacGillivray’s hair. Now she leant forwards, pushing her tankard over to be filled. He looked into her eyes as he did so.

‘Is the heat getting to you?’ he grinned.

She lowered her eyelashes, then looked up at him again.

‘Not at all,’ she smiled back. ‘I’m enjoying it.’

‘Tell us about Meg’s shoemaker again,’ Will asked. ‘I liked the
bit where he said sorry to the redcoat after Meg pitchforked him.’

The Dowager was already at her porridge and the newspapers when Anne came down next morning.

‘Your tea service came while you were away.’ She didn’t look up from her reading. ‘Jessie would have brought you up a pot but you weren’t in your room.’

‘No.’ Anne looked through the window at the clean, white world outside. All the edges were blurred, everything smooth, calm and settled. ‘It wouldn’t feel right, using the master bedroom. I can’t stay married to Aeneas, not now.’

The Dowager considered her. ‘Don’t rush,
a ghràidh
. That’s a big step. Let time help you take it.’

Anne sat down, glad that was out of the way. The Dowager had old-fashioned views, believing women, married or not, should just please themselves if they wanted another man. The old Celtic ways carried no disapprobation against a friendship of the thighs. It made things simpler. Their ancestors divorced husbands with ease, for failing to provide or be respectful, if he snored, gossiped, was impotent or just repelled. Divorce was rare now, a matter for the courts, but it was the only answer here. Aeneas had abandoned her. She had turned to someone else. Her choice was made.