An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition (45 page)

“
‘July 5
^th
.’
That was after he arrived in France, sent by the Duchess to follow the Duke.
‘Followed the Duke to the Rue Marie. He spent two hours in No. 27. Discovered later it is the house of Estelle Dupret, mistress of the Jacobite exile, Rory MacCraggan, who died in the spring.’
”

“The Duke called on a Jacobite!” Iona exclaimed, her eyes round.

“Rory MacCraggan was dead, don’t forget,” Hector said. “If he hadn’t been, we would have consulted him about Arkrae and the family before you came here. He was exiled after the Rising in ’15. He was pardoned about five years later, but he never went back. I remember hearing the others talk of him, but I never met him. He drank like a fish and found the amusements of Paris very much to his liking. He was not a young man when he was exiled and he must have been very old when he died the other day.

“He always lived with the woman Estelle Dupret and she was the chief reason why he did not return to Scotland. Of course, those who would have given their right arms to return home were angry that he did not avail himself of the opportunity. He lost touch with his friends and just vanished into the slums of Paris, where he spent every penny he possessed on drink and debauchery.”

“He sounds horrible,” Iona said. “Why should the Duke go all that way to see his mistress?”

“Rory was related to Arkrae, of course,” Hector said, “but even so you can see the construction the Duchess’s spy was putting on the fact that the Duke visited a Jacobite household.”

“Yes, I – see that,” Iona said. “What else did he discover?”

“He got in touch with a man whose initial was ‘K’. He is also a spy and one, I gather, who has an intimate knowledge of France and the Prince’s friends. He knows Brett by sight and has trailed him on various occasions. You see the danger in that, Iona. If the Colonel is being watched, he should know it or else eventually they will discover the whereabouts of the Prince.”

“Who is paying ‘K’?” Iona asked.

“I don’t know. The English Government as likely as not. But here’s where it concerns you. It’s the very next entry after July 5th.

‘July
6th, Met “K” who tells me that some days ago Colonel Brett visited a milliner in the Rue de St. Honore and talked for some time with a girl called Iona Ward, known to be a Jacobite. “K” suggests Colonel B. may be procuring I.W. for the Prince in which case it is worth keeping a watch on her.’”

Iona put her hands to her cheeks.

“How dare they think such things?” she cried angrily.

“It doesn’t matter what swine like that think,” Hector said soothingly. “What is important is that if, as the man had intended, he had taken this book to the Duchess, the game would have been up as far as you were concerned.”

“But, of course,” Iona exclaimed. “I hadn’t thought of that. Oh, Hector, thank goodness you have got it safely.”

“There’s a great deal more in it which I haven’t time to tell you now,” Hector said. “What you have got to remember, Iona, is this. The Duchess is intriguing against the Duke, for all we know she may be in touch with London. At any rate she sends this man to watch him, to spy on him, and there may be others. Besides that, there’s your own safety to be considered. If she suspects you of being a Jacobite – ”

“ – as well as an impostor!” Iona finished. “All right, Hector, you need not say any more.”

“Then I will be on my way.”

He got to his feet and Iona rose too.

“Must you go to Skye?” she asked wistfully. “I would feel so much happier if you went back to France and warned the Colonel.”

“I go on the Prince’s behalf.”

Hector’s face was solemn for a moment and then his smile flashed out.

“Pray do not worry about me, Iona.”

“Be careful of the book,” she said.

“I had thought to leave it here and pick it up on my return,” Hector said, “but I may find a French ship at Portree. In which case if my work is finished, I shall be off to France. In any case it is unlikely that I shall see you again until we meet in Paris.”

“Then God keep you,” Iona said softly.

“And you,” Hector replied.

He raised her hand to his lips and called to Dughall.

“Take the lady back to the castle, Dughall, and remember you are to befriend her if she comes to you in trouble.”

“I’m nae lik’ tae forg’t, Master Hector,” Dughall replied in his slow, deep voice.

Iona looked at Hector and raised her eyebrows.

“Master?” she queried.

“Dughall was keeper on my father’s estate until he came here as forester. He is a MacCraggan, but I love him as if he were a MacGregor.”

“There’s naught wrong wi’ the MacCraggan’s – well, nae wi’ sum o’ them,” Dughall said, and Hector clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Dughall, at any rate!” he said. “Away with you now.”

“Aye,” Dughall replied and started off through the wood.

Iona waved to Hector and followed him. They were moving quickly but Iona found the way was easier downhill.

“Have you known Mr. MacGregor since he was a little boy?” she asked after they had walked for several minutes in silence.

“Aye,” Dughall replied, “but I lef’ the MacGregor’s wheen I wed an’ came back tae Skaig tae mak’ a hame for masel. But ma wifie deid an’ ma auld mither came tae keep hoose.”

He put out his hand as he spoke to prevent a long thorny briar from catching in Iona’s skirts. As he did so, she saw that he had a deep and terrible scar running across the back of his hand from the fingers to the wrist.

“Is that a wound on your hand?” she asked. He nodded.

“Culloden,” he said grimly.

“It must have been a terrible battle!”

“ It was tha’ richt enough.”

“But I thought the MacCraggan’s took no part in the Rising,” Iona remarked.

“Nae in the Rising, for the auld Duke lay a-dyin’ an’ theer wasna’ anybody tae lead us. But nigh on fifty o’ us gaed frae here tae join the Prince at Culloden.”

“Were many of them killed?” Iona asked.

“Fourteen died by the hand o’ the English tha’ black day,” Dughall replied, “an’ but for the intervention o’ Heaven we wad aul hae been struck doon.”

“The intervention of Heaven?” Iona queried.

“Aye, it was tha’. ’Tis an unco strange tale but ye’ll nae wish tae be hearin’ it the noo.”

“Oh but do tell me,” Iona said. “If you only knew how often I have listened to tales of Prestonpans, Falkirk and Culloden, and yet I could never hear enough. It makes them seem more real now that I am here in Scotland. Yes indeed, I have heard many stories but please tell me what happened to you.”

Without slackening his pace in any way Dughall’s words came slowly from his lips.

“Mane o’ us gaed south wi’ the Prince,” he said, “but wheen we heard he was nigh Inverness, we set oot, fifty strong, tae join him. We haed nae leader an’ we dinna ken if the auld Duke was for or agin the Prince. But we ken fine, each mon o’ us, whit we should dae.

“Weel, we joined the Prince’s Army at dawn an’ found everythin’ very confused. Clans waur arguin’ wheer they should stand in battle. The MacDonalds waur awful’ mad for their richtfu’ place haed been gi’en tae the men o’ Atholl.

“We haed naebody tae speak for us an’ we found oursels placed in a wee marshy hollow,” Dughall halted to make sure his audience was still captive, before continuing –

“Wheen the battle began, we soon ken’ tha’ the ither clans tae the right an’ the left o’ us haed fled an’ we waur alane. It was hand tae hand fightin’ an’ it looked as if theer waur nae hope o’ any o’ us comin’ oot alive, wheen all o’ a sudden there appeared MacCraggan Mor himsel’ wearin’ his white sporran an’ the three white eagle feathers in his bonnet!”

Dughall paused impressively and Iona asked,

“Who was he?”

“MacCraggan Mor wa’ His Grace’s great, great gran’father,” Dughall answered. “He made the Clan strong an’ powerfu’. He wa’ a grand mon whom his people loved an’ whom his enemies feart. He put the three white eagle feathers in his bonnet. Them that followed him as Chieftain wore eagle’s feathers but nae white aces. ‘
Wheen ye see ma white feathers in the thick o’ battle,
’ he said, ‘
put your trust in me.
’

“Sae wheen I seed MacCraggan Mor stride in tae the midst o’ the fight I ken weel tha’ he haed come tae save his ain. ‘
Follow me!
’ His voice rang out, an’ we followed him.

“He turned an’ struck doon the English an’ niver hae I seed a mon fight like him. He led us oot o’ that treacherous hollow an’ oop on tae the high ground. We ken theen tha’ we waur defeated, for those o’ the Prince’s men wasna’ lyin’ deid or wounded waur runnin’ awa’.

“MacCraggan Mor lookit round. ‘
Theer’s no mair we can dae
’, he says sadly. He brocht us a wee bittie further an’ theen he pointed west. ‘
Hurry hame,
’ he says, ‘
an’ dinna speak o’ wheer ye hae been this day. If theer’s a chance o’ fightin’ agin for the Prince, I’ll come for ye,
’ We came hame, but fourteen o’ us waur left behind – those who waur no deid tae be tortured an’ stripped naked by the English. It was only wheen we gets back amang our ain families tha’ we ken exactly whit hae happened. MacCraggan Mor haed come bac’ frae the grave tae save us!”

Dughall’s voice died away.

Ahead Iona could see the silver water of the loch.

“That was a wonderful story,” she said. “Thank you for telling it to me.”

She said nothing more until they were in the boat, and then as Dughall drew out from the shore she asked,

“Do you think the present Duke knows that you went to fight for the Prince?”

“Nay, it wad hae been fulish tae blether o’ sic things,” Dughall answered. “The auld Duke deid the followin’ night. We heard the bell tollin’ an’ gathered at the castle.”

“Was the present Duke there?” Iona asked.

“Nae, he didna come home for nigh on three week. He was in foreign parts whaur he haed been for two year or mair. Wheen he returned, he cauled us taegether an’ tauld us tha’ as we haed tak’n nae part in the Risin’, we wad no be punished by the English. Those o’ us who haed been tae Culloden hauld a’ tongues as ye can guess. We haed heard whit wa’ happenin’ in ither parts o’ the country. Asides, we cad dae nothin’ tae help the Prince, for he was in hidin’.”

“But many of you must have helped him,” Iona said, “for it was around here that he lay hidden for so long.”

“Aye, we helped him, but ’tis wise tae say naethin’ o’ whit was done, for theer a’ those who wad take pleasure in persecutin’ the Clan the noo.”

Dughall had lowered his voice when they were on the water until it was little more than a whisper. Now he said,

“Tis best tae keep silent, mistress.”

They reached the stone steps and Dughall sprang ashore. He helped Iona from the boat, raised his hand in a salute as she whispered her thanks, and began to row swiftly back the way they had come.

Iona hurried up the steps and across the terrace to the oak door. She fitted the key in the lock. It turned easily and a second later she was in the castle. She closed the door behind her and ran down the empty passage. Now she had only to regain her bedroom without being seen and no one would question where she had been.

She found her way to the little winding staircase, down which Cathy had led her from the upper floors, and climbed swiftly up it. She was within sight of the security of her bedroom when she saw someone approaching down the broad passage which led from the main staircase.

Instinctively she slackened her pace and slipped the shawl back from her head. She only had time to wonder whether she looked dishevelled and if her shoes showed signs of mud when she came face to face with Lord Niall.

“So this is where you have been hiding,” he said, “I wondered which room had been allotted to you.”

“It is there, my Lord,” Iona said, trying to speak calmly and pointing to a door a few paces ahead of them.

He looked first in the direction of her hand, then back at her. His eyes travelled slowly from her flushed face and windswept curls to the shawl over her shoulders and down to the dusty hem of her gown. He smiled and she was suddenly more frightened than if he had spat at her.

“I came to ask you whether we could talk together for a short while,” Lord Niall said softly. “I think we have much to say to each other – you and I.”

7

Beatrice Wrexham looked out of the coach window as the horses began to move slowly downhill. Below she saw Skaig Castle and the evening mist rising from the loch, so that the battlements and the pinnacles of the turrets seemed to be but a figment of the imagination which might vanish at any moment and become but one with the mists.

Beatrice had seen too many castles for the magnificence or beauties of Skaig to move her or awake any emotion other than a sense of relief that the end of her long journey was in sight.

The habitations of people never aroused her curiosity, were they palaces or cottages. It was the people who lived in them upon whom her interest was centred and more particularly of course the men.

As she thought of Niall MacCraggan her eyelids drooped a little and her red lips curved into a faint smile.

It had been an amusing interlude with a touch of piquancy about it, due principally to its unexpectedness. And it had been pleasant, after she had spent so many hours alone, to be admired and courted with such an impetuous and unbridled passion. Of one thing she was assured – that neither her face nor her body had lost the power to arouse desire.

She and Lord Niall had lingered for two nights at the little hotel at Aviemore and it was with difficulty that Beatrice had been able to persuade Niall that their sojourn should not continue indefinitely. His wild protestations of love had flattered her, his attitude towards his half-brother and his frankness regarding his own ambitions had intrigued her interest.

Beatrice was eager to reach Skaig, but she was shrewd enough to realise that a weapon had been placed in her hands, which could be turned to her own advantage. Here was an easy approach to the problem that the Marquis had set her, and she was well aware that it would serve his purpose, should she find enough evidence of Jacobite leanings to depose the present Duke, if she could install his half brother as Chieftain of the Clan. So long as the Dukedom of Arkrae was loyal to the English King, it would matter little who bore the title.