Midnight Honor (38 page)

P
rince Charles rose from his sickbed long enough to give an impassioned speech to the Camerons and MacDonalds before they departed for Lochaber. Fort Augustus was the closest, located at the southern end of Loch Ness, a dark territory of thick mists and monsters. Fort William was another thirty miles south and west, verging on the vast area controlled by the Campbells of Argyle. At last report, Fort Augustus was maintained by a skeleton garrison of fewer than a hundred men and should pose no problem to the combined forces of Lochiel and Keppoch. It was Fort William, with a garrison of over five hundred men and a strong battery of heavy guns, that had to be taken in order to control the exposed underbelly of the Highlands.

Anne dressed brightly to wave the brave clansmen off. She rode Robert the Bruce to the far end of Loch Moy, then sat atop the highest knoll, smiling and returning the waves of the Highlanders who marched past. Once again the glen was filled with skirling pipes and tartans of red, gold, blue, and green. No more than fifty lairds and captains were mounted; the rest walked, as they had walked the countless miles from Glenfinnan to Edinburgh, from Edinburgh to Derby, from Falkirk to Inverness. Some of them sang as they marched. Most left the enthusiasm to the pipers who filled their
chanters and squeezed out stirring
piob rach'ds
meant to strike terror into those who heard the distant, haunting echo.

MacGillivray had taken his men out before dawn, so Anne did not have another opportunity to wish him Godspeed. It was just as well. Though she had scraped snow from her windowsill and held it over her eyes, she knew he would have detected the traces of her tears, and she wanted nothing to distract him from the dangerous business he was about.

When the Cameron clan filed past, one of the officers pulled his big black stallion out of formation and trotted up the hill to where Anne sat. Alexander Cameron tugged on a forelock by way of greeting and drew up alongside her, watching the men tramp past and nod in their direction. Pride was blended equally with trepidation on his face; it did not take much to guess the cause of either one.

“I have come to shamelessly beg another favor of you, Colonel.”

“I will take good care of your wife, Captain. As will she, in turn, take good care of your child.”

The dark eyes crinkled at the corners. “I've promised I'll be back within the week, but she can get a bit of a temper on her if she is disappointed.”

“Then you would be wise not to disappoint, sir.”

He looked away a moment, then looked back, the crinkle turning to a frown. “You've still not heard anything from The MacKintosh?”

“No. But I was not expecting daily letters. We both agreed it would be safer all around if nothing passed between us. He might write something, or I might write something, that could put him in danger.”

“Probably wise, aye. You might be interested, however, to know that there were some dispatches delivered into camp early this morning.”

The change that came over Anne's face was like the sun breaking over the tops of the trees. “You have heard from Angus?”

“He informs us that Cumberland has declared the Highlands to be little better than a hell on earth. Apparently his men have no heart for our winters. On the first attempt to follow Lord George through the mountains, two hundred
deserted. The second time, he lost nearer to four hundred. On the advice of his generals, he has decided to double back to Aberdeen and wait for the roads to become passable.”

“They have retaken Aberdeen?”

“And Perth. But to reach us, they have to cross those.” He gave a nod to the formidable blue-and-purple peaks of the Grampians that sprawled from one side of the horizon to the other. “Even if he waits for spring, he'll find all that snow has melted to fill the bogs and flood the moors.”

“Angus … is well?”

Cameron looked back. “He is doing a very brave thing, Lady Anne. He has all but stretched out his neck and laid it on the execution block. This is why you should try not to be too hard on him when you hear he is on his way back to Inverness.”

“He is coming here?”

“Well, not
here
precisely,” he said, indicating the frozen beauty of Loch Moy. “Several regiments are being sent by sea to reinforce Lord Loudoun's position, his own among them. The news is five days old, but we have no reason to doubt its veracity. And, oh—” He paused and removed a letter from his breast pocket. It was written on pink paper, folded and sealed, bound with a red ribbon. “This came with the packet of dispatches he managed to smuggle out before his ship sailed. I imagine pink paper is difficult to come by in an army camp. Even an English army camp.”

With those words and a handsome grin, he tugged his forelock again and wheeled his stallion around, descending the slope to rejoin his clansmen.

Anne continued to hold the letter in her gloved hand for a full minute without making any move to open it, her heart pounding so hard in her chest she was afraid it might fly out.

Angus was alive and on his way to Inverness. Cumberland's army would not be invading the Highlands anytime soon. She really did not need to know anything more than that, yet to judge by the thickness of the letter, he had a great deal to tell her.

A group of clansmen hailed her as they marched past and Anne responded with a dazzling smile. She tucked the letter into her belt and returned their waves, then glanced up at the
sky, thanking the one who needed to be thanked the most for delivering the news safely into her hands. There was not a single cloud to be seen. The sun was warm and the snow glittered under its benevolent eye like a blanket of diamonds. Anne was as superstitious as any Highlander with good sense ought to be, and had the day been overcast and gloomy, she would have recognized it as a portent of ill fortune to come. But with the sun blazing from above and a letter from her husband pressing against her heart, she felt more confident about the future than she had in many long months.

“Are you certain your information is correct, sir?”

The speaker was Duncan Forbes, and the news was shocking enough to make him temporarily forget that his nephew Douglas was pouring him another whisky. He turned, pulling the glass out from under the decanter, then cursed roundly when the liquid splashed his hand, his leg, and the carpet in due order. With him inside the fortified walls of Fort George were Colonel Blakeney, newly arrived from Perth with fresh dispatches from the Duke of Cumberland; Lord Loudoun, who was pacing in circles like a bear tethered to a ring; and Norman MacLeod, Chief of Clan MacLeod and the officer in command of the Highland regiments at the fort.

“My source is above reproach, sir,” Blakeney said. “We have a spy close to the prince, and he assures us the Pretender is right under your noses, gentlemen. Charles Edward Stuart lies drunk in a bed at Moy Hall.”

Forbes took a hefty swallow of his whisky and shivered through the aftershock. “This man of yours also claims the bulk of the Pretender's army was there but now is not?”

“Lochiel and Keppoch removed their men this morning to Lochaber. Lord John Drummond is at Balmoral Castle, Clanranald is at Daless. At last report”—he paused to consult some notes he had scribbled on a piece of paper—“Lord George Murray is still struggling to cross the moors to Nairne. I would be surprised if he arrives any sooner than tomorrow noon. That leaves only Lady Anne's personal guard standing at the gates of Moy Hall.”

“If by ‘personal guard’ ye mean MacGillivray,” MacLeod said, “ye're talkin' about the Earl o' Hell himself, an' if he
were standin' at the gates o' Heaven, Christ wouldnae get past.”

“MacGillivray is at Dunmaglass,” Loudoun said, briefly halting mid-circle. “He and his men raided some cattle from the quartermaster's stockyard earlier this afternoon, and were last seen driving them away into the hills.”

“That's still too close f'ae comfort,” MacLeod scowled. “Besides, are ye no' expectin' reinforcements from Edinburgh anytime now? I say we wait on them an' cut our losses by half.”

“The troop ship, like everything else these days, appears to have met with some calamity off the coast. A storm or some such thing. They could arrive tomorrow, or the next day, or next week for all we know … assuming they have not gone down already or been smashed to bits on the rocks.”

“Tomorrow or the next day may be too late,” Blakeney insisted. “The time to strike is now, when the prince is vulnerable. The opportunity may not—most definitely
will not
—come again, and I say if there is a chance to capture the royal bastard, to take him with a minimum of bloodshed, then this entire tawdry affair could be over by midnight tonight. The will to stand and fight has gone out of his chiefs and council. They retreated from Derby, they retreated from Falkirk. Take away their only reason to remain steadfast to their oath and by this time tomorrow night, there will be no Jacobite cause, no army, no war—all to the greater glory of the men who had the foresight and audacity to bring it about!”

Loudoun swelled his chest with a speculative breath. “A bloodless victory would certainly pare Hawley's arrogance down a notch or two. I also expect the king would be generous in his rewards, were someone to save his son from the possibility of suffering the same ignominious fate as Cope and Hawley.”

“How do you propose to do it?” Forbes asked quietly.

Blakeney smelled an ally and turned to the Lord President. “We have two thousand men in the garrison. Give me fifteen hundred.”

“To capture one drunken, unprotected prince?”

“Merely a show of force to discourage any outside interference.”

“To cover yer arse ye mean,” MacLeod said dryly, “in case yer source is wrong.”

“If he is wrong,” Blakeney retorted, “a certain Corporal Jeffrey Peters will find his head impaled on a spike and set outside the citadel walls for the Jacobites to use as target practice.”

Forbes exchanged glances with Loudoun and MacLeod, then nodded. “Very well. How soon can you leave?”

“The men can be mustered and on the road within the hour. Within two, three at most, we should be back here with the Pretender and his gracious hostess secured in chains.”

“Lady Anne?”

“She is harboring an enemy of the Crown, is she not? That alone would be more justification than any military court would require to uphold a charge of sedition and treason. Personally, I have never hanged a woman before, but I'm told they bleat and squeal like little piglets—the same as some men I have lifted off their toes.”

The sound of broken glass caused the four men to whirl and stare at Douglas Forbes, who stood all but forgotten in the corner of the room.

“I… I'm sorry, Uncle. The glass slipped. I'll… I'll fetch someone to clean it up right away. I'm sorry. Sorry, gentlemen. Do carry on.”

He backed quickly out of the door, and when he was gone, the Lord President shook his head. “God knows my brother— may he rest in peace—was the same way. Turned pale if the conversation even hinted at violence. Though I do not imagine his reaction to be all that different from that of many. Hanging women is not what this is about, Colonel Blakeney, and would serve no purpose other than to make the young woman a martyr to the cause. Create martyrs and you create sympathy. No, Lady Anne is not to be molested in any way. Her husband is still a loyal officer in His Majesty's service, and I have given him the same guarantees I have given to others”—he looked pointedly at MacLeod—“to ensure his continuing
voluntary
support. If, as you say, there is a strong
possibility of ending this whole sordid affair tonight, we will need The MacKintosh to pull his clan back under tight rein.”

“What of The MacGillivray?” Loudoun asked. “I am of the opinion he has become a liability we cannot afford in war or peace.”

“I gave no warranty against accidents,” Forbes said. “And in the aftermath of hostilities, there are always … accidents.” He looked at Colonel Blakeney, and the decision was made. “Bring me Scotland's prince, sir, and you shall have England's gratitude.”

Douglas Forbes needed a few moments to catch his breath. He had stumbled out of Lord Loudoun's office and barely made it to a supporting wall before his knees gave way.

They were going to arrest Lady Anne! They were going to put her in chains and lock her away in a rat-infested gaol cell until a spectacle could be made of her hanging! It was too much. It was too damned much—and he could not allow that to happen!

Wary of the colonel's adjutant watching him, Douglas straightened himself and his clothes and strode as calmly as he could out of the headquarters and into the yard. Twilight was full upon them, and since the afternoon sun had been strong enough to melt most of the snow inside the fort, the myriad puddles shone like scattered pieces of broken mirror.

Feigning no great hurry, he called for his horse. When it was brought to him, he mounted and waved to the guards on the massive gates as he passed through. Inverness, a mile from the fort, was tiny by comparison to the other major ports of Glasgow and Edinburgh. Of the three thousand permanent residents, many had discreetly vacated their city homes to visit friends and relatives farther north in the more remote regions of Skye. If, as they feared, the final battle for possession of the Highlands would occur here, they would be faced with either a lengthy occupation by the Jacobites or the less than appealing military rule of Cumberland's army.

For all that it sickened Douglas to listen to the plottings and intrigues, he knew his uncle was right. Capture Charles Stuart, and Cumberland would have no reason to bring his army north. Inverness would be spared the reprisals of war,
and her residents could return to their normal everyday affairs.

He had no quarrel with that reasoning. None at all. By the same token, however, he had become more and more convinced over the months that Scotland warranted better than being essentially a colony of England. The country was unique, the people were unique, and who were men like his uncle to decide what was best for them? England had surely fought hard enough to defend itself against French and Spanish attempts at invasions in the past, when a victory by either nation would have eradicated their way of life and imposed foreign rule. Why did they then feel it was their right to turn around and dictate to the Scots and the Irish and the Welsh how they should be ruled, whom they should pray to, and how their people should speak or dress?