Prince Across the Water (12 page)

For a moment I had no notion what she was nattering about.

“They're going to London to claim the
united
throne, woman,” Granda said, one hand on his hip. He glared at her bent back. “Scotland and England together. As it has been these hundred and forty years. The men will come back when they've done what they've set out to do. And no before.”

Standing to glare back at him, Ma went on speaking, her anger running deep, “By that time, we'll be well into another winter and then into spring again. They could lose their way coming home, and then where would we be?”

“We'd be with a Stuart on the united throne,” Granda said with exasperation.

“What's a Stuart to me with a family to feed, and only an old dodderer and a lad to do the farming?”

She must have seen my face then, fallen in like a poorly-made pudding. “Oh, Duncan, I didna mean to shame ye. Ye've done a man's work, for all yer only fourteen years old. It's been yer hand at the harvest and yer shovel in the byre and of course I know it.”

“I'm near fifteen,” I said sharply, though I still actually had a season and more to go.

“We couldna have gotten the crops in without ye, what little there was.” She looked again at Granda, wiping her sooty hands on her skirts without being aware of what she was doing. “Without ye, Duncan, we'd all be dead as Mairi on our own doorstoop. Without ye, yer da would have nothing to come home to, nothing at all.”

Her anger turned to tears and with each falling drop I was undone. How could Ewan and I even think about going off to London and leave our poor mothers to work the farms alone? There was much to do still to get things ready for wintering over.

When I told Ewan this the next day, he reluctantly agreed.

“It's a long way down to London,” he said. Then he looked at me slyly. “Besides, there'll still be fighting, closer to home. Pockets of redcoats to bring into line.” He sounded as if he knew more than I did. After all, he'd been on raids and I had not.

So we agreed to stay home for a time more.

The next news we had was at midwinter. It was brought by a runner sent by Lady Keppoch to all the MacDonald villages in the glen.

He gathered us outside our cottages, though inside by the fire would have suited us better. Snow lay on the ground, a dusting of it, like faerie lace.

With a grim face, he told us that our men had turned back from the very borders of London, within reach of the king's throne. The prince was persuaded by the likes of Lord Murray and the other chiefs that London would be a death trap for them all.

“Turned
back?”
Granda said, his jaw dropping. “Running like whipped dogs?” He was trembling with anger, and I with him. “I dinna believe it.”

Lady Keppoch's man shrugged. “I but report what I have been told.”

“That's nae good enough,” Granda said, shaking his fist. “And what of the Keppoch? What of himself?”

I waited to hear his answer, remembering the Keppoch as I'd first seen him, that strong-willed old man.

“The Keppoch wasna consulted till after the decision was made, and by all accounts showed himself unhappy with it,” the messenger said, his long face made longer by this exchange with Granda. He turned as if to go, having said his piece.

“And where are they now?” Ewan's ma asked.

John the Miller's wife leaned forward, holding her young babe in her arms. “Are they on their way home?”

Lady Keppoch's man turned back, saying, “By the time the reports of the retreat reached us, other reports had come as well. As far as we know, Prince Charles' army is already back inside Scotland, resting.”

“Resting!” Granda spit to one side.

“Resting where?” asked Ewan.

“That I dinna know,” the man said.

“Resting
why?”
I asked.

Granda put his hand on my shoulder. “Aye, that's the real question, laddie.” But we both knew we'd get no answer from the man. He'd only given us this last bit of information reluctantly and now looked to be gone before giving us anything more.

That night we talked well into the darkest hours. Ewan and his sister and ma and others came to our cottage, settling themselves in front of the fire.

Granda talked of the retreat in the '15, and we listened with grim faces, the hearth fire putting shadows under our eyes. “There was nae singing, nae joking, just the shuffling of feet,” Granda said. “Nothing worse than the silence of a retreating army.”

Ewan glanced over at me and our eyes locked. We made a silent promise. We would meet the retreating army wherever it was and join up.
Now!
New blood might put iron into their spirit and turn them around again.

“Will Da be coming home soon?” Andrew asked as we sat at breakfast the next morning. Silent, Ma ladled out a half-bowl of thin porridge and put a bit of bannock by each bowl.

Sarah repeated the question as if she'd just thought of it herself. Wide-eyed, she asked, “Will Da be coming home soon?”

Ma still said nothing, but the look on her face spoke for her. She was afraid for Da and didn't want to frighten the rest of us with her fears.

I gave them both a shake of my head. “We dinna know.”

But Granda boomed, his voice over-hearty, “Of course he'll be home soon. And with him an English musket for Andrew and the silver buttons off a red coat for Sarah.”

I shivered, remembering the button I had given to Mairi. And then I remembered word-for-word Granda's description of an army in retreat, how silent and how downcast they were. The sooner Ewan and I got there, the better.

“And what will Da bring for Duncan?” asked Sarah. Then before Granda could answer, she began singing in her wispy, high-pitched way a song she and Andrew had made up:

Prince Charlie's been tae London toon,

He disnae want tae roam.

Prince Charlie's been tae London toon,

And now he's coming home.

After that dismal meal, Granda took me by the arm and walked me to the byre, our feet leaving soft prints in the snow. When they heard us coming, the cows began lowing, but more like a conversation than a cry.

“I didna want to say this in front of the bairns,” Granda told me, “but I've been turning this retreat over and over in my head and it makes nae sense.” I knew what was coming, for I had been worrying about the same thing. “Ye dinna track a fox to his den then turn for home without setting the hounds on him.”

“Maybe …” I said slowly, “maybe King James made a bargain with King George.” It was all I'd come up with in a night of worrying. “Maybe they've agreed that one could have Scotland while the other kept England.”

“Aye—I wondered about that, too,” Granda said, “but it doesna seem likely. Kings dinna give away their jewels without a fight.”

“Then what
do
ye think?”

“I think …” He paused. “I think the little prince has a cunning plan.”

“What kind of plan?”

“To bring the English troops where we can more carefully take them apart.”

“Destroy them?”

An eagle circled high over the snowy fields. It was waiting for something. Maybe the clans were waiting for something, too.

“Aye. Destroy them
completely
. It's nae good to have an army at yer back still able to fight. The prince has the right of it. Make the redcoats come back to Scotland, where we have our souls, and then cut them to ribbons.” His voice was soft as he said this.
Soft and hard at the same time
, I thought. “Besides, we marched down to London once,” he added slowly, “and could do it again. When the redcoats are no more.”

Granda's explanation made a lot of sense to me. “And, Granda,” I said, “if the prince's plan is to lead the English soldiers up to Scotland, then …” I smiled.
Wait till I tell this to Ewan
. “It means we're still at war.”

“Yer a smart lad,” Granda said, patting me on the head. “Dinna let yer mother know what we've talked about, though. It would only fret her more.”

I went right down to Ewan's farm and whistled outside the byre. He came out wiping his hands free of muck and stared at me, for we rarely met during the day. Daylight was for chores.

“My granda's got the right of it,” I said. “Come with me to the copse and I'll explain.”

As we walked, leaving a trail a child could follow in the snow, I told him what Granda had said, adding, “And having been down to London once, the Highland army knows the way!”

“So they'll need us now more than ever.”

“That's right.” I clapped him on the back.

“Pick up yer sword, then, and let's go at it again.” He went over to the ancient oak where we'd hidden our swords under the fallen snow. “We're no nearly ready enough.”

I smiled. “But we
will
be. Aye, we will be. And there's nothing stronger than a Scot on his own land.”

Ewan grinned at me. “And I know something ye dinna know.”

“How can that be?”

“John the Miller's wife is my ma's friend and she got a letter from her man. A runner came yesterday.”

“I saw no runner.”

“Yer too much in yer own head, Duncan. Dinna ye want to know what I know?”

I sighed. What if the letter was about Da? What if he had died? And then I gave myself a shake. John the Miller's wife would certainly have been right over to talk to Ma if that had been so. And Ewan would not have been grinning like a simpleton before me. “Tell me.”
Better to know the worst than to guess at it
.

“He wrote that the prince is going to camp near Inverness, only a few days' walk from here.”

“Just a few days?” My heart seemed to stutter in my chest, then start again.

“A straight line from here, my da used to say.”

“And are we right, Ewan … we're sure they'll want boys like us?” I had never doubted it, but now that the time was here …

“With Cumberland on their tail, they'll take babies if any can crawl that far,” Ewan joked.

Our time had finally come, then. It was now.
This moment
. Our mas couldn't hold us back this time. My fits wouldn't keep me from battle. I could smell honor in the air. And glory.

Excited, I grabbed up my wooden sword from the ground, feinted twice, then slapped it down hard on Ewan's sword arm.

He pulled back. “Ow!” he cried. “That's no fair. I wasna ready.”

“Do ye think the redcoats will know—or care?” I said, making a face at him. “Find the high ground and charge, that's what Granda taught me.” I gave a whoop and ran at him, and this time the shafts of wood clashed together, beat after beat. Then I fetched him a heavy blow on the shoulder and he made a sound like a cow in labor.

“Hah!” I cried, and then, “Ooof,” for he'd gotten me right back, on the muscle of my sword arm. It almost made me drop the sword, but I held on and after a while the stinging subsided to a low, tingling ache that ran from my shoulder to my hand.

We swatted at each other for another few minutes, neither landing any real blows after that. But the noise of the swords pounding together began to get inside my skull, until my temples were throbbing.

“We're good,” Ewan cried out. “We're
very
good. The clan will be glad of us, ye'll see. Side by side in the battle.”

His voice was like an iron band being tightened about my head. The air around me began to turn watery. I looked up and there was Mairi coming toward me, a crown of gillyflowers in her golden hair. I reached out to her.

“Nae, yer no allowed to touch me, Duncan,” she said. “No yet.”

Go away!
Did I say it aloud? I meant to. I knew I couldn't be seeing her. She was dead. We'd buried her, her wheaty hair bound up in ribbons. But the throbbing in my head, the tingling of my arm, the iron band at my temples, the watery air—they all began to take their toll. And then I knew what was really happening.

Taking a mighty breath, I cried out, “Enough!”

Ewan just stared as I threw my sword away and fell into the dark, thinking:
Who would want me by their side in battle now?

17 APPARITION

The cold and snowy winter turned into a cold and rainy spring. I worried about the plowing and the planting, I worried about the seeds rotting in the ground. These were a farmer's worries and not a soldier's.

Ewan's concerns were the same. And while we still played at fighting, we spoke often about the farms we tended, the need to strengthen a
cas-chrom
, or foot plow, or how best to sharpen a scythe.

More than once, Ewan had to get me up from a fit. Our small battles, wood against wood, seemed to bring them on. One particular time, I was wet and cold from rolling in the snow. Ewan walked me to the door of my cottage, his hand under my elbow. It hadn't been a particularly bad fit, but I'd banged my hand when I fell.

“Dinna say a word to my ma,” I cautioned him. Not that he would.

He nodded.

Then my stomach growled. “Do ye think we've missed dinner?” He hadn't, of course. Since his ma had only Ewan and Maggie to feed, meals always waited on his return. But my family often ate without me.

“Good luck,” he said, and left me at the door.

I hadn't actually missed the evening meal this time, and I understood why the minute I got in. A stranger sat on a stool by the fire and Ma was busy cooking up a big dinner for once.

I took a moment to dry off by the fire, then Granda called out, “Sit down, lad.”

No one spoke about where I'd been or why I'd come home so wet.

We had cheese, turnips, barley bread, and some salted beef. Ma poured out drams of whiskey for Granda and the stranger, a Highlander named John McLean.

McLean was a thin, grey, wiry sort. His clothes were worn and dirty from long days on the road, the colors all drained out of them. He had a handkerchief with two knots tied about his neck, and a cap stuffed into his belt. Cap and belt were as grey as the rest of him.