Prince Across the Water (26 page)

“Angus, yer back early,” she said, her voice echoing lightly off the cave walls.

Angus Ban bowed to her respectfully, and I suddenly recognized her as the young woman who'd been so huge with child at the Keppoch's house. Four youngsters came after her, one bouncing a ball and another carrying a hoop. The smallest child broke away from them and went over to sit at the toy table and draw on a slate. Behind the widow trotted a maid, who sat down at a spinning wheel and began winding yarn. They were soon joined by a pair of servants and an armed guard, his arms crossed over his chest.

It was all so homey, yet so far beyond anything I had ever known—and in a cave as well—I found I couldn't speak.

Angus Ban signaled me forward. “Stepmother, may I introduce young Duncan MacDonald of Glenroy. He was the lad I've spoken of, the one who helped us carry Father in from the field.”

I bowed silently to the lady, thinking that she was awfully young to have been the Keppoch's wife. “Lady Keppoch …” I began.

“It's the Widow MacDonald,” she said, sitting down and bouncing the baby on her knee. “Our Angus is the Keppoch now.”

Not knowing what else to say, I pointed to the child in her lap. “Is this yer baby?”

She stroked the child's feathery, golden hair. “My bonnie Charlotte,” she said, “the daughter the Keppoch never saw. She's been a comfort for me since the loss of my Alexander.”

Alexander, I supposed, was the Keppoch's born name, though I'd never heard it used before. The widow's sweetness, though, unloosed my tongue. “He … he was a noble man,” I said. It hardly sounded enough. “A fine, strong leader and …”

“And did ye truly help carry him to his final rest?” she asked.

I nodded, afraid to say anything more since I didn't know how much Angus Ban had told her of the Keppoch's death.

“Well, what a way to welcome such a brave gentleman to our home. Have we none of the hot punch left?” She turned to the serving maid who was unsnarling some of the yarn.

“What's left is barely warm now, ma'am,” the maid replied.

“Make nae matter of that. I'm sure this young man is too well-mannered to pass comment on it. And the warmth will do him good. Fetch him a cup.”

The maid disappeared into a shadowy corner and came back with a silver cup, which she dipped into the glass bowl, then brought to me.

I had never drunk from anything so fine, and handled it gingerly, as if my touch might tarnish the metal. The punch tasted like fruit—apples and pears—with more than a hint of brandy. The fire it stirred in my breast gave me the courage to address the lady.

“This is the bonniest cave I've ever been in,” I told her. “My father's house isna half so grand.”

“We were warned the redcoats meant to burn us out, and so took what we could before they came,” she said. “They might make fugitives of us, Duncan of Glenroy, but they'll no turn us into animals.”

I thought her the most splendid woman I'd ever met.

“I've told ye these furnishings would sit better at Inch House,” said Angus Ban, pointing to the table and chairs. “Everything's ready there for ye to move in.” He turned to me. “Young Duncan here would tell ye so himself.”

“I … I …” I could tell her nothing.

“And leave ye to live in bare lodgings, Angus?” she joked. “Without my civilizing influence, ye and yer friends would be little better than foxes hiding in the hillside.”

“Och, but ye shouldna be living as less than a lady. Father would hate this.” He gestured to the one wall without a tapestry on it. The bare stone looked grim and damp.

“There will be nae rest for us at Inch House or any place else as long as the prince is still loose in the hills,” she answered him, her cheeks flushing as she spoke. “The English would be at the door of Inch House every hour of the day, searching, questioning, looking for any excuse to haul us off as traitors to King George. As if we know where the bonnie prince stays.”

“Then he's no in France yet?” Granda and Da and every visiting tinker had told us so. But to hear it from Angus Ban's lips made it real.

“Nay, no in France yet,” Angus Ban said. “He's still leading them a merry dance all around the islands and up and down the glens.” He grinned. “They dinna need us to tell them that.”

His two younger brothers had left off playing with the hoop and ball, edging closer to the conversation. The older of them piped up, “The prince dressed himself as a lassie.”

“Aye, called himself Betty Burke,” put in the other.

I turned to Angus Ban. “Why did he do that?”

Angus Ban laughed. “Let the lads tell you about it. It's their favorite tale.”

The lads were quick to comply. “Our kinswoman Flora MacDonald was with him,” said the first.

His brother added, “He escaped from the English wearing a disguise. They rowed off to the island of Skye, in skirts and all.”

Both lads danced about their mother, swinging their arms like ladies swishing their skirts.

“Off with ye, lads, and back to yer games,” the widow told them. “We're talking serious business here.”

“Is it true?” I asked her as the lads scampered away.

“True enough,” she said, holding out her hand for the silver cup, which I gave to her.

“Young Duncan's brought a gift for ye,” said Angus Ban. “A very special gift.”

The widow gave me a curious stare. “A gift? He's a very noble young knight indeed.” She handed the cup and baby to her maid.

“I hope it brings more joy to ye than sorrow, ma'am.”

“Well said,” Angus Ban put in.

I brought out the brooch and handed it to her, peeling away the wrappings as I did so. A tear bloomed in her eye and she took the brooch in cupped hands, as if it were a fragile bird's egg.

“I remember how proud Alexander was when he came home with this pinned to his plaid. ‘A gift from Prince Charlie himself,' he said, ‘brought all the way from France.' See, it has a lock of the prince's own hair.” She touched a finger below her eyes and flicked away the tear.

“I was so set on saving his weapons,” said Angus Ban, “I never minded his treasure.”

Lady Keppoch pressed the brooch to her breast, then set it on her lap. “I'm no a warrior to wear so fine a crest as this.”

“Yer as brave as any warrior I know,” said Angus Ban.

I wished I'd been quick enough to say such a thing.

For a moment we were all quiet, thinking about the brooch and—I expect—about the Keppoch as well.

A shadow passed across the chamber entrance and Iain entered. “There's a visitor to see ye,” he said, ushering another man in behind him. “He says his business is urgent.”

The newcomer was a broad-shouldered Highlander with a grim face, curling black beard, and sharp grey eyes. He, too, was still wearing a kilt, but like Angus Ban and Iain, his was dyed brown.

“McNab!” Angus Ban exclaimed when the man stepped into the light. Then quickly he explained to the widow, “It's McNab of Innisewan.” He turned back to the man. “McNab, ye rogue, what's flushed ye out of yer bothy?”

“Nothing less than the safety of the prince!” McNab replied.

Clutching the brooch, the widow stood up. “Ye have news?”

McNab nodded. “I have news, ma'am. He's been hiding out east of here, near Ben Alder, under the protection of Cluny McPherson. But now a French ship has finally beaten the English blockade, so he's off to the coast to board it.”

“And then to France?” the widow asked.

“God willing.” McNab's face was dour. “Where the redcoats dinna dare go.”

“At last!” she cried.

Angus Ban clapped his hands together, a sound which echoed around us. “But that's good, man, that's good.”

“Nay.” McNab's dour face got grimmer. “For the redcoats have got wind of it and they're closing fast. The prince needs men around him, brave men, loyal men, to protect him.”

“Men who know their way through the heather?” Angus Ban asked.

“Aye.”

“Men who know this countryside will be more valuable to him than swords,” said Lady Keppoch. “Ye'll go to him, Angus?”

“As fast and straight as the crow flies,” Angus Ban answered.

“And what about ye, Duncan MacDonald of Glenroy?” She turned to me. “How well do ye know this country?”

“As well as I know the fingers of my own hand,” I told her, which was a terrible exaggeration. Mostly I knew my own glen.

“Ye'll go, too, then. And take this with ye.” She wrapped the brooch up in its cloth and handed it back to me.

I would have done anything for her. Even go to the prince, once more into the teeth of danger.

Angus Ban put out a hand to stop her. “It's yer brooch by right,” he protested, “and ye may have need of such treasures yet.”

“Our prince has greater need than any of us,” she replied. “Let him take it as a charm, if he will. Or sell it for food. Or use it as a bribe. It will prove its worth yet.” She pressed the brooch into my palm. “Will ye take it to him, young Duncan, and my prayers with it?”

“Aye, ma'am, I'll go,” I said. “And carry yer treasure as ye wish.”

“Then we'll both go to join Prince Charlie's last army,” said Angus Ban, offering me his hand. We shook firmly and then he turned to give orders to his men about keeping watch here while he was gone.

I stuffed the brooch back into my shirt, remembering what Mairi's ghost had said:
It's a blessing ye carry with ye, Duncan
.

I hoped for all our sakes it was.

35 THE BOTHY

The three of us traveled east, then north into the hills and forests, letting McNab lead the way. He knew the swiftest route to the prince's hideout, knew where the streams could be most easily crossed and where narrow gaps gave passage between the frowning crags. We ducked under curving bushes and low-hanging trees on paths that ran like tunnels through the foliage. The tracks would have been impossible for the redcoats to spot, but the local clansmen knew such hidden paths well, using them for passing messages among themselves as well as smuggling weapons and money for the prince's cause.

I kept up. I had to—or else I would have become totally lost. And no one would have had the time to seek me out.

We spent the rest of that day traveling, and, after a half-night's rest, were off again and never on any recognizable road. I should have been exhausted, but our spirits were so high, it was hard to feel tired. I said so to Angus Ban in a low whisper.

He whispered back, “Harder, I think, to walk along a broad road all day, especially with redcoats to either side.” He was silent for a moment, then added, “It was by using tracks like these that the prince evaded Cumberland's searchers, all the way from Moidart on the western coast to Badenoch on the far side of Loch Ness.” His hand described a large arc.

“And now back again,” McNab added quietly.

I sighed. “That's a long way.”

Iain whispered, “Long and hard and dangerous.”

“But he never went alone,” McNab said. “We wouldna let him.”

As the second day started to darken toward dusk, we crossed yet another small stream. Wading through it, I began to think about the prince. What courage it must have taken, going from Culloden to the coast and back twice more, with the redcoats fast behind him. And the anger I had held since that awful battle began to turn to admiration again. Yes, I still wanted him gone to France, but for his own sake now, as well as ours.

“He's been rumored dead more than once,” said Angus Ban, when we reached the other side of the stream. “But a rumor's nae fact.” He laughed, which lent his homely face a kind of beauty.

“And nobody's betrayed him.” I had to marvel at that. “Not for all the gold offered by King George.”

Iain's face turned hard. He spat. “That for German Georgie!”

“What do ye know of the gold?” Angus Ban asked me.

“Thirty thousand pounds, it's said. I can hardly imagine such a sum.”

He clapped me on the back. “It would make ye the equal to any laird.”

I gave him a startled look. “But a laird is born to his title.”

Shaking his head, Angus Ban retorted, “There speaks a true retainer. Laddie, lairds can be broken and built up again. A man with money can make his way anywhere in the world. That's what makes this so miraculous—that nae Highlander has given even a hint of the prince's whereabouts. Nae money, nae torture, nae exile has made the Scots talk.”

“Hush,” McNab said. “No more speaking here, either. We're coming to a tricky part now. Even trickier in this fading light.”

We dropped to our bellies and began crawling through the heather. It wasn't easy, for the stuff was dense and tangled.

I kept wanting to sneeze and had to hold my nose for fear of giving us away. And all the while, my heart was beating as loudly as it had at Culloden. I thought about Ma and Da waiting at home, thinking I'd be back this evening, or the next. I thought about the bonnie prince somewhere ahead of us, waiting to be guided to the coast.

Is he worth it?

He better be!

McNab raised his hand and we paused, side by side, to stare through the gathering dusk at a rough-built, square bothy lying on a low rise some twenty yards ahead of us. Sheltered among the holly trees and high rocks, its stones caked with moss, the bothy was smaller than my cottage. From a hole in its turf roof a faint streamer of smoke trickled out, disappearing when it reached the tops of the rocks. There was no light at the window, no sound from inside, no guards at the door. Except for the chimney smoke, the place seemed utterly deserted.

“There it is,” said McNab, starting to rise.

Angus Ban took McNab by the shoulder and pushed him back down, till we were hidden in the bracken. Slipping out his pistol and cocking it gently to make as little sound as possible, he whispered, “Are ye sure, McNab? It could be a trap. The place is too quiet by half, and who's the daftie who set that fire?”