Prince Across the Water (28 page)

One time, overhearing him, Angus Ban told me, “The prince is rightfully fearful that an English patrol might find the ship before we get there. So we must hurry. But not”—and he turned to the prince—“without caution, sir.”

Prince Charlie put up his hands and smiled. “Am I not the most cautious of men, young MacDonald?” he said to me.

“But this may be your last, best chance, sir,” I said, thinking about the French ship.

“This may be
Scotland's
last, best chance,” Prince Charlie said.

By morning we had reached the Forest of Moy, a tangle of pine and larch, beech and birch. We used the shelter of the trees to continue our journey. But at noon we finally stopped for a brief but welcome rest. I was so tired that every now and then I simply nodded off, still walking.

Angus Ban caught my arm. “Soon, lad,” he told me, “soon. We're very near Glen Roy. Ye'll be needed then. I know the lower part, but it's up in the high trails we'll want yer help. And when ye've got us to the other side, we'll send ye home again.”

At our resting place that time, Lochiel was persuaded to sit a bit, his brother beside him. But Cluny paced the while as if he feared once down, he'd never rise up again. Only Iain refused to stop, going on ahead to scout.

As soon as Iain returned with the news that all was clear, and not a redcoat in sight, Angus Ban had us up and on the move again. Archie helped Lochiel to stand, neither of them betraying any pain on their faces.

Surprisingly, the prince was the most energetic of us all, always ready for the march to continue, always ready with a smile. I watched him often, as he spoke to one man after another. It made me like him, how he disguised his own weariness for the sake of us all. Surely there must have been times, during his months escaping the English across the Highlands, when he felt as miserable and alone as I had making my way back from Culloden.

It is his concern for those about him
, I suddenly realized,
that makes him a great prince
. And then I had a further thought:
He will make a great king
.

Thinking that made me smile ruefully to myself. He would make
no
king at all if we didn't get him to his ship in time.

By that evening, with a clear sky and an almost full moon beaming down on us, we'd passed by broken walls of crag and cliff. We'd crossed sodden meadows, fed by water tumbling in white tracks down the mountainsides.

Finally we arrived at the eastern foothills of Glen Roy. I'd never come upon it this way before.

“What is that?” asked the prince of Angus Ban, pointing to a place where something had cut under a tussocky plateau.

“We call those the Glen Roy beaches,” Angus Ban said.

The prince laughed. “Beaches? And no ocean for many miles.”

“They say that there was once a lake here, and when it dried up, it left parallel beaches behind.”

I'd never heard of any such thing before, and wondered that the world—even my familiar part of it—should be so wide. Then I thought how the familiar hillsides looked almost sinister in the growing dark.

We were all exhausted, though none showed it as much as Lochiel, who was pale and drawn, the bones of his skull clearly outlined on his handsome face.

Angus Ban called a halt. “We'll stay here and set out again before dawn.” He glanced at the prince, who nodded his agreement. “Since we'll be high enough in the glen to escape the attention of the redcoats, we should be able to make good time. With luck, we'll reach Loch Lochy by nightfall. There should be several small rowing boats on the loch, and once across, we are but short miles to Lochiel's home.”

Crossing all of the glen is easy enough to do on the broad road by the Keppoch's house. But it would be hard going, being that quick while scrambling over the hills. Angus Ban was making a plan by what he knew. But if the lower glen was his country, the high glen was mine. Even by daylight the way might be hazardous. And once we left the part of the high glen that I knew, I'd be guessing which way was easiest, fastest, best. I wondered if I should say anything to them about my fears.

“Another day only,” the prince said, smiling. “That is good, dear Angus.”

“Another day only to Lochiel's,” McNab reminded him. “Then three more days till the coast.”

“Have we time? Have we time?” the prince asked.

“We have time, sir,” Angus Ban said.

After that promise, I didn't dare say anything. I bit my lower lip and thought:
If I set my back to the east and head due west, I can manage
.

The prince started to climb toward higher ground. “Can we see the loch from up there?” he asked.

Angus Ban quickly blocked his way. “The moon's nearly full, my prince,” he said, “and as of last week, Lord Loudon's camp of redcoats wasna far distant. Ye could be too easily spotted up there.”

The prince looked disappointed and reluctantly turned back. Catching my eye, he shrugged, smiled, and whispered, “My council again.”

This time I smiled back. Who could resist him? I wondered if princes were born to that charm, or had to learn it. Then I remembered that Butcher Cumberland was King George's youngest son, which meant he was a prince, too.
No charm there
, I told myself with a shiver.

Before we wrapped ourselves in our plaids and curled up for the night, Prince Charlie unaccountably came over and sat by me. He took off his bonnet and his wig and gave his scalp a vigorous rub.

“I swear, lad, there's more lice and midges than grains of sand in this country.”

“Ye'll be glad to be gone then,” I said.

“Glad? No,” he answered, replacing his wig. “This is my father's kingdom. And mine. When I was your age, I learned about Scotland and England from the finest tutors. I knew always that one day I would have to come here to win back the stolen throne.” He gave me another smile, this one less charming and more full of regret. “To come here was not so hard. But to win the throne back—ah, that has not been easy.” He got a faraway look in his eyes. “I expected to rule this land someday, not to love it. But love it I do.”

“I love it, too, sir.”

He leaned toward me. “Then we have much in common, young MacDonald.”

Suddenly, I realized he was right, though perhaps not in the way he thought. We were both lads who had gone to fight in our father's places, and found the battle wasn't quite what we'd reckoned on.

“Are ye so sure of yer kingdom now, sir?” I asked.

The prince glanced around at the rugged men in their muddied clothes who were settling down under the towering pines. Then, he watched a moment as a flock of peewits flew over. “Perhaps … perhaps there's not much of a court here, but there's never been braver subjects.”

“My da once said that courage begets courage,” I told him. “He said that nae man ever raced to follow a coward. And think how many brave men have followed ye across the country and into that far place where none return.”

Prince Charlie smiled at the compliment. “Stout lad,” he said. “You do not falter, even when grown men do.”

“Oh, I've stumbled, Yer Highness. And I've made a harder journey than this,” I said. “Much harder.” I said no more than that. It would have been unthinkable to remind him of Culloden now, adding past horror to the hard present.

Perhaps he was thinking of it anyway, for suddenly he gazed up at the moon and said, “I'll pray God keeps us safe this night. Just the one more night till we cross the lake. You can be free of this particular danger then, boy.”

I must have looked startled.
“Me?”

“Ah, yes—I know you leave us once we are at the loch. And I am glad for it, for you have much life ahead of you yet.” He smiled, just a young man now, thinking of his friend's safety before his own.

“Just the one more night,” I repeated. Then I smiled back. “That reminds me …” I hesitated.

“Reminds you of what?”

I took a deep breath. “Of one of my granda's stories.”

“A storyteller, eh?” said the prince. “All the stories I know come from books.”

“Not the ones my granda tells. They're passed from lip to ear and from heart to heart, with nae paper in between.”

The prince chuckled good-naturedly. “And which heart-to-heart tale are you reminded of this last night?”

“The tale of Sandy MacDonald,” I said quickly. “He was a fisherman of the western isles. His wife Kate was the most beautiful girl in all Scotland.” I paused.

“Tell it to me, my brave Highlander.” It was a royal command.

Of course I had to continue. “One day,” I said, “when Sandy was out in his boat, he overheard a pair of sea imps plotting to steal his wife away that very night. They planned to leave a wooden image in her place.” I stopped to glance at the prince, afraid he might find the tale foolish to his sophisticated ears, or my telling weak.

He had pulled up his legs and was resting his chin on his knees. His eyes were fixed intently upon me and he looked for all the world like Andrew or Sarah sitting at Granda's feet as he told his tales. Seeing this, I carried on with more confidence.

“Well, Sandy rowed right back to shore and raced home,” I said. “He barred the door, and shuttered the windows. He wouldna let his Kate go outside. That night the imps sneaked up to the door and in wheedling tones told Kate her husband was hurt and had need of her. Yet there he was beside her and she didna move. So they told her one of her friends was ill, and next that the byre—the barn—was on fire, and all manner of other lies meant to draw her out. But she didna go, for Sandy held her fast.”

The prince nodded, as if bidding me to go on. So I did.

“All that night—just that
one night
—he wouldna let her open the door. When the dawn came up, the voices stopped. Then he and his wife went outside together and there, in a corner of the yard, they came upon the stump of an old ship's mast carved with such skill, it was the very likeness of Kate MacDonald.”

“I'm glad a happy ending came,” said the prince. “Sandy MacDonald deserved to keep his wife.”

“Aye, he did.”

I didn't need to add that the prince's friends—just like Sandy MacDonald in the story—had done all they could to keep him safe, sometimes in spite of himself. If he guessed it was what I meant, he didn't say. But that wasn't the only reason I'd thought of that particular tale. I'd been wondering which prince we would be left with at the end of our story. Would it be this caring young man, or the charming hero from across the sea?

Which one
, I puzzled,
is the true prince and which only a wooden copy? And would any of us know the difference?

The prince got up and nodded to me. “One day,” he said, “I hope to see you a captain in my army.”

“A captain,” I mused aloud, and he seemed satisfied with that.

Then he walked over to Lochiel and Archie, finding a spot by them where the stones were not too hard.

A captain
, I thought, as I lay down and folded myself up in my plaid and slept. I dreamed I was wearing a bright blue uniform decorated with gold piping. I wore a wig like a gentleman, and a three-cornered hat with a white cockade pinned on. My sword was a gentleman's sword, with a basket hilt and watering down the blade. I had a
sken dhu
in my stocking, not a poor man's dirk, and it, too, was made of the finest steel. A musket poked its handle from my belt.

I woke suddenly and found myself staring up at a sky full of stars, thinking:
It's fine to be a captain in the army, as long as there's no war
.

37 GLENROY

Angus and McNab had us up before dawn. “Up, lads, up,” they said. “Before the redcoats wake.”

A mouthful of oatmeal stirred in a cup of cold water was all the breakfast we had time for before we were clambering once again over heather-clad hills. This was to be the last leg of our journey; the weight of it—and the hope—kept us all from speaking.

When we came over the top of one hill, we could see the River Roy below us. The crimson glow of daybreak shimmering on the running water had turned it bloodred, like a river in one of the old ballads.

I hoped it wasn't an omen, and shivered at the thought.

Once we'd reached the riverbank, Angus Ban paused, looking about carefully. “We canna stay out here in the open.” He turned to me. “This is yer country, lad. Show us the way.”

It was true. I was home.

“This way,” I told them, pointing. “There's the best place to cross. Over the rocks, beneath that outcropping.”

I took them to a spot a quarter mile upriver, where a natural fortress of stone guarded the ford. A series of flat rocks made a path across the river and a man could follow them step by step to the other side without so much as wetting his feet. Even for the limping Lochiel the going would prove easy. It fact it was an easier passage than many we'd had up till that time.

“I dinna like it,” Iain said. “We're too exposed to any soldier on the hills. Let me go first to draw any fire.”

“Do it,” Angus Ban said.

So Iain went across, but though we watched the hills carefully, there was no movement, no flashes of light. Still, we each looked around before making the crossing and I went last. As soon as we reached the far bank, Angus Ban hurried us on brusquely.

“Have a care, Keppoch!” the prince chided him. “The gentle Lochiel still bears the wounds taken in our cause. The poor man can go no faster.”

I saw Angus Ban bite back an impolite reply. “Yer pardon,” he said. “I was only thinking of Yer Highness' safety.” He pointed to the surrounding hills. “There may be eyes everywhere. We do not have time to tarry now. It is more open here, more dangerous.”

It was a reverse of their argument a day before, with the prince cautioning us to slow down, and Angus Ban pushing us forward with haste. They were both right, of course. We had little time to spare. But we needed Lochiel well enough to travel. And there just might be English soldiers hidden among the crags or tucked down in the bracken and heather. They'd been there only days before, burning Keppoch House.