The Gathering Storm (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 3) (22 page)

He leapt from the bed, tripping over the discarded plaid and grabbing at the basin as he fell. He twisted round and managed to get it in place just in time. Shuffling forward, he knelt at the side of the bed and held her until she had finished retching. Then he wet a cloth and wiped her mouth and face, before easing her gently back into bed. He toyed with the idea of taking the bowl back downstairs, made a realistic assessment of the capability of his legs to get down and back up again, then abandoned the idea, placing it in the farthest corner of the room instead.

He returned to the bed, gathering his now shivering, clammy and far from amorous wife in close to his side, crooning softly to her as though she was a child until the shivers ceased and she slept. Only then did he relax himself. His eyes started to close.

“Is she all right, laddie?” said the old lady softly.

“Aye,” he said. “Just verra, verra drunk. She’ll regret it in the morning, I’m sure. She drank an awfu’ lot of whisky verra quickly.”

“She did you proud tonight. It’s a fine woman you’re married to, MacGregor, even if she is my granddaughter.”

“I ken that well,
a
sheanmhair.
”

“And it’s a fine man she’s got herself, too. Ye’ll cherish her and protect her, I’ve nae doubt of that.”

“With my life,” he said. “Thank ye.”

“It’s no more than the truth. I’ll let ye get your sleep. Ye’ve performed your husbandly duty for tonight, even if it’s no’ the one she was hoping for. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he said.

Pause.

“Ealasaid?” he said.

“Aye?”

“It’s a fine grandmother she’s got, too. Your daughter would have understood what ye did, and been proud of ye, I’m certain. I’m sure she is, if she can see ye now.”

There was a short silence.

“Thank ye, laddie. Goodnight,” the old lady said, her voice shaky again, but not with laughter this time.

He closed his eyes, and let sleep take him.

Alex’s prophecy was correct, and Beth did indeed deeply regret her overindulgence the following morning. While the rest of the MacGregor and MacDonald clans enjoyed a communal breakfast before settling down to a serious political discussion, Beth remained in bed wishing she was dead, and for a time believing she was about to be so.

By mid-morning however, it was clear she was not about to shuffle off the mortal coil and she managed, with much wincing and holding of her head, to dress and make her way downstairs, where she settled herself in a chair by the fire with a cool damp cloth on her forehead. After a time she heard the door open and lifted the cloth from her eyes.

“Go away,” she said, when she’d identified the intruder. “The last thing I need right now is a visit from someone who is completely unaffected by alcohol.”

She replaced the cloth over her eyes and clenched her stomach, waiting for the joke about greasy breakfasts, delivered with head-splitting loudness.

“I’m sorry,” said Angus softly. “I’ll leave ye in peace, then.”

She lifted the cloth from her face again. He was indeed going away, quietly.

“Angus,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing important,” he replied unconvincingly. “I’ll come back later, when ye’re feeling better.”

“No, come in,” she said, sitting up and then immediately wishing she hadn’t. “I am better. Or I will be, soon. It’s all right.”

He moved further into the room.

“Ye look terrible,” he said.

“Thank you, that makes me feel a lot better,” she answered sarcastically.

“Have ye eaten yet?”

“No,” she replied firmly, hoping to close the topic.

“Ye should have a wee bit of bread or something, to get your stomach working. And drink as much water as ye can,” he said. “Wait a minute, I’ll get you some.” He disappeared into the kitchen.

There really was something wrong. Not that Angus could not be sympathetic when someone was really ailing. But nobody was sympathetic over hangovers. They were common, self-induced, and always a cause for leg-pulling.

He returned with a cup of water and a slightly stale bannock. She took a few sips, and bit off a tiny corner of the bread. He sat down on the edge of the chair.

“What’s the matter, Angus?” she asked when he showed no sign of volunteering the information. To her surprise, her stomach had not rebelled at the introduction of the morsel of bread. She took a larger bite.

“I…er…I’ve come to thank ye, for last night. And to apologise,” he said. He looked very boyish this morning, his dark gold hair flopping untidily over his forehead, his blue eyes anxious.

“Well, that’s very kind of you, but it’s not me you should be thanking,” she replied. “Janet, Moira and Peigi did the food, and Sir Anthony provided the drink, or most of it. And if you did anything you should be apologising for, you must have done it late on in the night when I was too drunk to remember it, so I’d forget it, if I were you.” She smiled palely at him and took another sip of water.

He looked at her intently.

“Duncan hasna told ye, has he?” he said.

“Duncan hasn’t told me what?”

He sighed, sat back, contemplated for a moment, then told her what had happened the previous night.

“I thought he’d have tellt ye about it. I said sorry to him this morning, and I thought I’d get my apology to you over wi’ at the same time,” he finished.

“I see. Well you can thank me if you want, but there’s no need to apologise. After all, I can understand why you were angry, even if, as you say, you’ve got no claim on her, but you didn’t act on it, so there’s no harm done.”

Angus took a deep breath.

“You walked in on them,” he said. “Had he….was he…emm…?”

“No,” she said. “He wasn’t, and he hadn’t. They’d had a kiss, that was all, and she was already telling him she didn’t want to go further.” She pushed the image of Morag’s young breasts, pink from Robert’s attentions, firmly to the back of her mind. “You like her, don’t you?”

“Aye,” he said, reddening slightly. “Aye, I do.”

“Why don’t you tell her, then?” Beth asked. “Make a claim on her, if you think that much of her.”

“Christ, I couldna do that!” he said. “She’s just a bairn. Anyway, she kens well enough that I like her.”

“You weren’t thinking of her as a wee bairn when you were fantasising about her pulling thorns out of your backside,” said Beth.

Angus blushed to the roots of his hair.

“Aye, well, I was only jesting about that,” he muttered. “I was forgetting how young she was.”

“You weren’t joking, Angus, and you were right,” said Beth gently. She had finished the bannock and the water, and her stomach was settling, although her head still pounded. “She’s a woman now. Robert saw that, he wouldn’t have been interested otherwise. And she doesn’t know that you like her.”

Angus looked at his sister-in-law, incredulous.

“She must do!” he protested. “We’ve been friends for years, since we were both tiny wee things. I used to gie her piggy backs everywhere, when she got too tired to walk. We had a secret hideout away up the glen. I taught her to swim!”

“Yes, she said you’d be more likely to dunk her in the loch than invite her to the stables.” Beth smiled. “She also said you’d changed towards her recently, and were more distant now.”

“Aye well, it’s difficult,” he said, looking very uncomfortable. “She’s different. Maybe you’re right. She is becoming a woman. And I canna throw a woman in the loch, or play fight wi’ her. That’s what we used tae do. And then when we were tired, we’d sit and talk.”

“I don’t see why you can’t,” said Beth. “You play fight with me. I’ve got the bruises to prove it. And you’d throw me in the loch without a second thought, if the mood took you.”

“I would, if ye could swim,” he said, grinning mischievously for a moment. “But that’s different. You’re no’ a woman. Well, ye are,” he amended immediately. “But you’re more like a sister than a woman. There’s a difference.”

“Alex would throw me in the loch as well,” she persisted. “And he
definitely
doesn’t think of me as a sister.”

“Aye, but when ye’re husband and wife, it’s no’ the same. All that touching between a man and a woman leads tae other things. Things I canna do wi’ Morag.” He was blushing furiously now, and she took pity on him. He did have a point, too. Most of her and Alex’s friendly tussles ended up in them making love.

“Angus,” she said. “You’ve acknowledged she’s a woman. That’s why you’re behaving differently around her, although she doesn’t understand that. Women need to feel desired, attractive, and protected. But they still need friends too, people they can feel relaxed with. And friends often turn into lovers. Take a tip from me and Alex. We were friends before we fell in love.”

“Are ye truly suggesting I follow my brother’s example and court Morag by pretending to be a completely different person, blackmailing her into marrying me, and then punching her on the jaw and abducting her?” he asked, grinning broadly now.

Beth laughed, and then regretted it. The hammer pounded with renewed vigour behind her eyes, and she closed them for a moment until the pain subsided a little.

“No,” she said, still smiling, which didn’t hurt as much as laughing. “I’m suggesting you treat her like a friend, as you used to. Relax with her. Let her know you like her. Tell her she looks lovely in that dress, or with her hair in a particular way. You do it with me. Hold her hand, that sort of thing. Pay her some attention. But most of all, be yourself. You’re a wonderful person Angus, although I’ll only say it the once,” she said. “You’d make any woman a good husband. Morag likes you, now. But if you carry on keeping your distance, she’ll look elsewhere for what she needs.”

“Like she did last night,” said Angus sourly.

“Exactly like that,” agreed Beth. “Make the most of the time we’ve got left, before we go back to London.”

“You’re right,” he agreed, all sunshine and smiles again, the Angus she knew. “I will.”

“Good,” she replied. “Then please, go away and make a start. I know how much you drank last night, and it’s doing me no good whatsoever to see you looking so healthy.”

He grinned, planted a kiss on her cheek, and went away.

The MacDonalds left the next day. Beth shed some tears at the departure of her grandmother, promising to visit Glencoe as soon as possible. It surely could not now be long, she thought, before Sir Anthony could be permanently abandoned and they could come back to live in Scotland for good.

The exchange of political news had been interesting, if not enlightening. Since the aborted French invasion attempt there had been little or no news regarding developments in the Jacobite cause. As far as everyone knew, the prince was still in France, urging a further invasion; but William MacGregor, or Drummond of Balhaldie, who was with the prince and was supposed to be keeping the Scottish Jacobites informed of developments, remained ominously silent. In July a letter had been received by Doctor Barry, a Jacobite ally in London, in which Balhaldie asked him to send British pilots, but not specifying where to, or why they were needed. No further explanation had been forthcoming.

In August John Murray of Broughton had finally travelled to France himself, to try to find out what was going on. He had not yet returned, but was expected back in early October at the latest. Alex told Beth that as the weather would force them to leave by that time anyway if they were not to be snowed in for the winter, they would visit Edinburgh on the way back to London and try to meet with Broughton.

Beth would have been quite happy to be snowed in for the winter, but she had accepted that it was not to be, could not be. The longer they were away from London, the more explanations would be needed for their absence; and a spy cannot collect information effectively if he is four hundred miles away from its source.

They all put the inevitable departure to the back of their minds, and settled to enjoy what time they had left. Angus renewed his friendship with Morag, Alex settled disputes, spent as much time as possible with his wife, and became more and more carefree and relaxed. When Beth was, inevitably, thrown in the loch, after a cheeky retort and a brief struggle, it was by her husband and not her brother-in-law. His subsequent offer to teach her to swim had been met by a spluttering refusal as icy as the waters of the loch, and he had had no choice but to carry her home and make love to her, both to warm her physically and reconcile her to him. They made love a lot, in those weeks.

Maggie and Iain were also spending a lot of time with each other, and with the other members of the clan. They did not consciously avoid Beth and Alex; but they knew that they would soon be returning to London with them. There was no need to spend time together now which could be better spent with those they would soon have to leave.

The days wore on, and the nights became longer and cooler, and one day in mid October, Alex looked up at the sky and announced with great reluctance that they would have to leave in a couple of days.

“It’s coming on to snow,” he said. “We’ve waited too long already, really. We canna wait any longer.”

The day before they were due to depart Angus and Morag went off for a picnic in the hills; the fact that her parents had allowed it, providing they came back well before dark, was a very good sign. Angus had been glowing with happiness, in spite of the imminent separation. Duncan and Alex went off with some of the other men for a last bit of serious sword practice; once they were in London opportunities to practice would be rare and would have to be conducted more in the style of Sir Anthony than Alex, in case they were observed.

Beth ensured that they took bandages and salve with them, and then, after having desultorily packed a few of their clothes, gave up, took her warmest cloak and went for a walk on the pretext of fetching water, but in reality to say goodbye to the landscape she had made her own in the last weeks.

She walked slowly and aimlessly, knowing that by following the stream she could not get lost, and ended up walking further along it than she ever had before. There was a definite chill in the air; Alex was right, snow was imminent. The hawthorn and rowan still sported a few berries, red as blood in the otherwise predominantly brown landscape. A few stubborn leaves clung to the trees, fluttering tenaciously in the breeze, but most of them had fallen now, and Beth kicked her way through them, lifting great clouds of them with her feet, watching in delight as they floated back down, red, brown, copper, bronze and gold. The previous week the children and some of the adults had collected an enormous pile of leaves in the centre of the settlement, clearing the forest for a considerable distance. Then they had thrown themselves into the pile, burying themselves and each other, plaiting them into their hair, seeing who could find the biggest leaf. Beth had, delightedly, found a leaf that exactly matched the colour of her husband’s hair, and he had obligingly worn it weaved into his chestnut locks until bedtime.