The Wild Rose of Kilgannon (2 page)

No news came for a while.
Shortly
after the men had left, we'd heard that Louis XIV of France had died. With his death came the possible demise of the assistance, and gold, that France had pledged to the Jacobite rebellion. France, now ruled by a youngster, was said to be at best a faint ally. Now, however, the
rumours
said all manner of things. France had sent ten thousand troops. Or none. James Stewart had landed with French troops and gold. The French had joined the English. Spain was at war with England. Spain was at war with France. Spain had allied with England. We waited for the truth.

I wrote to my aunt Louisa, my mother's sister, and her husband, my uncle Randolph, in London, and my brother Will and his wife, Betty, of what had happened, telling them not to come for their usual visit at Christmas. No letters came in reply and I had no assurance that they had ever received mine. The post, always uncertain, was not usable now. We had in the past relied on the brigs' travels to bring us news, but now the Mary Rose and the Katrine sat idle in the loch, and the Margaret and Gannon's Lady were gone with the men. I had not expected to miss receiving letters as much as I did. Louisa always relayed the most recent news and gossip circulating in London, while Randolph kept me abreast of the political affairs, often throwing in some tidbit for Alex, a new thought on raising horses or the latest changes in carriage design. That his items rarely interested Alex was beside the point. Randolph's thoughtfulness had been much appreciated by both of us. My brother wrote of my childhood home, Mount-garden, of its inhabitants and the rhythm of the seasons in that lovely place, which always made me nostalgic for what I'd left behind in Warwickshire. And he wrote of his life with the frivolous but beautiful Betty. My brother's marriage was
very
happy. The letters from my best friend, Rebecca Washburton Pearson, though much more infrequent since they must cross the Atlantic, told me of her everyday life in the Carolinas, and of her adjustments not only to married life, but, like me, to an entirely different people. She wrote also of her daughter, and sometimes of her boredom with the unvarying order of her life. The boredom was something I envied her almost as much as I did her daughter. I had realized long ago that I would never be bored while I was married to Alex MacGannon. I had treasured her letters, reading them over and over, sometimes even reciting parts aloud to Alex. How different our present lives were from what we'd imagined when we were
little
girls. Becca had married Lawrence and had gone to his plantation in the colonies; and I had married my Scotsman and come to his castle in the Highlands. We had always assumed that we'd grow up as our mothers had, neighbors and friends for life. But, I reflected, my mother had died at an early age, leaving her sister Louisa and her best friend, Eloise, now the Duchess of Fenster, to go on without her. My aunt and the Duchess had remained fast friends with each other, and with Becca's mother, Sarah, and I was determined that no matter the circumstances, Rebecca and I would do the same. But how? I wondered in the depths of my loneliness and fear. How would we remain friends?

It was a glum household that upheld the traditions of the season. Christmas was
sombre
and although we celebrated New Year's with as much tradition as we could muster, none of us was in a rejoicing mood. I think we breathed a collective sigh of relief when we could stop the charade.

In the early hours of January first I wrapped Alex's old plaid around me and gave in to the tears that were never far away. I sobbed as I remembered last year's holidays. "Je suis content;
Matthew
had said, and risked the teasing that had followed. I had agreed. I was content. And now, twelve months later, my life was in tatters, my husband far away with his men, defeated rebels running for their lives.

I slept at last, but my dreams were so vivid that I woke with the sound of Alex's voice still in the room. I had been remembering the day he'd first called me Mary Rose. We'd visited Duncan of the Glen's home and as we left one of his sons had handed me a beautiful white rose, diminutive and very fragrant. A wild rose, Thomas had told me. "It is small and easily bruised, but it will grow back again and again. Once it has taken root, ye cannot budge it for all the effort ye'd give," he'd said. And Alex, laughing, his eyes very blue, had asked the men, "Who is small and verra beautiful and easily bruised?" When they had all turned to see my reaction, Alex had grinned and said, "We'll call it the Mary Rose." Later that night he'd said the name suited me, and he'd called me that ever since. I woke to hear the echo of his voice still lingering. "Yer body is verra tender, Mary Rose," he'd said. I closed my eyes again, hoping to summon him close for just another moment. But he was gone and the night stretched long before me.

1716 was upon us, the weather cold and brutal. Ellen and I spent our evenings in the library with the boys or in the hall, where more and more often the women of the clan would gather with the children. It was one such evening, with the snow falling outside and the wind wailing at the windows, that the first of the Kilgannon men came home.

We heard a cry from the courtyard and one of the boys, for that's all who was left for such tasks, burst through the door shouting, "Lady Mary, riders approaching the glen, Kilgannon men, about twenty of them. They'll be here
shortly
." I had risen when he burst in, and I nodded, my heart beginning to pound. Dear God, I prayed, let It be Alex, but even as the thought was formed,

I knew that if only twenty were coming home, Alex would not be among them. Unless the others were all dead.

We spilled out onto the steps as the men entered the courtyard. Around me women called joyously as they saw their men, running to them with sobs and delighted greetings. Ellen and I stood with Thomas Mac-Neill's wife Murreal and watched the reunions, then exchanged
sombre
looks and turned to go into the hall. Alex's cousin Dougall, his arm still around his wife Moira, struggled through the people, calling my name. The huge man looked twice his age, his face
grey
with fatigue, his cheek scarred with a wound that still looked fresh even though Sherrifmuir had been weeks ago.

"He's no' with us, Mary," Dougall said, his voice cracking with emotion. "But he's alive." Dougall enveloped me in an embrace while I struggled with my emotions, unable to speak. Dougall did not notice my state as he stepped back and fumbled in his plaid, pulling out a tattered letter that he handed to me. "It's from Alex," he said unnecessarily as I looked at the familiar writing and tore the letter open. Ellen ushered me inside the hall and the rest of the clan poured in behind us. I stood to the side and read my husband's letter while the people surged around me.

Mary Rose, Alex wrote.
I'm
sending this home with Dougall. He'll tell you of Sherrifmuir and Its aftermath. This rebellion Is a worse nightmare than anything I could have Imagined. We have no responsible leadership and half our force is fled. We wait while the English re-arm and reinforcements from the Continent arrive dally. If we could not win when we outnumbered them, what will happen when the forces are equal?

The countryside is full of English troops taking reprisals, and we have retreated to Perth and do little to stop them. Mar and the others do nothing but talk, and I am disgusted with the lot of them as are the MacDonalds and Macleans and many others as well. We should becamped outside London and King George should be begging for a truce Instead of us sitting here on our hands. Unless a miracle happens, we are doomed.
All that I ever said about the clans uniting or being destroyed Is true here, and I wish I could not see It. Scotland and the MacGannons will pay dearly for this.

"Mama," Ian said, tugging at my skirt and bringing me back to the present. It took a moment for me to stop hearing Alex's voice, and I looked around in surprise at the clansmen waiting for me. "Come and sit with us.
Dougal's

telling what happened," Ian said. I nodded at Alex's son and, folding the letter, joined him at the table across from Dougall.

"Alex sent us home," Dougall said as he ate with one hand, his other arm wrapped around Moira, large with child. Their Alasdair, not quite two, sat on his father's lap, sucking his thumb.

"Why? What of the rebellion? Is it over?" I asked.

Dougall looked uncomfortable. "No. But nothing's happening, so Alex sent those of us with the youngest children home. We left the others in good health,
Mary
, although I must tell ye that Alex was hurt in the battle."

I nodded. "I have heard that. How is he now?"

"Better.
It was no' a bad wound at first, but it kept bleeding because Alex wouldna stay abed."
When I asked why, Dougall laughed and took a swig of whisky. "He was too busy arguing with Mar. Alex caused such a ruckus that Mar wouldna let him in the war councils. The MacDonald said that if Alex were no there, neither would he be, and the Macleans did the same, so Mar finally let him back in." Dougall laughed again. "I dinna think Bobbing John Erskine, the mighty Earl of Mar, cares overmuch for our Alex."

"What were they arguing about?" I asked.

"Courage," he said and the other men nodded.

"Or the lack of it," said one. "Mar wouldna press his advantage and Alex and the others were vexed by it."

"I ken what Mar was thinking," Dougall said, "but I dinna agree with his conclusions. After the
battle
many men dinna have their plaids. They'd thrown them off before the battle and fought in shirts and it started to snow just after, so there were many men without proper clothing. Some left to go home then, more when the news came o' the loss at Preston. The roads were clogged with those leaving." He sighed and lifted his chin, looking around at the people gathered behind me. "
Ye'd
be happy to ken that we won our position in the battle. We were fearsome, we were, and the Clonmor men as well. The right dinna break, even when both the left and the middle did." Dougall sat back, his voice hushed now. "But
I'll
never forget the battle. When I looked up and beyond the next man in front of me, I couldna believe what I saw.

"A sea of red. Red blood, red plaids, red coats, red hair. I've never seen so many shades of red in my life. And mud, that had been dirt, moistened with

blood until ye could hardly move with it sucking at the horse's hooves." Moira put a hand to his cheek and he kissed her palm, then looked at me. "It's then Alex was wounded. He was afoot, like Angus and me, and three of the enemy were bearing down on him. Angus charged in and I did the same but then four more of them were there. I thought we'd die the next minute but Gilbey came up on Alex's right and we all met in the middle. Who woulda thought the damned tutor would save Alex's life? All those
sword fighting
lessons from Angus paid off." He laughed, then continued. "When we looked up we realized that the battle was over. Then Alex fell to his knees and Gilbey shouted that Alex was hurt. He was bleeding so much we thought we'd lose him, but he wouldna leave the Held until we found the others." He took a large gulp of whisky and stared into the distance for a moment.

"And the rest of it was as ye'd think, men dying and dead
already
, the crows waiting in the trees for us to leave the field." He wiped his eyes and many of his listeners did the same. "We pulled back to Perth then and the talking began. I still think, and so did Alex, that we should ha' acted. We could ha' won then, if we'd attacked at once. I dinna think we can now unless something else happens." He shook his head. "And then we heard that Simon Fraser, Lord Lovat, the chief of the Frasers, had come back from France. Since he'd spent the last few years with the Stewart's court we expected him to join us, but no, the man turned tail and he took Inverness in the name of King George. So all the Frasers deserted and the Gordons as well, and then English reinforcements who had been in Holland came. Within two weeks they had three times our number and our advantage was lost."

He leaned forward, his voice solemn. "And then James Stewart came. We were there when he arrived at last from Peterhead, and we heard the news that the gold he'd brought, all the Spanish gold, had been lost at sea." Dougall's face darkened. "The king called us together and we thought he'd rally us, that maybe he'd thank us for our efforts and tell us what we'd all do next." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "He told us to continue. That was all the encouragement he gave us. 'Continue.' " He shook his head. "And then James Stewart told us how difficult his trip had been from France, and he complained about the food. He was making plans for his coronation as we left." He shook his head. "Our mighty leader."

Behind me someone asked a question about the bat-de, and I left them then, Dougall drawing the battle lines in the table as the boys and men leaned

eagerly over them, Ian and Jamie in the thick of it. I went to the library and unfolded Alex's letter, my hands shaking as I found where
I'd
stopped reading.

James Stewart has arrived, Alex wrote, and It Is worse than before. We hear that English soldiers are walking the shore and picking up the gold we were to use to defeat them and to feed and arm our men. I will stay a little longer and see if our forces will rally, but I am sending the men who have small children or pregnant wives home with Dougall.
He'll protect you, Mary, rely on him.