Wolf, Joan (15 page)

And the worst part was, she would do it all again.

CHAPTER 12

Edward left her before dawn and Van finally went to sleep. She awoke late, for her, and had chocolate and bread and butter in bed before she dressed for the day. A note from Edward had come in with her breakfast tray telling her he had been summoned to a meeting with the king and would see her when he returned to Grosvenor Square.

Van sat at the harpsichord and picked out, one-handed, the MacIan battle song. It was one of the most famous in the Highlands, having been composed a hundred years earlier by the great piper Patrick Mor Mac Crimmon. It sounded strange on the harpsichord and Van imagined the notes as they sounded on the pipes, wild and heart-lifting, ringing out their challenge to mountain and sea and sky: Buaidh no Bas! Buaidh no Bas! Victory or Death! Victory or Death!

Edward had gone to see the king. Nothing else could have made clearer to her the impossibility of her present situation. This was not a fight she could stand aloof from, not when those she loved were so deeply— and divisively—involved.

She was still at the harpsichord when Niall knocked at the front door. He had made it from Morar in four days, galloping the whole way, changing horses at every posting stop, scarcely stopping to sleep. Van swung around on her stool, eyes wide with shock, when Fenton announced behind her, "Lord MacIan."

"Niall!" said Van, and jumped to her feet. "Whatever are
you
doing here?"

He looked her up and down before he replied. She had put on a thin mauve-colored dress that morning and her hair was worn in a mass of loose ringlets threaded through with a pink ribbon. She looked lovelier than Niall had ever seen her. His mouth set in a hard line. "Father sent me to bring you home," he said baldly.

"I see." Van returned his look. He wore a brown riding coat and breeches and his boots were covered with dust from the road. "Father has raised the clan, then?"

"Yes." He came a few steps closer to her. "Did you doubt that he would?"

"No." Her face was grave. "No, I did not doubt it."

"The standard is to be raised at Glenfinnan in two weeks' time. I must be there. We must leave immediately." His eyes, the same color as hers although not so large, bored into her. "This business between you and Linton is over, Van."

She was so still, so intensely still. He frowned a little and said, louder, "Van. Did you hear me, Van?"

Her eyes were on him but he did not think she saw him. Her voice, however, was steady. "Yes, I heard you, Niall. Do you have a coach or are we traveling by horse?"

He felt an immense rush of relief. He was not sure what he would have done if she refused to come with him.

"Would you mind traveling on horseback? It's faster."

"No," Van said, and for the first time since he had come in, he smiled.

"Good girl."

"Vanessa dear," came Lady Linton's voice from the door. "Fenton tells me your brother is here."

"Yes, Cousin Katherine. May I present my brother, Niall, Lord MacIan. Niall, this is Mother's cousin, Lady Linton."

Niall bowed slightly. "Ma'am," he said stiffly.

Katherine Romney raised her lovely violet eyes to his face and smiled. "My, how alike you and Vanessa are."

Niall's face was not friendly. "We resemble our father," he said, and deliberately stressed the last word. Lady Linton looked at Van.

"I am very sorry, Cousin Katherine, but I must leave for Scotland immediately. My father sent Niall to escort me. He has raised the clan for Prince Charles."

"Oh, my dear God." Katherine Romney's cheeks were pale.

"I'm sorry," Van repeated. She made an indecisive gesture. "There is nothing I can do."

"Someone ought to give Morar a good shake," Lady Linton said furiously. "What can he be thinking of?"

"He is thinking of his prince, ma'am." Niall's voice was insufferably arrogant.

Lady Linton was not intimidated. She stared at his splendid-looking young face and her blue eyes flashed. "Well, he ought to be thinking of his daughter. And of his wife. How will Frances bear up when she sees her husband lose his head to the executioner's ax?"

Niall was staring at his mother's cousin as if she were some strange sort of insect. Then he turned to his sister. "Are you coming, Van?"

"I must go and put on riding clothes."

"Riding clothes?" Lady Linton asked sharply.

"Niall has horses, ma'am," Van said gently. "And he wishes to leave immediately."

"But Edward..." said his mother in great distress.

"Edward is with the king."

"The
elector "
Niall said fiercely.

Van ignored him. "I must pack a few things into a small bag, ma'am. Come upstairs and assist me." She put a hand on Lady Linton's arm and began to walk her to the door. She threw Niall a cool look over her shoulder. "I will be about half an hour. Wait here."

Twenty minutes later, as Niall was pacing the length of the drawing room, the refreshments brought by Fenton untouched on the side table, the door opened and the Earl of Linton walked in.

"MacIan," he said from the doorway. Then, as Niall swung around to face him, "I'm Linton."

Niall's eyes narrowed as he took in the look of this Sassenach who had tried to steal his sister. Edward came further into the room and threw something down on a chair. He said nothing further, just looked at Niall out of intensely blue eyes.

The hostility in the room was so strong the air seemed to crackle. Niall's eyes narrowed almost to slits. "I have come to take my sister home," he said between his teeth to the big blond Viking in front of him.

Something flickered in the earl's hard blue eyes. "Morar has gone out, then?"

"He has gone out."

"The goddamn fool," Edward said, very softly but with extreme violence.

"It's you who are the fool., Linton, to think you would be allowed to lay a hand on my sister!" Niall flared.

Van was coming in the doorway as he spoke and at his words she stopped dead, her eyes flying to Edward. The earl's clear-cut features were iron-hard. He did not look at her. "Your sister," he said to Niall, "is perfectly capable of speaking for herself." And at last he turned.

Van felt as if she were being cleaved in two. He was so angry, she thought, but his anger was not hot like Niall's. His blue eyes were hard on her face.

"Your father is making a great mistake," he said.

"Perhaps. I do not know." She was trembling. "Edward." Her eyes were lifted to him. "Don't you see? It is precisely because he comes alone and trusts himself to us that we must follow him. And he has the right!"

His eyes were blue ice. "You are leaving, then?"

This was anguish, to part from him like this, in front of others. But to be alone would be no better. Worse, perhaps. She gripped her hands hard to conceal their tremors. "I must."

"Edward." It was Lady Linton's voice, full of distress. "He is taking Vanessa on horseback! All that long way!"

The blue eyes took in her riding habit, then went to Niall. "You will take my carriage," he said. "It is well sprung. Send it back when you get to Edinburgh."

Niall flung up his head. "I'll take nothing of yours, Sassenach!"

Edward was ice to Niall's fire. "I am not offering it for you, MacIan, but for your sister. A week in the saddle is too much for her."

Niall looked as if he were going to refuse again but Van said, "Thank you, Edward," and stared at her brother.

Edward rang a bell and said to the footman who appeared almost instantly, "Have the carriage sent around immediately." Then he turned to Van. "Do not expect England to follow Scotland's example."

"I know." Her voice was faintly breathless. "But England and Scotland were two different countries with two different kings for centuries. Why should they not be so again?"

He did not reply and Lady Linton said urgently, "Vanessa, you are to tell your mother that she has friends in the Lintons. If ever she—or you—should have need of us, we are here."

"Thank you, Cousin Katherine," Van said unsteadily. "You have been so very kind to me."

"Dear child." The countess embraced her warmly.

"The carriage is at the front door, my lord," said a footman.

"Come along, Van," Niall said crisply, and Van looked for the last time at Edward.

"Good-bye, Van," he said. Then, meaningfully, "If you need me, you know where to find me."

The pain in her heart was so great it was difficult to breathe. "Good-bye." Her lips formed the word, although no sound came out. Then Niall had her arm and was ushering her out to the hall. When she was in the carriage she looked once more toward the house. The countess was standing on the front steps waving. Of Edward there was no sign.

They were on the outskirts of London when Niall turned to his sister. "How could you have wanted to marry him? A Sassenach. And he was talking to the elector! How could you, Van?"

He was outraged, furious, and, under it all, bewildered and hurt.

Van's face was as remote as the moon. "I do not wish to discuss Edward with you, Niall," she said, and turned her head to look out the window.

Niall had never seen his sister look like that. "Van," he said urgently, and put his hand on her arm.

"I have left him," she said over her shoulder. "That should make you and Father happy. I do not wish to discuss him again." And she removed her arm from her brother's grasp.

They rode in silence for quite a long time. Then Van turned back to him. "What has been happening at home?" she asked composedly. "Did you have any warning of the prince's coming?"

Thankfully, Niall began to tell her all that had occurred in the Highlands these last few weeks.

They arrived home to find the clan preparing for war. It was a relatively simple matter. Clansmen pulled broadswords from the sod where they had been hidden since the Disarming Acts. They dug up Lochaber axes and steel dirks. They primed muskets and dags. The piper composed a new song to be played in honor of the Prince:

O Thèarlaich mhic Sheumais, mhic Sheumais, mhic Thèarlaich Leat shuiblainn gu h-eutrons 'n am éighlich bhith màrsad...

Angus Mor was playing it as Van and Niall came riding into the courtyard of Creag an Fhithich.

Alasdair was not at home and Morag told Van that the countess was in her sitting room, which was at the back of the house, where she would not have seen their arrival. Van went up to the familiar room and stopped at the door to look at her mother. Frances was alone, sitting in a blue velvet chair, her hands idle in her lap, her face abstracted and serious. Then she looked up and saw her daughter.

"Oh, my darling." Her voice was so gentle, so full of love. "I am so sorry. So very, very sorry." And she held out her arms.

Kneeling before her mother, Van felt the touch of Frances' hand on her cheek, her mother's lips on her hair. She closed her eyes against the agony in her heart. Oh, the comfort, the understanding, the peace of Mother.

Van pressed her cheek against her mother's soft breast. "I love him so much, Mother. But I couldn't stay. Even if Niall hadn't come, I would have come home."

"I know, darling."

Van pulled away and sat back on her heels. "Was Father angry with me?"

"A little'. But he had agreed to the marriage before... before this."

Something flickered behind Van's eyes. "He agreed?"

"Yes."

Van straightened up. "Perhaps it will be all right, then, Mother. If the prince can take and hold Scotland, we may be two countries again instead of one. And once peace is restored, Edward and I can be married."

Frances did not have the heart to discourage her. She reached out and brushed a stray curl off her daughter's cheek. "Perhaps, darling. You may very well be right."

Her reward was the life that seemed to come back into Van's eyes.

Alasdair wasted no reproaches on Van. He simply held her two hands in his and said, in Gaelic, "It is good to have you home, my daughter."

"It is good to be home at such a time, Mac mhic Iain," she replied.

He gestured her to a chair. "Your reports on the English Jacobites were not encouraging." His black brows formed almost a straight line across his dark gray eyes.

"I spoke to most of the men you wished me to see, Father. They would smile to see King James on the throne, but they will not lift a finger to put him there." Van's face was somber. "Father, I hope you do not think that what I am about to say is disloyal, but I feel I must say it for I feel it is true."

He was completely attentive. "What is it, Van?

"England does not want the Stuarts, Father. They are afraid of a Catholic king and they are afraid of France."

Alasdair's face was stern. "The Stuarts are England's rightful rulers, Van."

"Yes, I know that. But the English do not. The English think they have the right to choose their king, and they do not choose King James."

He frowned. "Are you quoting the Earl of Linton to me?"

She kept her face expressionless. "Not just the Earl of Linton, Father."

"The common people—"

"No," Van interrupted him, and he frowned even harder. "I am sorry, Father, but the common people will not risk their lives for the sake of one dynasty as opposed to another. It is simply not that important to them."

He made a sound indicative of contempt and Van leaned forward. "Be honest, Father. You are fighting for the Stuarts, but the clansmen who follow you are fighting for Mac mhic Iain and for no other man, king or prince, that exists in this world."

His gray eyes met and held hers. She was right and he knew it.

"You are saying then that we can expect no help at all from England?"

"None." She flung up her head in a proud gesture. "It is
we
who want the prince,
we
who are true to the Stuarts. We can give him Scotland. Why should he not be content with that?"

Alasdair looked at his daughter's face and his hard gray eyes began to glow. "Why not, indeed, my daughter?" He began to smile. "The Act of Union has always left a bad taste in my mouth."