Wolf, Joan (29 page)

The duke did not ask him to rise. "Morar's daughter," he said.

"Yes, your highness." Edward raised his eyes to the duke's face. "I love her, you see."

The fat red face was hard. It was evident the duke did not like being put in the position Edward was putting him in. "Morar was one of the worst of the traitors," he said. "It was his decision to join that made the rebellion possible."

"He has had his punishment, your highness," Edward replied soberly. "He is dead."

"The son is not dead." The duke stared grimly at the man on his knees before him. "I will not extend my protection to Morar's son."

The blue eyes before him were perfectly steady. "I understand, your highness."

"Have you spoken to the government about this matter?" Cumberland demanded abruptly.

"Yes, your highness. Lord Pelham has agreed to accept my surety for the loyalty of Morar and its people to his majesty King George—provided, of course, that this is acceptable to you."

There was a long hard silence. If Edward were finding his position uncomfortable, he gave no sign of it. "I cannot allow my cousin Charles to escape," the duke said at last.

"If it were ever in my power to capture Charles Stuart, I should do so unhesitatingly," Edward replied. "It would be best for everyone in this entire kingdom were he dead."

"Very well." The duke looked suddenly annoyed. "Get up, man, for God's sake. You can ride south tomorrow with the battalions going to Fort Augustus."

Edward's eyes were brilliant as he rose easily to his feet. "Thank you, your royal highness," he said. "You are very kind."

On the following morning, three battalions of the King's Foot, Cumberland's advance party, marched south halfway down the Great Glen to Fort Augustus. Edward accompanied them, and all during the long ride which took them along the shores of Loch Ness, he saw not one single human soul. The only native living creatures in sight were the red deer on the brae and the eagle on the mountain wall.

The weather was chill and cold, more like February than May, Edward thought.

At Fort Augustus he parted company with the English army and, with a MacDonald guide and one other essential companion, he struck west toward Loch Arkaig and the braes of Morar.

They buried the silver from Creag an Fhithich down near the shores of the loch. They carefully wrapped the most valuable paintings from the castle—the Giorgione, the Titians, the Veroneses—and brought them out to the cave in the mountains Van and Niall had discovered as children. Frances also put together a box of the most important family papers, and this too they buried.

The men of the clan who had survived Culloden began to trickle home to Morar. Frances and Van rode around the hills and the braes that were home to so many MacIans and left word that if the "red soldiers" were seen, the men were to take to the heather.

"English soldiers will not molest women and children," Frances said. And she believed that until word began to filter through to Morar of what was happening in the area around Inverness.

"They are burning the cottages and driving off the cattle," Lachlan MacIan told Frances and Van. He had been injured in the battle but had managed to crawl off the field and a kind Macintosh family had taken him in. "The hills are full of women and children who have nowhere to go and nothing to eat."

"Dear God in heaven," said Frances, truly appalled.

Van looked grimly determined. "Is there nowhere we can hide some of the cattle?" she asked Lachlan.

"The English are everywhere," came the somber reply. "And where they do not go, there are the Campbells."

"The Campbells," Van said with loathing.

"Aye. But the Campbells are better than the Sassenach, Lady Van. They are enemies but they are still Highland. They do not rape women."

"Rape?" Frances said faintly.

"Aye." A look of extreme anguish crossed Lachlan's face. "I saw it happen once. God help me, I was skulking in the heather high up on the hill when the soldiers came to the Macintosh's cottage. They burned the house and then they raped Mrs. Macintosh. Five of them. Her children were watching."

Van had not known it was possible to feel such anger. "You are right, Lachlan," she said in a low and trembling voice. "They are worse than Campbells. They are worse than the lowest vermin that crawl upon the earth. I would like to take a knife and personally geld every one of them."

"Van!" Frances was very pale. "Evidently it is not enough that the men hide from the soldiers. The women too must take to the hills. And the children."

"Aye. But if they burn our homes and drive off our cattle, what will we do, my lady?" Lachlan asked despairingly. "We will starve."

"We will think of something," Frances said with more confidence than she felt.

"Think of what, Mother?" Van asked after Lachlan had gone.

Frances closed her eyes briefly. "I don't know, Van." She pressed her hands to her face. "Your father would know what to do. We must try to think like him."

Van's face was bleak. "We are the conquered, Mother, and the Sassenach are the conquerors. I don't think even Father could change that. We are at their mercy. And may their souls burn in hell for all eternity for what they are doing to this country!"

The following day Van was oiling the few guns left at Creag an Fhithich when a clansman brought her the news that a party had been seen coming over the mountains toward Morar.

Van felt fear clutch her throat, but she managed to speak calmly. "Soldiers?" she asked.

"Na," came the reply. "There are three of them only, and one is a Highlander. The other two are dressed like Sassenach."

Van frowned. "Just three men only?"

"Aye, Lady Van. Only the three. Angus and I made certain of that."

Van was confused. She did not know if she ought to give the signal to hide or not. Three men hardly sounded dangerous, but suppose Donald and Angus were wrong and they were an advance party of some sort.

"You're sure none of them was in uniform?"

"Aye. One wore the trews and the other two were dressed like Sassenach gentlemen."

Van made up her mind. "How were they traveling? Where are they likely to be now?"

"They should be at the top of the loch by now, my lady. They had but two ponies."

Van took one of the guns she had been oiling and stuck it in her belt. She herself was wearing trews, as she had been out all morning. The other gun she handed to Donald MacIan, the man who had brought her the news. "I'll come with you," she said, "and see for myself."

Van, Donald, and Angus rowed most of the way up Loch Morar and then beached the boat and took to the hills. Van was as swift and as surefooted as the two men as they moved through the heather, coming ever closer to the route the strange trio was following. Finally they reached the point for which they were aiming, the pass where the rough mountain path came down to the shores of the loch. The three lay down in the heather and waited.

The day had been cold and overcast all morning but now a few rays of sun burned through the clouds. Van lay perfectly still, her eyes on the spot where the three men should appear.

They waited in silence for almost half an hour. "One of the Sassenach is old," Donald murmured in her ear. "They are going slowly."

Van nodded but her puzzlement only increased. What on earth would an elderly English civilian be doing in the mountains of Morar?

"Look!" Angus hissed, and there, at last, coming along the rocky mountain path, was the mysterious trio. The Highlander was in front, leading a pony. Behind him, also walking, came another man dressed in a brown riding coat, breeches, and high boots. He was leading a pony on which sat the third man of the party. The Englishman on foot looked very big in contrast to the Highland guide.

As they came out of the mountains and had their first view of the loch, the entire party paused in instinctive tribute to the stunning beauty of the lake in its mountain setting. Just then the sun came out, and the deep still waters of the loch sparkled and threw back the reflection of the mountains that towered around it on three sides.

The sun was warm on Van's back and as she watched, the big Englishman removed his hat to let the sun's rays beat directly on his head. His uncovered hair was as bright as the sun whose warmth he was enjoying, and Van's heart knew him even before he looked up and she saw his face.

All her apparatus for breathing seemed to shut down. Edward. Her lips moved but no sound came out. The blood suddenly surged in her ears. Her heart was hammering in her chest. Edward. Here in Morar. She stood up and her knees shook.

"Come," she said over her shoulder to Donald and Angus. "Follow me."

CHAPTER 23

He saw her coming through the knee-deep heather and he seemed to go very still. Van stopped when she was ten feet away from him; Angus and Donald halted behind her. She could feel her pulse beating in her head. She had never expected to see htm here.

His eyes were bluer than the cobalt sky.

Van spoke first, her voice hard with the feelings she was trying to suppress. "What are you doing here?"

He didn't answer at first, just stood there looking at her with those impossibly blue eyes. Then, calmly, almost conversationally, "How are you, Van?"

The deep tones of his voice shook her almost as profoundly as the sight of him had done. "As well as can be expected," she answered shortly. Her breathing was still not normal. She made a great effort to steady it. Then, "What are you doing here?" she asked again.

"I came to see you, of course." Pause. "I came to help."

"Help?" Her laugh was hard, ironic. "And how do you plan to do that, my lord?"

He stood there holding the pony's reins and regarding her almost thoughtfully. Her slender body was braced and taut; her eyes glittered with hostility. He had not expected their meeting to be easy, but he had not quite expected this hard opposition either.

He smiled at her, his most disarming smile, the one full of lazy sunshine, and said, "If you would be kind enough to conduct us to a place of shelter, I will tell you." He gestured toward the clansman. "Lady Vanessa, this is Colin MacDohald, who has been kind enough to serve as our guide." He turned a little to the man on the pony. "And this the Reverend Mr. Drummond." The blue eyes returned to Van's face. "Mr. Drummond is elderly and has found the trip to be a hardship," he added softly.

Van's eyes narrowed as she took in the figure of the man on the pony. He was white-haired and thin and he certainly did look extremely weary. She had no idea what he was doing traveling with Edward, but she supposed she would find out soon enough. "I have a boat not far from here, sir," she said in a softer voice than any she had yet used. "From there it is but a short row down the loch to my home. I'm sure my mother will make you welcome."

The old man gave her an extraordinarily sweet smile. "Thank you, Lady Vanessa." His accent was unmistakably Scots.

Van shot Edward a sharp, puzzled look before she said, in a clipped voice, "If you will follow me?"

He put his hat back on over his bright locks, raised the pony's reins a trifle, and replied composedly, "Certainly."

They walked in silence, Van and her two clansmen in the front, then Edward leading the minister's pony, then Colin MacDonald. The only sound was Van's occasional warning to Edward to watch out for an obstacle in the path.

At the first sight of the small boat, Edward said, "Van you and I and Mr. Drummond will go by boat. Colin can take the ponies if your two men will be good enough to show him the way."

Van gave him a hostile look. They were precisely the arrangements she had had in mind, but she did not like this easy assumption of command. "Very well, my lord," she said. The emphasis on his title was sarcastic and deliberate.

Edward made no move to touch her as she got nimbly into the boat, but he virtually lifted the elderly Mr. Drummond into his seat. Then Edward himself got in and picked up the oars. He pushed off expertly and began to row, smoothly and powerfully pulling the small boat through the shining waters of the loch.

"You told me that Morar was beautiful," he remarked easily to Van as his head lifted to look about him, "but one has to see it to truly comprehend."

"Yes," Van responded tersely. His knees were almost touching hers and she was angry at the effect his closeness was having on her. She turned to Mr. Drummond. "Did you come from Edinburgh, sir?"

"No, Lady Vanessa." The old man's eyes were a very light, very clear blue. "We came from Inverness."

Inverness! Van's eyes flew to Edward. "What were you doing in Inverness?" she asked breathlessly.

"I do not wish to discuss Inverness with you, Van, while I am rowing a boat." His voice was perfectly pleasant. "Let us wait until we reach Creag an Fhithich, shall we?"

There was a long, tense pause. Then, "All right," she agreed tightly.

"I have never been in this part of the Highlands before," Mr. Drummond remarked. "I am from Inverness, myself, Lady Vanessa."

"It is not an easy trip from Inverness to Morar, unless you go by sea," Van replied. She looked at Edward. "Did you walk the whole way?"

He shook his head. "I abandoned my horse at Loch Arkaig. He could not handle the rough terrain." He rested on his oars for a moment and looked at her. "I could not precisely see myself on a pony," he said humorously.

Her eyes fell. Her hands, hidden by the folds of her plaid, clenched. "No," she managed to say. "No, one cannot see you on a pony."

They came around a small promontory and saw the castle. Mr. Drummond gave an exclamation and Edward stopped rowing for a minute in order to look.

He could not imagine anything more different from Staplehurst. His home was the epitome of civilization: gracious, balanced, with stretching manicured lawns and artfully landscaped fountains and lakes and waterfalls. It was the result of a highly developed culture, created for living on the grand scale, full of elegance and harmony and comfort.

Creag an Fhithich was the product of a totally different kind of spirit. It was stunningly beautiful, but utterly opposed to everything he had created at Staplehurst.