31 October, 1745
Holyroodhouse, Edinburgh, Scotland
A wisp of white caught my eye as I was heading back to Holyroodhouse, a basket of herbs hanging from the crook of my arm. A soft, but chilly breeze picked up, allowing the leaves to dance around my feet, and the sky was cloudy; the waxing crescent moon was nearly at first quarter, bright enough to shine through the clouds. It was the eve of Samhain, or All Hallow's Eve - a sacred day on the Pagan wheel of the year. It is on this night that the worldly veil grows thin, allowing the spirits of those who had passed to walk the Earth once more. It is a night that ghosts walk the streets, and the doorframes of nearly every house were smeared with goats' blood to protect the home from unfriendly spirits. All but Holyroodhouse, of course, because Charles thought the tradition was 'barbaric' and had encouraged the people of Edinburgh to avoid such a practice, but that was easier said than done, as these citizens had been doing it since they were bairns.
"Best return te yer home, a leannan . 'Tis not a night te be wanderin' the streets after dark. Spirits are aboot," an elderly woman, resembling the Crone, said to me as I passed.
"Dinnae fash, mo charaid . I am protected," I said as I touched my fingers to the stone that Master Raymond had gifted me. I smiled softly at her as I continued on my way, arriving at the gates of Holyroodhouse, where two guards had been posted. "Lady Broch Tuarach. Gone out fer herbs," I said to them.
"Welcome back, Mistress," said one of the guards.
"Ye dinnae have anythin' in there te protect against tannasgan , do ye?" asked the other.
" Ist , ye eejit! There's no such thing!" said the first.
"Dinnae let the spirits hear ye say so," I told him cheekily, then I reached into my basket and pulled out two sprigs of vervain, handing one to each of them. "Vervain, used fer luck and fer keepin' away dark spirits. Stick it in yer pocket fer protection."
"Thank ye verra much, Mistress," said the second man. "A good night to ye!"
" Oidhche mhath, na ghillean ," I told them as I made my way inside of the grand estate. It was very grand, for sure. This particular plot of land had once been an abbey, but may have been used as a royal residence by the early fourteenth century. A few Scottish monarchs and royalty were born here, and several were buried here as well - three kings, David II, James II and James V, the wives of the two Jameses and even some of their children, in addition to a few nobles and bishops. It was a holy estate, one that Charles wanted to occupy not only due to its religious ties, but to its monarchical ties as well.
The apartment that Jamie and I were staying in once belonged to Mary Queen of Scots, the last of the Catholic Scottish monarchs who was beheaded by her own cousin, Queen Elizabeth I in 1587 at Fotheringhay Castle. It was in the northwest tower, and for both Jamie and I, it was difficult to get around due to the ceilings being so low. Of course, it was built at a time when the average person was much shorter than us, but then again, it is said that Mary Queen of Scots herself was nearly six feet tall. I ducked my head as I entered the bedchamber through the doorway, turning my full attention to the limp and pathetic figure in the bed. It gave a wet, rattling cough, indicating that Jamie was not yet asleep. "Awake, aye?" I asked him.
"Yer back," he said tiredly as I crossed the room to bend down and kiss his forehead.
"Aye, I am," I said, feeling his forehead with my hand. "Yer still warm. I'll work on a snow pack te help bring that down."
"Can't ye stay?" he asked me, reaching out for my hand.
"I'll stay once I've gotten ye echinacea, elderberry and rosemary tea fer that wee cold of yers," I told him, pulling out a handkerchief and handing it to him to wipe his nose when I heard him sniffle.
"Nae bother. I'm fine. I just want my wife," he said to me stubbornly. "Ye ken what would make this wee cold, as ye call it, go away? A kiss from my beautiful wife."
"I'm no' kissin' ye until yer no longer contagious, ye infectious smout. I'll no' get sick. There's a dozen sick men in this bloody plague house so I cannae get sick, too," I replied.
"If ye do, I'll take care of ye. Just come here," Jamie said to me, reaching for me, but I stepped out of his reach. "Catrìona!"
"Get yer rest, I'll be back with yer tea and snow pack, aye? And I need te check on the other men, too," I told him.
"I'm startin' te question yer love fer me," he said to me, and I couldn't help but laugh.
"If I didnae love ye, I wouldnae be here now and ye'd be sufferin' in this godfersaken fandan of a place," I told him, and I slipped out before he could protest anymore. I made my way down to the kitchens to speak to the servants about boiling some water, but there was only an elderly woman who was responsible for cooking, so I couldn't bother her.
"The weans are all peely wally! I've been makin' some stovies fer their bellies but they keep gingin'!" said the woman.
"A bit of broth might be better, the onions might be upsettin' their stomachs," I told her. "Parritch, too, if they have it." Leaving the woman to do her work, I went to the kettle to start some water boiling. As I prepared the tea mix, I heard the woman's voice again from the main part of the kitchen.
"Aye, the reid lass? She's in there," she said to someone, and footsteps gave away the man that appeared in the doorframe.
"Mistress Fraser?" he asked me. It was Doctor Fergusson, a doctor in Edinburgh who had been summoned to tend to the prince, who was also suffering from the same ailment as the others, but refused to be seen by me.
"Doctor Fergusson. How can I help ye?" I asked him.
"His Royal Highness isnae getting better and I'm afeard there isnae much I can do," Doctor Fergusson told me. "I hear rumours aboot ye, tha' yer a ban-draoidh . Perhaps ye could find some answers."
"The prince willnae see me," I told him.
"I think ye'll find he'll no' resist yer services," said Doctor Fergusson. Blessed Bride, this must be serious. I followed Doctor Fergusson, medical bag in hand, to the prince's chambers, being admitted by the guard that was posted at his door. Inside on the bed, Charles himself was pale and clearly very unwell, and already, I could tell that this wasn't just some common cold.
"Good evenin', Yer Highness," I said as I curtsied to him. "I understand yer no' feelin' verra well?"
"That… insolent doctor… has failed me…" he wheezed weakly. "I need… your… skills… as La Dame Blanche…"
"All right, well, let me do my own examination and I'll see what I can do," I said. I glanced briefly over my shoulder at the guard, who was staring at me, and I let out a huff. "Ye can release yer guard. I'll no' curse ye. I cannae actually do tha', contrary te popular belief." The prince seemed hesitant at first, but eventually dismissed the guard, leaving the two of us alone. I dug around in my medical bag for the wooden tube-like stethoscope I had carved for myself and placed it on his chest first to listen for his heartbeat, which was a little slow, but steady, and then listened for breathing sounds. "Yer wheezin' quite a bit. I can get some mullein in a pipe fer ye te smoke, that should help clear it up. Little bit of edema as well-"
"What is that?" the prince asked me.
"Swelling and fluid," I replied. "Mind if I take a look at yer legs? Ye've been bedridden fer a while, they may be a bit swollen." At this, he seemed a bit flabbergasted. "Ye want te live? Let me do what I have te do ye find out what's wrong with ye." Pouting a little, he gave his consent, so pulled back the blanket and began to palpate his calves a little. I could see that the swelling was more significant in one leg than the other, and upon palpating the back of his knee, I could feel the two little swollen lymph nodes - they were not nearly as swollen on the other leg. "Yer Highness, did ye ever injure this leg?"
"I may have bumped into something sharp at Prestonpans," he told me.
"Prestonpans? Yer Highness, tha' was five weeks ago," I told him. "Where did it happen?" He gestured to his upper thigh, and without waiting for permission, I pushed up his nightgown and found myself gasping at the horribly infected, puss-filled wound on his inner thigh. "Ye've had this fer five weeks? And ye said nothin' te anyone?"
"If you do not mind!" Charles exclaimed, shoving my hands away and pulling his nightgown again, but I pushed him back onto the bed.
"No. Ye've just lost yer privileges te boss me around in this room. Ye'll be damn lucky if I can save this leg, let alone yer life. Five weeks . Yer leadin' a goddamn rebellion fer Christ's sake! Do ye no' ken what's goin' te happen te this rebellion if ye die?"
I froze. If Charles died, the rebellion would likely fail. Culloden would never happen. It wasn't too late yet to put a stop to the clearances, the edicts, the banning of Scottish culture…
But it may also be in my power to take a life; this awesome responsibility must be faced with great humbleness and awareness of my own frailty. Above all, I must not play God.
The Hippocratic Oath. I swore to do no harm, and though there were several people whose blood stains my ledger, I never killed or maimed unless I was being directly threatened. Here, in a room with a man weak and dying from a festering wound who posed no direct threat to me… But he's responsible for the suffering of thousands. It was true, this man was responsible for all that followed after Culloden, but in the present moment, that hadn't happened yet. But I knew it would happen. I knew it was coming. Did that justify taking the life of a man? Was that considered 'playing God'? I looked down into his pale and weak face. In his eyes, I could see that even the Bonnie Prince was frightened. Did he fear me? Did he fear what would face him if he met his maker tonight?
"It… it is your day… Is it not?" he asked me weakly, interrupting my thoughts. "They say… this day… spirits walk among the living… Do you feel them?"
"Aye, I do," I said to him. I felt the spirits of the dead, all right. Of Angus. Of Ross. Of Jack and Harry, the two English soldiers I had killed two years before. Of my father and mother, my four brothers… My grandfather and grandmother, every ancestor that led to my creation. I felt the spirit of the Crone, of Rhiannon, who led the spirits of the deceased through the veil, who guided them by candlelight to the sides of their loved ones before returning to the veil. I could feel the spirits of the men who would die at Culloden. Of all the Scottish men, women, and children who have ever died and would die due to the aftermath of the uprising. "I feel my mother by my side. She was a White Lady. My grandmother, too. They both kent all aboot white healing magic…" I glanced down again at the festering wound on the Bonnie Prince's thigh. "And they taught me, too. If ye'll let me… I'd like te use a bit of tha' healing magic tonight."
"Will… Will it save me? Allow me to… to fulfill my promise to God?" he asked me, fearful, but cooperative.
"Aye, it should," I told him. "White magic works. I used it on Jamie when his hand was severely wounded. Had I not, he would have likely lost the hand, or lost use of it all together." I reached into my medical pouch and pulled out the tiny orange capsule - my last dose of nanomeds. "In here… is yer salvation. This will heal yer ailment and make ye strong again. Ye will be tired afterwards, and I will still have te drain the wound of puss… but ye will heal, and ye willnae lose yer leg, nor yer life." Charles stared at the little capsule with wide eyes, then slowly nodded.
"Do what you must," he told me quietly. Setting the little capsule aside, I pulled out a small, sharp knife and sterilised it using alcohol and fire, then cut into the wound to release the pressure and squeeze out the puss. The prince put on a brave face, hardly moving even when I was cutting into his skin. When I was finished cleaning the wound, I took the small capsule and uncapped it.
"Blessed goddess, heal this man. Place your healing hand into mine and guide my hand so that this man may become strong and whole, so this man may fulfill his glorious purpose," I said, putting on a bit of a show. "Ye'll feel a small pinch and the area will go numb. That'll be the healin' hand of Brigid." I pierced the skin of his inner thigh right above the wound with the tiny needle, releasing the nanomeds into the wound. Charles stared at the sight curiously, then turned his gaze up into my face as I pulled away and recapped the capsule. "It is done. I'll make ye a bit of tea te allow ye te rest, and ye must rest, or this willnae work. Do ye understand me?"
"Yes… Yes, I do," Charles told me gratefully. "Thank you… Madame Fraser… Thank you." Was it foolish to waste my last dose of nanomeds on the man who would be responsible for the deaths and suffering of thousands? Possibly. But I had gained his trust, and perhaps I could use that to my advantage. As I passed the prince his cup of tea laced with a little bit of laudanum, I returned his blankets to their original position, pulling them up to his chest.
"For the record, Samhain is not my day. It is a day of remembering and of connecting with the deceased - a good day, nonetheless, but… my day is Imbolc. Ye may ken it as Candlemas," I told him with a soft smile, packing my medical bag. "Tonight, I'll light a candle in memory of my son, who ye recall I lost last year, and fer my parents and brothers as well. Is there anyone ye'd like me te light a candle for?"
"My mother," he told me, and I nodded, taking one of the unlit candlesticks from his mantle and lighting it with another, placing it in his windowsill.
7 November, 1745
The prince was doing much better, according to Doctor Fergusson. I told him I'd simply given him a mix of herbs to help with the illness, and evidently, Charles hadn't elaborated, either. I would have thought that my treatment of him would strengthen whatever bond we held between us, but found that that sort of thinking was in vain. Charles resumed his contempt of me once he was healed, and it almost made me regret treating him. Barring Charles and his ridiculously stubborn and entitled personality, the other men were starting to feel better, too. Whatever illness had plagued Holyroodhouse, it had passed through, coming in one open door and going out another.
Cailean had been sent to Perth to determine a plan of action in regards to Stirling and returned two weeks later, bearing some rather interesting news. Before myself and Jamie, he laid down three posters, each of them bearing a face that somewhat resembled each of ours. "What is this?" Jamie asked him.
"The most ridiculous thing I've ever seen in my life," Cailean replied, picking up the one that slightly resembled him and holding it up. "Look at this, they go' my nose wrong!"
"Tha's supposed te be you ?" I asked him.
"Aye, and tha' one's you ," he said, pointing to the poster bearing the face of a wicked-looking crone, and I couldn't help but laugh.
"Well, they'll never find me, tha's fer sure," I said. The poster bore the name 'Catherine the Red Witch', indicating that I had red hair, boils all over my face and wrinkles that hinted at my age being somewhere in the one-thirties. I shook my head with amusement. "This is ridiculous."
"I see now where tha' lad got the name from," said Jamie, admiring his own portrait. "Jamie the Red. They're no' verra creative, are they?"
"Sounds like a medieval king," I told him, admiring his portrait. "At least yers looks somewhat like ye. They made me into a crone!"
"They changed my name," Cailean chimed in. "Before, that lad, Grey, called me Black Collin, but now , they're callin' me somethin' much cooler. Introducin' the Black Fowlis!"
"Wow, verra fancy," I said. "So… I understand ye both had a meetin' with the prince this mornin'."
"Aye, he's lookin' much better," Jamie replied.
"He wants us te go into England next, take Carlisle, march on London," Cailean told me. "Talked aboot Berwick but I talked him out of tha'. No time te waste on such a well-defended city."
"Good plan, after centuries of fightin' over it, Berwick's likely the most protected castle in England," I said. "I take it all this is soon?"
"Verra soon," Jamie replied. "Best stock up on yer wee herbs before we leave."
"Probably no' a bad idea," I said. "I'll do tha' now, then. Start with the most useful, then I'll go back if I find I need others over the next few days." I stood up, then bent over Jamie's shoulder to give him a quick kiss. "Keep an eye on Archie, will ye? He's verra clingy lately."
"Because ye coddle him," Jamie replied.
"I dinnae coddle him, it's verra common fer a lad his age te cling te his mother! Jenny told me you did when ye were his age," I said, and Cailean snickered as Jamie sent me a dirty look. "Just be with him, tha's all he needs. I'll be back before supper."
As I walked down the chilly streets of Edinburgh, I caught a whiff of an awful scent that nearly made me gag. There was a reason Edinburgh's nickname was 'Auld Reeky', and it was likely from the sewage that constantly flooded the streets. I had to keep close to the buildings as I walked down the street, as every so often, the contents of an emptied chamber pot would rain down from the sky, splashing below onto the streets. Blessed Bride, no wonder everyone got so sick in this century. I entered the apothecary, but the only person there was a young woman standing at the counter with her back to the door, likely waiting to be served. She turned when the door opened and the pair of us each let out a small gasp. "Mistress Fraser!" Beth MacCraig exclaimed when she saw me.
"Beth! Blessed Bride, look at ye! I ken it's only been a year, but ye look as if ye've grown so much!" I said to her as I embraced the young girl.
"Aye, we'll I'm eighteen, now!" she told me cheerfully. "And married! I'm no' Beth MacCraig anymore, but Mrs. MacCleary now!"
"Congratulations! I'm glad te hear," I said to her cheerfully.
"How's the wee laddie?" she asked.
"Doing wonderful. Ye'd be surprised te see how much he's grown," I said with a chuckle. "Of course, both his Da and myself are verra tall, so it's no surprise tha' he'll likely be as tall as we are."
"Tha's wonderful! I assume yer here with the Bonnie Prince's army? I hear Laird Broch Tuarach is an officer in his army," she asked, and I nodded.
"Aye, he is," I told her. "Have ye any children yet?"
"No' yet, Mistress. I've only been married a month, ye see," she told me.
"And do ye live here now? In Edinburgh?" She nodded.
"My husband is a silversmith," she said, and then she removed her glove to show me a beautiful silver ring on her finger. "He made me this himself! Isnae it lovely?"
"Oh, it's a bonny wee thing," I said, admiring the beautiful silver ring. "Beth - Mrs. MacCleary…"
"Oh, no, Beth is fine, Mistress!"
"Beth… Can I ask ye somethin'? Would ye… would ye be willin' te watch Archie fer a wee bit? The prince, he wants te march into England, and I dinnae ken how safe it will be fer him. In Scotland, fleein' is one thing. I ken the land, but I ken nothin' aboot England. If I have te escape, I'd rather Archie be safe," I asked her.
"Oh, I'd love te! And my husband will adore the lad! I've told him all aboot ye and wee Archie!" Beth told me excitedly.
"Tha's wonderful! Thank ye verra much, Beth. Ye've no idea how grateful I am fer all ye've done fer us," I told her, embracing the lass again.
"I'm glad te help, Mistress! Anythin' fer the Bonnie Prince, and fer you as well," she replied kindly.
When I told Jamie later about my plan of leaving Archie with Beth, he was very supportive, agreeing with me and informing me that he wasn't comfortable with the idea of taking Archie to England anyway. He came with me to drop him off with the MacCleary's, greeting Beth again and shaking hands with her husband, Duncan MacCleary. We were confident that we were leaving Archie in very safe hands and hoped that nothing would delay or prevent us from seeing our wee laddie again. Not having been separated from Archie since he was born, it was very hard for me to leave him, but I knew that he was safe and that he would be loved and want for nothing.
On the sixteenth of November, we left Edinburgh, heading south towards the border with England.
15 December, 1745
JAMIE POV
Carlisle had been taken with no trouble and the prince's army had marched as far south as Derby. Another week's time, the army could be in London, but the men were starved, weak, and exhausted, and the generals were fed up with their men suffering while Charles remained, well… insufferable. "Yer Royal Highness, I am aware of how painful this must be for you, but the truth is often vexing. We must turn back," Lord General Murray was saying to the prince again for what felt like the thirteenth time that day.
"And I say we shall not ," the prince snapped back at him. "London lies within our grasp and all we have to do is reach out and take it! John!" Charles turned to the Quartermaster, who usually was very vocal about war, except now, even he knew that London was a lost cause. "This is no time for silence. Speak, man."
"I'm sorry, Your Royal Highness," said the Quartermaster. "As you know, the Lord General and I are seldom of like mind, but I fear, in this instance, we speak with one voice."
"I must say, this is a damned inconvenient time to be conciliatory," Charles spat at him, and then rounded on Lord General Murray. "And I would say the same to you , my Lord General."
"It is possible we could try te seize London," Jamie interrupted the squabble.
"Fraser, ye have proved ye possess a sound military mind, but I willnae have my decision challenged by a junior officer. Is that clear?" Murray spat at him.
"And what of our prince's decision? Do we no' all serve him and his noble cause?" Jamie spat back.
"Thank you, James! I knew I could rely on you!" Charles exclaimed.
"Our orders were te march into England and take London. We are but five days from reachin' that city and now ye order us te turn back and return te Scotland?" Jamie challenged Murray.
"Five days, gentlemen," Charles repeated. "A mere five days is all what stands between us and the completion of God's will."
"It's not the five days tha' concerns me, Yer Highness, but the three English armies that stand between us and London, and we dinnae bloody ken where any of them are!" Murray explained.
"We're no' likely te meet all three at once," Cailean chimed in from the back of the tent, staying away from the brewing catfight at the table. "If we're shrewd and lucky, maybe we can slip past all three."
"Aye, and if we dinnae, the English number thirty thousand troops while we have mustered a mere five," Murray replied.
"Well, I think we number a great deal more than five," said Cailean as a joke, but Murray ignored him.
"One good fight and we'll be too weak te carry on," said Murray.
"Well, it's no surprise tha' war brings risk, Lord General, but if we turn back now, all hope tha' currently resides in the hearts of our supporters will turn into doubt. There's already so many who have doubted our cause," Jamie told him firmly.
"And our men will have cause te doubt us if we force them te march when they dinnae have the means," Murray replied.
"Enough!" the prince snapped, silencing everyone. "I came here. I sailed from France to raise an army. This army. It was God's will that I do so, and since then, His hand has ever been with us. This precious chance of victory, if we spurn His divine gift, there is no guarantee that it will be offered again. So is there no one among you still willing to stand by your prince, your rightful king, and your God? If you do not, step away from this table." Everyone but Jamie took a few steps back, and the prince's infuriated expression remained firm. Jamie glanced at Cailean, who shrugged, evidently not in support of marching on London. "One man? Is that all I can count on?" No one answered him. " One man! It is intolerable!" Charles stood very suddenly. "I'd rather be run through by an English bayonet and have my body buried in an unmarked grave than turn back after we have come this far!"
"Frankly, sire… That may happen," the Quartermaster said, and Charles turned on him with a nasty flare in his eye.
"I see now that I am betrayed by both friends and allies," he said sharply. "You do what you must, but may God damn you to Hell for it! I have nothing more to say!" He then turned and stormed out of the tent, his designated servant rushing out ahead of him.
"Move aside! Move!" Jamie could hear the servant shouting.
"The man will get us all killed fer his cause," Lord General Murray said, shaking his head. "Come, Quartermaster. Why dinnae we fetch a drink?" The tent slowly emptied out, and when the last man was gone, Cailean approached him.
"What were ye thinkin', man?" he asked Jamie quietly.
"I was thinkin' tha' if we marched on London, maybe things would be different," Jamie told him.
"Much as I give the man credit fer his fightin' heart, he doesnae have a sound military mind," Cailean replied. "Even if we did take London, we'd no' be able te hold it long. We'd have the whole of the English army on us. Even in our time with more advanced weapons, the rebels couldnae take it."
"So we're just te turn back, cross the border and return te Scotland fer the winter," Jamie replied, mildly bitterly, and then he let out a sigh. "I promised my men I would see them safe… So I shall."
17 December, 1745
It was early. Jamie was lying on his back staring up at the tent, his wife fast asleep beside him. She was at peace, beautiful in her shift with her red curls falling down her face and fanning out behind her like an autumn leaf. He turned on his side to face her and raised one hand to brush a stray curl from her face. "Lord, protect my beloved," he whispered in Gaelic. "My white dove, the child she has borne me, and the child that she may one day bear. Preserve her from violence and from harm. In this place, and every place. On this night, and every night."
"Jamie!" Cailean's voice suddenly came from outside of the tent rather loudly, startling Jamie and waking up Catrìona. She let out a groan, then rolled over and grabbed her boot, throwing it at the shadow that had appeared on the tent. "Oi! This is verra important!"
"Arsehole," Catrìona muttered sleepily.
"Just a minute," Jamie told him, standing up to pull on his breeks and his shirt. It was cold, and he wasn't leaving the warmth of this tent without a layer of clothing, at least. When he was dressed, he exited the tent, finding Cailean bearing a piece of parchment, an unhappy look on his face.
"Read this," he said, handing Jamie the parchment.
"'My Lord Broch Tuarach, ye are hereby ordered te proceed at once with yer men to… to Inverness?'" Jamie exclaimed. "What is this?"
"Exile," Cailean replied solemnly. "O'Sullivan fears ye have too much influence over the prince and Murray did nothin' te defend ye, bloody spineless coward. They want us gone, and gone now."
"Bollock-less bastards," Jamie hissed under his breath, reading the order one more time. "'Proceed in advance of the army. Arrange winter quarters and obtain provisions'. With what funds?"
"I asked tha' myself, but O'Sullivan stuck his big bloody Irish nose in the air and said His Highness's loyal supporters would extend credit to his representative," Cailean told him. The tent flap opened and Catrìona emerged, standing to her full height and stretching.
"I can feel yer discontent from in there. What's goin' on?" she asked the two men.
"We've been exiled," Jamie said bitterly.
"Exiled?" she asked him.
"Sent te Inverness," Cailean replied. "We're te set up a winter camp."
"And with what money do they intend fer us te use?" Catrìona asked the pair of them.
"A verra reasonable question, one that remains unanswered," Cailean told her.
"I'll ask the prince myself," Jamie said, rolling up the document and shoving it into his pocket.
"He's gone. Murray spirited him away at dawn. On yer bloody horse, I might add. Said ye wouldnae mind," Cailean said smugly. "It'll take weeks te get te Inverness from here and the entitled arse took yer horse."
"This cannae get any better," said Jamie sarcastically.
"Nothin' to it. We'll head north, stop in Edinburgh fer Archie, make our way te Inverness," Catrìona replied relatively glumly. "We all ken how this is goin' te end. Right there in Inverness. Might as well face it."
"Ye've given up hope?" Cailean asked his sister.
"I gave up hope when that bastard set foot on Scottish soil," she replied. "I'll start packin' our things. Suppose Jamie can ride my horse with me fer now." She disappeared back into the tent, leaving Cailean and Jamie to exchange a glance.
"We've four months until Culloden," Jamie told him. "Four months…"
17 January, 1746
Falkirk Muir, Falkirk, Scotland
CATRÌONA POV
We'd been walking already for a month and were only as far as Falkirk, which wasn't even in the highlands yet. We'd stopped several times for two or three days, depending on how exhausted the men were, stopped in Edinburgh for supplies and for our son, and were now passing through Falkirk. Jamie had his own horse by now, although I missed the warmth of him against my back. The days were getting colder and colder as winter progressed.
Archie, evidently, had a wonderful time with Beth in Edinburgh. We'd missed his second birthday, but he never even noticed. He was too busy having an absolute blast with the shiny objects at Duncan MacCleary's silversmith shop. He was chatting quite a bit more, too, although wasn't using complete sentences yet, and he'd grown at least four inches in the time we left him with Beth in November to when we picked him up in January. "Mammy, cold!" he would whine to me frequently. I had the pair of us bundled up in my tartan, and Jamie had foregone his as well to keep Archie warm, but hours in the freezing cold negated all attempts.
"Last I heard, the army was in Stirling, tryin' te take the castle," Cailean was telling Jamie. "Tha' was four days ago. I dinnae think it was successful."
"Did they return te Edinburgh?" Jamie asked him.
"I would think so. I imagine the prince is all warm and cozy while we're out here freezin' our bollocks off," Cailean told him. I couldn't help but chuckle.
"Few months ago, ye were so far up the prince's arse, he could taste ye, and now, ye feel the same aboot him as everraone else who's sick of this campaign," I'd told my brother. He was about to reply when suddenly, Murtagh appeared, rushing to our parade of frozen soldiers from the woods.
"There's a battle at Falkirk Muir!" he cried, alarming me immediately.
"A battle?" Jamie asked him.
"We'd best get our arses over there," Cailean chimed in.
"Catrìona! Take Archie te the woods and stay low! I'll find ye soon," Jamie told me loudly, then ordered his men to change direction and head for Falkirk Muir. I'd heard about Falkirk Muir, but didn't think it was a very large battle. I knew it was a Jacobite victory, but still a failure to the campaign. It was this battle that started the downfall of the Jacobite uprising, and it was this path that ended at Culloden Moor.
While the men turned to aid their prince at the Muir, I quickly rode off with Archie tucked tightly under one arm. Suddenly, a musketball whizzed past my ear, startling the horse and myself. Had these soldiers seen our army and come after us? A second musketball struck the horse's rump and she fell over, taking Archie and I down with her. Archie was now screaming his wee head off while I immediately freed myself from the saddle and whipped out my bow.
"Archie! Run into the woods now! Mammy will come and get ye soon!" I called to my son, who at first didn't listen to me. When I heard the shouts of English accents, I turned around and scooped him up, running with him tight against my chest into the woods.
"Stop right there!" called an English voice behind me, and another gunshot went off, the musketball bouncing off of a nearby tree. Finding a large overturned tree, I quickly dumped Archie there and covered him up with Jamie's tartan, throwing mine over my head to blend in better with the trees.
"Archie, stay here. Dinnae move, do ye hear me? Ye have te stay quiet, or the scary red men will get ye, ceart gu leòr ? Nod yer head, lamb," I said to him, and he nodded his little head, his red curls bouncing up and down. I pulled Jamie's tartan over him and pulled mine up to cover my bright red hair, ducking behind trees and listening for footsteps and voices. They came soon enough, and I loaded my bow, aimed, and fired at the bright red coat that contrasted greatly with the greenery of the evergreen trees. The arrow struck the soldier right through the neck, alarming his companion, who turned in the direction the arrow came from and fired his musket. He missed, but not by much. I ducked behind the tree again and reloaded my bow. Popping out from behind the tree, I fired again, striking the second soldier in the liver. He fell to the ground moaning in pain, but he would be dead soon enough. I had no time to go back and kill him, I had to see Archie safe.
I didn't hear the footsteps appear behind me and suddenly felt a pair of arms grab me tightly around my midsection. "Got you, you damn Scottish bitch!" said an English voice, throwing me down onto the ground. He grabbed my bow from me, then gave me a nasty smirk. "Girls shouldn't play with weapons. You could get seriously hurt."
"Good thing I ken what I'm doin'," I said, and I kicked him swiftly in the bollocks. He let out a grunt and fell to his knees, so I took the opportunity to grab my bow, but he was quick, too. He had taken out a small knife and slashed me across my shins. I let out a cry of pain as he stumbled to get back up, and recovering from my brief shock, I whacked him over the head with my bow. He fell, but was not yet unconscious, and I stood over him with the tip of it pointing directly at his throat. "How many more of ye are there?" I demanded from him, and he let out a snide laugh.
"You filthy Scots will never win, and when England is finished playing along with your little game…"
"…I will kill you, and everyone you've ever loved." The voice of Richard Randall echoed in my head. He'd said that to me at our meeting at the Siege of Berwick. I was in a similar predicament as I was now, only a band of Scottish rebel soldiers saved us from each other. I had hesitated then to kill him, but with Archie so close by… Hearing Randall's voice made me see red. I jabbed the redcoat in the throat with the point of my bow, closing my eyes as I heard him gag and choke on his own blood. I collapsed onto my knees beside his bleeding and lifeless body, unable to think and for a moment, breathe. I tuned my ear to listen for any other footsteps, voices or horses, but I heard nothing but the sounds of the early evening. I stood up, pulled my bow from the dead redcoat's throat, and made my way back to the fallen tree, where the tartan bundle quivered from the cold.
"Archie, mo chridhe , it's all right," I said as I approached the lump. "Shh, it's yer Ma." Archie's little head poked out from under the tartan and when he saw me, he immediately crawled out from under it and threw his little arms around my neck. "Shh, shh, it's all right, my lamb…" I picked him up and bent to pick up Jamie's tartan, then wrapped Archie up in it nice and tight and limped my way through the trees. After a while, I came to a dark and quiet stone church with a thatched roof. In the distance, I could hear shouts and gunfire, so I quickly pushed in the door and ducked inside. Suddenly, I heard the sound of a gun cock behind me, and I froze.
"Who goes there?" said a Scottish voice - a familiar Scottish voice.
"Dougal? Is tha' you? What the hell are ye doin' here?" I demanded, not even knowing Dougal had been nearby.
"Mistress Fraser?" Dougal's voice said again.
"Catrìona?" I heard my name called in Jamie's voice from deeper in the church.
"Jamie?" I called. I heard shuffling and irritated grunts, then suddenly felt a hand on my wrist feeling it's way up my arm and it pulled me nearer when it felt my hair. Jamie's scent suddenly engulfed me as his arms tightened around me, and Archie let out a small squeak in between us.
"Are ye all right, mo ghràidh ?" he asked me.
"Cut on my shins, but I'm fine. I met with some English soldiers in the woods," I said. "All dead."
"Good," said Dougal. "Since yer here, we could use yer help with some wounds. Rupert is badly injured."
"Injured? What's happened?" I asked him.
"I decided te take a closer look at a musketball," I heard Rupert's voice say from the darkness. Suddenly, on the opposite end of the church, a candle was lit, illuminating Cailean's face on the other side.
"Found a candle!" he said, and he came around the altar and brought it to the middle of the room. It was a small church, but there were a lot of bodies packed into it. I handed Archie off to Jamie and followed the light to where Cailean had gone to illuminate Rupert, finding that he had been shot in the eye.
"Blessed Bride," I said as I examined him. "Where's Fergus?"
"Here, Milady!" I heard his little voice pipe up from a corner.
"Can he slip out fer some water, maybe?" I asked, directing my question to Jamie.
"Do it, lad," I heard Jamie order him, and Fergus slipped quietly out of the church.
"I'll have te try and take out this bullet," I said. "It's a miracle it didnae shift into yer brain."
"It's a miracle they didnae shoot me in my good eye," said Rupert with an amused chuckle.
"Well, ye may verra well lose this eye," I told him.
"Och, well I suppose one eye is better than none," said Rupert. "Angus would be laughin' his arse off at me now." I grasped for my sgian dubh in my stocking, finding them absolutely stained with blood from the slashes across my shins, but I ignored them for now. Taking a bit of whisky, I poured it onto Rupert's wound, earning a right foul cry of pain that continued when I had to dig into his eye socket for the bullet. Fergus returned after I'd fetched the wee ball from Rupert's eye and used the cold water to both clean his wound and soothe the inflammation, then wrapped a clean bandage firmly around his head.
"We'll have te get ye an eyepatch now, like a pirate," said Cailean with amusement.
"What are ye haverin' aboot?" Rupert asked him irritably.
"You! In the church!" an English voice suddenly shouted outside.
"Shit!" Cailean exclaimed, going for the candle.
"What's the point? They already ken we're here!" I hissed at him.
"We have your men and your horses! I order you to surrender in the name of His Majesty!" the English voice said again.
"Redcoats?" Rupert asked, having just now heard the man.
"Oi!" I snapped at a young lad, who was inching his way closer to the window with a musket in hand.
"Fire on them and ye'll get us all killed, ye wee daft fool! My wife and my son are in this church!" Jamie hissed at him, snatching the musket from his hands.
"Lay down your arms and come out, or we shall fire the roof!" said the English soldier again.
"There's no' that many of 'em. We could stay and fight," Dougal said as he glanced out another window.
"No, they could fire the thatch in seconds. Anyone no' picked off runnin' out the door will get burnt te death when the roof caves in," Cailean told him.
"He's right. We'll never make it!" another man cried out.
" Ist, ye fool!" I hissed as I stood back up, ignoring the sting of the agitated cuts on my shins.
"You have two minutes to decide, gentlemen!" said the English soldier again.
"I'm the one with the price on my head. Maybe I can bargain with 'em," Jamie said stupidly.
"I'll go with ye, then. I'm wanted, too," Cailean chimed in.
"No ye won't!" I snapped at them both.
"Stop bein' such a hero, Jamie. If they take ye this time, it's a choice between the headsman and the hangman," Dougal told his nephew.
"Everraone here is under my protection. If I can save ye all with my surrender…" he continued speaking, but his words suddenly gave me a thought. 'Everraone here is under my protection '… As Laird Broch Tuarach, he did have the responsibility of seeing to the safety of his men. But what about Lady Broch Tuarach?
"HELP! SAVE ME!" I shouted suddenly in an English accent, alarming everyone around me and resulting in Jamie grabbing me by the arm and covering my mouth with his large hand.
"Stop that now ! Have ye gone mad?" he hissed at me, and I ripped his hand from my mouth.
"I havenae! Use me te bargain with them. They'll probably take me te the nearest fort and I'll escape and come right back te ye," I told him, but he was very firm.
"No. Never," he told me through gritted teeth.
"You in the church!" came the English soldier's voice again. "If you have an Englishwoman in there, send her out now!"
"And give up our hostage? Not likely!" Dougal shouted through the window, and Jamie let go of me to punch his uncle in the throat to shut him up.
"Jamie, she's right!" Cailean shouted at him. "They'll not hurt her! They'll escort her te a safe place and let her go."
"I will not give you up!" Jamie shouted at me angrily, but I kept my steeled expression.
"Yes you will," I told him firmly. "I am Lady Broch Tuarach. These men are my responsibility, too."
"I'll go with her," Cailean told him. "I can fake an English accent, too. I'll pretend te be her husband."
"Like hell ye will. What if they recognise ye?" I said to my brother.
"I can take care of tha' quickly," Cailean replied. He pulled out his knife and went to the bucket of water, then used both to quickly shave the beard that had grown on his face and then used a small piece of cloth to tie his hair back into a queue. "Fetch me a pair of breeks, will ye?" he said to Fergus, who did as he was told. Cailean took off his kilt and handed it to Fergus. "Take care of tha', will ye? I want that back when I'm done." He pulled on the breeks, then brushed off his wool coat, clearing his throat. "Do I look like an Englishman yet?" he asked in his own English accent.
"I'm no' comfortable with this," I said to him.
"I dinnae care. I'm goin' with ye," Cailean replied, and then he approached Jamie. "I'll see her safe, I promise." Jamie didn't say anything, but nodded subtly, then turned back to me.
"I'd better see ye again, because if I dinnae, I'll burn the hell out of the whole of England," he told me firmly.
"How romantic. Not many men will burn an entire country down fer me," I said, lightly teasing him.
"Bring out the woman or we shall set fire to the thatch and burn you out!" the English soldier said again.
"They're losin' patience. We must go," Dougal said to us. "They'll likely take ye te Hazelmere, it's the nearest outpost."
"Then we'll make our way there and fetch ye back," Jamie said to me, and I nodded.
"We'll find our way back te each other," I said. I gave him a firm kiss, then called Archie over to me to say a quick goodbye to him as well. "Mammy will see ye soon, aye? She has te go."
"No! No, Mammy!" Archie whined, and I picked him up and handed him to his father, then removed my tartan from my shoulders and wrapped Archie tightly in it.
"We need te go, Cat," Cailean told me from the door of the church, and with one final glance at my husband and son, I turned and followed him to the door. We were 'escorted' by Dougal, who led both Cailean and I out of the church. The soldier didn't seem to recognise either of us, thankfully, but simply gave Dougal a nasty smirk.
"Behold, the Jacobite army," he said.
"That'll be enough, Lieutenant," said Dougal, noticing the man's uniform. "This is Mr. and Mrs. Charles Derry. An English couple we met on our travels. We took them under our protection."
"Your protection ?" said the Lieutenant. "I know the reputation of you highlanders, sir. If they are harmed, all agreements are void."
"We're not harmed," said Cailean in his English accent. "My wife and I are very grateful for these men. You see, our home was on fire and they rescued us."
"Did they?" said the Lieutenant suspiciously. "I'll see you and your wife safe, Mr. Derry. As for the rest of you, I urge you all to return to your homes. Resume your lives as peaceful, loyal subjects to the crown." One of the other soldiers came to fetch us from Dougal, and I heard Dougal's smug voice respond behind me.
"Oh, aye. I'll be glad to, soon as the true king is wearin' that crown."
"We'll stop for the night in Crich, Mr. Derry. The horses have gone as far as they can," the Lieutenant said to Cailean, not even addressing me. "There'll be an inn where you and your wife can stay."
"Excellent. Thank you very much," Cailean told the man in his English accent. While Cailean kept our escort busy, I quickly tended to the wounds on my shin. They were deep enough to scratch the bone and would need sutures, which I unfortunately didn't have on me. For the time being, I just wrapped them both in cloth bandages and hoped I could stave off infection. When we were brought to the inn, a guard was posted outside of our door, and I took the chance to rip some thread from my shift and make makeshift stitches. "Why don't ye ask fer help?" Cailean asked me, dropping his accent.
"Speak in your accent. These walls are thin," I told him in my English accent. "If I ask to have these tended to, they'll know something is up. Better to just deal with it on my own."
"If you insist," Cailean replied in his English accent.
The next morning, we were collected by a young sergeant, who informed us that it was time to leave. "Where's the Lieutenant?" I asked him.
"He has received orders to proceed to Keswick and left during the night. Don't worry, I'm to escort you to Bellmont before we rejoin him. You'll be safe there, Madam," said the young sergeant.
"Bellmont? I thought we were going to Hazelmere," I said, and the sergeant gave Cailean a look as if to say 'shut your wife up'.
"Bellmont is closer and along the road to Keswick. I wouldn't worry. It is a big house owned by a rich Englishman. He'll give you refuge, I'm sure," said the sergeant, leading us out of the inn and onto the street. I saw Cailean glance up out of the corner of my eye, then suddenly sneeze.
"A-Hugh!" he said, poorly acting out the sneeze.
"Why, God bless you, sir," said the sergeant.
"I thank you, Sergeant," Cailean replied. He elbowed me when the sergeant turned his back and pointed to a beggar across the street - Hugh Munro! Wait, Cailean knew him?
"Excuse me a moment," I said. "I wish to give this poor beggar a prayer."
"Mrs. Derry, that is ill-advised…" the sergeant began, but I had already crossed the street to Hugh and knelt down in front of him, taking his hands in mine.
"Lord, hear my prayer. Do bring this kindly servant of yours good fortune. Give him a roof to lay his head beneath. Give him food to fill his belly…" I lowered my voice. "Jamie is looking for us at Hazelmere." Then resumed my normal tone. "Give him peace, as well as love. Amen. God bless you, sir." I gave his hands a squeeze and cocking my eyebrows, urging him to listen to the next thing I was going to stay. I stood then and turned back to Cailean and the sergeant. "How far of a journey is Bellmont from here?"
Not that far, evidently. We journeyed for two hours before we arrived at the grand estate and were admitted by a servant. "The Duke shall be with you shortly," said the servant as he left.
"Thank you, good sir," said the sergeant.
"What a fine estate! This is nothing like our old… Oh, what do they call those tiny homes up here, dear?" Cailean asked me, now trying to annoy the sergeant.
"A croft house, I believe," he said. "If you do not mind me asking, Mr. Derry… but what on Earth has brought you to Scotland of all places?"
"I crave adventure, sir, but alas, a chronic breathing issue has prevented me from military service, so I came here. My wife and I are from Leeds. A very boring city, if you ask me. I was intrigued by the highlands of Scotland and couldn't resist!" Cailean told him.
"Is that so?" asked the sergeant. "Have you any children, Mrs. Derry?"
"Oh, we've not had much luck," I told him, side-eyeing my brother.
"We have lost four children to fever, my good sir," Cailean told him, making the sergeant visibly uncomfortable.
"I see… I am very sorry for your many losses, Mrs. Derry… At least you are young. I am sure you will be blessed with a child soon," said the sergeant.
"One can hope," I told him.
"We pray to God every night for a little blessing!" Cailean chimed in. He was so good at annoying the sergeant that he was starting to annoy me , but he was doing a damn good job of it.
"Ah! Here we are!" the sergeant said gratefully, looking over our shoulders. Cailean and I both turned, assuming we were being seen by the owner of the estate, and I had to hold back a gasp to keep from giving myself away. "Do I have the honour of addressing the Duke of Sandringham?"