Prince Across the Water (3 page)

She only echoed Da. “Ye know full well, Duncan.”

Suddenly it all seemed so unfair. I was the oldest, and strong in every way but one. By rights I should be going off to fight for our king. To share in the glory. To uphold the MacDonald name. To see a bit of the world. Like Granda and Da. Part of me wanted to pout about it, like a child. But that would not have helped. And then I had an idea.

“Granda's going …”

“Yer granda wants to see the prince, nae more than that,” said Da. “Then he'll come home to keep an eye on things here.”

“Aye,” Granda said, “I fought for his father and I'll cheer the son, even if that's all I'm able to do.”

His words made an ache start somewhere in my chest, for I longed to see the prince from across the water as well. “I'd walk across fire and marsh to go,” I exclaimed. “And I'm stronger than Granda. I could help him along the way.”

Just then, Andrew flicked some porridge at Sarah and she poked him with her spoon. Like a fire flaring out of nothing, they were suddenly slapping at each other until Da skelped them both on the head to quiet them.

Mairi started crooning a song, something about the faerie folk keeping the peace, but Da shushed her. “Eat up, lass. There'll be more chores for ye as well from now on.” He looked at her softly. She'd always been his favorite.

After that, breakfast was carried on in silence. No one had answered my question. And my treacherous eyes began to threaten tears. To cry now would only prove that I was still far from being any sort of man.

And what sort of a man
could
I be, what sort of warrior for the clan? Da was right. And Ma. I never knew when the fits that had plagued me since childhood might take me. Never knew when my body would start to tremble till I collapsed on the ground, pale and shaking, pain driving through my skull like an iron spike. Never knew till long after how anyone who saw me lying there, foaming and twitching, would draw back in horror, making a sign against the evil eye.

The others in the village often viewed my fits with horror, though Ma always told them, “He was born at midnight, and ye know a child born at that hour can see the ghosts of the dead. It's the terror of the sight that makes him shake so.”

Ghosts of the dead?
I'd never seen any. Or anything else of interest. So I had to try, just once more. “Ma, please …”

She stared at me for a long moment, as if she could read my heart as easily as she could read her Bible. Then suddenly she turned to Da, saying, “He could go with ye, Alisdair, and come back with the old man.
After
they've seen the prince.”

I could scarcely breathe waiting for his answer.

“And what would be the point in that?” Da said. “Ye need him here. Did ye nae say that a moment before?”

“It's only for a few days. Just a few days,” Ma said, then added, “Duncan has never been beyond Glenroy except to take the cows up to the
shieling
, the summer pastures. He could help yer father along the way so you dinna have to worry about him. Andrew could take Duncan's chores. And maybe Duncan could meet the bonnie prince, and then …” Her voice trailed off before my father's bleak, angry gaze.

“And then what?” I asked, stupidly getting in between.

Ma turned to me and held out her hands, hands as veined as rivers running down the hills. “A prince's touch can cure all manner of ills, they say,” Ma poured out in a rush, before Da could stem her words. “Just one touch.”

“No more of that blether,” my father declared, cracking his spoon on the edge of his bowl. “Have we no tried enough of yer cures? Heather soaked in water bound to his head, an animal's tooth on a thong around his neck, water brought all the way from the Holy Well at Eigg to be drunk down on the waning moon. For all the good any of them did. Leave him be, like ye do poor Mairi.”

My mother locked her fingers before her and met my father's gaze. “Will ye no take a chance for the sake of Duncan's future?”

“Future?” The way he said it made me shiver. As if he thought I had but a small future ahead of me.

“He'll be nae bother,” Granda added. “He and I have always worked well together. I'll watch him all the way and see him safely back.”

“Ye'll be lucky to find the way back yersel,'” said Da, who was clearly unhappy that Granda was coming along.

“All the more reason for Duncan to go, too,” said Granda, smiling slyly. “Catriona is right. Duncan can see I dinna get lost in the mist or stumble into a bog.”

“I'll guide Granda through forest and fog,” I added, my enthusiasm making my voice and right hand suddenly shake. I forced myself to calm down. If I had a fit now, Da would never let me go. But the shaking turned out to be only eagerness, and I set my lips together in a thin line lest I grin like a daftie at everyone.

Da looked around at us all with narrow, suspicious eyes, as if he'd been caught in an ambush. “Fine then,” he said at last. “But a glimpse of the prince then straight back home for the two of ye. As soon as the English hear the Stuart's returned, the hills will be swarming with redcoats, buzzing around like wasps kicked out of their nest. I'll no have an old dodderer and a boy who takes the fits around me then.” He pushed away his porridge bowl. “If I'm to get the men back by harvest time, I'll need no distractions.”

I winked at Granda and he at me.

Ma turned back to the hearth, but I could see her smile, just a wee one, as she stirred the pot.

4 FAREWELLS

The morning was cool for August, with a stiff wind bending the hedges. Layers of clouds scudded across the sky.
Good marching weather
, I thought as I came out the door.

I had kissed Ma and the girls good-bye inside the cottage. No need to make a fuss like a child off for the first time. Andrew was sulking on the bed we shared and had not even given me a nod. Da and Granda were already outside.

Looking over to the crossroads, I saw that all the men of the village were mustered for the march. Uncle Dougal's deep voice, like the drone of the bagpipes, was grinding away at something.

Ewan stood apart from them, staring at the ground. I was about to go and ask if he was waiting for me, when his da broke off whatever he was saying and went over to him. Uncle Dougal jawed at Ewan for a moment or two and then Ewan's head hung even lower than before. He clenched his fists tightly but didn't answer back. Then his da waved him toward the women, before going back to take his own place with the departing warriors.

So then I knew. Ewan wasn't going to march off after all and I was. What a change of fortunes.

I walked over to speak to him, glad of the soughing wind. It would mean no one could overhear us.

“Ewan,” I began, but he turned and strode away toward his cottage. He was going so fast, I didn't catch up till we were well behind the stone byre where their three cows were kept. There, Ewan whirled about with such red anger printed on his face, I pulled up sharply.

“So they're taking
ye
along, are they?” he said sourly. “Dressed in yer best bonnet and plaid with a brooch pin ye only wear on holy days, and yer plaid stockings halfway up yer knee. Aye, yer a fine sight, Duncan MacDonald.”

“I'm just going to see the prince,” I said. “And a wee bit of the world outside of Glenroy.”

Ewan turned abruptly and kicked the side of the byre so hard, I thought he might break his foot against the stone wall. From inside the byre, the cows lowed restlessly. “Well, I'm no going, as ye can bloody well see. My da says this venture may well fail. And if he is forced to turn outlaw, I must be free to care for the family and land.”

Fail?
I didn't know what to say to him.
How could anyone suppose we would fail?
And then, all in a rush, it came out. “How can anyone suppose we will fail? With all the might of Scotland behind the prince? They'll march down to London and God help any who stand in their way.” I took a deep breath and in my mind's eye I could see them. The MacDonalds and the Frasers and the Douglases and the Camerons and … “Everyone knows the Scots are the best fighters in the world.”

“Not
all
Scots are great fighters,” he said, glaring at me.

“Well, I'm not going to fight. At least not yet.”

“Then why
are
you going? I suppose they need somebody to muck out the prince's midden. Or maybe your da is hoping ye'll die on the march and save him further shame.”

I felt as if an icy hand had run its finger down my spine. Ewan was supposed to be my friend as well as my cousin and neighbor. Then my anger began to rise, melting the ice of my spine. I cocked my fist and might have swung at him, too, but I saw a tear welling up in his eye.

“Och, Ewan, dinna be such an ass,” I said. “I'm only going for a sight of the prince, nae more than that. Then I'll be returning with my granda. He needs minding, ye know, and that's why I'm allowed to go. Da wants him out of his way.”

“I willna have even that much,” said Ewan, his voice dropping. “My father wants me free of any taint of … of treachery.” The last word fell strangely from his lips.

“Treachery?” I repeated. “How could any man call us traitors when we simply follow our duty to the
laird
?”

“King George will call us traitors, Da says,” said Ewan, “and that's how he'll treat us if he wins. As traitors. He'll send the redcoats to take away our land. And burn our women in our houses. And spit our babies on their English swords.”

The German lairdie win?
I had never even considered the possibility that King George's redcoats might beat us. I shook my head violently. “He canna win. He willna win. The bonnie prince will be victorious. He
has
to be. After all, he has God on his side. And all the Scottish clans.”

Ewan nodded, the redness on his cheeks now a paler pink, the tears gone, resolution replacing sorrow. “With God and all the might of Scotland, the bonnie prince canna possibly lose!” He gave a high yell that set the cows in the byre lowing again.

We both grinned at that. Nothing could stand against Highland warriors with their great swords and their sturdy targes and their skirling pipes behind them. Nothing!

“And when ye come back, will ye tell me what ye saw?”

“Aye, I will,” I promised.

“Every bit of it?”

“Every bit.”

“You swear.”

“On the head of the bonnie prince himself.”

Then we grabbed hands and clasped shoulders, friends again. Our quarrel was forgotten, the harsh words blown off in the wind.

5 THE MARCH

Soon the Donald men were on the march along the road that wound down through our glen.

On each side of the path, tall red-barked pines stood guard. I looked up, hoping for an eagle, seeing none. It would have been a good sign. And then I thought:
Who needs a sign? Everyone knows the Highlanders will win
.

Da and Uncle Dougal were at the head of our column of men, while Granda and I took up the rear. We were to stay in the back with the
humblies
, the poorer village men who were armed in the simplest way—with a dagger or hatchet or scythe.

Beside us, tossing flowers and singing in her sweet, wavery voice, came Mairi. “Tell the prince to come quickly, Duncan,” she begged. “Tell him I'm waiting for him.” She grabbed up my left hand.

I tried to shake her off, though gently, but she would not let go.

“Away, Mairi!” Granda said firmly. “Yer brother's marching with the fighting men of Donald now. This is nae place for a lassie.”

Reluctantly Mairi let her fingers slip from my hand. I glanced back and saw her waving good-bye. All at once, she seemed to waver in the air, like an image reflected in water. I couldn't move. It was as if I had become rooted to the spot.

“Granda,” I began, turning to find him, to tell him what I had seen, for surely he would know what it meant. But he was already well ahead. Tearing myself away, I ran to catch up, startling a hare off the path. It loped out of sight, its great ears wagging.

“There ye are,” Granda said, when I got to his side. “I was afraid ye had decided to stay at home with the girls.”

I laughed. “Not I, Granda. I'm off to see all I can see.”

He laughed as well. “I didna really think so. After all, yer
my
blood.”

We marched on together, he limping and me careful not to excite myself so much that I fell into a fit.

As we went along, I had time to really look at the weapons my companions carried. The humblies, of course, had little of interest. But a few of the men further ahead of us carried great Lochaber axes, long poles crowned at the top with a broad blade. Others—like Da, Uncle Dougal, John the Miller—were armed with broadswords and targes, leather shields each with a wicked-looking steel point sticking out of the middle. Da also had a dirk that he had honed to an edge so sharp, it could cut a single hair in two. Oh, he had a musket as well, but I doubted he'd use it. He liked to say, “A
man
goes hand-to-hand. Only a coward kills without seeing his foe's face.”

Of all those on the march, I was the only one without a weapon of any sort. Nothing. Oh, I knew I was just going along to see the prince. But a Highlander off on a march without a weapon? I felt worse than useless. Even Granda had an old pistol and a dirk stuck into his belt.

I'd said nothing to Da. I feared that if I complained, he would send me home alone. But Granda must have seen me eyeing the weapons, and especially the dirk in his belt.

As the march rounded a deep bend in the heathery hillside, we were momentarily out of sight of the others. Granda reached over and put a hand on my arm.

“Slow a moment, lad.”

“Is your leg bothering ye, Granda?” I asked.

“Aye, my leg,” he said. “And also my heart.”