Текст книги "A Kiss For a Highlander"
Автор книги: Jane Godman
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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
Chapter Sixteen
The news Fraser and his party of men brought back with them was not good. The royal army was camped at Nairn, some fourteen miles away from Culloden House. As Fraser had predicted, the prince’s intelligence was flawed. The Duke of Cumberland’s army greatly outnumbered the Jacobite forces. What Fraser didn’t know, and couldn’t begin to predict, was how the prince would use this new information.
Alone on the battlements high above the day-to-day noise of the castle, Fraser swung his claymore back and forth in a high arc. A brisk wind lifted the russet strands of his hair and plastered his loose linen shirt against his sweat-soaked flesh. He focused his mind on nothing except his footing, timing and balance. Each movement was powerful and practised. The blade hissed as it cut through the air around him. Finally, when the ache in his shoulder muscles and forearms became too much to bear, he lowered the mighty sword and leaned on the ramparts, gazing out across the loch. His gaze took in the treetops, the vast mountains that bordered the Great Glen and the silent, enigmatic water. His Scotland was a beautiful land, full of mystery and promise.
For so long his heart had refused to function. Now, at last, it was working perfectly once more. But was it too late? As much as Fraser wished the Hanoverian princes would return to their mountain schloss and leave Scotland in peace, so too did he now wish Bonnie Prince Charlie would go back to his wandering exile. Lachlan needed a master…and a mistress. Politics and warfare had no part to play in the future of his beloved, fragile highland home.
Angus, the young clansman who had derided and enraged Fraser during the highland games, had been right. All Fraser could think of was his Englishwoman. Even on the ride to Cumberland’s camp, Martha’s face had been before his eyes. He saw, with absolute clarity now, the reason why he had been so angry when she slipped away from the clan gathering. It wasn’t because she had defied him. It was because he wanted her at his side all the time. At the laird’s right hand at his table. There would be no giggling pack of wenches chasing him if his lady was on his arm. And he wanted no more of sneaking up the stairs to her chamber when the castle was suitably quiet. He wanted her in the laird’s bed. Where she belonged. His heart began to beat a little faster, and he swung restlessly on his heel, intent on seeking her out.
Jack’s voice intruded on his thoughts. “The prince has sent for us.”
Fraser was tempted to condemn the prince to the pit of hell. Grudgingly, he followed Jack down to the stables, and the two men rode away from Lachlan once more toward Culloden House. On their arrival, they imparted the information they had gleaned the night before to the prince and his generals. There followed a lengthy, and often acrimonious, discussion. Eventually an agreement was reached. There would be an attack that very night upon the king’s troops. When they returned to Lachlan, Fraser and Jack imparted the details of this plan to their men.
“Today is the Duke of Cumberland’s twenty-fifth birthday, and each of his men will be provided with a generous ration of spirits in celebration. Given that the prince can now be in no doubt of the superiority of the Hanoverian army, the Jacobite generals have come up with this plan to surprise the royal troops as they sleep off their excesses. Their camp lies some twelve miles distant on the western edge of the ridge above Nairn. The terrain is not good, and we undertake this campaign in darkness. Since we had no sleep last night, the plan now is for all of us to get some rest this afternoon before the long march.”
The castle had been silent all afternoon. Clad in her nightgown, with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, Martha sat by the window of her bedchamber. She had not slept. Staring out into the enveloping darkness of early evening, she reflected on how much her life had changed since a marauding highlander had forced his way into the old dower house a few short months ago. Restless and horribly afraid of what the coming hours would bring, she knew she must see Fraser once more before he left. Pausing in the corridor, she darted back into the shadows as Rosie stepped out of her own room. Glancing quickly around her, Rosie knocked on the door of Jack’s bedchamber. The door clicked open, and without a word, Jack gathered Rosie into his arms.
“You should not be here. You know you should not,” he said.
There was despair in his voice that echoed that in Martha’s heart. Martha watched as he drew Rosie inside. She was failing in her duty as Rosie’s chaperone, but this was no ordinary night. How can I stand in their way this night, when their world, as well as mine, may come to an end on the morrow?
She continued on her way to the laird’s room, knocking then entering when he called out. He was standing by the window, looking out over the darkening loch just as she had been. When he saw who it was, he held his arms wide and Martha walked into them.
“I was thinking of you. Wishing for you.” He breathed the words into her mouth.
Because he was so much taller than she was, she had to stretch up on her toes to kiss him. With one arm, he swept her up higher so that her feet left the floor. As his lips rained a trail of soft kisses along the column of her neck, her head dropped back so that she would have fallen if he hadn’t kept hold of her. She clung tightly to his shoulders as his lips moved lower, pausing just a whisper above her nipples. Still holding her in the same position, he walked her to the bed and lowered her onto it.
Martha gazed up at him. Even at moments like this, she found it hard to believe this magnificent man was her lover. He snatched his shirt over his head and stood before her, naked from the waist up. She wanted to rake her fingers over every inch of his perfectly carved torso. Within seconds, he had done away with his kilt and joined her on the bed. Reaching for the hem of her nightgown, he helped her remove it so that she was naked as well. He moved up the bed toward her, stopping to swirl his tongue into her navel and to press a flurry of kisses onto her lower abdomen. His face was taut with need. His warm, hungry lips covered one nipple, and his hand dipped between her legs as his fingers slid inside her.
Martha gave a soft gasp, dropping back helplessly onto the pillows. She rode the twin sensations of his circling tongue and plunging fingers. Impatiently, Fraser worked his hips between her thighs, forcing her to part her legs ever wider to accommodate him. Loving the familiar feeling of his body on top of hers, she was reduced to soft whimpers and breathless purrs as she felt his hot, thick cock slowly entering her. Her body welcomed him, adapting to his size, stretching then contracting to pull him deeper with each stroke. Time stood still as he moved unhurriedly, assuredly, inside of her. Then he picked up the tempo. Lifting her hips, he held her open against him as he started to thrust harder.
“Let this night be about you. Tell me what you want.”
“This. You,” she moaned. “I ache for you, Fraser. Always.”
“Ah, dear God, Martha. What man could resist that?”
She felt him growing even harder. Withdrawing almost completely from her, he paused before delivering one spectacular thrust, thick and fast. His cock began to jerk inside her. She felt her own release gather, sending currents of pleasure shimmering through her bloodstream. Martha convulsed like a shooting star, exploding into tiny pinpoints of orgasmic shock that left her sobbing and shuddering with helpless, mindless pleasure. They lay cradled in each other’s arms, as they had done so many times before. But this night was different. All too soon, Fraser spoke the words neither of them wanted to hear.
“It is time.”
The other men were waiting below. They must leave now to march on the English encampment. Not caring who saw, Martha reached up a trembling hand to touch Fraser’s beloved face once more, imprinting his features on her memory. He kissed her as if it really was for the last time. Then he followed Jack into the night, marching away so swiftly that the hounds of hell might have been at his heels.
“My lady! My lady!” Cora burst into the bedchamber as Martha opened the door. It was barely light. “The men are returning already.”
“So soon? How can that be?” Martha quickly finished lacing her dress and followed Cora down to the great hall. Rosie, alerted by the noise, followed close behind them. Sure enough, the highlanders—muddied, tired and dispirited—were pouring from the courtyard into the warmth of the vast room. Cora bustled her team of kitchen maids into activity preparing bannocks, porridge and ale for them.
“What happened?” Martha went to Fraser, laying her hand on his arm. He looked exhausted. His golden skin was pale, the lines about his eyes deeply etched. He gripped her hand briefly.
“’Twas simple enough, lass. The night was too dark, the way too treacherous and the rain too heavy. All of those things meant the men straggled so that the rear did not keep pace with the front. The leading column, of which we were part, was given a constant stream of contradictory instructions to either halt, slacken the pace or speed up, so that we did not know what we should be doing from one minute to the next. At two in the morning, the appointed hour of the attack, we were still several miles distant from Nairn. Then the English drums could be heard striking up in the distance. That signalled the enemy’s awareness of our presence, and Lord George Murray ordered us then to retrace our steps. By all accounts, he did so without consulting the prince.”
“Murray was right to order the retreat,” Jack said. “If we had continued with the attack, we’d have marched straight into a bloodbath. Our own blood.”
“Aye, but the prince is saying now that we have betrayed him. We walked twelve miles in darkness and driving rain across rough moorland only to be told the plan was aborted. So we walked the same way back again.” Fraser grimaced as he took a seat by the fire and stretched his aching legs. “Now the prince’s plan is for us to meet the king’s forces later today at Drumossie Muir, near Culloden.”
“But this is madness. You’ve not slept and you have just marched twenty-four miles through the night in the cold and the pouring rain. You are outnumbered and much of your artillery is not here yet. It will be a massacre.” Martha turned to Jack. “The prince must be made to listen to reason. Surely if you speak to him he must do so? You are his friend.”
Jack’s expression was inscrutable. “I have already told him what I think many times, Martha. I agree with you, but the prince’s view is unchanged. In this stubborn mood, if he is not listening to his other advisors, he will not listen to me either. He will cling to his belief that the highlanders are unstoppable in battle.”
“Not if they are exhausted,” she exclaimed.
“It is worse even than that,” Fraser said. “At least we have food here in the castle and can feed our men. But the Jacobite leaders were so convinced that the battle would take place yesterday that no-one thought to lay on provisions for the troops. Most of them have had only one oatcake and a sip of water in the last two days. They are nigh dropping with hunger.” He looked up with a frown as Martha leaped to her feet. “Where are you going?”
“To rally the women. If this battle is indeed about to happen, we’ll take food out to as many of the men as we can reach before they set off for Drumossie.”
She whirled away in the direction of the kitchen and was soon issuing orders for Cora to bake more bannocks and for the maids to set about making more porridge. Some time later, Martha looked up to see Fraser in the kitchen doorway, watching her. A soft smile played about his lips.
“Why do you look at me so?”
“I’m thinking again what a remarkable woman ye are.”
She blushed and pushed her spectacles up her nose. “Not crabbit?”
“Always crabbit,” he said, laughter in his voice. He gripped her chin and tilted her face up to his. The laughter was gone and his face was serious when he spoke again. “Ye hide your beauty deep so a man has to search hard to find it. Your thorns are sharp and your grip is thrawn. In spite of all, ye’ve an incredible ability to flourish in the face of adversity. Ye may not be a Scot, Martha Wantage, but there is that of the thistle about you.”
Heedless of the fact that they had an interested audience, he dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose and walked away. When Martha eventually risked a look in Cora’s direction, the little housekeeper gave her an appreciative wink.
Because she had been so busy organising food for the troops, Martha didn’t get to see Fraser again before he left for Drumossie Muir. She didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. Would she have been able to stop herself from blurting out everything that was in her heart? Would it have mattered any more? Her pride seemed foolish now in the face of what was taking place today. Suddenly, she wished she could run to him and tell him she loved him. Fiercely, she clenched her hands at her sides. No! I will not wish that. I can tell him when I see him. Because he will come back, she thought. He must.
Returning to the window seat in her bedchamber, she rested her forehead against the glass, closing her eyes to block out the dark clouds and driving rain. Willing herself to conjure up an image of Fraser in her mind’s eye, she was horrified to find that her memory could not summon his face. Determinedly, she forced herself to concentrate and see him standing tall and proud on the castle ramparts. In the picture she created, he wore his kilt and tartan shawl. The highland breeze ruffled his red-gold hair, and his tawny eyes were narrowed against the low sunlight. Then he turned and saw her. His lips curved into the smile she loved so much, and he moved toward her, his stride lithe and easy, disguising the hard, solid strength of his body. No matter how hard she tried to will him to touch her, to take her into his arms, her imagination would not stretch that far, and his beloved face began to fade again.
Reality hit her like a blow from a cudgel, and she doubled over with the force of it, covering her face with her hands. There must be something she could do to make sure he came back to her. To make sure she had more than memories. The realisation that there was nothing brought a fresh wave of pain rolling through her.
“No.” She sat up straighter and looked out of the window in the direction of Drumossie. “You get yourself back here and call me crabbit again, Scotsman.”
Rising and shaking out her skirts, she made her way down to Rosie’s room. She found her cousin lying face down on her bed, her pretty face swollen with tears. With a little cry of sympathy, Martha ran to Rosie and drew her into her arms.
“I can’t bear it,” Rosie sobbed, pressing her face into Martha’s shoulder. “I may never see Jack again.”
There were no words of comfort Martha could offer, so she rocked Rosie in her arms as she had done when Rosie was a child, and in consoling her cousin, Martha found a small measure of relief from her own pain.
“But, Martha, I know I am not alone in feeling this way,” Rosie said, when her tears had subsided and they had made their way down to the great hall to hear the news from the battlefield. “You love Fraser, do you not?”
Martha nodded. There was no reason to deny it now. “It is not the same between us, however. If Fraser returns, he does not return to me.”
“I am not so sure.” Rosie took and clasped her hand firmly. “I have thought of late that he cares for you very much.”
“He does, I think.” She felt a smile tug at her lips as she recalled Fraser’s comments likening her to a thistle. “But love is a different matter.”
Rosie lowered her eyes. “Martha, I went to Jack’s room before he left…”
“I know. I saw you.”
“Oh.” Rosie was silent for a long time. “I’m not sorry,” she said at last, with a toss of her curls.
“Nor should you be,” Martha replied, returning the clasp of her hand.
Reports began to come thick and fast from the battlefield then and throughout the course of the day. Rab came straight to Martha with any information, somehow sensing, without a word being spoken, that she was in a position of authority. None of the news was good. The highlanders were maintaining their reputation for fierce bravery in battle. Martha smiled as she thought of Fraser. Nothing would daunt him, she knew. The Jacobite technique was to fire a volley from their muskets then charge into the foe with broadswords drawn. This struck fear into the hearts of the redcoats, who were used to more formal warfare, and in the past, they had tended to flee in the face of the charging Scotsmen. The highlanders had expected to use this tried and trusted technique again. The prince, however, had chosen to ignore the advice of the chieftains, including Fraser, and his more experienced generals. Instead, he had lined the highlanders up on the boggiest ground of Drumossie Muir.
“In Gaelic Drumossie means Stinking Ridge. ’Twas a place well named, my lady. ’Tis a foul moor. Nought but fetid bogwater. And, in his wisdom, this fine, proud prince of ours has positioned our brave clansmen right in the middle of it. Their feet sank right into the bog, trapping them there.”
“Why did the prince choose that position, Rab? He must have given a reason,” Martha said.
“Och, aye, he did indeed. He said ’twould protect them from a cavalry charge by the Duke of Cumberland’s men. And it did, of course. It also protected Cumberland from our charge. It trapped the highlanders there in the bog. They could’nae make their way out of the boggy ground, so they were sitting targets for Cumberland’s shells. ’Twas one in the afternoon when the battle began in earnest, with our Jacobite cannons firing the first shots. These were the only shots fired by the highland artillery, because the rest of our ammunition had been left in Inverness.”
“Rab, this incompetence by the Jacobite commanders is truly staggering. It is little short of murder.” Martha covered her mouth with her hand.
“Aye, my lady, there are some questions will need answering about this day. But I fear there will be few men remaining to give those answers. The redcoats opened up then with their cannons. It was, as our own laird predicted, a carnage. No command was given to the highlanders to charge. After thirty minutes of enduring the bombardment, during which our men fell like dogs in the filthy ground, small groups of Jacobites began to break ranks and charge anyway. They fell, stumbled, tripped and got stuck as they fought to make their way across the wide bog which is Drumossie Muir. Will I away and see what more I can discover?”
“Yes, of course, Rab.” Martha nodded.
“They may already be dead.” Rosie’s lips were white. Martha automatically reached for Fraser’s precious decanter of whisky and poured them each a dram.
“Drink it, Rosie,” she said, as the girl shuddered at the smell. A memory came to her of Fraser, and she quickly dashed back her own measure of the amber liquid. “It will warm you, and it is insulting to a Scot if you do not.”
When Rab returned again some hours later, they stood together on the battlements, looking out over the loch. Even though Drumossie was too far distant to see anything, Martha almost imagined she saw the smoke rising in the distance.
“So they were brave to the end?” Martha asked. Rosie slid a cold hand into hers.
“Och, can ye doubt it?” The old man’s face was proud. “When our highlanders finally reached the bayonets of the redcoats, that devil Cumberland decided to deploy new tactics. If the Jacobites did cut through the front line, they were wiped out by a new, second line. While ferocious hand-to-hand fighting took place, a regiment of redcoats came up on the extreme left and poured a murderous volley of fire into our Jacobite right flank. Our brave lads began to fall back. The retreat became a rout as panic took over our fleeing troops. The king’s dragoons chased after any stragglers and killed those in their path.”
“No!” Martha placed a shaking hand over her mouth. “Rab, they cannot have killed men who were retreating. Even Cumberland would not conscience such slaughter. Surely not?” Martha was aghast at the thought of behaviour which was contrary to everything that was humane and decent. Not for the first time in recent months, she felt shame at her English heritage.
Rab had tears in his eyes as he nodded. “Aye, my lady. This was at the orders of the Duke of Cumberland himself. His words were that none should be spared. The redcoats then walked the whole length of the battlefield. Their mission was the systematic butchery of those wounded on the field. Cumberland had told them they must take no prisoners. There was to be, in his words, ‘no quarter’ for the Jacobites. The only useful highlander was a dead one. They butchered them, my lady.”
“All?” She looked out across the Great Glen. She could not bring herself to ask the other question that burned itself into her heart. Rosie made a choking sound, and Martha slid her arm around her, drawing her trembling body close against her side.
“Aye, my lady. All. Every last one.”
The three of them were silent for a long time, each of them thinking of the brave men who had set off that morning only to be led to their deaths. Martha couldn’t get her own thoughts to move beyond a series of images of Fraser that persisted in playing through her imagination. Strangely, she had no difficulty now in seeing his face in her mind. Every memory was imprinted there in detail. The frown she’d seen when they first met, the smile that lit his hazel eye with golden lights, the way he could ignite her to helpless, quivering passion with a single look. How could he be dead? How can I keep this torment inside me and not cry out his name in anguish?
“What of the prince?” Martha asked at last.
“He fought bravely, my lady. ’Twas not his wish to leave the field, but when it could be seen how it was going to end, his generals insisted. He escaped the battle, but there is a price now on his head. We must hope he can get away safe to the continent. Whatever his failings this day, he is the last hope, after all, for the true bloodline of the Stuarts. ’Tis said that Butcher Cumberland now plans a campaign of subjugation that will completely eradicate the highland threat. A very dark time is to come for the clans, my lady. Highlanders are to be forbidden to carry swords, knives, or any weapon or instrument of war under pain of death. The tartan is to be banned, as is the language of the Gael and the bagpipes.”
“He may not find it so easy,” Martha said. “There are places such as this—” her gesture encompassed the glen and loch before them, “—that are too strategically important for the king to ignore. Subjugation by force will not be the way to ensure compliance from men such as those of the Lachlan clan.” I sound like a true highlander, she thought. That is what Fraser has made of me. A fierce pride swept through her, making her lift her chin a little higher. And we have made more than that together.
“Jack…” It was as if realisation had finally dawned on Rosie. She slid from Martha’s grasp and onto the stone floor in a dead faint.
It was almost a relief for Martha to have to tend to her cousin. It meant she did not have time to dwell on anything else. There would be time enough to look at her hands and remember them tracing the muscles of his chest, or touch her own lips and recall the feel of his upon them. There would be long, lonely years of renewed spinsterhood in which to plant thistles in the garden of the old dower house, and now and then, when the mood took her, to sing an old Scots ballad in her off-key voice. And there would be nights without number in which to lie alone and dream of the hard length of his body next to hers as the wild beating of his heart slowed gradually back to normality after loving her.
Martha gave orders for Rosie to be carried to her bedchamber. Then, drawing a breath that calmed the tremor in her limbs, she looked out across the glen once more. It would soon be night. Once darkness fell, it would be too late. There was one final thing she could do for Fraser. She turned back to face Rab.
“You said that Cumberland gave the Jacobites no quarter. That may be so, but he may not have been quite as clever as he thought. Take a party of our lads, the ones who were too young to join the battle, out to Drumossie, Rab, and check every body on that foul field for signs of life, no matter how small. If they are breathing, bring them back here to me to be nursed. If we can save just one brave highlander, we will have gained a victory over the king this day.”
