The Gathering Storm (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 3)(27)

       
           



       

"I tellt ye that ye wouldna like it," Ealasaid said. "We drank it all the time in America. It's an acquired taste."

"Euch," said Meg. "I'll leave it to the Americans and the Sasannachs tae acquire it, then."

They had repaired to the lounge once breakfast was over, and once Beth's grandmother was comfortably settled in the chair by the fire, her young relatives scattered themselves casually around her.

"The Sasannachs drink tea mainly, now," Beth said. "At least the rich ones do. It's very expensive, so you have to pretend to enjoy it even if you don't, if you're not to be thought of as ill-bred."

"D'ye miss it?" asked Joan. Meg and Joan were nineteen and twins. Allan, at twenty-one, was their eldest surviving brother, and Robert at sixteen, the youngest. They were Beth's cousins, the grandchildren of Ealasaid's older sister, long dead.

"I've brought some with me. I quite like tea," Beth said, misunderstanding.

"I didna mean the tea, I meant the rich life, the fancy dresses and suchlike," Joan clarified.

Beth had to tread carefully. None of the MacDonalds knew about Sir Anthony. They only knew that Alex had met her in London, and that her English cousin was a lord.

"No," she said firmly. "I hate that life. The fancy dresses are itchy and uncomfortable, and all the people are horrible and false."

That was unfair.

"Well, not all the people," she amended. "I've got a few friends and they're wonderful, but in general you have to watch everything you do or say, and even then rumours spread round London like wildfire. You can't make a wrong move without everyone knowing about it within an hour."

"It's no' so different here," said Robert, looking at his great-aunt sourly. "I hadna so much as exchanged two words wi' Morag afore ye knew it and were thrashing me within an inch of my life."

"Ye'll become accustomed to Robbie's exaggerations soon enough, Beth," Ealasaid said, unperturbed by the allegation of unwarranted brutality. "What he means is that he was caught halfway to imperilling his immortal soul wi' the lassie, and I gave him a good thrashing wi' my tongue. And if you do it again, laddie, ye'll have cause to regret it. I'll use more than words next time."

Robert's blue eyes glittered with rebellion. Both the brothers, although of only average height and slender build, were wiry and powerful. And strikingly handsome. In spite of possessing Beth's silver-blond hair and cornflower blue eyes, there was nothing feminine or fragile about the brothers. Their features were strong and masculine, and they could both clearly handle themselves, although Robert was not as self-possessed as his older brother. Ealasaid was clearly concerned that there would be trouble later, if Robert attempted another seduction. His expression made it clear he had every intention of doing so. Her expression made it clear that she considered him a troublemaker, was regretting having allowed him to come, and would not normally have done so, had she not wanted Beth to meet her family.

"Have you met Angus yet?" Beth said casually. "You'd probably get on well with him. You seem to have a lot in common."

Robert's face creased with concentration.

"I'm no' sure," he said. "What does he look like?"

"He looks like Alex," she said. "They're brothers. He's got the height and build of Alex, but his hair is more the colour of Joan's. I'll introduce you later, if you like. He's a vicious fighter," she added, as though that was one of the things she thought they would have in common. "And he's very fond of Morag, too."

It was clear from his sudden pallor that Robert now remembered who Angus was. He glanced hopefully at Allan, and was greeted with an implacable glare that told him he could expect no help from that quarter if he antagonised the MacGregor chieftain's brother. Ealasaid hid her smile behind a handkerchief, and Beth continued talking as though she had not noticed the youth's reaction.

"What was life like in America, sheanmhair?" she asked.

"Hard, at first," her grandmother said. "But not as hard as the crossing. Nothing could be as bad as that. Nearly half of us died before we ever saw the land. And then your quality of life depended on who hired ye, ye ken. They tellt ye ye were sentenced to life as an indentured servant. But there isna any difference between that and being a slave. It's just a fancy word tae make it sound better."

She settled back in her chair, and her family gathered eagerly round her. The others, Beth excepted, had heard the story before, but it lost nothing in the retelling.                       
       
           



       

"When I was arrested, I thought they'd hang me. I wanted them to. I did shoot the Dragoon, after all, and I never tried to deny it. I was a wee bit crazy, I think. Once I knew that Ann would be well-cared for by my sister, I had nothing left to live for. I couldna believe it when they tellt me I was to be transported. Of course, there was such a fuss caused over the massacre, even in England, that they didna dare to hang a woman for revenging herself on the soldiers who'd murdered her kin. I was verra beautiful then, ye ken, like yourself," she said, smiling at her granddaughter, "and I had my last speech all prepared. There'd hae been a riot, and the authorities knew it. So they shuffled me quietly off to America. Well, the crossing might have weakened my body, but it didna hurt my spirit, and I'd decided I'd be no man's slave. I spent the first two years being beaten by my first master, before he gave up on me and put me up for hire again."

"Ye should see the scars, Beth," said Joan, shuddering.

"No, she shouldna," replied the old lady before one of her great-nieces suggested she bare her back for her granddaughter. "I'm no' proud of them. I was stupid. I couldna win, and I should have given up and accepted the life God had planned for me. He wasna such a bad man, that first one. Summerville, his name was. If I'd have accepted that I was to be a servant, I think I'd have had a far better life. He'd probably have released me, in time. But I was impossible. I tried to kill him three times before he gave me up for lost, and even then he didna give me up to the authorities as he should have done. It wasna his fault that the next man who bought me was an animal. Most of my scars are from him. He enjoyed wielding power, and the whip. He saw me as a challenge and he won, in time, in a way. He broke me, although I never let him see it."

She passed a hand over her face.

"Aye, well, I dinna talk about it. After he died, I was put up for hire again, and a sorry sight I was, too, all skin and bones and crawling wi' lice. It was a Campbell, of all things, who bought me after that."

"A Campbell?" said Beth. "God, that must have been terrible!"

It was the Campbells who had massacred the MacDonalds at Glencoe.

Ealasaid leaned forward in her seat.

"I'll tell ye something, lassie," she said earnestly. "For ye've the same spirit as myself. I can see it in ye. You need to ken when you're beaten, when the only person you're hurting by resisting is yourself. I should have stayed at home, brought my daughter up myself. I'll always regret no' doing that. Ye need to learn when it's wise to compromise. And ye need to learn that there's good and bad in everyone. Including the Campbells. Ye must judge each man as ye find him, no' by his name or his nationality. Archibald Campbell and his wife Annie were the best thing that ever happened to me. They were kind, they nursed me back to health, they put up with my insults, and then they gave me the offer of my freedom and a small farm on their land, at a very reasonable rent. I've never met such good people in my life. They shamed me into thinking about my behaviour. For the next thirty years or more I lived on the farm and was content, in my way. But I didna want to die in America. It wasna home. So when I thought my time was coming, I took my savings and booked my passage home. That was in '38 and here I am still waiting to die." She laughed. "I got that wrong, too. Ye never ken when your time's coming, only the good Lord knows that. Ye see, I'm still arrogant, in spite of it all."

"I'm glad you got it wrong," Beth said fervently. "At least I've had the chance to meet you. I wish my mother was still alive. She thought you were dead. We all did. Why didn't you write to us, tell us you were alive?"

"I was ashamed, for a long time. And by the time I wasna, there seemed no point, somehow. Most of those I'd loved were dead, killed in the massacre." The old lady's voice sunk to a whisper, and Beth, who was sitting at her feet, was the only one who heard the next sentence. "And I didna have the courage to face my daughter, knowing I'd abandoned her for a pointless revenge."

She reached down, stroked her granddaughter's cheek.

"It makes my heart proud to see what ye've come to. Married to a chieftain in front of the prince himself, and a fine man ye've got for yourself too, if my instincts are still true."

"They are," said Beth firmly. "He's wonderful, and I love him."

"He's awfu' handsome," said Meg wistfully.