The Gathering Storm (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 3)(38)

       
           



       

"I've put his effects to one side," said Duncan, gesturing to a pitifully small pile nearby. Beth could see a brightly coloured pebble, some silver coins, a horse chestnut on a string. A child's toy. Her eyes brimmed.

"She doesna believe me," Alex said coldly. "She needs to see for herself."

Duncan looked at Beth's defiant white face and tear-filled eyes, and nodded curtly. He stood and backed away.

Alex bent down over the corpse and unbuttoned the coat, as he had done on first meeting the boy.

"Come here," he commanded, gesturing to her. "Look."

She came, and looked, and turned away, green-faced.

The lead ball had entered the young soldier low in the abdomen, lodging somewhere in the soft tissue. The wound was small and had not bled a great deal. But the smell, which was indeed overlaid with a sweetish sickening odour, was intense, and was emanating from the wound she had known nothing about.

"He was gut-shot, Beth. His sergeant shot him as he was galloping away," explained Alex emotionlessly. "You wouldna let me tell ye. He would have died anyway, in time. And in agony."

She looked at her husband's face as he tidied the boy's disarranged clothing, folding the arms back in place with infinite care, and was aware that she had done him a terrible, unforgivable injustice.

"I … I didn't know," she faltered, her voice hardly more than a whisper. "He didn't tell me … "

"That was what the smell was," Alex continued matter-of-factly. "I recognised it straight away. I thought you had, too, but of course ye wouldna. Ye've had no experience of battle, how could you know? Even so, I thought ye trusted me enough to ken I wouldna kill a bairn without need, enemy or no."

She looked away from his face, which was cold and set. She felt sick again, but not because of the smell.

"Well," Alex said to his brothers, standing. "I'll leave ye to it." He jerked his head at his wife. "Are ye coming?"

He sounded as though he didn't care whether she came or not. She went over to the horse, and they mounted in silence. She had no idea what to say to him, and thought to use the time travelling home to think. But her mind refused to focus, and when they got back she had no more idea of what she could possibly say to repair the damage than she had when she had knelt by the corpse and realised what she had done.

"Are ye hungry?" he asked, once the door was closed behind them.

She shook her head, and he moved towards the kitchen.

"Thirsty, then?" he said. The politeness of his voice was chilling.

"Alex," she said. "I don't know what to say."

"Sorry would be a good start."

She only apologised when she was truly sorry. They both knew that.

"I'm sorry," she said. "God, I'm so sorry." Her face crumpled suddenly and she sank down into a chair, burying her head in her hands. Instinctively he lifted a hand to comfort her, then lowered it again and went into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with some whisky, which he needed badly, and some food, which he did not. He sat down opposite and waited until she brought herself under control before he spoke.

"We need to talk, Beth," he said. "I thought we'd sorted out all the problems between us in Manchester, but I can see now I was wrong. Ye told me I didna trust ye over Monselle, and ye were right. I didna, and I was wrong not to. I trust ye now."

He looked at her. She had stopped crying and was looking down at her lap. But she was listening.

"I trust ye with my life, my secrets, the secrets of my clan. I trust ye with my strengths, and my weaknesses. I love ye, Beth, ye ken that already, but what I feel for you goes a lot deeper than that. I canna explain it rightly, but I thought I didna need to. I thought you felt it too. When I saw ye sneaking off through the trees I followed you, not because I didna trust ye, but because I thought ye might be in trouble. I didna call out to ye because it was clear ye were trying to move silently and I didna ken why. I wanted to be near to help you, if you needed it. When I saw you with the boy, I didna think ye'd changed sides for a minute. I asked ye if ye'd tellt him anything, because I ken how easy it is to let something slip when you're upset. I checked you over to make sure your hair wasna showing, because that's the memorable part of ye, the part that's most likely to identify you. At that point I had every intention of blindfolding the boy and bringing him back here to treat his wounds. The clan may be violent, but they're no' heartless. They'd have understood if I'd found the laddie. They'd have understood if you had, too, and why you'd kept it secret, eventually, but it would have taken time, and we're leaving tomorrow. I made the decision to kill him because I had no choice. I explained it to him and he understood and agreed wi' me. I'd not have done it else. I knew ye'd be upset." He paused and ran his fingers through his hair, slowly, wearily, before reaching for the whisky flask. "It didna occur tae me for one minute that ye'd think I'd done it from malice. If our positions had been reversed, I may have asked ye why ye did it, I may not have agreed with your decision, even, but I would never have doubted that you had good reasons for what you'd done, and I'd have listened to them before I judged ye. I wouldna have condemned you out of hand, as ye've just condemned me, Beth. I canna tell ye how much that hurt."                       
       
           



       

He didn't have to. It was written on his face, and Beth felt a huge wedge of despair rise up in her throat, choking her. She stared at him, her eyes enormous in the pallor of her face.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again. What could she say? He was right. He had given her no reason not to trust him since Henri. Why hadn't she trusted him? "I thought … you would have killed Katerina … I thought … "

He took a deep breath, let it out again. Katerina. Again. He had thought that was finished with.

"Let's get this over with, once and for all," he said. "Katerina was young and beautiful, and innocent, and aye, I might have killed her, at that moment, in that circumstance. Because at the time her life was set against the failure of the Stuart restoration, the death of hundreds, maybe thousands of Jacobites, and the certain betrayal of me, you and Angus. Henri had to die, and the best place to kill him was there, in the hothouse. We were verra lucky to find him in France, let alone get another chance to kill him. And, reluctant as I would have been, I couldna have let her live, with him dead. She knew Angus, knew whose servant he was. I wouldna have killed her for pleasure, because I enjoy violent solutions to problems, or for any reason other than to protect those I love, and I'm no' ashamed of that. Ye'd do the same, I'm sure. The boy was a completely different matter, as ye should have known. Now, either ye trust me and believe me, or ye dinna, but I'm no' going to spend the rest of my life explaining Katerina or having all my actions judged by what I might have done to her. Ye canna expect it of me, Beth."

"I don't," she said. "You're right. I've behaved as badly as you did. No, worse, much worse. You had reasons for not trusting me, even if they were wrong. I didn't. I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say, except I'll never do it again, I swear." A great hiccuping sob suddenly broke free, and she stopped, swallowed. "I don't expect you to believe me. I can't prove it," she finished hopelessly.

"Come here," he said, in a tone quite different from that he'd used by the boy's corpse. She stood, hesitantly, and he took her hand and drew her gently on to his knee.

"Beth my love," he began, and stopped as she suddenly burst into tears, sobbing convulsively, clinging to him as though she were drowning, mumbling the same incoherent words over and over again. It took several repetitions before he understood what she was saying, and when he did he felt the tears rise to his own eyes. He crushed her to him, feeling the fragility of her body, knowing the strength of her spirit, and what it was costing her to say what she was saying.

"Sshh, sshh, I willna leave you, mo chridhe," he said, in answer to her plea. "I'll never leave you. I couldna live without ye either, ye ken that, lassie, d'ye no'?"

While dusk deepened into night, they held each other tightly, both aware that the foundation of their relationship had finally settled and they could now build on this love and trust which would irrevocably bind them one to the other for the rest of their lives.





CHAPTER EIGHT


Edinburgh, Late October 1744



Dear Mr and Mrs Sennett,

It is with the utmost sorrow and regret that I write to inform you of the death of your son Nathan in a recent engagement with enemy forces.

He conducted himself with the utmost bravery during the conflict and will be sadly missed by his regiment. May I assure you that his death was instantaneous, and that he did not suffer. He was buried with full military honours on the 23rd inst.

Although I am aware that nothing can compensate you for the loss of a most exceptional son, I am nevertheless enclosing the sum of ten guineas, which I trust will at least alleviate any financial hardship caused by your beloved son's untimely demise. Please accept my most sincere condolences at your sad loss.