Part 23 (1/2)
”Here, then.” It was Robbie. ”MacDonald-'tis your turn. I wasna the only one there, ye ken . . . you'll have your say.”
But Dair was no longer interested in Killiecrankie. ” 'Tis you who tells a better story, aye? . . . I'll let you go on with it.”
”I canna take all the credit-”
”Why not? You usually do . . .” But the gibe was feeble; his mind was not on it. It was on the woman, the red-haired woman who strode so easily through the crowd and was lost; and on the flesh of his throat that burned with the memory of hemp, and a tree, and the Campbell laird with a claymore.
”I do no such thing,” Robbie declared. ”Have I no' said you killed your share of Mackay's men?”
But Dair did not look again at Robbie or the dirk-drawings in the dirt. He turned from those who waited and walked away into the sunset, seeking Glenlyon's daughter to thank her for his life.
If he could find her. If she will listen . . . If a Campbell could ever believe the words of a MacDonald, even in grat.i.tude.
Here, perhaps she would. In the spirit of Breadalbane's peace.
Breadalbane moved among the chiefs and found them one by one, isolating them from other chiefs, from gillies and tacksmen, from rivals, from comrades, until one by one he spoke to each alone, saying what he would of his pride in his Highland birth and blood, and his desire for triumph over the Williamite forces.
And when they questioned him and claimed him William's man, as he antic.i.p.ated, he denied it. He said he was a chief even as they were, and therefore responsible for his people in all the ways a chief must be. If it served his people now to keep them from battle that would only injure them, he would do so by claiming what was required . . . and if it meant misleading Stair and the Dutchman into believing him one of theirs, a Williamite at heart, when in truth he served James Stuart, well, let it be so; he was a Highlander, a Campbell, a man of their own flesh and spirit, and he would do no harm to Scotland albeit cost him his life.
To Coll MacDonald of Keppoch, who had long opposed him, the earl offered his truth from his perch atop a scarp of lichen-frosted granite. ”I will ask of you no oath, as to do so would forswear the one of Dalcomera to King James, sealed in the blood of Killiecrankie, but instead a truce: peace until October. No more than that of you, Coll, and your people; is it so much?”
Coll of the Cows sat likewise, hunched upon a stump in the fir wood near to the ruins. His plaid in summer warmth was but loosely draped over arms folded tight against his chest as he considered carefully, staring hard at the ground. The sett of the tartan was black cross-hatching on a crimson field, with the faintest stripe of blue showing itself occasionally. He wore as did all of the MacDonalds, regardless of their lands, a sprig of heather in his bonnet; and also the three eagle feathers to which he, a chief, was ent.i.tled.
Keppoch was young, well-made, and strikingly handsome, but no less shrewd for his prettiness. His hand was as quick with dirk or claymore as any man's, and his pride equally p.r.i.c.kly; Breadalbane did not placate, plead, or prevaricate, but spoke plainly instead. Coll would take his time, but he would offer answer; it was a skillful man who understood the best method was not to push a stubborn man, but to let him come to his mind of himself.
Breadalbane waited. Keppoch eventually took his attention from the ground beneath his feet and looked at the earl. His smile was edged, with a dirk behind his lips. ”And what of it? What does this truce gain you?”
”Time.”
”To do what?”
”To get terms of William which are favorable to such men as ourselves.”
Keppoch arched dark brows. ” 'Men as ourselves'? What men are we, Breadalbane?-what men are those such as you?”
It was not unexpected; the earl had heard it from others. ”I am a Highlander, as you are. I am the warden of my people-”
”Campbells.”
”Aye, Campbells; would you have me repudiate them?”
Coll laughed silently, baring strong teeth. ” 'Twould come as a shock to Argyll.”
Such small offenses the earl could withstand; he offered no weapon. ”In my own way I have supported the Stuart cause-”
”By keeping your Campbells home from Killiecrankie?” Keppoch shrugged. ”Such support as that offers little.”
”I offer it now,” Breadalbane said. ”I have worked long and hard to gain the trust of Stair and William, and I have it. Now I intend to use it-but not in a way they might suppose.”
Keppoch raked him with a scalding glance, then smiled to dispell it. He knew how to use his looks, and his smile was very bonnie. ”In what way will you use it?”
”To aid the clans.”
”Ah.”
”I have been given a commission by the king himself-” Breadalbane caught himself; to the clans, James was king. ”-by the Dutchman to offer settlement to the clans. He is at war with France. The Jacobite rebellion robs him of strength; he would do better to have Highlanders in his regiments than destroying them.”
Keppoch grinned again. ”Killiecrankie was sweet.”
”And Dunkeld, after?” The earl saw the flash of anger in MacDonald eyes; they had all lost men in the Cameronian fires. ”He has put an army into the foothills under Livingstone's command, and a garrison at Fort William at Inverlochy. There are naval cannon on the walls. There is a patrol boat with guns on Loch Linnhe. There are frigates likewise mounted tacking off the Isles. Killiecrankie, despite its glory, was an aberration, not the rule.” He waited a beat as color stained, then drained from Keppoch's swarthy face. ”I greet for my people. I greet for the Highlands. I have no wish to see our ways crushed under the heels of the Dutchman's rule.”
”What would ye have?”
”A truce, as I said. No oath such as William might prefer. Time, so I may present our case to Stair, and to William, and make them understand that Highlanders as a force canna be overlooked, lest the war with France be lost.”
”Time.” MacDonald of Keppoch twisted his mobile mouth. He was a young man, much younger than Breadalbane, but Highland chiefs were bred to privation and conflict. He would not be intimidated by the king's promised strength, but neither was he blind to its presence. ”Such terms as are favorable to us?”
”As favorable as can be.”
”He canna have us for soldiers if we are sworn to James Stuart.”
”Of course not. He honors the oaths you swore at Dalcomera, and later at Blair after Dundee died; the Dutchman isna a Scot, but he's no' blind to a man's pride.” Breadalbane smiled. ”He would give you time to know James's mind.”
”Jamie's mind?” Coll took his arms out from under his plaid. ”We've had nothing of the king for months; who is to ken what is in his mind?”
Breadalbane proceeded with care. ”We might ask him.”
”Who would ask him?”
”We will send emissaries to his court at Saint-Germain and ask what is in the king's mind, and what he would have his Scots do. If he released you from the oath to him, you would be free to swear another . . . And there would be an end to hostility in the Highlands.”
Keppoch laughed softly. ”You make it sound gey easy, aye?”
”It is easy, when one kens the way.” Breadalbane did not trouble to hide his confidence; Keppoch would have turned him down by now if he intended to. MacDonalds were not known for patience or political wisdom, only hot tempers and intemperate wills. ”Three months only, Coll. . . and if nothing comes of Saint-Germain, or William sends his soldiers against you, then you've no choice but to remain loyal to James. What harm in waiting?”
”Naught in waiting, I ken. As for after. . .” Keppoch shrugged broad shoulders. The cairngorm set in his plaid brooch glinted b.l.o.o.d.y amber in tree-filtered sunset. ” 'Twill be for Jamie to say, and Willie to do.”
Softly Breadalbane asked, ”Will you sign a bond?”
Keppoch stilled. ”A bond.”
”What you have just said. Sign your name to the words. A treaty in writing.”
Dark brows arched again. ”You'd have it on paper?”
The earl smiled temperately, certain of his course. ”William is no' a man who honors the word of a Highlander. He is ignorant, and rude.”
Coll of the Cows laughed ironically. ”No worse than Jamie, then, who rots in France and forgets altogether he is a Stuart. But an oath is an oath. . . aye, then. I'll sign this treaty. You'll have my name, and eight of my tacksmen.”
Breadalbane rose. ”I thank you for it, Coll. You are a wise man.”