‘Heresy, no.’ The Prince laughed and added obscurely that, in his experience, women worked their way back from childbirth, a gift-skill in all of them, from pauper to princess, and that they operated with endless pocketfuls of unexplainable instincts and swift fiery abilities, which are a delight to witness suddenly revealed. In his opinion, they could be the wiser sex by far, for men seemed doomed to learn by experience alone, and not instincts, which are lodged in women innately.

  They suffered yet another night in the open, but with first light, and by straining their eyes in unison, they were sure a small boat moved round upper Rossinish, and within an hour, two tiny, clear figures came along the sheep paths towards the distant shieling.

  They both descended cautiously, with prepared alibis, but as they approached the rough fanks, the Prince was elated with joy. ‘Why, my God, it’s two good MacDonalds, my previous oarsmen from first crossing here.’

  Standing with the cow-herd mother and elder child were John and Roderick MacDonald, who had rowed with the Prince and Donald MacLeod those months before, and who had heaved him through the dangers to Stornoway. The Prince did not embrace the brothers, but he fairly shook both their hands, long and heartily, though he revealed he had forgotten their forenames; but it mattered little, and they spoke a good deal of the English. They asked after Captain O’Sullivan, and if he might have perished, both it seemed out of rugged affection and genuine curiosity for the man – as, to their knowledge, the militias had failed to stir this Irishman out. Roused to laughter, the Prince explained with sincere feeling that the captain and he had parted with tears on both their cheeks, to meet again in France. He laughed the more so when the two brothers explained they too had been serving with the militia, to take its penny, but had worked against the discovery of the Prince or indeed any fugitives; they had ignored figures on hills, been lax in checking passports and letters of passage, and in the execution of all orders, to the edge of mutiny – when no officer was in their sight. But greater joy than this, these two men brought direct instruction that MacEachain was to now cross on patrol to Nunton and bring back the suitable boat with Flora, and the Lady Clan, round the top of the isle, through the narrow organ of water there, to their current place for a crossing to Skye Island, as previously mooted. These two brothers would again row their Prince, they told him. MacEachain was off directly, and the MacDonald brothers unveiled gralloched meat, of an ox or lamb, to feast on later.

  Chapter 7

  That evening – finally confident the approaching craft was friendly – the Prince and the two MacDonald brothers came out of their skulk in the brush, fully down the foreshore, to stand at water’s edge; they watched while the eighteen-foot, one-mast shallop moved along parallel to them.

  ‘A dainty vessel,’ the Prince quietly remarked, perhaps haplessly thinking aloud.

  ‘But swift for you, sire, aye, sound enough come this crossing, and sure – we have used her before. Two rowers more who come.’

  ‘Forgive, I am a wee bit saucy and spoiled still from the frigate Du Teillay. Five hours good pounding – continual fire, musket, then cannon – off the French coast, between an HMS man-o’-war and our own, Elizabeth. I never comprehended ships lay so close together when they fired on one another. What a sight, sirs. Sixty-eight guns, seven hundred men. After Elizabeth was ruddled up very poorly, I ordered my Du Teillay away onward, and we were carried two weeks to your isles here, under – I mind his name fine, as I now know yours – a Captain Darbe. No lights at night, save a wee lantern sometimes lifted for the compass. On Du Teillay, when we lay anchor by Arisaig the year last, we had a tenting up on deck, like as to a campaign tent, with brazier, bread and wines, for this relieved my seasickness, to be in open air and not lodged below. It was not a huge ship, a frigate, but spry and I have hopes the Du Teillay shall return for me. All this could account for my disorder when we crossed first together with Mr MacLeod. My poor education then was such that boats of this dimension’ – and he indicated the shallop passing off the shore – ‘were for after-dinner diversions on the ornamented lakes of grand châteaux, and now I am better informed.’

  The two brothers marvelled at these many wonderous tales coming off the Prince, and their casual reporting by him, he who liked to stand at a certain angle, his arm canted by his side while he recounted them, always a gentle smile just arising, as if cheekily testing the brothers’ limits of credulity.

  ‘Aye, well, sire, we will be lacking much of a tent aboard yon, but for an English umbrella if Miss Flora brought one.’

  And all three of them waved their arms in friendly greeting, for there aboard the small rowing boat was the seated figure of schoolmaster MacEachain himself, returned at oar; Angus MacDonald held the other, there was the Lady Clan herself, with her seven-year-old daughter, wee Peggy, also Angus’s wife and his sister, Miss Flora. Of course, next to Flora in the boat, reposed an attentive Captain Felix O’Neil, his wide-set blue eyes roaming.

  All the women sat in column, hoods and caps affixed erect, in a strangely still and eerie tableau, like a mute funeral party come aboard a death boat to mourn among some stricken and grieving congregation. The shallop slowly passed abeam, to take account of tidal currents, then it pointed round to return and bear accurately in onshore. The men called huzzahs, and the vessel beached with its bow driven well up the dry shingle.

  Angus, followed by MacEachain, jumped ashore, assisting the ladies down onto the dry shingle, the Lady Clan first, as she swung her skirts off the bow then stood.

  Taking her, and despite his none-too-clean face, placing a French-style kiss to both sides, as was his custom – often with men as well as women – the Prince laughed and said, ‘You will predict the happiness with which I see you once again, madam.’

  The Lady Clan seemed of such high excitements she hardly addressed the Prince in any formal way, but spoke breathlessly, as if to an old friend. ‘Excuse this parade. I have grabbed here many examples of the family, for we thought it a more explicable presentation to these cursed invaders that we were boating round to visit a weak, sick child not to be long of this earth. So, I loaded us womenfolk especially, in good number, to douse suspicions.’

  The Prince laughed more. ‘But I am joyed at your whole viewing party. Come along with me, madam, we prepare the evening meal,’ and after greeting all the others with a bow and thanks to them, he took the Lady Clan’s arm to move up the beach, linked together, as if they were preparing to enter an opera house.

  That small platoon followed to the shieling bothy, so there was quite an aggregation within. The Prince himself, assisted by the MacDonalds, placed dunks and clobbers of meat, the livers and hearts of beasts, on metal lines, and they were fried up good and served to all, piled pell-mell in a wide old crockery; wine too had been brought from Nunton, which the Prince was into, with a good few hearty-go-downs; bread and cheese, fresh milk too appeared – so all was jolly, with even the cautious sheiling wifie present, until the runner Porro-Dan came abruptly to the door and spoke in Gaelic.

  The Prince sobered, stood attentively, ceased his joking and playing with the wee daughter, Peggy. Articles and baggage were hurriedly gathered while MacEachain explained, to the horror of the English speakers, that a thousand troops at least had arrived on the other side of the island, and they were patrolling once more. After the Prince quickly gave a single, generous coin to the shieling wifie for her many distresses, they were all off and away yet again, overloading the boat, the crockery of uneaten meat also, which the Prince carried in his lap. He sat on the bottom, leaning against the gunwale, like a lost and humble server searching some elusive banquet.

  All the party escaped afloat down the Loch Usquebaugh, a tricky row, keeping well inshore, to an even more desolate locale on tougher berthing – a rough bothy shelter, fitted only for summer grazing. Nevertheless, the Prince insisted once the party was ashore in that place that they continue their supper, but they could not risk a night fire, so the cold meat was distributed with wine, as a strange breakfast, it being around five, before light.

  Now, by foot at dawn, came a man called Donald and another man named Mr MacMerry, who were to be auxiliary rowers, both trusted tenants and workers of Clanranald.

  Despite the further grave news which they carried, the Prince later spoke to them, saying, ‘A fine name, Mr MacMerry, and I hope you come ready with some merry jests for me on our coming wee voyage.’ MacEachain observed how, when meeting any person of high or low station – a great chief of eight hundred fighting men, a general, a beggar or an orra man – the Prince, without fail, held a necessity to impose a striking and always pleasing impression of his easy humour. A man who though so capable of it, he came with only bursts of hauteur, and surely one day as king this would make him a truly great one, he who had passed among so well and was so knowing of every form of his Scottish peoples?

  MacMerry explained to the Lady Clan that the Captain Fergusson of HMS Furness landed close to Nunton House itself. In English, MacMerry informed her, ‘They are fully established. The captain slept in your ladyship’s own bed last night.’

  ‘How quite disgusting, in every way. I will ensure fresh linen on my return. If our house still stands.’

  ‘There is also a substantial party of troops under the General Campbell, a good man, but the same who took our Mr MacLeod. All told, close to two thousand redcoats strong.’

  The Prince spoke. ‘Would they put your roof to fire, madam, please not?’

  ‘They have so many houses, high and low.’

  The Prince fell to a heavy silence on this then urged that she return immediately with her young daughter while it was early daylight.

  ‘I must, sire, and in my pleading to these invaders, perhaps my husband and I can save properties and livestocks, or they will be sacked most awfully, and my people put on the hills. If I return with the others here, our story of “husband-at-home, but I visiting stricken child” will still stand us good, for why would I patrol my daughter-in-law and young daughter on a mission across wild country to assist you? Sense says I would travel light. Let me add, the price of safety for Your Royal Highness stands above all else.’

  ‘I comprehend this, madam,’ were the words spoken, ‘yet know you have transcended your duty long ago in all you have done for me, and your family’s reward will be notable when I return with the French to make my father king. Go, madam, with your daughter and others, go and give my obligation to your husband for all this past year, and we will be away ourselves come first darkness.’

  ‘Flora’ – the Lady Clan turned to the young woman – ‘all things lie with you for our family. You hold the passport letter, so initiate the intentions with care. All you need is here in the wrappings.’

  The majority party rushed inland with curt farewells, and this left only the essential crew.

  Captain Felix O’Neil remained by the Prince though, and standing beside Miss Flora, said, ‘I despair at the earliness of the day, for we must be at sea already to ensure escape, and we cannot afford to sail before nightfall.’

  It was then that Miss Flora displayed the folded letter of passport and told O’Neil, ‘But, captain, I fear our numbers must be diminished yet – look at this passport. It mentions only myself as my mother’s daughter, and one Betty Burke, Irish-seamstress-about-to-become, and is written here clear, to be accompanied by Neil MacEachain alone.’

  O’Neil and the Prince both looked at the handwritten missive as if it were demanding a personal debt from them.

  The Prince spoke, a whisper, in a way that suggested the subject was not present. ‘But, Miss MacDonald, to leave Captain O’Neil now, in this winding retreat, would be a loss to my safety, I am sure. God knows how much I appreciate every one of you, and I take not my fortune lightly on my heart to have each of you by me, yet it seems wicked reward to abandon this soldier here, especially with forces landed who would be so mischievous to him if his history came known.’

  ‘I understand, sire, but see the letter, which is set and unchangeable, this passport is your escape; if we are to be threatened with challenge and with arrest – as most likely we shall be – this letter fits perfectly our shape as a party. It is to Captain O’Neil they would raise enquiry, as to who he is and why he accompanies us, and place greater attention to each of our identities.’ The delivered hammer blow then came from her: ‘Also, he doesn’t have our language at all.’

  O’Neil turned to her, seemingly using a more private voice. ‘I see your sense, and I would never risk the endeavour, though my instincts are to protect you all.’

  The Prince gave MacEachain the eye, for they determined that O’Neil served both his flame for this well-shaped lass as well as his loyalty to the Prince, who tried a weak diplomacy. ‘But our oarsmen are not so named on the letter, Miss, and they shall be with us.’

  ‘Yes, sire, but the letter will truly operate after the landing, when we must let the boat away with the men, giving you no retreat by water, but the better to leave no trail of your arrival on the island. Heaven help we are not to be intercepted at sea – that would be ghastly enough – yet we are more than likely to meet some guard, devout to monitoring and observance on the roads of Skye. Mr MacEachain and I both were put to arrest just a short time ago, and only intervention of my stepfather put us at our liberties.’

  O’Neil said, ‘I am indifferent to all aspects of my fate, so long as Your Royal Highness’s fate is to be at liberty. I will leave. As you formulate well, Miss MacDonald, we are under protection of the letter alone, and even at this moment I am become an encumbrance to you.’

  Miss MacDonald seemed alarmed by that choice of word, but perhaps the hopeless fellow spoke the straight truth in more ways than one.

  ‘Never an encumbrance, my dear O’Neil,’ the Prince corrected, ‘never that. We shall join again in the year that comes, we two shall ride side by side at front, with an army behind us, as we did in those months past.’ He took the Irish captain in an embrace, so the decision was made. ‘Seek John O’Sullivan among these wilds; as you witnessed, I said these very same words to he, us both weeping.’

  ‘Yes, sire, your journey will be onward until your just liberty is assured with a French voyage.’

  The Prince reminded him, ‘Unlike I, your French officer commission shall keep your life, sir, if you are seized, but take care to yourself.’

  O’Neil gathered his ball of canvas, secured at the top with a tie, and they accompanied him outside where the MacDonald brothers, with MacMerry and Campbell, stood smoking. They gave O’Neil best guidance on the most occult walking routes back south from that shoreside. The Prince embraced the man one more time in this world, and he covetously parted with some specie or coin from his purse, to aid his poor future. The last thing O’Neil did was nod curtly before Miss MacDonald.

  Rid of O’Neil, the others kept outwith the bothy, leaving Miss Flora and the Prince alone while she unfolded the items bound in the rug.

  ‘Well, Miss, I am ready to become as new, but first secure me as I am, so I can return to my former self with these clothes, which came also from your Lady Clanranald. We must hoard them safe.’ The Prince began to strip away his clothes before Miss MacDonald. ‘You have become my new tailors, as well as my guardians.’

  ‘We have been at needle and thread for some days and had only your general dimensions, so I hope the guesses fit the truth.’

  ‘Can you vouch for fashion, Miss Flora?’ asked the Prince, raising his eyebrows as he peeled away his shirt.

  ‘No. But strong stitching, yes.’

  The Prince laughed, removing his shoes and stockings, his trousers and tartan long jacket, his waistcoat too, so he stood only in his breeches, articles which were the victims of brutal usage, though slightly redeemed by frequent, natural immersions in rain dousings, shallow stream baths and forded crossings, which he was ever pray to in these lands of his elusive flight.

  ‘I fear, Miss Flora, you write a great role for me on the lit stage, but stands before you a poor actor.’

  ‘No, no, sire.’ She smiled. ‘There is no stage. We must only form an impression devoted to the viewer from a distance – it is the impression of a femininity alone we seek, not true imitation.’

  ‘True imitation would be a task beyond me, Miss Flora, though it is known upon the theatres and indeed in certain worlds beyond that there are men who pass veraciously as absolute women.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘I have met such a one rumoured to be just this, and as fair as fair, a young . . . This in Paris, and I was . . . Ah. Well. Let us both to this task at hand.’

  He stood naked in his underthings.

  ‘Sire. Miss Betty Burke is an Irish spinner servant, and she is no more. She need not speak. Redcoats should not cast more than an eye glance onto your new form, for all they seek is, of course, a man. Your known form: a man, majestic and spruce.’

  ‘Miss.’ He smiled. ‘You have adulated a fraction too much there. My physical person is in good health, but a little flustered and jolted about, I think – not having slept in real bed or proper bathed for many weeks, as you can witness. Look how the terror mitches have savaged at my legs.’

  ‘A drooly plain servant girl serves the redcoats no purpose, sire. The eyes of soldiers scatter over their targets quick, seeking goal, and we want their eyes to pass on from you of a moment. We wish you to appear an irrelevance.’

  ‘Well . . . so . . . an irrelevance I shall gladly be. And what is this?’

  ‘It is a petticoat, sire, made by my own hand.’

  ‘Yes, the same article, perhaps I have encountered one. Or two. I mean, glimpsed, in Paris. Or perhaps not, such matters overtake me in my accelerated life. I am mistaken. Not in passing. I mean, yes, in a glimpse . . . once.’

  ‘Petticoats are petticoats, sire.’ Stood before him, she was holding out the item with both hands.

 

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