Dragonfly in Amber - Diana Gabaldon [307]
“Cope, of course, brought up a pair of galloper guns and bombarded them,” Lord George said grimly. “And I’ve had the devil of a time with Lochiel this afternoon. He was rather understandably upset at having a number of his men wounded for no evident purpose. He asked that they be withdrawn, which request I naturally acceded to. Whereupon here comes His Highness’s frog-spawn, O’Sullivan—pest! Simply because he landed at Eriskay with His Highness, the man thinks he—well, anyway, he comes whining that the presence of the Camerons in the churchyard is essential—essential, mind you!—if we are to attack from the west. Told him in no uncertain terms that we attack from the east, if at all. Which prospect is exceedingly doubtful at the moment, insofar as we do not presently know exactly where half of our men are—nor His Highness, come to that,” he added, in a tone that made it clear that he considered the whereabouts of Prince Charles a matter of academic interest only.
“And the chiefs! Lochiel’s Camerons drew the lot that gives them the honor of fighting on the right hand in the battle—if there is one—but the MacDonalds, having agreed to the arrangement, now energetically deny having done any such thing, and insist that they will not fight at all if they’re denied their traditional privilege of fighting on the right.”
Having started this recitation calmly enough, Lord George had grown heated again in the telling, and at this point sprang to his feet again, rubbing his scalp energetically with both hands.
“The Camerons have been drilled all day. By now, they’ve been marched to and fro so much that they can’t tell their pricks from their arseholes—saving your presence, mum,” he added, with a distracted glance at me, “and Clanranald’s men have been having fistfights with Glengarry’s.” He paused, lower jaw thrust out, face red. “If Glengarry wasn’t who he is, I’d…ah, well.” He dismissed Glengarry with a flip of the hand and resumed his pacing.
“The only saving grace of the matter,” he said, “is that the English have been forced to turn themselves about as well, in response to our movements. They’ve turned Cope’s entire force no less than four times, and now he’s strung his right flank out nearly to the sea, no doubt wondering what in God’s name we’ll do next.” He bent and peered out the window, as though expecting to see General Cope himself advancing down the main road to inquire.
“Er…where exactly is your half of the army at present, sir?” Jamie made a move as though to join His Lordship in his random peregrinations about the cottage, but was restrained by my grip on his collar. Armed with a towel and a bowl of warm water, I had occupied myself during His Lordship’s exegesis with removing the soot from my husband’s ears. They stood out now, glowing pinkly with earnestness.
“On the ridge just south of town.”
“We still hold the high ground, then?”
“Yes, it sounds good, doesn’t it?” His Lordship smiled bleakly. “However, occupation of the high ground profits us relatively little, in consideration of the fact that the ground just below the ridge is riddled with pools and boggy marsh. God’s eyes! There’s a six-foot ditch filled with water that runs a hundred feet along the base of that ridge! There’s scarce five hundred yards between the armies this moment, and it might as well be five hundred miles, for all we can do.” Lord George plunged a hand into his pocket in search of a handkerchief, brought it out, and stood staring blankly at the wig with which he had been about to wipe his face.
I delicately offered him the sooty handkerchief. He closed his eyes, inhaled strongly through both nostrils, then opened them and bowed to me with his usual courtly manner.
“Your servant, mum.” He polished his face thoroughly with the filthy rag, handed it politely back to me, and clapped the tousled wig on his head.
“Damn my liver,” he said distinctly, “if I let that fool lose this engagement for