Dragonfly in Amber - Diana Gabaldon [360]
The Scottish chieftains gathered in the morning drawing room glanced at each other, and there was considerable coughing and shifting of weight. The overall mood didn’t seem to be one of wild enthusiasm at the news.
“Er, Your Highness,” Lord Kilmarnock began, carefully. “Would it not be wiser to consider…?”
They tried. They all tried. Scotland, they pointed out, already belonged to Charles, lock, stock, and barrel. Men were still pouring in from the north, while from the south there seemed little promise of support. And the Scottish lords were all too aware that the Highlanders, while fierce fighters and loyal followers, were also farmers. Fields needed to be tilled for the spring planting; cattle needed to be provisioned for overwintering. Many of the men would resist going deeply into the South in the winter months.
“And these men—they are not my subjects? They go not where I command them? Nonsense,” Charles said firmly. And that was that. Almost.
“James, my friend! Wait, I speak with you a moment in private, if you please.” His Highness turned from a few sharp words with Lord Pitsligo, his long, stubborn chin softening a bit as he waved a hand at Jamie.
I didn’t think I was included in this invitation. I hadn’t any intention of leaving, though, and settled more firmly into one of the gold damask chairs as the Jacobite lords and chieftains filed out, muttering to each other.
“Ha!” Charles snapped his fingers contemptuously in the direction of the closing door. “Old women, all of them! They will see. So will my cousin Louis, so will Philip—do I need their help? I show them all.” I saw the pale, manicured fingers touch briefly at a spot just over his breast. A faint rectangular outline showed through the silk of his coat. He was carrying Louise’s miniature; I had seen it.
“I wish Your Highness every good fortune in the endeavor,” Jamie murmured, “but…”
“Ah, I thank you, cher James! You at least believe in me!” Charles threw an arm about Jamie’s shoulders, massaging his deltoids affectionately.
“I am desolated that you will not accompany me, that you will not be at my side to receive the applause of my subjects as we march into England,” Charles said, squeezing vigorously.
“I won’t?” Jamie looked stunned.
“Alas, mon cher ami, duty demands of you a great sacrifice. I know how much your great heart yearns for the glories of battle, but I require you for another task.”
“You do?” said Jamie.
“What?” I said bluntly.
Charles cast a glance of well-mannered dislike in my direction, then turned back to Jamie and resumed the bonhomie.
“It is a task of the greatest import, my James, and one that only you can do. It is true that men flock to my Father’s standard; more come every day. Still, we must not haste to feel secure, no? By such luck, your kinsmen the MacKenzies have come to my aid. But you have to your family another side, eh?”
“No,” Jamie said, a look of horror dawning on his face.
“But yes,” said Charles, with a final squeeze. He swung around to face Jamie, beaming. “You will go to the north, to the land of your fathers, and return to me at the head of the men of clan Fraser!”
40
THE FOX’S LAIR
Do you know your grandfather well?” I asked, waving away an unseasonable deerfly that seemed unable to make up its mind whether I or the horse would make a better meal.
Jamie shook his head.
“No. I’ve heard he acts like a terrible auld monster, but ye shouldna be scairt of him.” He smiled at me as I swatted at the deerfly with the end of my shawl. “I’ll be with you.”
“Oh, crusty old gentlemen don’t bother me,” I assured him. “I’ve seen a good many of those in my time. Soft as butter underneath, the most of them. I imagine your grandfather’s much the same.”
“Mm, no,” he replied thoughtfully. “He really is a terrible auld monster. It