Part 23 (1/2)
She knew he was right, knew it was necessary, and tried to live with it.
”You march to London?”
”G.o.d willing.”
With a nod, she stepped back, but she kept his hand in hers. ”The fight is mine, as well as yours, doubly so now that I am your wife. I would go with you, if you would let me.”
”No. Do you think I see my wife as a camp follower?” The look, the very familiar look, in her eyes warned him to change tactics. ”Your family needs you, Serena.”
What of my needs? The words sprang to her tongue and were bitten back. She would do him no good by following him into battle. She looked at her hand and cursed the fact that it was too weak to wield a sword, to protect him as he would protect her.
”You're right. I know. I will wait for you.”
”I take you with me. Here.” He brought their joined hands to his heart.
”There is something I would ask of you. If things go wrong-” She shook her head, but a look from him stopped her urgent protest. ”There is a chest in my chamber, and a strongbox. In the box is gold and enough jewels to buy your safety and that of your family. In the chest is something more precious that I would have you keep.”
”What is it?”
He traced a fingertip along her cheekbone, remembering. ”You will know when you see it.” ”I won't forget, but there will be no need. You will come back.” She smiled. ”Remember, you have promised to show me Ashburn Manor.”
”I remember.”
Lifting her hands, she began to undo the tiny b.u.t.tons at her bodice.
”What are you doing?”
Smiling still, she let the dress open. ”What I am not doing is going for a walk with my sister.” She undid the satin sash at her waist. ”Is it improper to seduce one's husband at this hour?”
”Probably.” He grinned as she tugged the coat from his shoulders. ”But we shall keep it our secret.”
They made love on the elegantly skirted bed, under the high canopy, with the sun coming strong through the windows. The proper morning dress lay discarded in billows of violet. She knelt beside him, slender, with the light playing over her skin as she drew the pins from her hair.
Heavily, in a glory of flame-tipped gold, it fell over her naked shoulders and b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Brigham reached for it, wrapped it once, twice, around his wrists as if to imprison himself, then drew her slowly down to him.
Their bodies fit.
They both remembered the loch, and another sundrenched morning filled with love and pa.s.sions. The memory of it, and thoughts of the cloudy, uncertain future brought them gently together. Selflessly they gave to each other, beautifully they received.
With a sigh, he slipped into her. With a murmur, their lips met and clung. Together they showed one another a new level of pleasure, one that could be reached only through the purity and the pa.s.sions of unconditional love. It was the first of November when the march finally began. Many, Brigham among them, had urged the Prince to begin the campaign earlier, moving on the advantage they had gained by taking Edinburgh.
Instead, Charles had continued to hope for active support from France.
Money had indeed come, and supplies, but no men. Charles put his own strength at eight thousand, with three hundred horses. He knew that he must make one decisive stroke, bringing victory or defeat in a short time. As before, he decided the best strategy was a bold one.
Charles had a high opinion of his troops, as did the English. A few months before, the young Prince's ambitions and his ragtag troops of rugged Highlanders had been laughed at. Then he had swept down on Edinburgh. His early victories, and the flair with which he had brought defeat to the English had the uneasy government recalling more and more troops from Flanders, sending them to Field Marshal Wade in Newcastle.
Still, as the Stuart army marched into Lancaster under the leaders.h.i.+p of Lord George Murray, they met with little resistance. But the celebration there might have been was offset by the disappointing number of English Jacobites who had rallied.
Near a hot fire on a cold night, Brigham sat with Whites-mouth, who had ridden from Manchester to join the cause. Men warmed themselves with whiskey and wrapped themselves in plaids against the keening wind.
”We should have attacked Wade's forces.” Whites-mouth tipped his flask. ”Now they've called the elector's fat son c.u.mberland in haste, and he's advancing through the Midlands. How many are we, Brig? Four, five thousand?”
”At best.” Brigham accepted the flask but only stared into the fire. ”The Prince is pushed two ways by Murray and O'Sullivan. Each decision comes only after agonizing debate. If you want the truth, Johnny, we lost our momentum in Edinburgh. We may never get it back.” ”But you stay?”
”He has my oath.”
They sat another moment in silence, listening to the wind crying over the hills. ”You know that some of the Scots are drifting off, going quietly back to their glens and hills.”
”I know it.”
Only that day, Ian and other chiefs had spoken together. They meant to hold their men. Brigham wondered if they, or anyone, fully understood that the brilliant victories of their outnumbered and ill-equipped army had been won because the men hadn't simply been ordered to fight, but had fought with their hearts. Once the heart was lost, so would be the cause.
With a shake of his head, he s.h.i.+fted his thoughts to practical matters.
”We reach Derby tomorrow. If we hit London quickly, thoroughly, we could still see the king on the throne.” He sipped then, as someone began to play a mournful tune on the pipes. ”We've yet to be beaten. From what news you bring, there is panic in the city and the elector prepares to leave for Hanover.”
”There may he stay,” Whitesmouth mumbled. ”My G.o.d, it's cold.”
”In the north the wind has an edge as sharp and as sweet as a blade.”
”If luck is with us, you'll be back to your wife and her Highlands by the new year.”
Brigham drank again, but in his heart he knew it would take more than luck.
In Derby, with London only 130 miles away, Charles held his council of war. Snow fell fitfully outside as the men rounded the table. A gloom was in the room, both from the leaden light and on the faces of men. There was a good fire, but over its crackle and hiss the sound of the icy wind could still be heard.
”Gentlemen.” Charles spread his fine hands in front of him. ”I seek advice from you who have pledged to my father. It is boldness we need, and unity.”
His dark eyes scanned the room, lighting briefly on each man. Murray was there, and the man whom Murray considered a thorn in his side, O'Sullivan. Brigham watched, holding his silence, as the Prince continued to speak.
”We know that three government troops threaten to converge on us, and morale among the men is suffering. A thrust, rapier-sharp, at the capital-now, while we still remember our victories-is surely our move.”
”Your Highness.” Murray waited, then was given permission to speak.
”The advice I must offer is caution. We are poorly equipped and greatly outnumbered. If we withdraw to the Highlands, take the winter to plan a new campaign that would launch in spring, we might rally those men we have already lost and draw fresh supplies from France.”
”Such counsel is the counsel of despair,” Charles said.
”I can see nothing but ruin and destruction coming to us if we should retreat.”
”Withdraw,” Murray corrected, and was joined by the a.s.sent of other advisers. ”Our rebellion is young, but it must not be impulsive.”
Charles listened, shutting his eyes a moment as one after another of the men who stood with him echoed Murray's sentiments. Prudence, patience, caution. Only O'Sullivan preached attack, using flattery and reckless promises in his attempt to sway the Prince. All at once, Charles sprang up from his chair, scattering the maps and doc.u.ments spread out in front of him. ”What say you?” he demanded of Brigham.
Brigham knew that, militarily, Murray's advice was sound. But he remembered his own thoughts as he had sat with Whitesmouth by the fire. If they withdrew now, the heart of the rebellion would be lost. For once, perhaps for the only time, his thoughts marched in step with O'Sullivan's.
”With respect, Your Highness, if the choice was mine I would march to London at daybreak and seize the moment.”
”The heart says to fight, Your Highness,” one of the advisers put in, closely echoing Brigham's thoughts. ”But in war, one must heed the head, as well. If we ride to London as we are, our losses could be immeasurable.”