Part 25 (1/2)

William of Orange was also a Stuart and the grandson of another, but the earl did not remind Appin's young laird-to-be; such was not the point, and he did not care to split hairs as decisively as James's reign and subsequent exile had split Scotland. ”Such afflictions can be cured.”

”Ah.” Stewart nodded; the lip's curl was more p.r.o.nounced. ”Wi' Jamie's return, I dinna doubt?”

The earl did not hesitate. ”He is the rightful king.”

Stewart barked a disbelieving laugh. ”I've no' heard you say so before!”

”A man says many things.”

”So he does.” Young teeth were bared in a brief, mocking grin. ”And what does this man say?”

”That he would do much to restore his land.”

”How?”

”By making a peace.”

”How?”

”By giving her lairds such things as they require.”

Softly Stewart inquired, ”Such things as silver?”

As softly Breadalbane answered, ”There is enough for all.”

One sandy eyebrow lifted. ”Even MacDonalds?”

Breadalbane permitted himself a smile. ”Ask Coll of the Cows.”

Robert Stewart's humor dissipated instantly. ”Keppoch has agreed?”

It pleased the earl to shrug as if none of it mattered. ”Earlier. Keppoch and his tacksmen.” They were straight-worded now, dancing no dances; there were no swords beneath their feet, albeit honed edges under the tones. ”And others. Many others.”

”Glengarry.”

”Not yet.”

”Glencoe.”

”Not yet.”

The grin came back. ”Not ever.”

It was wholly honest, and clean as a blade. ”I came to speak to Appin. Last I kent, he was a Stewart-not a MacDonald.”

The dirk struck home. A wave of hectic color rose from the coa.r.s.e-muscled throat to stain the flesh of his face. Blue eyes glittered balefully. ”So is he still a Stewart. . . but he is welcome in Glencoe, which isna said of Campbells.”

Breadalbane waited a beat. It would not do to lose his temper. ”In time, the world changes. Old enmities are settled. Shall we settle ours?”

In the silence between them pipe music skirled more loudly. It was ceol mor, but not a battle pibroch. A lament instead, of old ways treasured, old ways altered, old ways lost.

Roughly Stewart said, ”You do ken 'tis to the Earl of Argyll that Appin owes loyalty. Not to Glenorchy.”

And so now only two are left. . . ”This is not about loyalties within Clan Campbell, and those from older times owed of Stewart to such as I. This is not about Clan Campbell at all. This is about Scotland. There is a fort at Inverlochy with guns on the walls, and soldiers in the foothills, and a patrol boat in Loch Linnhe, and frigates off the Isles. D'ye believe we can win?”

”What I say is: do you?”

”I do not. But there is hope for peace. What is required, for now, is no more than a treaty, and your name upon it. No oaths sworn; I'll no' ask you to break your honor. A truce only, until such a time as James gives you leave to swear a new oath to William.”

Stewart's expression was taut. ”Is he a fool, our Jamie, to give over such men as might win him his throne back?”

”I would ask another question.”

It provoked, as intended. ”Oh, aye?”

With careful precision the earl said, ”I would ask myself if I were a fool, to let my clan be broken in the name of an exiled king who doesna have the faintest notion of Highland ways, or Highland honor.”

Indolence was banished. The compact body stiffened. ”You would ask that?”

”I would. I have.”

”Jamie's man wouldna.”

”Jamie's man would do better to ask himself if he might profit more from peace than from war.”

”Jamie's man might. So might William's.”

Robert Stewart, the earl decided, was too young to know when he was beaten. By dawn, he would see it. But for now there was another whose aid might yet prove invaluable, if Breadalbane could procure it.

The earl smiled. ”I thank you for your time. I'll no' press a man for what he willna give willingly.”

And as he walked away he took care that his shod feet scuffed into disarray Robert Stewart's detailed map of what might be, all too plainly, the final Jacobite victory.

The flesh of his hand warmed hers. MacDonald flesh. MacDonald hand. Upon a Campbell woman.

Let it be so . . . I want it to be so.

He repeated the words. ”Come with me.”

She wanted it to be so. Needed it.

”Cat.”

She gripped his hand. Could I do it? Should I?

”Come home with me to Glencoe.”