Traquair, would not be fighting with Mar, but would take responsibility and care for Winifred and the children. William was grateful for her assurance, her determination to send him off without any extra guilt beyond the crushing weight of what he was already experiencing. ‘Charles has far more to lose financially, and a far larger familyto protect. I know he will look after us.’ That was Winifred’s way of telling him she understood, trusted his decision.
‘And I know I can rely on your strength, Win.’ He kissed her tenderly on her lips, uncaring that they were surrounded by servants as well as a gathering of vassals and tenants obliged to follow their lord into battle.
William finally broke the kiss to bend on one knee before a child. ‘Darling Anne, be good for your auntie,’ he said, pinching his only surviving daughter’s plump cheek, grinning broadly to hide his concerns. ‘And I need you to take care of your mother for me. Will you do that, precious girl?’ Anne nodded and smiled shyly at her father as she clutched a knitted bunny.
Winifred had been determined that their son not be used as barter in any violent actions that might be destined to find them, for the region of Terregles was said to be the most Puritan region of the country, where Catholics were regarded as idolaters, their houses constantly searched. William was grateful for that foresight today, because getting young Willie away now would have been almost impossible with the new blockades in place.
William and his men finally departed in a slow, snaking trail. Among them were a few mounted men, but the rest were a raggle-taggle band of farmers who carried picks, pikes and the odd sword between them. William had learned that the Duke of Argyll — a firm supporter of the Hanoverian dynasty — had already arrived at Stirling Castle and was mustering troops and new volunteers by the day to slaughter into submission similar bands of men who were mustering to join Lord Mar.
Within two days William was in the thick of the action, gathered at Perth and enjoying some early success in the highlands. The clans pushed south, heading into the north-east of England, where sympathies for the Jacobites simmered. News was getting through that Lord Derwentwater, among others, had finally declared for James and had mustered men and was even now awaiting the arrival of his Scottish brothers.
A first real blow came with the death of the French king Louis XIV a few days after his seventy-seventh name day; the powerful sovereign surrendered to the excruciating agony of senile gangrene, taking to his bedchamber, slipping into a coma and dying at the start of September. His infant great-grandson was named his heir, while his effeminate brother, the Duc d’Orléans, was appointed regent.
‘He is a different animal from his brother and has little allegiance to us,’ William admitted to his fellow lords. ‘I have no doubt he is cuddling up to the English Crown,’ he added with disgust, knowing the English ambassador in Paris would likely be pressing hard to unload Louis’s ships, which had been bound for the anxious rebels in Scotland. They had been counting on the French king’s support, but with Louis XIV dead, their campaign felt on suddenly shaky ground.
FOUR
London, December 1978
J ane sat hunched and mute between her parents in a surprisingly light-filled room, specifically set aside for relatives of patients. They could make their own tea and coffee, which was only marginally better tasting than the generic coloured liquid spewed out by the vending machines on the levels below the hushed, breathless corridors of Neurology’s intensive care. But they were now two days into the trauma of Will’s attack and used to the nondescript beverages and plastic cups that threatened to collapse with each sip.
‘John said they’d get in around 2 p.m.,’ she heard her father say.
‘How far north had they gone?’ her mother asked. Jane didn’t think
‘And I know I can rely on your strength, Win.’ He kissed her tenderly on her lips, uncaring that they were surrounded by servants as well as a gathering of vassals and tenants obliged to follow their lord into battle.
William finally broke the kiss to bend on one knee before a child. ‘Darling Anne, be good for your auntie,’ he said, pinching his only surviving daughter’s plump cheek, grinning broadly to hide his concerns. ‘And I need you to take care of your mother for me. Will you do that, precious girl?’ Anne nodded and smiled shyly at her father as she clutched a knitted bunny.
Winifred had been determined that their son not be used as barter in any violent actions that might be destined to find them, for the region of Terregles was said to be the most Puritan region of the country, where Catholics were regarded as idolaters, their houses constantly searched. William was grateful for that foresight today, because getting young Willie away now would have been almost impossible with the new blockades in place.
William and his men finally departed in a slow, snaking trail. Among them were a few mounted men, but the rest were a raggle-taggle band of farmers who carried picks, pikes and the odd sword between them. William had learned that the Duke of Argyll — a firm supporter of the Hanoverian dynasty — had already arrived at Stirling Castle and was mustering troops and new volunteers by the day to slaughter into submission similar bands of men who were mustering to join Lord Mar.
Within two days William was in the thick of the action, gathered at Perth and enjoying some early success in the highlands. The clans pushed south, heading into the north-east of England, where sympathies for the Jacobites simmered. News was getting through that Lord Derwentwater, among others, had finally declared for James and had mustered men and was even now awaiting the arrival of his Scottish brothers.
A first real blow came with the death of the French king Louis XIV a few days after his seventy-seventh name day; the powerful sovereign surrendered to the excruciating agony of senile gangrene, taking to his bedchamber, slipping into a coma and dying at the start of September. His infant great-grandson was named his heir, while his effeminate brother, the Duc d’Orléans, was appointed regent.
‘He is a different animal from his brother and has little allegiance to us,’ William admitted to his fellow lords. ‘I have no doubt he is cuddling up to the English Crown,’ he added with disgust, knowing the English ambassador in Paris would likely be pressing hard to unload Louis’s ships, which had been bound for the anxious rebels in Scotland. They had been counting on the French king’s support, but with Louis XIV dead, their campaign felt on suddenly shaky ground.
FOUR
London, December 1978
J ane sat hunched and mute between her parents in a surprisingly light-filled room, specifically set aside for relatives of patients. They could make their own tea and coffee, which was only marginally better tasting than the generic coloured liquid spewed out by the vending machines on the levels below the hushed, breathless corridors of Neurology’s intensive care. But they were now two days into the trauma of Will’s attack and used to the nondescript beverages and plastic cups that threatened to collapse with each sip.
‘John said they’d get in around 2 p.m.,’ she heard her father say.
‘How far north had they gone?’ her mother asked. Jane didn’t think
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