Highland people were reduced by the oppression of the English.
As he rode through the French countryside, he doubted if anything he encountered on his return to Dundrenan could be much worse than the windowless hovels and half-naked creatures who ran after his coach, yelling for alms. It was a country endowed with enormous natural wealth; its soil was productive, its climate superb, but the fields were tilled as they had been three hundred years before; men drew the plough and women sowed and reaped by hand with the crudest tools. There was no proper drainage system; outbreaks of plague ravaged the countryside. What little profit the farmer managed to produce was swallowed up by the extortionate taxes from which his aristocratic master was exempted, and by the corruption of the fiscal officers.
Speeding back to the most luxurious and extravagant court in Europe, Charles was less interested in the conditions that were eating away the internal prosperity of France, than in the problems facing him in his native Scotland. He had begun to think a little more of Dundrenan and Clandara since his stay at Charantaise. God knew there was nothing else to interest him.⦠The year after the wedding it was planned to return with his bride and take possession of the estates. Sir James had warned him that he would find the people sunk in the deepest poverty, the two great houses lay in blackened ruins, and many of the old clan ways were abandoned altogether. At the time he had shrugged and betrayed no interest, but later he began to think about it. The size and complexity of Anneâs huge estates were closely paralleled by his own but only in acreage. French money would have to water the poor Highland soil and build up the mansions destroyed by war and clan feud. He had never seen Scotland, and one of his favourite means of exasperating both parents was to dismiss it as a land of penniless barbarians. Now he was becoming curious; when he returned he would own something, and something more than land, as his angry father had so often tried to tell him. He would own his Macdonald people, not as the irresponsible and wastrel French seigneur bodily owned his peasants, but with a spiritual ownership. He would cease to be the son of an emigrant Scots revolutionary, tolerated by the French nobles because of his fatherâs favour with the King. He would be the Macdonald of Dundrenan, lord over the unwilling Frasers, for he was the last who carried their blood.
Sitting back in the coach, he thought of the woman whose wealth would bring all this about; her money would re-stock the vanished herds of sheep and cattle for his people, raise a great house on the site of his clanâs ancient home and fill it with fine furniture, silver, and plate. She was responsible for his inheritance becoming a reality. For that alone, his pride would never permit him to forgive her. He thought of his sisterâs threat and laughed. They were a fierce breed, the Scots; however much you tamed them with European manners they still turned on you like wolves if you pricked them. The women were no better than their men; his sister, who hated him and snarled like a lioness in defence of her friend, would have died sooner than submit to a man who had abused her as he had done to Anne. âGood and gentle,â Jean had called her, as if those cloister virtues were a recommendation in a wife. If Anne had thrown him out of her house, he might have tempered his dislike of her with a modicum of respect. But she loved him, just as Louise loved him, because of the power he exercised over their bodies. He had despised women from the moment he discovered how much of their lives was governed by sexual greed. He leant back against the cushions and settled down to sleep for the rest of the dayâs journey.
Louise de Vitale was a very good horsewoman, even though she lacked the brilliance of Anne whose horses were half broken by the standards of Versailles. She and
As he rode through the French countryside, he doubted if anything he encountered on his return to Dundrenan could be much worse than the windowless hovels and half-naked creatures who ran after his coach, yelling for alms. It was a country endowed with enormous natural wealth; its soil was productive, its climate superb, but the fields were tilled as they had been three hundred years before; men drew the plough and women sowed and reaped by hand with the crudest tools. There was no proper drainage system; outbreaks of plague ravaged the countryside. What little profit the farmer managed to produce was swallowed up by the extortionate taxes from which his aristocratic master was exempted, and by the corruption of the fiscal officers.
Speeding back to the most luxurious and extravagant court in Europe, Charles was less interested in the conditions that were eating away the internal prosperity of France, than in the problems facing him in his native Scotland. He had begun to think a little more of Dundrenan and Clandara since his stay at Charantaise. God knew there was nothing else to interest him.⦠The year after the wedding it was planned to return with his bride and take possession of the estates. Sir James had warned him that he would find the people sunk in the deepest poverty, the two great houses lay in blackened ruins, and many of the old clan ways were abandoned altogether. At the time he had shrugged and betrayed no interest, but later he began to think about it. The size and complexity of Anneâs huge estates were closely paralleled by his own but only in acreage. French money would have to water the poor Highland soil and build up the mansions destroyed by war and clan feud. He had never seen Scotland, and one of his favourite means of exasperating both parents was to dismiss it as a land of penniless barbarians. Now he was becoming curious; when he returned he would own something, and something more than land, as his angry father had so often tried to tell him. He would own his Macdonald people, not as the irresponsible and wastrel French seigneur bodily owned his peasants, but with a spiritual ownership. He would cease to be the son of an emigrant Scots revolutionary, tolerated by the French nobles because of his fatherâs favour with the King. He would be the Macdonald of Dundrenan, lord over the unwilling Frasers, for he was the last who carried their blood.
Sitting back in the coach, he thought of the woman whose wealth would bring all this about; her money would re-stock the vanished herds of sheep and cattle for his people, raise a great house on the site of his clanâs ancient home and fill it with fine furniture, silver, and plate. She was responsible for his inheritance becoming a reality. For that alone, his pride would never permit him to forgive her. He thought of his sisterâs threat and laughed. They were a fierce breed, the Scots; however much you tamed them with European manners they still turned on you like wolves if you pricked them. The women were no better than their men; his sister, who hated him and snarled like a lioness in defence of her friend, would have died sooner than submit to a man who had abused her as he had done to Anne. âGood and gentle,â Jean had called her, as if those cloister virtues were a recommendation in a wife. If Anne had thrown him out of her house, he might have tempered his dislike of her with a modicum of respect. But she loved him, just as Louise loved him, because of the power he exercised over their bodies. He had despised women from the moment he discovered how much of their lives was governed by sexual greed. He leant back against the cushions and settled down to sleep for the rest of the dayâs journey.
Louise de Vitale was a very good horsewoman, even though she lacked the brilliance of Anne whose horses were half broken by the standards of Versailles. She and
Similar Books
