race?”
“Yes, I did. I am
proud of you, lad. You did very well,” Matthew said. “Do you hear
the sound of a bagpipe? That must be Robbie Parsons warming up.
Come on, let’s go up to the inn,” Matthew said, including Julie in
his invitation.
Mrs. Parsons’ inn
lived up to a party atmosphere. The excellent food disappeared
quickly, the spirits flowed without complaint, and the room took on
a misty glow. The bagpipes could be heard for miles as familiar
melodies filled the little inn, and the rafters shook with laughter
and the combined commotion of country jigs and reels. Matthew
guided Ian out the back door to watch the tug-of-war. A rider
coming in fast stirred up the dust on the street. He dismounted and
made his way to where Matthew and Ian stood.
“I’ve news from the
true prince of Scotland and England,” he whispered, and then handed
Matthew a letter sealed with the crest of Prince Charles.
The missive requested
Matthew’s presence along with his countrymen on the nineteenth of
August at Glenfinnan. He stared at the words of his invitation. The
way it was worded, it could have been a request to a party instead
of a summons to war.
The time for
passiveness is at an end. I must act on what I believe or be
undone.
He thanked the
messenger and escorted him to the merriment and refreshments.
Without showing his inner turmoil, he collected Ian and made his
way down to the beach. Ever watchful, Ribble soon followed Matthew
and Ian.
“Ian, I think we had
better go back to the island. Something urgent has come up.”
“Who was that man? Is
anything wrong?” Ian asked anxiously.
“Ian, my lad, I’ll
have to leave soon. I hope it will not be for long,” Matthew
said.
A frown crossed Ian’s
face. Matthew wondered if Ian realized the full magnitude of what
was coming. He did not want the war to touch him or their island,
but he knew that was unrealistic. His association with the prince
could cause Ian to lose the land the MacDonalds had held for
generations. What would become of Ian, or Julie? His thoughts were
heavy with a sense of dark foreboding.
A while later, Matthew
looked up to see Julie walking toward them. He stepped out of the
boat and helped her to get seated in the skiff. She sat down,
clasped her hands together, and did not move. He studied her
profile. She could have been a statue. Even now it took all of his
strength not to reach out and touch her. He wanted to turn this
cold figurine into the flesh and blood woman she had been in his
arms, to feel her fire again. To taste her kiss, hear her heart
beat wildly, but most of all to feel her hot, cool touch. Just
being near her made his blood run hot. These feelings puzzled him.
He’d never felt so out of control. It confused him sometimes and
irritated him at other times, but most certainly thrilled him
always.
He knew he had no
right to ask her the questions he needed to hear the answers to,
but his desire for her destroyed his will. What could he tell her
about the war to come, of the uncertainties involving his life?
Would she refuse to
wait for him? Did she feel the same as he? Too many questions and
not enough answers.
He could not ask her
to throw her lot in with him and turn against her own people if her
sympathies lay with the Whigs. Wars were fought by professionals,
but the consequences were felt by amateurs and innocents, of which
she was one.
When they reached the
island, Julie stepped out of the skiff and walked toward the
castle. Her fellow passengers stood and watched her go.
“The lass seems
unhappy. Not like her to leave without saying anything. Wonder what
could be wrong?” Ribble said, scratching his head.
“I’m sure it’s
nothing. Come along, Ian,” Matthew replied.
* * *
Alone in her room,
Julie paced the floor. When she could stand the stuffiness of her
room no longer, she did what she always did to get rid of her
depression. She put on her riding habit and headed for the stables.
There were still
“Yes, I did. I am
proud of you, lad. You did very well,” Matthew said. “Do you hear
the sound of a bagpipe? That must be Robbie Parsons warming up.
Come on, let’s go up to the inn,” Matthew said, including Julie in
his invitation.
Mrs. Parsons’ inn
lived up to a party atmosphere. The excellent food disappeared
quickly, the spirits flowed without complaint, and the room took on
a misty glow. The bagpipes could be heard for miles as familiar
melodies filled the little inn, and the rafters shook with laughter
and the combined commotion of country jigs and reels. Matthew
guided Ian out the back door to watch the tug-of-war. A rider
coming in fast stirred up the dust on the street. He dismounted and
made his way to where Matthew and Ian stood.
“I’ve news from the
true prince of Scotland and England,” he whispered, and then handed
Matthew a letter sealed with the crest of Prince Charles.
The missive requested
Matthew’s presence along with his countrymen on the nineteenth of
August at Glenfinnan. He stared at the words of his invitation. The
way it was worded, it could have been a request to a party instead
of a summons to war.
The time for
passiveness is at an end. I must act on what I believe or be
undone.
He thanked the
messenger and escorted him to the merriment and refreshments.
Without showing his inner turmoil, he collected Ian and made his
way down to the beach. Ever watchful, Ribble soon followed Matthew
and Ian.
“Ian, I think we had
better go back to the island. Something urgent has come up.”
“Who was that man? Is
anything wrong?” Ian asked anxiously.
“Ian, my lad, I’ll
have to leave soon. I hope it will not be for long,” Matthew
said.
A frown crossed Ian’s
face. Matthew wondered if Ian realized the full magnitude of what
was coming. He did not want the war to touch him or their island,
but he knew that was unrealistic. His association with the prince
could cause Ian to lose the land the MacDonalds had held for
generations. What would become of Ian, or Julie? His thoughts were
heavy with a sense of dark foreboding.
A while later, Matthew
looked up to see Julie walking toward them. He stepped out of the
boat and helped her to get seated in the skiff. She sat down,
clasped her hands together, and did not move. He studied her
profile. She could have been a statue. Even now it took all of his
strength not to reach out and touch her. He wanted to turn this
cold figurine into the flesh and blood woman she had been in his
arms, to feel her fire again. To taste her kiss, hear her heart
beat wildly, but most of all to feel her hot, cool touch. Just
being near her made his blood run hot. These feelings puzzled him.
He’d never felt so out of control. It confused him sometimes and
irritated him at other times, but most certainly thrilled him
always.
He knew he had no
right to ask her the questions he needed to hear the answers to,
but his desire for her destroyed his will. What could he tell her
about the war to come, of the uncertainties involving his life?
Would she refuse to
wait for him? Did she feel the same as he? Too many questions and
not enough answers.
He could not ask her
to throw her lot in with him and turn against her own people if her
sympathies lay with the Whigs. Wars were fought by professionals,
but the consequences were felt by amateurs and innocents, of which
she was one.
When they reached the
island, Julie stepped out of the skiff and walked toward the
castle. Her fellow passengers stood and watched her go.
“The lass seems
unhappy. Not like her to leave without saying anything. Wonder what
could be wrong?” Ribble said, scratching his head.
“I’m sure it’s
nothing. Come along, Ian,” Matthew replied.
* * *
Alone in her room,
Julie paced the floor. When she could stand the stuffiness of her
room no longer, she did what she always did to get rid of her
depression. She put on her riding habit and headed for the stables.
There were still
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