thought.
‘Drop a tiny pebble into still waters —’
‘And there’s a ripple effect,’ she finished. She understood the concept, but not the application of it to her circumstances.
‘Good,’ Robin said, as though pleased they’d got that out of the way. He smiled sadly. ‘There’s always a price, isn’t there?’
‘Robin, I …’
Then she shook her head. He really did sound like a mystic now, and maybe that was for the best. She hadn’t really expected answers. She’d come here for a diversion and he had certainly provided that. She glanced at her watch. Her parents really would be worried now. ‘I must go.’
He nodded, and again she saw the knowingness in his gaze. As though he understood her perfectly … knew her thoughts, anticipated her actions, felt her sorrows. ‘You have my card. Perhaps we’ll meet again.’
She smiled sadly. ‘You’ve been sweet to a stranger. I hope what goes around comes around.’
Robin chuckled. ‘Never a truer phrase. Take care, Jane. There’s a bumpy road ahead, but you’re a survivor. Always remember that.’
She left, lifting a hand in farewell as she disappeared down the flight of stairs, wondering at the strangeness of Robin, but also at how curiously powerful he’d made her feel during the short time she’d spent with him. She needed to hold on to that feeling of security — feed off it, if she could, in the difficult times ahead.
SEVEN
Scotland, autumn 1715
A t the beginning of September Mar’s troops had seemed unstoppable, and the Duke of Argyll had been sent to Edinburgh to take command of the English government’s army in Scotland, which was hopelessly outnumbered by a rolling mass of Scots, increasing by the day in numbers and confidence.
But within a month, William’s words had returned to haunt him and his fellow lords. The new French regent turned out to be far more determined to remain on good terms with George I in England than to support the Jacobite cause, and as William and his fellow rebels had feared, the French ships and their precious cargo of weapons intended for Scotland were unloaded, to be held in France indefinitely.
As October drew on, their exiled King James III of England was no closer to returning triumphant to Scotland, no matter how much his Catholic supporters proclaimed his name in various towns and how many English-based Catholics joined their marching throng.
The highlanders stood firm for independence, but while Lord Mar might have a way of gathering men, he was rapidly proving he was no strategist and certainly no army commander.
‘His indecision will get us all killed!’ William growled as he sat beside the fire. They were camped at Perth, where foodand accommodation were poorly organised. He glared at the two other noblemen sharing his meagre meal of rabbit and ale. Their faces looked ghostly in the glow of the flames and their expressions told him he was saying nothing they didn’t already know. He pointed behind them to other small campfires where men sat morosely hunched in groups, a few singing quietly, some playing dice by candlelight, but most silent. ‘There’s our army. Hungry, frozen and drenched, while the redcoats are fed, warm and well drilled. How can we expect farmers to sit around here while their animals and families starve through the coming winter because of our leader’s absence?’ No one bothered replying. William pressed his point. ‘I shall write to Mar this night. He has no grasp of what lack of direction, and ultimately boredom, will do. To a highlander especially.’
But William’s declaration fell on deaf ears; he didn’t receive even so much as a reprimand for his forthrightness.
By month’s end, with winter now nipping at their heels, a smaller force of Jacobites had completed a fatiguing march into England, and it felt to William as though this must be the final push.
Wednesday, 9th November dawned slate-grey, with fierce, drenching rain and a chill that clawed
‘Drop a tiny pebble into still waters —’
‘And there’s a ripple effect,’ she finished. She understood the concept, but not the application of it to her circumstances.
‘Good,’ Robin said, as though pleased they’d got that out of the way. He smiled sadly. ‘There’s always a price, isn’t there?’
‘Robin, I …’
Then she shook her head. He really did sound like a mystic now, and maybe that was for the best. She hadn’t really expected answers. She’d come here for a diversion and he had certainly provided that. She glanced at her watch. Her parents really would be worried now. ‘I must go.’
He nodded, and again she saw the knowingness in his gaze. As though he understood her perfectly … knew her thoughts, anticipated her actions, felt her sorrows. ‘You have my card. Perhaps we’ll meet again.’
She smiled sadly. ‘You’ve been sweet to a stranger. I hope what goes around comes around.’
Robin chuckled. ‘Never a truer phrase. Take care, Jane. There’s a bumpy road ahead, but you’re a survivor. Always remember that.’
She left, lifting a hand in farewell as she disappeared down the flight of stairs, wondering at the strangeness of Robin, but also at how curiously powerful he’d made her feel during the short time she’d spent with him. She needed to hold on to that feeling of security — feed off it, if she could, in the difficult times ahead.
SEVEN
Scotland, autumn 1715
A t the beginning of September Mar’s troops had seemed unstoppable, and the Duke of Argyll had been sent to Edinburgh to take command of the English government’s army in Scotland, which was hopelessly outnumbered by a rolling mass of Scots, increasing by the day in numbers and confidence.
But within a month, William’s words had returned to haunt him and his fellow lords. The new French regent turned out to be far more determined to remain on good terms with George I in England than to support the Jacobite cause, and as William and his fellow rebels had feared, the French ships and their precious cargo of weapons intended for Scotland were unloaded, to be held in France indefinitely.
As October drew on, their exiled King James III of England was no closer to returning triumphant to Scotland, no matter how much his Catholic supporters proclaimed his name in various towns and how many English-based Catholics joined their marching throng.
The highlanders stood firm for independence, but while Lord Mar might have a way of gathering men, he was rapidly proving he was no strategist and certainly no army commander.
‘His indecision will get us all killed!’ William growled as he sat beside the fire. They were camped at Perth, where foodand accommodation were poorly organised. He glared at the two other noblemen sharing his meagre meal of rabbit and ale. Their faces looked ghostly in the glow of the flames and their expressions told him he was saying nothing they didn’t already know. He pointed behind them to other small campfires where men sat morosely hunched in groups, a few singing quietly, some playing dice by candlelight, but most silent. ‘There’s our army. Hungry, frozen and drenched, while the redcoats are fed, warm and well drilled. How can we expect farmers to sit around here while their animals and families starve through the coming winter because of our leader’s absence?’ No one bothered replying. William pressed his point. ‘I shall write to Mar this night. He has no grasp of what lack of direction, and ultimately boredom, will do. To a highlander especially.’
But William’s declaration fell on deaf ears; he didn’t receive even so much as a reprimand for his forthrightness.
By month’s end, with winter now nipping at their heels, a smaller force of Jacobites had completed a fatiguing march into England, and it felt to William as though this must be the final push.
Wednesday, 9th November dawned slate-grey, with fierce, drenching rain and a chill that clawed
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