Kilgannon (36 page)

Christmas was upon us and we were merry. Every night the hall was full of MacGannons and music, and I saw it through my family's eyes. Will loved the fiddlers who stomped their feet as they played faster and faster, and I saw Louisa wiping tears from her eyes as Thomas or Murreal would sing a stirring ballad. On Christmas Eve we gathered in the chapel with most of the household, and the ceremony was one I would always remember. Candles burning in evergreens lit the room with a soft glow. I stood with Alex and the boys, flanked by my family and his, and surrounded by clansmen, the priest in a joyous mood. The bright colors of our clothing and the white candles and greenery were framed by the gray stones, the air somehow silky tonight and full of magic. And next to me, his hair a golden halo around his head, Alex looked like a very large angel.

After the ceremony we ate in the hall and brought in Christmas Day with toasts and laughter while I looked at these well-loved faces around my table. What a difference from the year before. I gave a prayer of thanks and resolved to be the best wife and mother in the world. I had only one regret. I had miscarried again shortly before my family's arrival. I had told Alex at last of my pregnancy and then had to tell him of the miscarriage. I recovered at once and did not mention it except to Louisa and Ellen and Berta, but I knew the whole household, probably the whole clan, knew we had lost another child.

One rite of the season was a great success with Will, for he was its center. The custom of first-footing was a firm tradition at Kilgannon, and we did it with delight. Shortly after midnight of the new year we all paid a visit to every nearby household. Tradition dictated that the first person across the threshold in the new year should be dark-haired and preferably male, to bring luck to the house. Alex had been the first-footer for years, but because he was fair he'd had to follow the practice of throwing a lump of coal in first before entering. To have a dark-haired man who could be considered one of the laird's family be the first-footer caused great excitement, and Will was a very willing participant. At each house he was handed a glass of whisky, which he drained as more was handed round. Before long we were all singing the old songs with the clansmen, Will leading the group as though he had done this for years. We finished in the hall, where a meal had been prepared, and I smiled as I watched everyone. Next to me Alex beamed as he looked over the happy faces, his face flushed with the warmth and the whisky. He kissed my hand as it lay clasped in his.

Later, alone in our room, he kissed me thoroughly, then leaned back to look at me. "Hard to believe it's the new year, lass. I've kent ye a year and a half now. The happiest of my life."

I smiled at him, but his face blurred with the tears that sprang to my eyes. "And mine," I said.

"Then why do ye cry, Mary Rose?" he asked tenderly.

"A child, Alex. I cannot give you a child." He shook his head slowly and pulled me to him, stroking my back as he spoke softly over my head. "Ye've given me my life, lass, and my future. My life was not worth living when I met ye, and it is the now. It is enough, Mary, that I have ye. I need nothing else. If we are meant to have children, we will. If not, then so be it. I am a verra happy man." He released me and sighed. "Can ye be happy with me, lass? Even if we never have children together? Does it help a wee bit to have Ian and Jamie, or does that make it worse?"

"No. Yes. They are wonderful." I smiled up at him. "And I am happy, Alex, more happy than I have a right to be. But I am greedy too. All I want in my life is to live here and have children with you. I'd like to give you another son. Or a daughter."

He smiled and stroked my hair. "A daughter, lass, would be just like ye, far too much trouble. Better that we have sons. When yer well we'll try again. But we'll have sons, Mary. They'll be as simple to live with as their father." I smiled and kissed him, this splendid man who was mine. And 1714 began.

My family stayed for two more weeks. Will, Louisa, and Randolph had been as delightful as always, and even Betty was well behaved. Louisa had taken a keen interest in the details of managing such a large household and had given me several suggestions that I intended to follow. We had talked for days, and I think we left no topic untouched. The most surprising development had been the mutual affection that had sprung up between Randolph and the boys. He astonished me, and possibly himself, by spending a great deal of his time with them, playing chess or other games, and they begged him constantly for more stories of his youth and more of his adventure tales. More than once Louisa and I had found him closeted with both boys and Matthew and Gilbey, holding them entranced with some far-fetched story of his escapades.

When the morning of their departure at last arrived, we stood in the hall before braving the icy wind and rain outside. Captain Calum was to escort them home on the Mary Rose and he was anxious to get underway, muttering about tides and winds. And then they were gone. I stood on the dock, watching the Mary Rose pull around the first bend, wondering when I would see them again. Alex had promised a trip to London in the summer, but who knew if that would ever happen? I tried to suppress my sadness as we hurried back to the hall, Alex's hand warm in mine.

Matthew left a few days later for the University at St. Andrew's, Angus going with him to help him settle into his new world as the new term began, and Gilbey went along as well, paving the way with those he knew. Gilbey and Matthew had become fast friends, and I knew he would miss Matthew as much as we all would. Angus and Gilbey arrived home two weeks later with the news that Matthew was well settled. It was much quieter with him gone. The boys counted the days until summer. As did I.

In the late morning of a stormy February day, I stood in the chapel with Alex while he looked around the chapel and smiled. "This room is Kilgannon, Mary. Have I ever told ye?" I shook my head. "Well, kil means church, or chapel, so it's really Gannon's church. This is the heart of our land. I always wonder how many marriages and funerals have been held here. Nine earls buried from this chapel. Ten generations married and, God willing, eleven someday." He led me to the side of the chapel, where he knelt and ran his hands along the wall. "Can ye see here, in the stone? Down low, here? A small A? My grandfather carved it when he was a boy and was punished for defacing the house of God. And when I was nine I carved this one next to it." He pointed at the second letter. "It was never discovered and I laugh every time I see it. I think it's the only mischief I ever got away with. And someday perhaps my grandson will carve another." His eyes met mine. "Let's try again, lass," he said.

The winter continued uneventfully until one dark afternoon when the Margaret brought news and an unwelcome letter, which I found Alex and Angus angrily discussing in the library. Alex waved the letter at me as I entered. "This came from our cousin Lachlan, lass," he said. "Queen Anne has agreed that her heir will be Sophia. Not James Stewart, not her own brother."

I struggled to understand his outraged tone. "So if Anne dies, the English throne goes to the Hanovers?"

"Aye," Angus said, "despite the fact that she is a Stewart."

"Why are you surprised?" Both men looked at me, startled. "Well?" I continued. "What else was going to happen? After the Treaty of Utrecht last summer France recognized Sophia's heirship. After the Act of Settlement, which barred a Catholic king—and which, I might add, was thirteen years ago—what did you think was next? Did you think that James Stewart would suddenly convert to being Protestant and that would clear the way for his succession?"

"Do ye understand what this means?" Alex asked.

"It means," I answered, "that the same thing that has happened for centuries is happening again. Someone not English will be on the throne of England. It's been happening for seven hundred years. More if you go back to the Romans."

"It means, Mary," said Alex, his tone angry, "that someone not Scottish will be on the throne that rules Scotland."

"Yes," I said, "but we knew that was going to happen." The men exchanged another glance. "Robert the Bruce was a Norman. Mary Stuart spoke French, not Gaelic, and changed the spelling of her name because she could not pronounce it correctly. James the First was quick to go to London and turn his back on Scotland. Alexander the Third left his throne to the Maid of Norway, and Charles lost the throne altogether. Now Anne gives the throne to a cousin rather than her
half-brother
.". Angus laughed, but Alex didn't.

"We got a letter as well from the MacDonald," he said sullenly. "There's a letter being circulated by the English for all the Highland chiefs to sign that we will accept the situation."

"I see," I said.

"I dinna think ye do," Alex snapped. "It's
no ‘a
light thing, Mary." His eyes were still indignant. "It means that no Stewart will sit on the throne of Scotland again."

"Unless there is a rebellion." I let my words hang in the air between us. Angus, not smiling now, looked from Alex to me. "Are you two planning an uprising? Or do Lachlan and the MacDonald invite you to join one? Surely everyone in the Highlands has been talking of it for months now." And they had been. I had long ago become accustomed to both the constant complaining about the English government and the half-baked plots to overthrow it. But never from Alex. He turned and looked out the window. Angus stretched his legs in front of him and studied them. My heart stopped. Dear God, I prayed, tell me this is not true. I watched Alex's back. "Alex?" My voice wavered. He turned then.

"No rebellion, lass. We're not plotting. But it doesna sit well. Surely ye can see that, Mary." I looked up at him. How could I tell him how little the rest of the world mattered to me?

"I can see that, Alex," I said in a soothing manner. "But surely this is not a surprise? It's been years in the making, and Anne's health is excellent. She'll live for ages."

He shook his head. "That's not what I hear, lass. I'm hearing she's failing. But even if she does live, then what? Then Queen Sophia, then King George? God help us. It was bad enough with Anne. What will happen to us with a German on the throne?"

"Surely nothing will change."

"Anne's already surrounding herself with Whigs."

"Oh," I said, realizing Randolph's influence would be considerably less; even the Duke's would be diminished, and Uncle Harry's. All Tories, they would pay the price for a shift of power.

"Aye," Alex said grimly. "I can see yer beginning to understand. It's
no ‘a
light thing. Just a few years ago Scotland had ten times the representation we have now, and that was with a Stewart on the throne and Tories in control. I'm telling ye, Mary, we're headed for trouble." I looked from Alex to Angus and back.

"What are our choices?" I asked. "If you sign, perhaps we will be left in peace. What happens if you do not?"

"I dinna ken," Alex said.

I looked at his cousin. "Angus?"

Angus shrugged. "Nor I, Mary. But the MacDonald's signing, and the Camerons and MacDonnell of Glengarry. Lachlan says all the clans are."

"Then that's what we do," I said.

"Aye," Alex growled, turning to look out the window. "But I dinna have to enjoy the experience." The boys and Gilbey burst in then, and I. left Alex to his sons and their lessons while Angus walked out into the hall with me.

"We have no choice, Angus," I said, and he nodded curtly. "Do you have another solution?"

He shook his head. "I see no other choice. Our own leaders have sold us to England, and we must obey."

"It will not affect us. We are isolated here."

"Not enough." He looked at me from under his bushy eyebrows. "We see an ugly chain, lass. First Argyll and the others sold Scotland and put us in this godforsaken Union;

now we'll have a German ruling us and the Whigs, who have no love for us. What's next? Are we to be beaten into the ground like the Welsh? I never thought to see this. Begging yer pardon, lass, but England and its monarchs have rarely done well by Scotland. And I can see no remedy. As ye say, we have no choice, but as we say, we dinna have to enjoy the experience." He stalked off and I looked after him.

I forgot Angus's words and Alex's worries as spring arrived and we were at last able to be outdoors again. The tasks filled the days, but I was joyous as I worked, for I was with child again. If I carried this baby full term it would be
born
at the end of September. I wondered if I could hostess the Games and then calmly give birth a month later but decided not to think that far ahead. We celebrated our first anniversary with music and a hall full of people but no dancing and the tamest lovemaking we'd had, for Alex was determined to give this child every chance of surviving.

The letter that Lachlan had warned of never arrived in Kilgannon, and I was not sure if Alex was relieved at the reprieve or annoyed at being overlooked. In any case, Alexander MacGannon's signature was not requested and he never agreed to accept Sophia as Anne's heir. I suspected that Anne had never intended that her
half-brother
James inherit. The fact that James Stewart was male and the true heir, if one believed in primogeniture, was discussed at length. I watched as Alex listened to the talk about whether the first son should always inherit, and I knew he was thinking of his brother.

We had heard nothing from Malcolm, and Alex had not written to him. He was rarely mentioned and I forgot about him, but I knew Alex never forgot. In early June Alex got a letter from his agent in London that hinted at information to be passed, and Alex grew steadily more tense. He and Angus conferred about it for hours, reaching no conclusions but unable to drop the topic. We had canceled our proposed trip to London because of my pregnancy, but I suggested to Alex that he go without me to visit his agent since William Burton seemed incapable of simply writing whatever it was he had to tell. Alex refused, and I wondered sometimes whether he would have been just as happy to have never received the letter. As for me, I had no doubt what the information was. I was certain that it was confirmation that Malcolm and the captain of the Diana had plotted to have her appear to sink while the two of them split the profits of the trip. Or that the attack on us had been traced to Malcolm. I never discussed my theories with anyone, for fear of starting a trail of arguments with Alex again, but I knew both Alex and Angus suspected the same.