Authors: Leigh Greenwood
Gavin went off into a peal of laughter that brought the camp to a near standstill. He was still laughing when the coach left the camp, and though he didn’t realize it, he couldn’t have done anything which would have come closer to making Betty accept him.
Several hours later, the Highland army was in full flight, and Gavin could find nothing to laugh about. The battle on Drummossie Moor had lasted less than an hour; it was over almost before it started. But as cruel as had been the slaughter of the outnumbered and outmaneuvered Scots, it was nothing when compared to the barbarism practiced on the wounded. As he wandered over the battlefield in search of Ian, Gavin was horrified to see Cumberland’s soldiers, under the command of his cousin, searching through the acres of fallen Highlanders, systematically killing the wounded and bayonetting the dead. If he had not feared another killing party would find Ian first, Gavin thought he would have killed his cousin right then. As it was, desperation drove him forward in his search, but it was still only an accident that he found the spot where several Frasers had fallen together. Ian lay face down in the dirt.
It took a moment before Gavin could move forward. There were nine men—or what was left of them—in the clearing, and Gavin had known all nine. They were all dead, and Ian was so badly spattered by the blood of two maimed Highlanders who had fallen at his side, that Gavin was certain he was dead, too. Quickly he knelt beside the still figure and placed his hand against the side of his neck; he was relieved to find his old friend’s heart still beat.
“Ian, can you hear me?” the cries and groans of the wounded lying helplessly on the battlefield rose to such a pitch, he couldn’t have heard a reply had one been made. He was certain the tortured souls of hell couldn’t cry out with greater anguish. It made him sick to think that Englishmen had done this to their own countrymen. He turned Ian over and was rewarded when his eyes fluttered open.
“My father said ye would find me, if I survived,” he managed to gasp. “Ye never did know when tae stay at home.”
“Don’t Waste your energy talking. I’ve got to get you away from here. Hawley and his men are killing the wounded.”
“Then leave me. Tis no good I am tae ye now.” “How badly are you hurt? Can you walk?” “I do no’ think I can move. I have a terrible pain in my chest, and I canna feel my leg.” A heart-stopping scream from close by rivetted Gavin’s attention, and he looked up to see Hawley approaching, his men cold-bloodedly driving their bayonets into every body they came to.
“Pretend you’re dead,” Gavin whispered urgently. “It may be the only way to get you away alive.” He turned Ian back on his stomach so quickly, he struck his injured shoulder on a stone. Ian turned white, but uttered not a single sound. Gavin rose to his feet to meet his cousin. He had never liked Hawley, but seeing him positively exult in the senseless murder of helpless soldiers who only differed from him by being on the losing side, utterly sickened Gavin. Regardless of how many generations back their different limbs might join the family tree, he was ashamed to belong to a family that could produce such a monster of inhumanity. Gavin stoically watched Hawley come toward him, rigidly determined that his cousin would not see the nausea that threatened to overcome him. Hawley would interpret this as weakness, and Gavin refused to allow Hawley the pleasure of feeling superior to him in any way. “Well, if it isn’t my squeamish cousin Carlisle.” “If by squeamish you mean I dislike the garrotting of wounded and helpless men, then I guess I am squeamish.
I
prefer to meet
my
opponents on their feet, not with their faces in their own blood.”
The skin on Hawley’s face grew taut with contained fury. “These are enemy soldiers, and I mean to kill them all.”
“All I see are dead soldiers. Is that the only kind of soldier you and your men are capable of defeating?”
“We defeated them today,” he said.
“Ah yes, but then, the Duke was here today, wasn’t he?”
Gavin knew Hawley would have traded everything he owned short of his command, to have been able to run him through. Gavin had refused to fight on the Duke’s side, and in Hawley’s eyes that made Gavin as responsible for the rebellion as any of the men who took the battlefield.
“What kind of satisfaction can a sane man derive from garrotting the dead?” Gavin demanded, pouring scorn into his voice to disguise the loathing.
“We have to make sure they’re all dead.”
“Then I’m pleased to be able to spare you some effort. These men are all dead,” he said, gesturing to the group around Ian. “I’ve already checked.”
“And why should you have done that?” demanded Hawley.
“I was looking for my friend. I had to turn some of them over. For others, there was no need.” Hawley glanced around, and even in his mind there could be no question about all but three men.
“We’ll bayonet them anyway,” Hawley decided. “It serves the bastards right.”
“You will not touch even one body,” Gavin said, a dangerous flame in his eyes.
“I have my orders.”
“You’re a liar, Hawley. Cumberland may not lift a finger to stop this godless slaughter, but he never gave any such order.” Hawley gaped at Gavin. His men had come up, and they had heard the accusation.
“What’s wrong? Is your stomach too weak to stand it?”
“No, but my conscience is. I didn’t share Ian’s beliefs, but he was still my friend.”
“If a man refuses to stand with me, he’s my enemy,” Hawley said, and ordered his men to begin the garrotting with a wave of his hand.
Gavin raised his own hand to halt the soldiers. “Why don’t you garrote them yourself? Are you too squeamish?” Gavin guessed that Hawley was the kind of man who got the greatest pleasure from commanding others to perform atrocities, while he watched.
“Go ahead,” Hawley directed his men.
“The first man who puts a sword into any of these bodies will find my sword in his belly.” Gavin was half a foot taller than any of the soldiers, and much broader of shoulder. There could be no question who would suffer in a contest of arms.
“You can’t stop the army in the performance of its duties,” Hawley bellowed.
“And when did Parliament decree that desecration of the dead is part of the army’s duty?”
“Parliament leaves fighting to those who know how to kill.”
“In your case, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Out of the way,” Hawley shouted, goaded into action himself. “I’ll stab them myself. You, take him back to the camp where all thin-blooded aristocrats belong.”
In a series of lightning movements, Gavin unsheathed his sword, leapt across the space that separated them, and pointed his sword at Hawley’s throat. “Not one of you is to move, or I’ll drive this through your Lt. General’s throat.”
“You must be mad,” Hawley raged. “You’d be hanged.”
“But you’d be
dead!
I swear by all you hold sacred, Hawley, if there is any such thing, I will kill you before I let you touch one of these men. You,” he shouted at the soldiers, “get out of here. Call the Duke if you wish, but leave me alone with my cousin.” Hawley would have countermanded the order, but the sharp point of the sword in his throat warned him to repeat Gavin’s command.
“Now,” Gavin said, after the men disappeared, “you will allow me to remove my friend from this field, or I shall kill you.”
“You would run me through?”
“I would allow you to fight me first,
then
I would run you through. Arm yourself or leave.” Hawley knew that if he left he would be branded a coward, and though he was a great villain, he was not without courage or his own brand of honesty. He drew his sword and attacked.
It took Gavin less than ten seconds to realize that Hawley knew nothing about handling a sword, and he would have allowed him to utterly exhaust himself—thereby being unable to prevent him from removing Ian—had not Cumberland ridden up just as he was effortlessly evading another clumsy attempt by Hawley to drive his sword through Gavin’s heart.
“Put up your sword, fool,” Cumberland ordered. “Can’t you see you’ll never touch him?” Hawley nearly dropped his sword in shocked surprise, and spun about to greet his superior as Cumberland dismounted from his horse. “What is going on here, Carlisle? Why are you fighting one of my officers?”
“I requested that my cousin leave the bodies of my friends undisturbed and allow me to remove Ian’s body unmolested. He refused, saying it was by your order that he was garrotting the dead and the wounded alike.”
“I gave no such order, Hawley,” said Cumberland, “but I wonder that you should be so anxious to remove a body, Carlisle.”
“I have known all these men since I was a boy,” Gavin said, emotion nearly choking him. “I tried to talk them out of this rebellion, but I can’t turn my back on them because we disagreed. I want to give Ian a decent burial. We were raised together. He was my best friend.”
“Which one is he?” asked Cumberland, apparently unmoved by Gavin’s emotion.
“There,” Gavin said, then barely kept from lifting his sword to Cumberland when the commander kicked Ian in the side. Gavin never did know how Ian lay there without making a sound, unless he had passed out from the pain. Gavin hoped he had.
“He seems dead to me,” Cumberland observed indifferently. “Take him if you want.”
“And the others?”
“Anybody can see they’re dead, too. Leave them untouched.” Cumberland gave Hawley a nod of dismissal.
“I don’t normally allow civilians to interfere with my officers, even if I have known them almost as long as their best friends, so do not take this as a license to defend the rest of Scotland.”
“I would never interfere with him in battle, but killing helpless wounded …”
“We’ve had too many uprisings and rebellions,” Cumberland stated, showing none of the repugnance Gavin was certain he must feel. “We must teach these Highlanders a lesson they’ll never forget. I mean to destroy the clans and drive their leaders into exile. Never again will England be threatened by a Stuart.”
“Can’t you moderate the cruelty of your soldiers?”
“I will if I see them,” Cumberland replied, and Gavin knew he had his answer. Scotland would bleed unceasingly for this latest madness. “He’s a Fraser, you said, a neighbor of yours?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll give you his lands. I’m confiscating the property of all the rebels, you know.”
“No. I won’t take it,” Gavin replied, revolted at the idea.
“Would you prefer that I give them to Hawley?” Gavin shook his head, unable to speak. “I’m glad you agree. Now take your friend and be gone. I have much to do before this day is done.”
Gavin gathered Ian in his arms as carefully as he dared under Cumberland’s penetrating gaze, and began the walk back to camp. He did not look back. He couldn’t.
Gavin personally loaded Ian’s
body
into the wagon that was to take him to Estameer. He didn’t dare speak to him, but he had already whispered his instructions as he carried him from the battlefield. Gavin knew that if Ian could withstand Cumberland’s kick without uttering a sound, he could survive the trip by wagon. Now it was up to Gavin to do his part.
Rather than trust to the silence of someone he didn’t know, Gavin had his own valet drive the wagon to the inn where Sara would be staying that evening. Gavin’s horse was saddled and ready. He would ride behind. He was in the act of mounting when a page reached him, with ah urgent request from the Earl to come to his quarters immediately.
Gavin’s first inclination was to ignore the message. He had suffered enough at the old bastard’s hands, and he couldn’t see him changing his colors at this point. It was important that he get Ian out of the English army’s camp immediately. He doubted Cumberland would allow Hawley to kill Ian, even if they somehow discovered he was alive, but he would certainly be arrested, tried, and hanged for treason. If that was the fate in store for Ian, then Gavin might have served his friend better if he had left him on the battlefield. Discovery would also seriously compromise Gavin’s own position. He was actually in the saddle and riding away when he changed his mind. Maybe it was habit, maybe it was filial duty, but he couldn’t ride off and leave his father’s summons unanswered. He sent the wagon on ahead and turned back.
“Be quick about it,” Gavin announced rudely, when he entered his father’s quarters. “I have Ian in the wagon, and every minute we’re here endangers his life.”
The Earl regarded his son coldly. “It would seem to me that you should think more of your own life. If Cumberland should find out—”
“If you called me here just to complain about my helping Ian—”
“I called you here to speak of your wife.”
“Sara? She left camp early this morning.”
“I know, and so does everyone else.”
“Look, I haven’t got time to go over the same discussion we had earlier.”
“Then stop interrupting and listen.”
Gavin’s impatience evaporated, replaced instead by curiosity. His father was struggling with himself over something, and it was the first time Gavin had ever known him not to know exactly what he meant to do.
“I will confess that I find it extremely difficult to help you preserve your wife from danger. After the way that woman has thwarted and defied me—As I was saying,” the Earl said when he had himself under control again, “everyone knows when your wife left, and where she was headed. They also know that she is quite friendly with the Stuart prince.”