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Chapter Text

All the Highlands was astir with preparations to join the Prince's standard, anguished debates over whether to do so, or alarmed apprehension over the news of his landing, all according to the various loyalties of its inhabitants. But the house of Ardroy, though it had seen a flurry of preparations earlier in the day, now lay under almost its usual Sunday calm.

The English parole prisoner had just returned to his room, having spent some time down by the loch brooding over his situation and that of his hosts, and the laird had found time at last to join, in her room, the young woman who was to become the lady of the estate.

They had just discussed the matter of Neil and Lachlan's offences against their master's hospitality, and the possible punishment for it; Ewen was now telling Alison why Old Angus had acted so strangely when Captain Windham had nearly been sunk to the bottom of the loch.

'He said that there was no cause for interference, because he knew that the saighdear dearg and I had yet several times to meet, so he would take no harm!' Ardroy told his lover.

'What?' replied Alison, considerably alarmed. 'Did Angus "see" that you would meet?'

'Yes, it appears so,' said Ewen, somewhat reluctantly. 'But you must not believe it too implicitly, darling; I do not. Though I admit,' he added, as though wishing to be quite just, 'that the old man's predictions have sometimes fulfilled themselves in an extraordinary way... This one began by something about a heron.'

'That, then, was why you were so much surprised on Friday evening,' interpolated Alison in a flash. 'I mean, when Captain Windham said that a heron had brought down his horse. I saw it, Ewen. But how—'

'I'll tell you from the beginning,' said her betrothed, and conveyed the story of Lachlan and his superstitious wish to kill the heron in the loch, by reason of his father's vision; then Ewen's interview with his foster-father. 'He told me very solemnly that I should soon meet with a man whose destiny would in some unknown way be bound up with ours, and that I should meet him through the agency of a heron.'

'Ours, Ewen?' asked Alison.

'Aye, yours and mine. And as the threads begin to twist themselves at your first meeting, he said, so will they continue to shape themselves at the rest—three strands, braided together at the end.'

Alison shivered, for though she had grown up in France, she was Highland bred, and could not help but take Ewen's taibhsear foster-father seriously—more seriously than Ewen himself seemed to do.

'First meeting? We are to continue to meet, then?' she asked.

Ewen nodded. 'Aye, at least according to Angus. He said that he saw us meeting three times.'

Alison looked out of the window for a moment, biting her lip hard. 'Ewen, when a taibhsear "sees" any person it is nearly always a warning of that person's imminent death!'

Ewen put his arm round her. 'No, you are wrong, my dear. A taibhsear has been known to see a man's future wife—sometimes, indeed, his own.'

She grasped his hand, to more securely anchor herself to his warm, living presence. 'But that could scarcely be the case here,' she argued. 'You are enemies, Ewen, at least in a formal sense, and I can't help but suspect that you'll cause each other harm during the war. If one of you should kill the other—perhaps only by a stray musket ball—and if our fates are to be braided together, Angus's vision might mean that we shall all die?'

'Now you are taking it altogether too far!' replied Ewen. 'You know I don't really believe in his prophecies. But if you like: the musket is hardly my weapon, and since he's an officer, he's not likely to stand in the regimental line firing one, either. I promise you, that if I should somehow happen upon him again during the war, I won't provoke him or fight him personally if I can help it. Not that I should do so, in any case—he seems an honourable man, though I can't quite make him out, with his quips and his changeable mood.'

'Thank you; that would ease my mind a little.' Alison did not feel that she could make the prisoner out, either, though so far she had not tried: Captain Windham had not seemed to have any great bearing on her own life, and she had not noticed much about him beyond the fact of his red uniform, which marked him as a representative of the Elector's army that they now faced. But he was, after all, not just an officer in the abstract—he was a man, with a character the nature of which might, now, have a great import on her own life and Ewen's.

She resolved that before Ewen took the prisoner with him to Achnacarry, she would contrive somehow to meet Captain Windham alone and speak with him. If he bore a grudge over his capture and his treatment by the MacMartins, and they ran the risk that he would seize in the future some opportunity of revenge, surely she might discern that in his manner. This risk did not seem to trouble Ewen, but he was a man, and had his head full of Glenfinnan at the moment.

What sort of a man was he, this stranger with whom their own fates would, it seemed, be intertwined?

'But let us talk of something other than Captain Windham, mo chridhe, said Ewen. 'I don't want our last days before I leave to be taken up by that English officer.'

'No, surely not,' she replied, looking up at him.

Ewen sat down in the room's only chair, perhaps so that she would not have to look up at him, and Alison nestled into his lap. It still felt slightly daring, for all that they often exchanged kisses. They had been engaged for four years, waiting to be married...she had been afraid, sometimes, that he would tire of waiting for her, would find some pretty Highland lady from a neighbouring estate who would be ready to enter into marriage much sooner, without the delay caused by caring for an elderly father in French exile.

She looked into his eyes, so much more blue than she ever remembered when they were apart, and tried to put some of this into words. 'You waited for me, for four long years.'

'Did you think I wouldn't?' murmured Ewen, his hands on her waist.

'Some men would not have.'

'If they had not seen your worth, 'twould have been their loss.' One of Ewen's hands wandered up her back, stroking her neck in a manner that sent shivers down her spine. 'Besides, you wrote to me so often that I could scarcely doubt your sentiments.'

It was true, the correspondence between them had been a source of joy to her, and one that had sustained her love for him over the years—she had written of her hopes and fears, of her concerns over her father's health, the common friends and acquaintances they had in the Jacobite society in Paris. And he had replied, in his turn, with attention to her concerns, and told her of the affairs of Ardroy in which he hoped soon to have her join. Seeing Ewen's home through his eyes, she had longed to come there.

'Perhaps, too, another man might have found that there are women closer at hand than Paris,' she said, smiling to show that she was not entirely serious.

Ewen smiled back, his eyes sparkling. 'Do you think that I could be picked up by any woman who chose, then, and have no will of my own?'

'I would certainly not blame them for trying!' She eyed him appreciatively, and found her hands drifting up towards his shoulders; they both shifted closer, and their lips met in a kiss, playful, lingering and sweet.

Outside the window, from far away up towards Slochd nan Eun, came the sound of Neil MacMartin practising a march on his pipes, and Alison shivered at this reminder of how short a time she had with Ewen, before he left to join Lochiel. She had managed, for a moment, to forget it.

'How long...' she began, but broke off. 'No, of course you can't say how long 'twill be.'

He shook his head. 'No, I can't say that.'

Alison had sworn to herself that she wouldn't let him see how cowardly her heart was, and how little that treacherous part of her wanted to let him go. She would let him go, and be proud of, too! 'If I were a man, I should come too, and draw sword for the Prince,' she said staunchly. For then they could be together, and she would not have to stay at Ardroy, and wait, and wait...

Ewen did not laugh at her—how she loved him for that!—but only took one of her hands in his, lifting it up to kiss it. 'I have no doubt that you would! But these hands, I think, handle the pen better than the sword.'

She could not deny it. And, because she did not trust herself not to let slip any words of anxiety, she drew his head to hers again, and kissed him. It was a deeper kiss this time and, after a while, she slid one of her legs across to straddle him, and he pulled her closer. Ewen kissed his way down her neck, and she felt herself melting against him, feeling as pliant as if her stays had loosened.

'Oh, Ewen,' she breathed, and his mouth came back to find hers again. This time she moaned into it, as his hands held her backside through her gown and, pressing against her, she could feel the hard evidence of his passion. She ached with it, herself, and her breathing came heavily as they kissed.

It was of course not the proper thing to do, but Alison knew there were not a few couples who anticipated their marriage vows—and if the first child was sometimes born not quite nine months after the wedding, that could be passed over in silence. And in the higher circles of the French court, of course, marriage was not so much a vow to be upheld, as one expected to be casually broken.

But she and Ewen had not shared a bed. She knew he was not the sort of man who would ever ask that, before they were married. Alison wondered, now, if she was ever to know him in that way, and the greedy part of her wanted recklessly to ask him to stay in this room tonight, to know what that ache of desire meant and what it would feel like, to take that hard length inside of her...

'I almost want—' she whispered.

'Oh, m'eudail,' Ewen groaned. 'But no—if—'

He did not have to finish the sentence, for the other part of her, the fearful one, knew what it would mean if he did not come back. A woman with child, unwed and with no man to marry her, would meet with social ruin. The thought was enough to make her stiffen, a little. 'No—no, of course we should not.'

Ewen, more experienced than she, knew of ways in which they might have given each other pleasure with no risk of children, but though she seemed as eager as he was, he hesitated to suggest it before they were truly married. He opened his arms to let her sit back, or slide off his lap, but she did not. Instead, she eased back a little, then leant against his chest, seeking comfort now rather than passion. His arms came round her again, and they sat so while the summer evening slowly deepened into dusk.

Presently Alison stirred. 'I should let you go to your own bed, and find some rest,' she said.

'No doubt I should. We have one more day to prepare, and then we leave.' Ewen sighed, and she stretched herself and then stood. 'Good night, my heart.'

She came with him as far as the stairs, softly calling, 'Jeanie?' to where she could hear her maid talking in low voices with one of the Ardroy servants.

'Coming, ma'am,' said Jeanie immediately, and came up to help her undress and unlace her stays.

When Jeanie had left, Alison lay in the dim room, closing her eyes and feeling Ewen against her still. She pulled up her knees and touched her fingers to where that aching desire had centred, and, though she had no experience of bedding a man, imagined how they might have continued, had he stayed.

In the morning two days later, Alison stood by her father's and Margaret Cameron's side, watching her betrothed ride south with the Ardroy men in his tail, and a few of the women. He had relented and taken Lachlan and Neil with him—they were not even kept in the rear in disgrace, for how could they march off without a piper playing by Ewen's side?

Besides the garrons carrying their packs, there were only two proper horses, and Captain Windham rode the other one. How like Ewen, to lend the other horse to his captured officer! Nobody would have thought it ill treatment had he let the prisoner march. Of course, it was only prudent to treat Captain Windham well, given the prophecy, but Alison knew that Ewen would have treated him so regardless, so scrupulous was he in his generous hospitality.

Alison had managed, as she had planned, to meet Captain Windham alone yesterday down by the loch. She had studied him intently, striving all the while to seem unconcerned, and trying to discern the least clue that might help her understand his intent towards them. Not that she believed it was his own plan to meet them again; no, he must be as caught up in this prophecy as they were.

He must be about thirty, very English in his speech, not ill-looking, perfectly courteous towards her with no trace of gallantry. During meals and other previous occasions they had met, he had not displayed much range of emotion: the most common expression on his face had been a sort of half-amused distance, as if he were looking back upon present events from some future vantage. Or so she fancied, at any rate.

But this meeting had surprised her. There had not been any need to tease out small clues in his behaviour, for it turned out that the English officer had meant to seek her out, as well: and all out of concern for Ewen's fate and hers, if Ewen persisted in his intention to rally to the Prince's banner. And she had thought he might be brooding on revenge!

How much more emotion Captain Windham had displayed during that interview than she had seen from him before! Or, perhaps, she had paid more attention to the subtleties of his expression. He had looked rather sad before she discovered her presence, surely for some private reason she would never know, for it could not, in all likelihood, be connected to their conversation. Then his gravity and hesitation, before asking that question about Ewen, and his earnestness, when he asked it. And at the end, he had drawn back and become aloof once more, perhaps regretting his actions...

Though it was clear that he understood neither Jacobites nor Highlanders, Alison thought he did not dislike her or Ewen—or why concern himself so about them? Neither did she dislike him, despite his presumption that she might be able to keep Ewen at home, or try to do so.

But both Ewen and his English prisoner had gone now, and the green folds of the glen had obscured the last sight of them. The other tenants—mostly women, children and old men—who had also gathered to see them off were now dispersing, though Angus Og, a lad of fifteen, still stood there looking wistfully after them as if he would sneak off and join his father Neil.

'Come, my lass,' said Aunt Margaret. 'They're far out of sight now.' There was briskness in her tone, but gentleness, as well, in the hand she laid on Alison's shoulder.

'Yes, of course,' replied Alison, striving for cheerfulness.

'I'd thought to pick some herbs for the stillroom, and perhaps show you how to make peppermint water.'

'I should like to learn that,' said Alison.

She glanced at her father, but he only smiled at her and said, 'I'll go and sit in the sun while it lasts, for I see those dark clouds in the north will soon obscure it. Come and read for me later, a mhùirnean.'

'I will,' said Alison, and with a last glance over her shoulder, followed Aunt Margaret to the garden, as her father went to sit on the bench that stood against the south side of the house.

'As well to harvest the peppermint now, or 'twill take over the garden entirely,' said Aunt Margaret, and Alison squatted down to help her pick the stalks of mint, and pull up the runners that extended into the patch of lemon balm. The inhabitants of the Ardroy beeskeps hummed in the roses and in the flowers of the mint and marjoram, and small blue butterflies were alighting there delicately, taking advantage of the brief moment of sunlight.

They did not speak much, but Alison appreciated Aunt Margaret's kindness in giving her a task to do. She was not, of course, truly Alison's aunt, but she had encouraged Alison to think of her as such, and Alison was aware that many new wives were received much less graciously among their husband's kin. Not that she was a wife, yet.

'There, I think that's enough,' said Aunt Margaret. 'And just in time, too, for I think that cloud has reached us.'

The first few drops were falling as they retired to the stillroom with their harvest. Alison was set to stripping the leaves off the stalks, as Aunt Margaret took out a leather-bound book with pages written in a close, old-fashioned hand. The strong aromatic scent of peppermint rose round them as they stood in the coolness of the stillroom, with its clean-swept floor of flagstones and earth, and the likewise clean-swept counter. It was clearly Aunt Margaret's domain.

'We don't need a receipt for this, but this is my mother's old book—'tis full of receipts for everything from ointment for cracked lips to a paste that will cement broken china-ware. I've added to it, as well,' she said, showing the pages at the end in her hand. 'Have you used a still before?'

Alison had to admit that she had not. 'I've kept the household for my father, but we never had a stillroom.'

'No matter, I'll show you. Run up to the kitchen for a light.'

Alison did so, and when she was back, Aunt Margaret lit the fire under the still. 'It must not run too hot, or the water will boil over, and the mint leaves not be stuffed too thick, or 'twill burn. Now when we put the top on, make a paste of the flour you see over there, and we'll daub it along the line here, so the steam does not escape. And this water, here, must be changed sometimes, so that it stays cold. That's what makes the steam condense.'

As the mint leaves simmered over the slow fire, and the distilled water dripped into the container for which it was meant, Alison's mind returned once again to the subject from which it had been for a time distracted. Ewen must have reached Achnacarry by now. She wondered whether Aunt Margaret blamed her, if Ewen did not, for not coming here sooner to wed her nephew. For, if she had, he might have had an heir already...

But it seemed Aunt Margaret was not thinking that at all, for she said, laying a kindly hand on Alison's shoulder, 'I told you, did I not, that we could be as hare-hearted as we pleased after we sent the menfolk off, if we only showed them a brave face before it.'

Alison felt herself colouring, for she had not meant to show herself down-hearted. She lifted her head. 'How can I regret the Prince's coming, when it is everything we have hoped for?'

'That's my lass,' said Aunt Margaret approvingly. 'I know you feel so—but 'tis no shame for you to feel the other, as well.'

Alison took a deep breath, drawing in the warm and steamy air, with its tang of mint, and felt her eyes filling with tears. Aunt Margaret drew her close and, with relief, Alison let herself cry into her shoulder while Aunt Margaret gently stroked her back.

'What if he should not come back?' she whispered, speaking her worst fear—for she was not, in that moment, in any fear for her own sake.

'I have lived through that,' Aunt Margaret said in a low voice that was so unlike her that Alison looked up in surprise. 'I had a lover once, Alison, as bonny as Ewen is to you now. Alan went out in the Fifteen...and never came back.'

Somehow Alison had never thought of practical, middle-aged Aunt Margaret as ever having had a lover—but why should she not have? She must have been beautiful, when she was young...

The older woman smiled a little; Alison thought she was still beautiful. 'Aye, I was young once, like you, even if you don't think it now. But you see, even if the worst comes, one can survive it—though it leaves scars.'

And she risked now losing her nephew, as well. 'Thank you,' Alison murmured, whether it were for the confidence, or the comfort, she did not quite know.

Aunt Margaret gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. 'Bless you, lass. And 'tis quite likely that Ewen will come through unscathed—few could take him with a sword, at least.'

No, perhaps not, but a musket ball was no respecter of skill. But Alison felt her heart lifting, for she was not alone.

Aunt Margaret let her go, and went to see how much water remained with the mint. 'There's some of this still to go. When the cordial has cooled, you must let it stand for a day or so, and the smoky taste of the fire will leave it. Then it ought to be corked, in clean bottles, and will keep for a year. 'Twill do wonders for an upset stomach and will soothe a cough, and is pleasant to drink besides.'

'I'd love to learn more of your mother's receipts,' replied Alison. 'This is such a pleasant room, too.'

'Oh, it is, in the summer. But I'll tell Marta to keep an eye on the last of this, and we can go up to the drawing room.'

Alison found her father sitting in one of the chairs by the unlit fireplace, having quit the bench outside when the sun did. 'Come, my dear,' he said. 'I've need of your young eyes.'

Mr Grant was a lover of books and of reading, but his eyesight had grown poor with age. He could still read in sunlight, if the print was not too small, but in dim light, it was difficult for him, and Alison often read to him—a task which was not just a duty to her, but also a pleasure.

'Of course, father.' She looked on him with fondness. Mr Grant was a slight man in a threadbare tartan coat, and the colour of his wig now matched that of what little hair he had left. But his essential good nature had left his face lined more from smiles than from frowns, despite the misfortunes he had suffered in losing his small estate of Inverwick in the Fifteen, and his subsequent long exile in France. 'Shall we continue where we left off?'

'Please do,' he said, and handed her their current book, The Life of James Fitzjames, Duke of Berwick.

Alison found her place and, seating herself in the chair nearest the window, began to read. 'In this interval the Duke of Berwick was at King James's court at St. Germain, where the whole discourse ran upon the congress at the Hague, and the preparations the King of France was making for the next campaign in Flanders, whither he had determined to carry the main stress of the war. This was very comfortable news for the Duke of Berwick, who now resolved to quit the inactive life he led at St. Germains, and return to the field.'

She read for half an hour of the exploits of the natural son of James II and VII in that long-ago campaign of the 1690's, then coughed and excused herself to fetch a glass of water. When she returned, Mr Grant said, 'I fear I'm taxing your voice, my lass.'

'Not at all, I only need to wet my throat—'tis a captivating book,' said Alison, quite honestly. She continued on for a while more. Mr Grant had wide-ranging tastes, and besides the classics which had been his first subject of learning, he enjoyed both natural science and history, including military history—and of the latter, the Jacobite exiles which had so distinguished themselves on the battlefields of Europe had much to contribute.

She reached the end of a chapter, and fell silent.

'Ah, if I were not old, and could join your young man...' said Mr Grant, but then added, 'But then, I could not have done so, even had I been his age.' A childhood illness had left him with a weak constitution, and unable to take military service in the rising that had nevertheless cost him his estate.

'But you served in other ways, Father,' protested Alison. 'Surely carrying letters and information was as useful, and as dangerous, as drawing the sword.'

'Perhaps,' he said, with a sigh. 'I wonder where Hector is, and whether he can obtain permission from his regiment to come.'

'If I know him aright, he must be on fire to go!' Alison smiled at the thought of it. As a boy, her little brother had had no patience for Latin and Greek, but different as they otherwise were, he shared his father's interest in military matters.

'Yes, indeed. And you must be proud of your Ewen, a mhùirnean! What a fine figure he cut this morning.'

Alison nodded. 'Oh, I am indeed! But...' The last word slipped out before she could stop it.

Mr Grant's expression softened. 'Ah, my lass.' He reached out to press her hand. 'If Berwick could have a military career of over forty years, I think your Ewen can survive a campaign. Remember that he has something to live for.'

'Yes. And I would not have him stay at home for anything.'

They heard no more of the army for a week, then half of another one. But then Angus Og, who had been sent down to Achnacarry on an errand, came running back full of excitement.

'Come!' he panted as he stood at the door. 'You must come and look!'

'Catch your breath and tell us your news properly,' Aunt Margaret instructed him.

But young Angus's high spirits were not to be damped down. 'The Prince's army is on the march, up Glen More! I saw it from Achnacarry, and if we go to look down at the Glen, you may see it too.'

'Oh!' said Alison, and hurried into the house to tell her father. Marta, the maid, heard her, and rushed off likewise to spread the news through the house.

Angus had already continued on, to tell the other tenants. Alison took her cloak, for it was a windy though intermittently sunny day, and waited for Aunt Margaret and her father to come, as well. She took her father's arm as they began walking the track that sloped gently up to the little pass, from which it led steeply downwards to Loch Lochy side. A few of the tenant lads came running and passed them, no doubt eager to see their fathers march by, or at least what could be seen of them from a distance. Alison looked longingly after them.

'Go on, my lass, if you want,' said her father. 'I am not yet so old that I cannot walk without your support.'

Alison hesitated, then lifted her skirts and ran, leaving her father and Aunt Margaret to follow at a more sedate pace. She reached the summit panting for breath and wild with anticipation.

'There!' said one of the tenant lads, pointing. And there indeed was the army, snaking along like a train of ants on the road by the far side of the loch. Was that...Alison cupped her hand to her ear, and heard far-off on the clear air the sound of pipes. Occasionally the sun glinted on something bright, perhaps the metal of a musket.

More of the tenants were coming now, as eager as she was to see their husbands, fathers, brothers, or sons, and presently Mr Grant and Aunt Margaret arrived.

'Ah, 'tis something to see them,' exclaimed her father. And indeed it was: one could not distinguish individual men, or count them, for their tartans all blended together; but they were moving with a purpose, a river of men, an army on the march. And which of them was the Prince? Surely he would be at the head. She wondered whether Captain Windham were still a prisoner with the army, or whether they had left him behind somewhere.

'Look, those must be regimental colours,' said Alison, pointing at the small patches of bright colour they could see, and discussion immediately broke out to identify them by clan.

But Alison stood silent, looking down upon where Ewen must be, feeling her heart connected to him as by a strong cord. Surely he must be looking up at Ardroy too, though he could not see her! Oh, to be a man, and march with him...

Chapter Text

The Highlands were now alive with news being passed from one glen to another. Angus had heard in Achnacarry that the Jacobite forces were expected soon to try conclusions with General Cope's army who was marching up from the Lowlands; the estate of Ardroy impatiently awaited further tidings of this battle.

But then a lad came from the Glengarry Macdonalds to the north, carrying the news from Lady Mackintosh that Cope's forces had turned north towards Inverness instead, leaving the way to the Lowlands clear for the Prince's army. Angus was immediately despatched to bring the news on to Lady Lochiel down at Achnacarry, and a certain amount of claret was drunk that evening at Ardroy, with toasts to the Prince and unflattering words said about General Cope's abilities and personal courage.

After this, tidings grew more scarce, as the lines of communication grew longer. Information gradually filtered back about the failed attack on the Ruthven Barracks, and MacPherson of Cluny bringing out his clan to join the Prince. After that, nothing certain for weeks, and Alison had perforce to school herself to patience—there was, after all, plenty for her to do, with Aunt Margaret bringing her into the practices of the estate by taking her round to meet the tenants and explaining the household accounts. They spent hours in the stillroom together, making preserves, drying herbs, and making medicinal ointments. And there were the evenings, when Alison and her father would read together.

They were invited down to Achnacarry by Lady Lochiel, to a dinner that seemed to be all ladies: there was Jean Cameron, wife of Archibald Cameron; Jessie Stewart, Lady Keppoch; and several more of the prominent women who had been left in charge of their husbands' estates in their absence. They none of them had certain knowledge of the army's progress, and sifting through the rumours for truth was the chief subject of conversation at table, along with reports on the actions of the redcoats at the forts in the Great Glen. Alison was gratified to be treated almost as lady of Ardroy already.

In September, all hands, both young and old, worked to bring in the corn harvest, for they were desperately short of men. But having brought the Prince to Scotland, God's blessing seemed to lie upon them: September of 1745 was milder than any in living memory, with the clear chilly dawns bringing sunny and clement days that allowed the harvest to be brought in safely, despite taking longer than was usual. Alison worked in the fields as well, and went to her bed each night with unfamiliar aches in her body that spoke of a work well done, despite her weariness. On the Sunday after their labours were finished, Mr Grant led the household and tenants in a service with heartfelt prayers of thanksgiving, followed by a feast of celebration.

Only a day after that, in the last week of September, came a messenger up from Achnacarry carrying the momentous and most welcome news that the Prince's army had taken Edinburgh, and that the Cameron officers were all well. General celebration broke out, but Alison, who had been desired by the messenger to come down to consult with Lady Lochiel, took Angus with her and set out at once. She took a garron to ride, but dismounted to let Angus lead it on the steep parts of the track, afraid that it would lose its footing on the wet and slippery ground. The stretch of fine weather had now broken, and Alison was rain-soaked despite her cloak.

When he had married, the present Lochiel had added to the old imposing house of Achnacarry, built of solid fir, to provide his wife with more comforts and her own chambers. It was to those chambers, and not the great pillared receiving room, that Alison was brought by the maid.

Anne Campbell, Lady Lochiel, was from one of the staunchly Jacobite branches of the Campbells, a clan which was not commonly known for such loyalty. At fifty-five years of age, she had all the authority of those years and of her position, and Alison often found herself quite overawed by her.

But she was a Grant herself, and almost lady of Ardroy, and strove to manifest what dignity she could. 'You wished to speak with me, my lady?'

'I did, indeed. Welcome, and come sit by the fire,' said Lady Lochiel. 'Let my maid take your cloak and hang it to dry, and have this plaid instead. Fetch us some tea, Flora.'

Alison gladly took the plaid and, a short while later, the hot tea. 'I'm sure you can imagine the joy that your news brought us at Ardroy.'

'I can—and I hope the messenger did not neglect to tell you that the Cameron officers are all well, including Ardroy?'

'He did! And what a relief it was.' Alison's heart was still singing with it.

Lady Lochiel smiled. 'Indeed, 'tis a relief. My husband bids me join him in Edinburgh as soon as may be. The Prince is now installed at Holyrood House and must have ladies to host for him: sure there are Jacobite ladies in the Lowlands, but Lochiel would have Highland ladies among them, as well, and I agree. The battle is now to be waged in Edinburgh society, and I confide I can be of better use there than among swords and artillery. I thought to ask you to come, as well—if you wish?'

'If I wish! Yes, with all my heart!' exclaimed Alison.

'Jean and I have determined that she will stay to manage Achnacarry, while I leave tomorrow for Inverness, to go by sea. You must be here by noon, if you are to come.'

'Yes, my lady.' She hesitated. 'May I bring my father, if he wishes?'

'Yes, I don't see why not.'

Despite the rain intermittently falling, and her still-wet cloak, Alison's steps were light as she climbed the slope up from Achnacarry.

Aunt Margaret, when she was told of Lady Lochiel's suggestion, immediately endorsed it. 'Of course you must go, if she asks you. Let us set your maid to packing at once, and consider what you should bring. Do you have any fine gowns with you?'

'Aye, I've one of my silk gowns with me, though unfortunately I left the other in France. But 'tis a fine flowered brocade of blue and silver, in the French fashion—I brought it in case there should be a ball at Achnacarry.'

'A ball at Achnacarry is all very well,' said Aunt Margaret, her eyes dancing, 'but confess that your heart is yearning to dance in the Prince's ballroom at Holyrood House!'

Alison, smiling so that her dimples showed, freely confessed it.

'I think you should bring the earasaid that Ewen gave you, as well, of the Cameron tartan. 'Twill do well to show your loyalties on the Edinburgh streets.'

Alison nodded in agreement, then said, 'Ewen cannot have brought any fine clothes with him—should I bring something for him, as well?'

'That's a good thought—we'll send his amber silk with you.'

'What is all this talk of fine clothing?' came Mr Grant's voice behind Alison.

'Lady Lochiel has asked me to come with her to Edinburgh tomorrow, to join Ewen!' exclaimed Alison, turning round. 'Do say that you'll come with us?'

'Oh—that is very sudden,' said he.

She took both his hands and pressed them. ''Twill be an early morning, yes, and the travel may wear on you, but we'll take ship at Inverness. Oh, Father, you'll let me go, and come yourself, too, won't you? Think how you'll regret it, if you don't see the Prince in triumph at Holyrood House!' Alison caught herself and looked at Aunt Margaret, who would, she assumed, stay at Ardroy and have no chance to experience these glories.

'Indeed I should like to see it, but someone must needs stay at Ardroy,' said Aunt Margaret in her practical manner.

'Well, you have convinced me, my lass, and I'll certainly come with you,' said Mr Grant, smiling. 'How could I not? And you are not yet married—to be sure Lady Lochiel is guardian enough, but I'll not shirk my duty as a father.'

And so it was settled. They set out early the next morning, the better to give Mr Grant time to navigate, on his daughter's arm, the slopes down to Achnacarry. Lady Lochiel nodded approvingly at Alison's baggage of clothing, carried by one of the garrons.

They did not press on to Inverness in one day; indeed, that would scarcely have been possible for their party, though a man on a good horse could have done it. Achnacarry's fine horses were away with the army, and they were reduced to garrons and an old hack or two. When they halted for the night at the home of a Fraser laird, Alison went to her father's side at once, and enquired with solicitude after his well-being, for she knew that riding all day was hard on him. She herself was a timid rider, but she was, at least, young and healthy.

Alison surmised that shelter for the night was not Lady Lochiel's sole purpose in seeking hospitality from a Fraser, for at supper that evening, she spoke freely of the Jacobite army's bloodless conquest of Edinburgh, and of her husband's praise of Prince Charles's good qualities. The Frasers had not come out, though it was hoped that they still might; doubtless Lady Lochiel hoped that her words would be carried to the ears of Lord Lovat, or at least strengthen the resolve of the Jacobite Fraser lairds.

They reached Inverness the next day, and boarded the merchant ship which Lochiel had arranged should take them. Alison blessed her lack of sea-sickness, and did her best to be kind to her maid Jeanie, who suffered from it.

Three days' sailing saw them arrive safely in Leith Roads. As they entered Edinburgh at the Watergate, Alison saw a guard of men in Grant plaids, and she wanted to cheer at the sight of them. Grants of Glenmoriston, of course, for the main branch of the Grants had not come out. She and her father stopped to exchange a word with the officer in charge, who was her distant cousin Shewglie; he promptly uncovered for her and kissed her hand.

But Alison was impatient to see Ewen, as was Lady Lochiel to reach her husband; turning left they soon saw Holyrood House with its high corner towers, likewise with a Highland guard, and the steep Salisbury Crags beyond. Within the walls of the palace which housed, at last, a Stuart once more, Lady Lochiel was quickly reunited with her husband, but Ewen was out: Alison learned with great pride that he was aide-de-camp to the Prince himself, and was conveying his messages even now.

Lochiel made her welcome meanwhile; they all retreated into a room that adjoined the council chamber. Alison listened with half an ear as Lochiel began to explain to his lady and to Mr Grant the situation in the city: which of the notables of Edinburgh were with them, which were against, et cetera. But most of Alison's attention was on the hallway in front of the council chamber—she stood close to the open door so that she would be able to look for Ewen among the men and occasional women who came and went.

After only a quarter of an hour, he came: unmistakable with his height, his long auburn hair, and his Cameron plaid thrown workmanlike over one shoulder. Had she said nothing, Alison thought he would not have seen her, for he came with long strides, intent upon the door that lay straight ahead, and with a slight frown upon his face.

'Ewen!' she cried.

He turned, saw her, and his face transformed. 'Alison!'

With a whoop of joy, he caught her as she came toward him, and swung her round in his arms. Alison put her arms round his neck and gave up any pretence of dignity.

The half-ajar door which Ewen had been about to enter opened, and a gentleman of Ewen's own age looked out. 'What are you at there, Ardroy?' he asked in a peremptory tone.

Ewen set her down. 'My Prince, may I present my intended bride, Alison Grant, soon to be lady of Ardroy?'

Alison gaped, and sank into the deepest curtsy she could manage. 'Your Royal Highness!'

Could not Ewen have waited to present her until she was properly dressed for it? thought Alison, mortified. But the Prince turned smiling towards her, his earlier impatience quite gone, and offered her his hand to kiss. 'How could I be other than pleased to meet the wife-to-be of my valued aide-de-camp?'

Alison duly kissed his hand. 'As Ewen does, I long to serve you in any way I can, your Royal Highness.'

Prince Charles Edward Stuart was tall, though not as tall as Ewen, and handsome, though there as well he fell short in her eyes compared to her promised husband. His clothes and accoutrements, however, were much finer. Alison laughed to herself at this presumptuous judgement of her future sovereign.

'You came with Lady Lochiel, I gather?' asked Ewen of her. 'I must give my report, but I'll come to you when my duties allow.'

'Yes, of course,' said Alison, and indicated the room where she would wait.

'I won't keep Ardroy long, for I know his thoughts must be otherwise occupied tonight,' said the Prince, favouring her with another smile. Then he gestured for Ewen to enter and began impatiently to ask him about the message he carried, like a man who had perforce taken the time to accept from a lady what was due to royalty, but longed to return to business.

Alison looked after him, still a little stunned by the meeting.

The Prince was as good as his word, and did not keep his aide-de-camp long. Not more than half an hour later, Ewen came to attend them, but by that time Alison, no longer distracted by watching for Ewen, had learnt of the battle of Gladsmuir that had been so recently fought.

'Ewen, you have been in battle! Oh, pray tell me of it!' She was glad news of the battle had not reached the Highlands before they sailed from Inverness...

Ewen grinned. 'Not only that, but I was in the party that took Edinburgh!'

He began telling her of it, but Lochiel, with a somewhat amused air, said, 'Eoghain, lad, where is your chivalry? These ladies have been travelling and must be weary, and they have not had supper yet.'

Ewen looked chastened by his Chief's words and apologised with contrition, but Alison said, 'Nay, I'll not have you chide him—'twas I that asked him for the story! But come, he can tell it over supper instead.'

'We'll go to my lodgings in the Canongate, 'tis not far,' said Lochiel. 'And we'll find room for you and your daughter there tonight, Mr Grant, for 'tis too late for you to find lodgings of your own before tomorrow.'

As they left Holyrood House and walked some way down the Canongate, Alison looked round with great interest. She had never been to Edinburgh before, and this city set on the ridge of a hill was very different from Paris, where she had spent her childhood and youth. The Scottish capital lacked the open vista that the Seine gave the French one, and seemed to her rather grey compared to the light and airy colours of the Paris buildings. As they had approached from Leith earlier that day, the looming bulk of the castle hill, where the Hanoverian garrison had retreated, had seemed to dominate the town, but now as they advanced along the broad street, the view of the castle was obstructed by the tall buildings which seemed to strain for the sky, as if the city could not grow outwards, but only upwards. She was to learn that the tall buildings were lands, and the narrow alleys between them closes.

But despite the differences, Edinburgh was a city and shared with Paris the sight of women hanging laundry from their windows, of bare-footed lads running through the mud, of the stench of latrines, of the cries of men selling broadsheets: the multitude of humanity living in close proximity, men and women, rich and poor, young and old. Though the stench did seem worse than in Paris!

Ewen told her the story of the taking of Edinburgh as they walked and, over supper, he and Lochiel together told them of the recent triumphant battle, to as appreciative an audience as they could ever have. Cups, serving plates and cutlery became landmarks, regiments and artillery positions, and Mr Grant and the two women could ask eager questions and be answered to their heart's content.

Before Ewen left for the night—as an aide-de-camp, he slept in an ante-chamber of the Prince's quarters, to be ready in case of need—he took Alison aside in an adjoining room to speak in what privacy they could find, while the others, sitting at table, courteously gave them that privacy.

'How glad I am that you came, mo chridhe,' he said, in a low voice, and folded her in his arms.

Alison wrapped her own arms round him and held him close, burying her face in his neckcloth. 'And I, that you are safe and sound! Not that I would have had you hold back,' she added hastily.

'No, of course you would not. How is Aunt Marget? And is everything well at Ardroy?'

'Aunt Margaret is well, and so is Ardroy.' She told him of the harvest safely brought in, and the fine weather which had allowed it.

He took her fingers and kissed them. 'Your hands might not be fit for a sword, but bringing in the harvest is hard work, too.'

Alison could not help but pull him down for a kiss, at that, which was only cut short by the thought that both her father and Lochiel were in the next room.

'Oh, I should tell you,' she said, 'I brought your amber silk suit of clothes—I thought you might need them.'

'How thoughtful! Yes, I've sometimes found myself underdressed at Holyrood House, but I don't have the ready money—or indeed the time!—to order new court clothing.'

'Prince Charles keeps you busy, then?' she asked.

'He does, but I wouldn't have it otherwise! But there'll be a ball soon—I'm sure Lady Lochiel and you will want to attend and perhaps take a hand in it.'

'I will, if the Prince gives you leave to dance with me,' said Alison, her eyes sparkling.

The next day went by in a busy whirl. In the morning, Prince Charles and his advisors were closeted together and speaking, no doubt, of the future of the campaign; Alison resolved to ask Ewen later to see whether she could get anything out of him on this topic, for she had a natural interest in it—as did everyone else in the Prince's following, and indeed everyone in Edinburgh.

Instead, she and her father spent the morning finding lodgings for themselves; they were glad to have heeded Ewen's warning not to lodge near the castle, for only an hour after they had found a small set of rooms near the Netherbow, they were startled by the dull boom of cannon fire. It acted on the inhabitants of the crowded lands like a stick would on an ant-heap—they opened windows to hear news from the street, and came out of doors half-dressed. The Whig lady lodging underneath Alison cursed the Jacobite occupation in no uncertain terms; her maid thought to herself, but did not say, that the Hanoverian generals up at the castle could have a better care for the inhabitants of the town they were set to guard.

Alison, her father, and Jeanie, though they hoped their new lodgings were out of range, prudently retreated down to Holyrood House, where a delegation was being put together to parley with the castle. But that was not Alison's remit: instead, she sought out Lady Lochiel and found that she was speaking with two Jacobite ladies of middle age from Edinburgh.

Alison was introduced to these and to Margaret Murray of Broughton, the wife of the Prince's secretary. She was about Alison's age, a striking woman with black hair that fell in curls down her back. Alison had already heard of her last night, for the story had been told of her and Rachael Erskine's raid on West Linton, supported by a guard of Highlanders, where they had held a servant of the Earl of Hopetoun's brother at pistol-point and returned with money, jewels and horses for the Prince's coffers and his army.

Alison was both intrigued and somewhat scandalised by this behaviour, and found Curly Ferguson, as she was called from her birth name, to be as bold as the story suggested, and in high spirits. She told Alison of the attempt to starve out the castle, to which the Hanoverians were now replying with artillery, and of her work in helping to drum for recruits roundabout Edinburgh.

They supped that night at Holyrood House, for Charles Edward took both his dinner and supper in public, that traditional obligation of royalty which the Hanoverian Electors had not kept up.

The next day brought new recruits to the army, a sight to cheer everyone's heart but the Whigs: Lord David Ogilvy, the heir to Airlie, riding at the head of a few hundred of his men. He had been in Edinburgh once already to leave three companies for the Prince's army, and returned to Forfarshire for more.

He brought, as well, his wife Margaret Ogilvy, who was introduced to Alison at the Holyrood House dinner that day. She was young, as was her husband, with a lively beauty that was nevertheless less intimidating than Margaret Murray's. Alison liked her immediately, and after the introductions were over they fell to talking about the war, as was only natural.

'I'm so glad to be in Edinburgh,' said Alison. 'There may perhaps be some danger, but at least I know what's happening!'

'Yes, I suppose you had no news, up in the Highlands?'

'No, not after the army marched into the Lowlands. 'Tis almost enough to make me wish I was a man, so I could go with Ewen!' said Alison.

'I stood with David's drawn sword as he declared for King James at the Mercat Cross in Coupar Angus,' confided Margaret, 'but I must sadly say that I don't think I could truly wield it for long! A sword isn't as light as it looks, when you hold it up for a while.'

Alison smiled, with something like envy in her heart at the story. 'Men have practised it all their lives, after all, and we have not.'

'That's true. But some men keep their sword in the scabbard—my father-in-law won't come out, in all likelihood to safeguard the family estate. Nothing could keep my David back, though, and I think his father has secretly encouraged him in it. His heart is in the right place, at least.'

Alison thought of Ewen, who had kept nothing back. But how glad she was to have come to Edinburgh, not only because Ewen was here! To meet young women in her own situation, who faced the same joys and fears that she, too, faced...Many of the young women of Paris she had kept company with in her youth had now married, and in entering family life and having children they had seemed to enter a different sphere of existence which she had yet to join. And much as she appreciated Aunt Margaret, there were no young women of her own rank at Ardroy.

Alison was conscious of a wish that Margaret Ogilvy should like her, and should want to be her friend. It made her a trifle tongue-tied.

Despite the disturbances in the city, the ball was held that night as planned, and neither did the ladies of Edinburgh let themselves be frightened away from it. Alison was heartened by the number of people who attended, the life and light and colour of it, the sprightly music that filled Holyrood House, which had stood so long almost empty.

The Prince came to let himself be seen and to receive the attentions of the crowd, but he did not stay, saying that he had another air to dance, and would not dance for pleasure until that was over. Instead he left to inspect his army, though he left Ewen behind, saying with a smile that he supposed he could spare his aide-de-camp for a night.

Alison had not danced with Ewen since their Paris days, and oh, how she loved it! And how this brought those days back to her: that delicious heady feeling of potential, of wondering whether Ewen would return her regard...but she had by now no doubts on that score. After their two dances were over, Alison yielded him for the next dance to another woman with no qualms, and herself accepted her cousin of Shewglie. Hers and Ewen's eyes met sometimes in the throng of moving couples, with a secret pleasure.

Between dances, Alison spoke with the ladies of Edinburgh, trying to learn the extent of their Jacobite sympathies, and whether their menfolk had enlisted in the army yet. She saw Lady Lochiel talking with the older matrons, no doubt doing the same.

Ewen was in great demand as a partner, which was no surprise to Alison; but after an hour he made his way towards her with two glasses of claret, offering her one of them. They retreated to the balcony, where Ewen wiped the sweat from his brow and breathed in the cool October air with relief.

''Tis hot work,' he remarked, with such a matter-of-fact air that Alison burst into laughter.

'Hotter than the battle of Gladsmuir?' she enquired.

'I should say so!' replied Ewen. 'That lasted only for a quarter of an hour; this ball has hours still to go. Well, I'll do my duty for the Cause without complaint.'

She raised her eyebrows. 'I pity the ladies you dance with, if you see them as a duty.'

'They are, when they keep me from dancing with you—why, I've only had two dances with you!'

At this, she took his glass from him and set it on the balcony railing, and silenced his mouth with a kiss. Alison felt the heat of their bodies from the exertion of dancing, and her own heart beating quicker still as the kiss deepened.

Ewen held her close afterwards against the chill of the night, as they looked up at the bulk of the city, or what they could see of it: the dark masses of the lands, silhouetted against the clouds that glowed silver in the moonlight, with sometimes the dim glimpse of a candle in a window.

'Alison,' he said, and his voice was so low and serious, so different from the playful banter of a minute ago that she looked up at him sharply. 'Let us wed here in Edinburgh. What do you think? I'd be sorry for Aunt Marget to miss it, and we wouldn't have much time to prepare, but...'

Alison drew in a breath. She had a sense of being caught up in the swift stream of life, carrying her towards she knew not what fate. All those years in France, living quietly with her father and knowing that some day in the future she would wed Ewen and move to Ardroy...and now, not only her wedding, that momentous day of change for a woman, would arrive before she knew it, but they were all caught up in a Rising which had been so eagerly longed for, but which balanced so sharply on the edge of glory or ruin.

Ewen had not spelled out what he meant by that portentous 'but...'. Its meaning, though, was nevertheless clear to Alison: they could neither of them say what the future would bring, but Ewen wanted to seize the days they had. And why, then, did Alison feel such a keen hesitation at the thought of their wedding? Oh, she did not know! Perhaps because then she would have to admit that he might truly die...or was she simply afraid of change?

Alison had been silent too long, and saw it in Ewen's expression. But she could not stay in that still pool of life—she had to go forward. 'Yes,' she said decisively. 'Yes, let's do it.'

Ewen let out a breath, and pulled her close, his arms round her in an embrace that was almost desperate. 'Oh, Alison...' he said into her hair.

Her own arms were round him likewise, and she breathed in his warm scent. Having made the decision, Alison knew it was the right one, though she still felt as if she had flung herself into the unknown, and not landed yet. No, and neither had Scotland...

She shivered in the cold wind, and the hair stood up on her bare arms.

'You are cold, mo ghraidh; let us go inside,' said Ewen.

Alison pulled him down for a quick kiss, to seal their agreement. Having given her assent, she continued decisively, 'The Prince will need his aide-de-camp, so you must leave the arrangements for the wedding to me and Father. A week from now?'

'Yes—I entrust it to you, though I hope you'll call on me if you need it. These clothes will do, I hope?' said Ewen, indicating his amber silks.

She smiled at him. 'Oh, Ewen. I would have you in a shirt and plaid.'

Alison followed him into the ballroom again with some difficulty, the door having evidently been constructed in a time when gowns did not have such wide hoops.

Ewen claimed her hand for the next dance. They trod the steps of the allemande looking deep into each other's eyes, and Alison was very conscious of Ewen's hand in hers. When she had again relinquished it to another woman, Alison found Margaret Ogilvy by her side, smiling.

'You and your husband make a lovely couple,' she said.

Alison blushed. 'Thank you. But we are not yet married.'

'Oh—my mistake.'

'But we will be, in a week,' confided Alison. 'We didn't have time, before the war broke out, and now...'

'Yes, of course you must wish to do it now! David and I are almost newlyweds, as well...'tis only been half a year.' Margaret's gaze sought out her husband in the crowd. 'But please, let me know if there is anything I can do to help you prepare for the wedding.'

'Thank you,' said Alison. Only one week...

Chapter Text

Edinburgh danced that October as it had never done before: only a few days after that conversation on the balcony, another ball was held, which lasted far on into the evening, with the musicians growing weary and the dancers treading the steps of the last minuet. The Prince had graced the ball with his presence earlier in the evening, to the gratification of the guests, but he had later disappeared on a clandestine errand of which few had been entrusted to know.

But in a small, locked room on the second floor of Holyrood House sat a man who was not at all gratified by the royal presence in the palace, and who moreover knew of the errand, though he was certainly not trusted by the Prince.

Captain Keith Windham had been left there to cool his heels for an hour, but that time had not sufficed to reconcile him to his prison, nor to the circumstances of his capture. By gad! To be taken twice by the same man—he would never live this down! By the light of the single candle with which he had been left, he glared moodily down at the floor.

From the pinnacle of expectation that he might take the Pretender's son himself, and thus make his career, to the dashing of those hopes when he found that the bird was flown, and finally to the hot anger of finding himself abandoned by his men (the cowards!), Windham had reached that evening's lowest point. He recriminated with himself: why had he let Ewen Cameron delay his departure so? It must have been a deliberate tactic to allow his Highland guard to reach them. Keith had neatly fallen into the trap, and been captured by the same caterans from whom his men had run with their tails between their legs.

There was a knock at the door, and though Keith's mouth twisted sardonically at the mockery of politeness—as though he had the power to deny entry!—he did appreciate the warning. When the door had opened to reveal his captor, Keith had risen from his chair in readiness.

Ewen Cameron was back in his kilt, though no less handsome than he had been in his exquisite court dress. Keith flushed in the knowledge that this man in particular, of all the officers in the Jacobite army, had witnessed his humiliation.

'I'm sorry you had to wait. But I trust you have been well treated?' asked Ardroy.

Though his tone seemed perfectly solicitous, Keith could not help but resent the situation. 'I have, thank you,' he replied, and managed to hold back any further retort. To say more would only further his humiliation.

But something of his resentment must have revealed itself in his tone, for Ardroy said, 'Captain Windham, you can have no cause for regret. 'Twas a daring raid down from the castle, and the prize more than worth the risk—I would have gladly run that risk myself, had I been in your shoes. That you were captured, and not I, was down to mere circumstance. Why, I might have been shut up in a cell in the castle this very moment!'

Ewen Cameron was generous as always, and he had passed over the thorn that pricked Keith the sharpest. Goaded by its sting, he could not help exclaiming, 'That may be, but you cannot have any favourable impression of the men I led, nor of my ability to lead them!' Abandoned by his men for the second time...

Now, this somewhat taxed Ewen's ability to be tactful, for he had himself reflected that Camerons would surely never have abandoned their officer like these redcoats had done—and the battle of Prestonpans had not improved his opinion of Hanoverian troops, either. But he rallied. 'They were not your own men, I collect? The Royal Scots are not at the castle, so far as I know.'

'No, that's true,' admitted Keith.

'And your men at Highbridge were but raw recruits—their retreat surely cannot reflect on you. I have nothing but respect for your abilities, Captain Windham.'

'That's generous of you, Captain Cameron,' said Keith, upon whom Ardroy's words were having an effect despite himself. How curious that he could never keep his ill temper in Ewen Cameron's presence! He remembered that first meeting, when despite having ignominiously lost his sword, he had shaken the man's hand in utter good faith a few minutes later.

'I pledge by my honour as a gentleman that you'll be well treated, and that I'll do my utmost to have you exchanged as soon as may be,' continued Ewen.

'I thank you,' said Keith cautiously. He had his doubts about his prospects for the latter, for he had heard talk in the mess about the captured officers in Perth, and the generals' refusal to negotiate a cartel (or indeed anything) with rebels.

'Now, I know your feelings about giving your parole for a whole campaign, so I won't ask you to do so. But will you give it for a week? During that time I may enquire about the prospects for exchange.' Ardroy laughed suddenly. 'History repeats itself, I find.'

Keith felt the corner of his mouth twitching, for it was true. But meanwhile, he was weighing in his mind the possibilities for escape, and whether or not it was his duty to resist Ardroy's suggestion.

'As for myself, I would much rather have the pleasure of your company than the knowledge that you are shut up in a dull and uncomfortable cell. But 'tis your choice, of course.'

Keith looked into Ewen's blue eyes and tried to disregard the warmth of his own feelings at hearing these words. He remembered how he had wished, before his escape at Fassefern, that he had somehow met Ewen Cameron under circumstances that would have allowed him to seek the man's friendship.

Oh, it was no manner of use to pretend that he would reject Ardroy's suggestion. Keith offered his hand, saying, 'I'll give my word, then—for one week.'

Ardroy shook his hand firmly. 'I'm glad to hear it. And since you're here, I would be honoured if you would attend my wedding in three days' time.'

Keith almost gaped, but caught himself. So Miss Grant was in Edinburgh also! A hastily planned wedding, it must be...how long had they been engaged? But he replied, 'The honour would be mine—if Miss Grant would truly appreciate a Hanoverian officer as a guest.'

'I hold your parole, and I should never dream of treating you as less than a welcome guest, especially as I know that you are a man of honour yourself,' said Ardroy firmly. 'I'm sure she feels the same. But come, 'tis late—I'll put another cot in my room, and you can sleep there.'

When they reached the room, Keith realised with some amusement that as Ardroy was an aide-de-camp, he would be sleeping very near Charles Edward Stuart's quarters. A man less trusting than Ardroy would perhaps think the temptation too great for his parole prisoner, and a pleasantry to that effect was on the tip of Keith's tongue. But he remembered the coldness in Ardroy's eyes when he had made a similar jest during his first captivity, and decided to refrain from any such imputation.

Ardroy began to take his kilt and plaid off, and Keith, watching the process, found his eyes caught by Ardroy's.

Keith flushed, though really, there was no reason to do so. 'I fear my own impersonation of a Highlander at Fassefern was marred by incompetence. I was but curious to see how your plaid is draped,' he offered as an unnecessary explanation.

Ardroy laughed. 'I admit I was quite angry when I discovered your escape! But it was, of course, my fault for being inattentive, and I bear you no grudge for it.' He demonstrated a few features of his garments, adding that this time he would take care not to give his prisoner the chance to use them.

But it was late, and when they had both got into their cots, Ewen blew out the light. Keith lay awake for some time, reflecting that fate had certainly taken a different turn that day than he had expected. He had not thought ever to meet Ardroy again...

Ewen woke early that morning, mindful of his responsibilities to the Prince and to his prisoner both. He feared these two would difficult to balance, for he could certainly not bring Captain Windham along on his duties as an aide-de-camp—though his parole was given for now, he could not expect Windham not to make use later of what military intelligence he learned while here.

But equally, Ewen's impulse towards generosity was too strong for him to have left Windham to moulder in a cell, especially when the man was so clearly shamed by the poltroonery of his men. Ewen had remembered, too, that prophecy which he had quite dismissed from his mind until seeing Windham again. He knew that Alison would urge him to treat the man with kindness, which after all accorded with his own impulse.

Ewen took Windham with him to break his fast with the other officers, but this led to confusion as some of his fellow officers assumed the red-coated Windham to be a new recruit to the cause; Windham however took no offense at this and calmly explained that he was a prisoner. Ewen surmised from the twitch at his mouth that he likely found some humour in the situation.

But Colonel O'Sullivan took Ewen aside. 'Captain Cameron, I doubt this is imprudent. Though we're not in council here, 'tis easy for this officer to overhear some remark not meant for his ears.'

Ewen bridled at this reprimand from one of the Prince's Irish coterie—but he could not deny that the man was in the right. At least he did not question Ewen holding Windham's parole. 'I'll keep him out of the way,' he said stiffly. 'By the way, do you know whether progress has been made in setting up a cartel?'

O'Sullivan shook his head. 'So far they have no prisoners of ours, but their attitude towards our parleys don't bode well for any officer of ours they might capture.'

That was not precisely why Ewen had asked, but he nodded, and went back to Keith. 'Captain Windham, will you take your meal and come?'

Windham nodded, with no questions asked, and came. They finished their plates of oatmeal standing in an anteroom.

'I'm incommoding you, I fear,' remarked Windham.

'Not at all,' protested Ewen. 'But you've taken no oath to close your ears while you're here, and 'twould be unreasonable to expect my fellow officers not to talk about military matters in the mess.'

'Quite right,' said Windham. 'I assure you I heard nothing of use to me during that brief time; you need not worry that you've compromised any military plans.'

'I thank you,' said Ewen, and applied himself to the remaining oatmeal. They had half an hour before he must be at the Prince's council, and in that time he must deposit Windham elsewhere.

They were soon striding quickly up the Canongate through the rain, and up the stairs of a land near the Netherbow. 'I regret that my duties will make it impossible to keep you company during the day, so I'll leave you with Alison and Mr Grant instead,' said Ewen.

He stopped at a landing, and knocked on a door, then opened it at a reply from within.

'Alison? I'm sorry to impose on you, but—'

Keith could see Alison Grant's face as she first caught sight of him, and the surprise and alarm that it showed seemed to him excessive—but perhaps it was only the first glimpse of a red uniform which had so overset her.

'Miss Grant,' he hastened to say, 'please don't take alarm, I am not the precursor of some raid.'

Ardroy had spoken at the same time. '—will you and your father entertain my parole prisoner for a time? I can scarcely bring him into council with me, and you know Captain Windham already.'

By this time Miss Grant had recovered her poise, but questioned her betrothed with some asperity, 'Ewen, what has happened? How did you come to take him prisoner—and has there been fighting?'

Mr Grant said, 'Surely we'll do our part, if you need us. Captain Windham, do come in.'

'Thank you,' said Ardroy. 'And Alison—I'm afraid I must leave Captain Windham to tell the story, if he will. I'll be late to the council, I fear.'

Alison Grant gave him a glance which clearly said that regardless of what Keith told her, Ardroy would also be called on to give his account. But she gave a quick nod. 'Then go, and we'll talk later. Will you come to supper?'

'I will.' And Ardroy hastened down the stairs again.

'Miss Grant, Mr Grant—I truly am sorry for the imposition,' said Keith apologetically. 'I do hope I won't disturb your plans for the day. I should be equally happy to stay here quietly, or to accompany you, if you go out.'

Mr Grant, as determined as Keith to be polite in this situation that had been foisted upon them, protested that he would not be in the way.

'I had planned to spend most of the day reworking a gown, with the help of my maid,' said Alison, 'and I'm afraid the work cannot wait. But I'll be glad to have the pleasure of your company, Captain Windham.'

Keith thought this a mere concession to politeness, for she could surely not consider him as anything but an annoyance. 'May I offer you my sincere congratulations on your forthcoming wedding, Miss Grant? I know of it from Ardroy, and I assume your sewing tasks are related to this happy event.'

'Thank you, and indeed they are.' Miss Grant smiled, so that her dimples showed. 'My wedding plans you may freely report to the castle, unlike the military plans that Ewen is so keen to keep you from hearing.'

Keith laughed. He had always liked women with the wit to hold their own; perhaps the day would not be dull, at least. 'I shall gather intelligence on your wedding plans to the best of my ability, then.'

'But sit down, Captain Windham. Have you had breakfast?'

Keith took one of the remaining chairs at the table. 'I have, thank you.'

'Then I'll ask you to tell me how you come to be here, if you would, since Ewen didn't have time for it. Just let me confer with my maid first.'

'Yes, of course.' Keith waited while Alison spoke with her maid, after which both of them began to ply their needles on masses of blue brocade fabric.

'The story is not greatly to my own credit,' he began, 'but I may at least be satisfied that it shall please you, since Captain Cameron comes off well in it.'

'There's no need to embroider your story to please me,' said Miss Grant, looking up from her work. 'I know that you both conspired to keep events at Ardroy from me, after that incident up at Slochd nan Eun, and I hope you won't do so again.'

Keith bowed his head. 'I stand rebuked. I'll leave the embroidery to you and your maid, then, and assure you that I'll speak nothing but the truth.' Keith told her the story of his raid down from the castle, how they had found no one in the house besides its inhabitants but Ardroy, and how the Cameron guard had arrived in time to frighten off Keith's men, and take him prisoner. 'But you must ask Ardroy to fill in the blanks, for I've no notion of what he was doing there, and how the...young gentleman...escaped, if indeed he was there.'

'Thank you, I will,' said Miss Grant. To Keith's eyes she appeared somewhat troubled, and he wondered why.

Her father asked, 'How did you come to be at the castle, sir? We saw you last in Ardroy's company, riding for Glenfinnan.'

And so Keith related that story, as well, after which he offered to read to the two women while they worked. Of the two newspapers in town, he was not surprised that the household favoured the Caledonian Mercury.

When he had finished the current issue, which contained an account of the castle's conduct which left no doubt as to the author's opinions, Miss Grant remarked with a smile, 'I am sorry, Captain Windham, that you should have to take words you no doubt consider treasonous into your mouth.'

''Twas I who offered to read to you, so I cannot blame you for it,' replied Keith, who had after all found a certain private amusement in it.

Presently they had dinner, after which Mr Grant turned towards Alison. 'My dear, you know I had planned to visit Mr Farquharson this afternoon. But if you wish it, I'll stay with you.'

Alison heard the unspoken corollary that he would not leave her alone with this English officer, if she wished him to remain.

'No, please go—I should not wish to deprive you of your visit.' She gave him a reassuring smile, and saw him glance at Jeanie, who surely was chaperone enough.

Alison resumed her sewing, and considered the opportunity thus offered by her father's departure; she had been wishing for some time to speak to Captain Windham alone, and yet hesitated to do so.

What a shock it had been, seeing him enter the door this morning! Alison had not thought of Old Angus's prophecy for some time, but the sight of Captain Windham was like a cold chill breathing down her neck—not for the man's own sake, but his presence reminded her of the hand of fate, that might bring them all to some unknown end.

No, she would do it. 'Jeanie,' said Alison calmly, 'would you run a few errands for me?'

She gave her a list of items to buy, and a few coins. Jeanie looked at her with a questioning frown, but complied, and Alison, when she had left, turned to Captain Windham.

'You must be wondering, sir, why I send my maid away, but I wished to speak with you alone.' She thought her voice sounded steady enough, despite her nerves.

'I do confess to some curiosity,' replied Windham.

She felt relief at his tone of voice, different as it was from the light banter they had both affected earlier in the day, and which Alison had quite enjoyed, reminding her as it did of the wit on display in the salons of Paris. Some men, finding themselves alone with a woman, might have said those words with an insinuation of gallantry, but Windham's voice was serious, and Alison liked him for it. She was reminded of their previous meeting, down by the loch.

''Tis likely that you won't take this seriously, since you're not Highland born,' began Alison. 'But before you came to Ardroy this August, Ewen's foster-father, who has the second sight, predicted that we should soon meet with a man, who would be brought to us by a heron.'

'A heron?' said Windham, his eyes narrowing. 'Is that why Ardroy was so startled when I told him how my horse came to break his leg?'

'Yes,' confirmed Alison. She wondered if she had done right to tell Windham without consulting Ewen, but it could surely do no harm—and Ewen was busy on the Prince's business, and had little thought to spare for prophecies.

'You're quite right, Miss Grant, that I'm inclined to regard such stories as mere superstition,' said the Englishman. 'But I can see that it troubles you, and for your sake, I won't dismiss it out of hand. Is there anything further to alarm you in this prophecy? And has any more of it come true?'

She was grateful that he took this attitude, though it was only for her sake. 'Yes—for we have met again. The prophecy said that the three of us should have three meetings. And...' she frowned, trying to recall Ewen's exact words, '...as the threads begin to twist themselves at our first meeting, so will they continue to shape themselves at the rest—three strands, braided together at the end.'

The English officer raised his eyebrows, and Alison felt herself flushing slightly. What a thing to say to a man, after all, to tell him that his life would be braided with yours! But of course she did not mean it in that way, and he knew that she was to marry in only a few days.

A little flustered, she continued, 'Many such prophecies are about death, and we are on opposite sides, after all...'

'That concern I can understand, even without a prophecy. I won't repeat what I said down by the lake, at Ardroy—even then, 'twas no use, and by now Ardroy is fully committed to his course. So far 'twould seem, of course, that of the two of us 'tis I who am drawing the shortest straw in this war,' and with a small ironical gesture, Captain Windham invoked his situation as a prisoner for the second time. 'But as I have been well treated by the Jacobites, I would do my utmost to ensure that he is well treated by our side, if he should come to be captured.'

'I thank you for that,' said Alison.

'And I'll go further than that: if I should meet him on the battlefield, I'd turn aside. God forbid one of us should be the death of the other!' Again, there was that in his expression that caused her to marvel at how much he seemed to care. It made his face come alive. 'I would not willingly make you a widow, either.'

'Thank you,' said Alison again. 'And I, in my turn, wish you nothing but well.'

They fell silent and, looking into his eyes, she wondered: why this man? That she and Ewen should be tied together was not strange to her, for they were to be married, but this Englishman, what connection had he to their lives? She wondered what he were thinking of—perhaps wondering the same thing...

But their tête-a-tête was interrupted by Jeanie's return, and Alison was grateful for it. She asked Windham to read to them again while they sewed—the Scots Magazine this time—which passed the time until, in close succession, her father and Ewen arrived for supper.

Conversation was somewhat constrained: they could not talk of the war, on account of Windham's presence, and neither could Alison bring up the prophecy, as she might have done had she been alone with the two others concerned in it. But Captain Windham, who seemed aware of the awkwardness he was causing, tactfully engaged in conversation on neutral subjects, to ease their way. Alison was grateful for it.

As for Ewen, he was concerned to see whether Alison had been disturbed by Windham's presence. On his way back to the Prince's council, Ewen had almost regretted foisting his prisoner off on her, but it had seemed so discourteous to ask Windham to sit alone in a room all day, with no company, or wander out of doors in the rain. But when he had returned to the council, all such concerns vanished, and Ewen had been caught up in the heated and divisive discussion of strategy. Aware of his junior position and his lack of military experience, Ewen rarely spoke, but his position as aide-de-camp ensured that he was privy to all information. He was troubled at what he heard.

Ewen glanced at Windham, wondering what he, as an experienced officer, would have made of their situation, and what he might know of the Hanoverian plans. But, though experienced, he was as junior as Ewen, or more so, since he was not an aide-de-camp: Ewen had suddenly a fellow-feeling for him, pent up in the castle and cut off from his regiment as he had been, and now cut off even from that.

Ewen roused himself to take up his part in the conversation, which was currently on the subject of British and French customs and the differences between them. He had at least the impression from Alison that she did not resent Windham's presence, or dislike him, and he was glad of it.

Before they left again for Holyrood House, Ewen pulled her aside, out of Windham's hearing. 'How are you, my dear?'

'Well enough; the alterations on my gown are almost done. But Ewen, Angus's prophecy begins to fulfil itself—I hope you don't mind that I told Windham about it.'

'You told him about it?' Ewen himself would not have done so; a rational man could not be seen to give credence to any such thing. 'And what did he say?'

'I think he did not take it very seriously, but for my sake, he promised to be careful. He has no ill will towards either of us.'

Ewen frowned. 'Well, I suppose it did no harm to tell him, but I hope you won't dwell on it.'

She smiled suddenly. 'No, I hope I won't—I have plenty to dwell on, without that!'

'Would you mind if I leave Windham here tomorrow, as well? With my duties...'

Alison hesitated, then said, 'I'll be busy—no, but do leave him here. We must make him welcome, since...' She did not need to finish the sentence.

'I will, then.'

Though he had been the one to suggest such a quick wedding, Ewen would have preferred more time in which to reflect over this approaching change; as it was, he had been kept so busy as aide-de-camp that it now felt almost unreal to him that tomorrow, he and Alison would be wed.

Ewen folded his plaid and hung it over a chair, then glanced over at Keith Windham, who was taking his coat off in preparation for bed. Perhaps Windham would not welcome the role of confidant, and Ewen wished he could have spoken with Archie, or perhaps his cousin Alan—but on the other hand, there somehow seemed to be a greater licence in speaking with a relative stranger, as Windham still was. And the soft candlelight, as well, seemed to invite intimacy.

'Are you married?' Ewen asked him.

'Me?' replied Windham with incredulity, then with a small ironic smile continued, 'No, I'm not married.'

Ewen frowned, trying to puzzle out his response. 'No, of course you would have mentioned your wife by now, if you were—'twas a foolish question. The subject is on my mind, that's all.'

'And naturally so, considering tomorrow's wedding,' said Keith. He was still dressed, excepting his coat; Ewen had only his shirt on.

'Yes,' said Ewen, and hesitated. He did not even know what he wanted to say.

'You surely have no reservations?' Windham asked.

'No!' The answer required no thought. 'But I suppose 'tis strange that, having longed for this day for years, I should feel so unready for it now.'

'How so?'

''Tis a great and solemn vow,' said Ewen seriously.

Keith Windham, who was more used to hearing pleasantries about the money that a rich bride might bring, or the pleasures men sought outside the marriage bed, only nodded.

Ardroy continued, 'And I suppose I wonder whether I'll truly be able to make her happy.'

'Surely you are jesting!' exclaimed Keith. He flushed and bit his lip, but too late. But by gad, how absurd that such a handsome man, whose voluminous shirt did little to hide the lines of his splendidly built body even in the candlelight, his strong thighs, his broad shoulders...that such a man should doubt his ability to please a woman! Surely any woman would have him.

Ardroy had raised his eyebrows at this, and Keith perforce reached for another justification for his unconsidered words. Fortunately it was not difficult to find. 'What I've seen of your character leaves me no room to doubt your sense of honour and your generous nature. If you will use a prisoner of war so well, surely your wife will never have cause to complain of you?'

Ewen perhaps blushed a little, though it was difficult to tell in the dim light. 'I'm obliged to you for saying so, but I think you draw too strong conclusions from behaviour that is, after all, only common decency. I only meant—well, I know that I love her, but after all married life is not the same as betrothal, and we have never lived as man and wife...'

Keith was amused that anyone should seek advice from him, of all people, on this subject. But then, he had never told Ardroy of his philosophy. 'I think it augurs well for your marriage that you question yourself—a man who never doubts himself will never see the beam in his own eye. Not, of course, that I have any particular fault in mind.'

Ardroy laughed. 'No offense taken. Aye, perhaps you're right. And perhaps 'tis only natural that one should be anxious before such a momentous event. Well, I thank you for your forbearance and kind words.'

''Twas little enough,' said Keith. 'I hope you'll be able to sleep well.'

'Thank you, and good night to you, as well.'

Ardroy, who was already dressed for sleeping, got into his cot, and Keith undressed, as well. With a last glance at the auburn head on the pillow in the other cot, he blew out the candle and plunged the room into darkness.

As he lay waiting for sleep to come, Keith mused over what a singular man Ewen Cameron was—and what a lucky woman Alison Grant was, regardless of what doubts Ardroy might harbour! Not that she was not a charming and pretty woman as well. But there was something about him which evoked a candour and warmth in Keith himself which was rare.

Chapter Text

It was the morning of her wedding day, and Alison sat side by side with Lady Ogilvy in her boudoir, or the room in her lodgings that served her as such. They both had sheets tucked round their shoulders, to protect their clothes from the powder wielded by their maids, as they shaped their ladies' hair into the fashionable coiffure of the day. Powder was not in much use among English ladies, but the Jacobite and Scottish ladies naturally looked towards France, where it was in fashion.

Jeanie had been Alison's maid through her years of attending Paris balls, and had dressed her hair many times, though not recently: at Ardroy, and when she was living quietly with her father, there was no need for such extravagance.

A large mirror showed Jeanie's hands fastening Alison's dark locks at the back of her head, leaving ringlets to curl at the sides, and Margaret Ogilvy's maid doing the same. During her time in Paris, Alison had always enjoyed dressing as a time of female companionship; she was delighted to find such companionship again.

'What was your wedding like?' asked Alison.

Margaret laughed. 'As hastily arranged as yours, if not more so!'

'How so?'

'David and I eloped,' she replied, and at Alison's expression of surprise that her Johnstone parents could have thought the heir to Airlie unsuitable, explained further. 'My mother was in favour of him, but my father had taken a dislike to the Earl, on account of some lawsuit in the past. But I've never regretted it.'

'I'm glad to hear that,' said Alison. She had already seen that Lord and Lady Ogilvy were devoted to each other.

'Our wedding was in June,' continued Margaret, 'so although we had little time to prepare, there were flowers in abundance, and sunny weather.'

'I can't hope for good weather,' said Alison, 'but I surely never dreamed of such a grand location for my wedding as the ballroom at Holyrood House!'

'Yes, and to be sure, you'll have an illustrious guest! Do you think His Royal Highness will dance with you?' Margaret smiled mischievously. 'I do consider it his duty.'

'I suppose we'll see,' Alison demurred.

'There now,' said Jeanie. She held up a mirror behind Alison. 'Your hair is done, if you're pleased with it.'

Alison turned her head back and forth, and was well pleased. 'Thank you, Jeanie.'

She stood up, unwrapped herself from the sheet, and stepped over to the window. Margaret laughed at her impatience. 'We have half an hour still, I think. And you look lovely.'

'Thank you,' said Alison, looking down at the street where Ewen and her father would arrive, along with the rest of the wedding procession. But not quite yet.

Margaret Ogilvy, her coiffure complete as well, came over to stand next to her; they both had to turn to face each other, to accommodate their wide hoops. Lady Ogilvy was married, and could scarcely be bridesmaid for her, though she was two years younger, but Alison had been grateful for her support and companionship. She felt that they were fast friends already, though they had met only a week ago—perhaps during these eventful times, attachments formed more quickly...

'Are you nervous?' asked her friend, with a smile.

'A little,' Alison owned. 'To be the centre of attention, and enter a new stage of life...'

'But not for your wedding night?' Margaret's smile grew teasing.

Alison raised her hands to her cheeks, which were perhaps growing heated, but lowered them again so as not to disturb her paint. 'Oh, a little for that, too—but I'm looking forward to it, as well!'

'I'm glad.' Margaret hesitated, then continued in a low voice, 'I—I know your mother is not with you, but I'm sure you have female relatives who have prepared you. Nevertheless...if there are any questions you have regarding that, I'm happy to answer.'

Now Alison's cheeks were truly flushed. 'Oh, I know the mechanics of the act! 'Tis not a mystery to me, at least on a theoretical level. As for the practical...I know Ewen would never be anything but gentle.'

'Yes, I can see that he adores you. And 'tis not expected of you to be experienced, after all!'

'When I first saw Ewen in Paris,' confessed Alison, 'of course I asked all my friends and acquaintances about him, and I learnt that at that time he was the lover of the Comtesse de Coligny, a rich widow. So I know that he is experienced, at any rate!'

'Oh, really? Was she beautiful?'

'Very, and she must have been almost thirty. But truly I'm not jealous; 'tis in the past.'

'He'll surely know how to please you, then!' Margaret's dimples deepened. She herself was a considerable beauty, or so Alison thought, with a figure more full than her own and a vivacious and lovely countenance. Alison felt momentarily shy of meeting her eyes, and looked instead out at the street, where no one was yet in sight.

Margaret took her hand and pressed it, and they were silent for a moment. Then Alison said hesitantly, 'I do have a question. I'm glad my period is over for this month—in fact it ended only a few days ago! But when one is bleeding...that is to say—'

Margaret took pity on her. 'When I'm bleeding, I often have a head-ache, and David knows it. He doesn't ask me to come to his bed, then, but rubs my head instead, to soothe it. I've heard that women less fortunate in a husband will use it as an excuse to avoid his bed, if he's squeamish. But one of my friends tells me that bedding her husband at that time of the month will ease her cramps! Every woman—and man—is singular, I believe.'

'Thank you,' said Alison, still embarrassed at the immodest question.

'But look! I think 'tis time.' Margaret pointed down the street, where a carriage was making its way towards their building. Alison could see Ewen and Mr Grant sitting in it.

Alison breathed deep, and went down the stairs, with Margaret following. Lord and Lady Ogilvy's lodging was close to Holyrood House, and she could very well have walked the short distance, but Ewen clearly did not find such a pedestrian approach good enough. The fine carriage was drawn by two matched grey horses, and Ewen, in his amber suit, was looking very handsome.

He stepped down to hand her and Margaret up to her father in the back seat, handing them each an umbrella against the rain, and alighted again next to the coachman.

Mr Grant smiled at Alison and patted her hand. 'Don't you mind the rain, my dear! It doesn't bring ill luck, at a wedding, but only shows your ability to persevere together.'

In truth, Alison had scarcely noticed the rain, and it certainly did not affect her spirits. She smiled at her father, and pressed his hand.

''Tis a proud day and a bittersweet one for a father, as well, to part from his daughter,' he said, smiling.

Alison kissed his cheek. 'Oh, Father! You know Ewen will let you live with us at Ardroy, if you want—you won't truly have to part from me!'

A little crowd of Edinburgh urchins surrounded the carriage, and Ewen laughed, throwing out the customary small coins for them to scramble after in the muddy street. The carriage pulled up alongside the palace, at the entrance of Holyrood Abbey, with its high Gothic arches. It was not in good repair, but the newer Canongate Kirk was the province of a Presbyterian congregation, and besides that, it was still used to hold prisoners from the battle of Prestonpans.

At the entrance stood a crowd, awaiting their arrival: Alison could see the Prince himself, Lochiel and his lady, her brother Hector, who had arrived a few days ago from France, all the other Cameron officers, her cousin Shewglie and others of the Grants of Glenmoriston, Margaret's husband Lord Ogilvy, and many others—as well as the conspicuous red uniform of Captain Keith Windham, standing towards the back. He had been as little trouble to her during the past few busy days as he could, and had even run errands for her.

Ewen had asked his cousin Alan Stewart to be his chief groomsman, and Alison, though she had no young female relatives here, nevertheless had a group of bridesmaids to attend her, for the Jacobite ladies of Edinburgh whom she had met at the balls of Holyrood House had vied for their young daughters to accompany her.

They moved out of the rain into the echoing vaults of the old church, which had been emptied of valuables by earlier marauders. But it had been decorated with candles, hothouse flowers and with sprigs of heather, some of which had purple still left.

They would be wed by the Reverend Duncan Cameron, the Episcopalian chaplain of the Cameron regiment; he wore a Cameron plaid with minimal vestments, in military fashion.

Alison could not afterwards have recounted the details of the ceremony, though she felt intensely alive as she participated in it: her father, giving her away; her own voice, reciting firmly after Duncan Cameron, 'I, Alison, take thee, Ewen—to my wedded husband—to have and to hold—from this day forward...' And Ewen sliding the ring on her finger, warm from his hands.

'You may kiss the bride,' said Duncan, smiling, to Ewen.

But they looked into each other's eyes for a moment first. They had taken the leap together...and then Ewen bent down, and she put her arms round his neck. They kissed, long enough that some members of the wedding entourage whistled in appreciation, and then Alison was grinning at the cheering crowd. Duncan Cameron came to kiss her cheek, as was the prerogative of the priest.

Charles Edward Stuart came forward to claim a kiss, as well. 'I wish you both long life and happiness, though I own I'm hardly venerable enough to give anyone my blessing.'

She tried to curtsy, but he stopped her with a smile. 'Nay, a bride on her wedding day need not defer to any one.'

And then she saw her brother's sly smile, and ducked as he threw the first shoe at them.

Presently the party calmed down enough for Duncan Cameron to hold the nuptial mass, though his sermon was not lengthy. This was perhaps just as well, for Alison scarcely heard it. Later, after they had all retired to Holyrood House and eaten their fill of the feast that Alison had spent the last two days arranging, Ewen led her out in the first dance, a reel played by Neil MacMartin, who had insisted it was his role as Ewen's piper. Alison could not quite enjoy the dance, for she felt that with all eyes on her, she was sure to stumble.

However, she did not, and finished it with a sigh of relief, only to realise with some trepidation that she was now expected to dance with the Prince himself, as the highest-ranking man of the party. But he was an excellent dancer, she found, and able to put her at her ease, as well.

What a whirl of activity a wedding was, when one was at the centre of it! Alison scarcely had time to speak or dance with someone, let alone talk with Ewen or adjust to her new status as a wife, before she was claimed by the next well-wisher or dance partner.

Ewen found himself similiarly in demand, but recalled, all the same, his duty to his parole prisoner. Keith Windham was standing in an out-of-the way spot, with an expression on his face which Ewen could not decipher.

'I trust you have eaten well?' Ewen asked.

'I have, thank you,' said Windham, then added somewhat abruptly, 'May I offer you my sincerest congratulations?'

'Of course you may, and thank you! I know you have few acquaintances here,' said Ewen, 'but I should be glad to introduce you to some fellows—as well as some ladies, so that you may dance.'

'I'm obliged to you for your consideration, but I should not like to embarrass any of the ladies. They surely would not wish to be seen dancing with a Hanoverian redcoat,' said Windham drily.

'Scotland has never allowed such political concerns to interfere with polite society,' said Ewen. 'I have myself danced with the daughter of the Duke of Argyll at an Edinburgh ball.'

'That is admirable, but surely the situation is a little different during a civil war.'

Ewen smiled warmly, for he at any rate had no dislike for his captive—rather the opposite. And with the expansive good will of a bridegroom at his own wedding he said, 'I don't see why. Come, you must at least dance with the bride.'

And with Windham somewhat reluctantly in tow he found Alison and said to her, 'Captain Windham fears that, as a prisoner of war, 'tis improper for him to dance. Will you prove him wrong?'

Alison smiled, showing her dimples. 'He must ask me first—but I will say that if he does, I won't deny him.'

Captain Windham bowed. Thus entreated, he could hardly refuse to ask her. 'Mrs Cameron, will you honour me with a dance?'

He did not use her proper Highland title, Lady Ardroy, but Ewen was sure he did not mean it as a snub—he was an Englishman and did not, in all likelihood, know their customs. But now, when he was already ill at ease, was surely not the time to correct him.

'Captain Windham, I would be pleased to dance with you,' said Alison, and took his hand.

A little later, Ewen saw them together on the ballrom floor. They made a handsome couple, he thought, with the contrast between Windham's red and Alison's blue. And he was pleased, too, at seeing their lively conversation, though he could not hear it; evidently his parole prisoner and his wife had got along well enough during the last few days.

His wife. Ewen was still not used to thinking, or saying, these words, and found them an inexpressible delight. And soon the evening would run towards its end, and the wedding night would come; he had of course not said so to Windham last night, for it was a subject too intimate to share, but he hoped, very much, that he would be able to please her...

But perhaps Windham's advice applied to that, as well, for a man who never questioned himself would not truly be attentive to his bedpartner.

Alison's feet were beginning to grow tired from dancing, and she was aware that the clock had struck eleven. She sat down for a brief rest, and sought out Ewen's figure, always the tallest in the room. As though he could sense her gaze on him, he turned from his conversation with Alan Stewart; Alison felt a little jolt of excitement as their eyes met.

He came towards her. 'Is it time?' he said in a low voice.

'Yes, I think so,' she replied.

'For sure Alan has been teasing me for half an hour now...'

And their quiet moment was interrupted as Alan Stewart, somewhat the worse for drink, followed Ewen to make a bawdy remark. Alison exchanged a glance with Ewen, who gave him a quelling reply. Ewen, at any rate, had not indulged in drink; he seemed quite sober.

They were not to make a quiet exit, for as tradition dictated, they were followed by many of the wedding party in a procession to the door of the fine bed-chamber at Holyrood House that was to be theirs for the night.

Since neither Ewen nor Alison had a mother among the living, Lady Lochiel broke the customary oatcake over Alison's head, and the participants scrambled for the coveted pieces. And then Alison, forewarned only by the glint in Ewen's eye, gave a small undignified cry as he easily swung her up, with one arm under her knees and the other at her shoulders.

The crowd burst into cheers and ribald whistles, but Alison's eyes were caught by Lady Ogilvy, who was smiling broadly in encouragement. Alison smiled back at her, and then Ewen had carried her across the threshold and they were alone. She could hear the muffled conversation and laughter on the other side of the closed door.

'You could have warned me,' she said, though she was smiling and could not quite manage reproach.

''Tis entirely customary,' he protested, and set her lightly down. He looked a little self-satisfied.

Alison laughed. 'I suppose it is.'

They looked into each other's eyes, and sobered. 'Are you ready?' he whispered.

'I am—but also perhaps a little nervous,' she admitted. 'Are you?'

'Ready, or nervous?' he asked. 'A little of both, I suppose.'

It steadied Alison, to know that she was not the only one, but she could not help teasing him. 'Nervous? You, who were the lover of a French Comtesse at court!'

'That was years ago,' protested Ewen, smiling. 'And you are decidedly not Madame de Coligny.'

'No, that's certainly true.'

He raised his hand to her cheek and said seriously, 'May I kiss you?'

In answer, she turned her face up to meet him. His kiss was so familiar, and so were his hands pulling her close; for a while Alison lost herself in that.

And then it was time to shed their wedding finery; Ewen began carefully to unpin her gown, and then remove the hoops. 'This fashion is preposterous,' he complained playfully. 'Soon you women won't be able to get through doors.'

'I don't set the fashion, only follow it,' protested Alison. 'Besides, 'tis only for formal occasions.' Ewen was conveniently kneeling in front of her, and she began to unbutton his coat and untie his neckcloth.

Alison was down to stays and petticoat now, and turned her back to him, with her heart beating quickly. But instead of unlacing her stays directly, he kissed her neck and held her close, his hands resting just beneath her breasts. 'How beautiful you are, cion-gràidh.'

This, too, ought to feel familiar, but there was a new intent in his kisses—and in herself, too. 'Will you unlace my stays, m'eudail?'

'Surely,' he said, his voice husky. His fingers, working at the laces, soon had them loose, and she raised her arms to let him pull off her stays. When next he put his hands on her, it was her own body, unshaped and free except for the thin shift.

Ewen paused with his hands just underneath her breasts. 'May I?'

'Yes!' Alison felt somewhat self-conscious about the sound she made when his thumbs moved over her hard nipples. Her breasts were not large, but she liked the way they rested in his cupped hands—and, by Ewen's whispered endearments, so did he.

His fingers teased her until she felt that matters must progress further, and turned in his arms.

'My turn,' she said, and unbuttoned his waistcoat, sliding it off his shoulders. Alison hesitated at the button of his breeches, feeling that this was new and untrodden ground. But, at Ewen's encouragement, she unbuttoned them, her knuckles brushing against what lay behind. She heard Ewen draw in a breath, and moved down to his knees, a territory less fraught with meaning, to unbuckle his breeches there. Kneeling, Alison pulled the silk breeches down, leaving her husband in his loose knee-length shirt, a less revealing garment, in truth, than his breeches.

'Come,' said Ewen, reaching out his hand for her. 'Surely 'tis my turn now.'

She smiled up at him, and set her hand to his thigh just above the knee. 'Not yet.'

And she took his silk stockings off, sliding her hand down his calf to take the shoes off his calloused feet.

'Oh, but now I insist,' said Ewen with a grin. 'You're downright over-dressed, compared with me.'

Alison allowed herself to be raised up, so that Ewen could take her petticoats off. 'And now your jewels,' he murmured, unlocking the ruby necklace that had been her mother's, and kissing the spot above the neckline of her shift where it had hung.

But he left her wedding ring on, and Alison fingered the smooth round of gold, which had been Ewen's mother's.

'Now we are even, I believe,' said Ewen, when she stood there in only her shift. 'Have you seen a man naked before?'

Alison gave him a wicked smile. 'I've seen you naked before.'

At his almost comical look of surprise, she added, 'But only from a distance, alas, down at the loch.' She had risen early one morning a few days before news of the Rising reached Ardroy, and upon sighting Ewen's naked body, had regarded it with great and prurient interest—but to her regret, he had been too far away for her to see much.

'Had I known you were looking, I'd have displayed myself better,' said Ewen, smiling. 'Should you like a closer look, then?'

'I would,' said Alison, and removed the buttonlinks at his wrists, then unbuttoned his collar. He pulled the shirt off, standing before her naked in the light of the several candles on their bedside table.

The expression on his face was one of slight shyness. Alison took a step closer and set her hand to Ewen's chest; how warm it was! She stroked his soft and springy chest hair, of the same colour as the plait that lay down his back, and explored further: his small dark nipple, the place where the hair grew sparse and gave way to the smooth warm skin of his flank, the hardness of his hipbone beneath the skin. Ewen stood still, letting her touch him as she would, but she could feel under her hand his chest rising and falling, and his heart beating quick. And that place which she had not dared directly to approach—she paused with her hand resting just above where his hair grew more profuse.

'Shall I touch you?' Alison whispered. She had some difficulty in meeting his gaze, and knew her cheeks must be flushed.

'Please—if you wish,' he murmured.

She moved her hand further down, to stroke her fingers down his length. How soft and warm he felt, and how vulnerable! He was not hard, but she felt him respond to her touch, rising a little to meet her. Alison grew more daring, closing her fingers round him and squeezing lightly; Ewen gave a small gasp, and grew appreciably harder. She moved her hand to the tip, where the skin was loose and soft, and slid easily back.

'Do you like it?' she asked him.

'Oh, very much so,' said Ewen, and there was something hungry in his eyes. 'I have dreamt of you touching me so. And do you like it?'

'I do,' she replied, for it was true. She took a deep breath. 'Shall I take my shift off?'

Ewen nodded, and Alison divested herself of her last article of clothing, to stand before him bare and vulnerable.

'Turn round,' murmured Ewen, 'so that the light falls on you.' She did.

Ewen lapsed into Gaelic to tell her that she was beautiful, as he occasionally did when he felt that English could not compass his sentiments. He knelt down in front of her and softly kissed her breastbone, then her hip. Alison felt the hairs on her skin rising up in a shiver as his hand stroked up over her breast.

'May I kiss you here?' asked Ewen, pausing with his lips so near where his hand was that Alison could feel his breath against her skin.

'Yes,' she urged him, shivering again. The air was not cold, for there were embers still in the bed-chamber fireplace, but still Alison felt Ewen's warm mouth on her as a shock. And his tongue teasing her nipple was another! His mouth was occupied, so he could not ask her whether she liked it, but nevertheless her sighs of pleasure gave him the confidence to continue.

Alison could not have said how long they remained so, but presently her own desire drove her to tip Ewen's chin up and lean down to kiss him rather more urgently than before.

Looking down, she saw with fascination that he was now hard. 'May I touch you again?' she whispered.

He nodded, and got to his feet; Alison closed her fingers round him timidly, not sure what manner of touch he might welcome. How alive he felt, how responsive, for he shivered at the lightest of touches! She looked up at him with determination, for however much desire and curiosity she felt, this required a measure of courage. 'I am ready—tell me what to do.'

He smiled fondly at her. 'Not quite yet. But the floor was a trifle hard on my knees, and we do have a bridal bed—let's make use of it.'

Alison agreed. This night had already been one of revelation, but lying down together, her whole length against Ewen's warm and naked body, was another: she found herself weighed down and thoroughly kissed, shivering at the sensation of Ewen's hardness against her thigh.

Then, with a smile against her mouth, he rolled them round so that he lay beneath her; Alison's legs naturally parted to support herself against the bed, and with a shock, she felt his hard length between her legs—not inside her, at all, but sliding against her. They both drew in a sharp breath.

'I didn't mean to hurry you, mo chridhe,' murmured Ewen.

She shook her head, her heart pounding. 'I don't mind. Should we—I—'

But he shook his, too. 'Not yet. Come, let me try something else.'

Ewen turned to the side, and urged her to lie on her back beside him. And then his hand approached the place where he had not yet touched her, sliding up her thigh and stopping just beneath. 'May I?' he murmured.

Alison nodded, her breathing quick and shallow. Those large and calloused fingers, used to hard work, touched her carefully, dipping gently into the place where she was now wet and aching, then stroking upwards with feather-light movements. Alison made an inarticulate, hungry noise, and her legs fell farther apart, one of them leaning against him. He took advantage of it, stroking further, circling round, exploring.

'Do I please you?' he whispered.

'Oh! 'Twould very much displease me should you stop!'

'I'm glad,' he murmured, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

But very soon after that, she ceased to take note of such things, for he lowered his head to take her nipple into his mouth and suck upon it. Ewen seemed to sense where she most wanted his fingers, and take delight in teasing her, coming near that spot and then coyly circling it. Alison's eyes fell closed, the better for sensation to flow through her like a burn in spate. Her hips rose to meet his fingers, greedy and impatient, and distantly she could feel Ewen's own mounting excitement as he rubbed against her thigh.

When at length his fingers firmly and directly stroked that central point where she most wanted them, Alison felt herself beginning to spend, with sweet, strong waves of pleasure washing through her. Had she not known the walls of the palace were thick, she should have felt ashamed to make so much noise.

When she had recovered sufficiently to speak, Alison opened her eyes to look at her husband. 'I think you can already tell how much you have pleased me.'

'I am so very glad,' he murmured. 'Have you—have you ever done anything like it...on your own?'

Flushed as she already was, Alison was incapable of colouring further, but she looked aside, conscious of the immodesty of speaking of such actions. But then, her situation could hardly become more immodest—and Ewen was her husband.

'Yes,' she mumbled. And then a flicker of mischief arose, and she continued, 'How else should I be able to stand such a prolonged betrothal, with no husband to please me?'

Ewen grinned at her, and she boldly reached a hand down to touch him: how hot he felt, and how hard, and with fascination she felt the wetness smeared at the tip. Ewen groaned as her fingers slipped down his length and up again.

'Now?' she whispered.

'Yes, now,' Ewen agreed. He coaxed her leg over his hip, so that her own hips lay angled towards him.

'You must tell me if it hurts, at all,' he said, and then leant down to kiss her almost reverently.

The tip of him slid against her, where she was still wet. With great care and gentleness, Ewen pressed slowly into her, so slowly that at times it felt as though he was not moving at all. She held his gaze all the while. With a sense of wonder, Alison felt herself taking him in, stretching to accommodate this new visitor in her body, which was no intruder, but invited and welcome. She was still awash in echoes of pleasure from when she had spent, and the sense of fullness inside her woke new sensations.

When he was all but fully seated in her, she said in astonishment, 'I thought it would hurt.'

'Oh, how glad I am!' said Ewen. 'I'm being as gentle as I can, but I didn't know quite what to expect.'

Alison grinned at him. 'So you didn't deflower any virgins in Paris, then?'

'Alison!' He looked shocked. 'I would never!'

'No, of course you wouldn't! I was only jesting, m'eudail.' How strange it felt to laugh, when he was inside her; Alison felt her muscles clenching round him, and did it again, this time in a deliberate fashion. Ewen groaned softly.

'Can you feel that?' she asked.

He nodded. 'I can indeed.'

With a minute movement of his hips, he completed their joining. It was Alison's turn to gasp, for the little thrust sparked pleasure that echoed, though distantly, the one she had previously felt. In curiosity, she reached her hand down to explore the place where she was stretched round him: the slickness between them and, lower down, his soft round balls which she cupped in her hand.

'Oh,' Ewen moaned, and, as if he could no longer keep still, drew out a little and thrust slowly but firmly into her. Alison felt again that small shock of pleasure, and at the sound that was drawn from her, Ewen asked hastily, 'Was that pain or pleasure, m'eudail?'

'Pleasure,' Alison confirmed, and he needed no more encouragement, but began more deliberately to thrust into her. She saw in Ewen's intent expression, his quick breathing, how long he had checked himself and how much he wanted to give himself up to this movement, as though it was a force larger than himself—and Alison was gripped in her turn by this evidence of his desire for her.

He paused, and sought out with his fingers that spot which had brought her such pleasure before. 'Shall I touch you again?'

But Alison had cried out at the surfeit of sensation, for she was still too sensitive there. 'No—no, that's too much. But go on.'

He did so, with some urgency. But a young man who for four long years has kept himself to a solitary bed cannot be expected to last very long, and Ewen did not: with a few harder thrusts that Alison felt as pleasure bordering on pain, he spent himself inside her.

Afterwards, Alison stroked his hair where it lay sweaty against his brow, filled with tenderness for him. Ewen was still breathing hard, his chest rising and falling.

His first words were, 'I haven't hurt you?'

She considered the unfamiliar, pulsing sensation between her legs, trying to categorise it—but she did so for perhaps too long, for Ewen's brow drew together in an anxious frown.

'No—no, you did not,' she assured him. ''Tis a new feeling, that's all.'

He was curled round Alison, with her legs lying over his drawn-up knees, and he was still inside her, though growing gradually soft. She felt the wetness there, but had not the wherewithal to care about it, for her body still held echoes of pleasure and, underneath that, a sense of lassitude and well-being.

Alison looked at Ewen's face, shadowed by the candles behind him, though hers must be visible to him. 'I love you,' she whispered, feeling that this truth needed to be voiced.

Ewen's arm, lying across her, tightened round her; he replied in Gaelic, whispered words telling her how much he loved her and wanted her. They lay so until Alison shivered slightly, for the fire had burnt down long ago. Ewen was half asleep, but stirred himself so that they could both get underneath the blankets and nestle close.

They soon slept, their first night together as husband and wife, while outside the window, the moon shone down over Holyrood Palace, where the wedding guests had long since ceased their revelry, and over the town of Edinburgh and wide Scotland beyond.

Chapter Text

Alison had woken several times during the night, disturbed by Ewen's movements—although disturbed was, perhaps, not the right word, for she only settled closer to Ewen's sleeping warmth and closed her eyes again.

But the sun, sending its fingers of light through the uncurtained window, woke them both in the morning. Ewen gave her a shy, pleased smile. 'Madainn mhath dhuit, mo bhean mhaiseach.'

His hair lay tangled across the pillow, and she buried her hands in it to pull him close. One part of him, she could feel, was decidedly not shy, but had awakened and was pressing against her.

Ewen looked abashed. ''Tis sometimes the way with men, in the morning. I don't mean to lay any demands on you, if—.'

But Alison's hand had already found its way down to touch him, for her fascination with his body had not been fully satisfied last night. Ewen drew in a breath when she gripped him. 'But, m'eudail, I'll certainly not protest if you're so inclined...'

The blankets were now too warm, and Alison threw them off, the better to see him in the light of day. Her hands explored his body with more confidence than the night before, and he lay back and let her. His thighs, lightly furred with that reddish hair, and the way they led in to the pale skin at the juncture with his hips, and the roundness of his backside, which she could only partly see...

'I think I only saw the front of you, yesterday,' said Alison impishly. 'Turn round, and let me see your backside.'

Ewen laughed, and promptly rolled over. She slid her hand along his muscled shoulder, the dip along his spine, and the lovely curve of that part of him she had asked to see.

'Is my backside satisfactory?' asked Ewen, his voice slightly muffled by the pillow. 'I should be sorry if you were disappointed in it, now that you cannot be rid of me.'

'You need not be concerned on that score,' replied Alison, with a smile in her voice, and leant down to kiss him there.

Ewen gave her no more time to contemplate his backside, but turned towards her, and they rolled playfully in the bed, taking full advantage of its size.

'Oh,' Ewen groaned, as he lay underneath her, with his hard length caught between them. 'You must be sore, I think? 'Twould be strange if you were not.'

'Yes...not that it pains me, but I do feel it,' Alison admitted.

'May I show you something else, then?' He rolled to the side, and brought her hand down. 'Will you pleasure me like this? And I'll do the same for you.'

Alison was very willing, for she liked the feel of him in her hand, both soft and hard at once, in different ways, and was fascinated as to how she could evoke a response with the smallest touch.

'Am I doing it right?' she asked, to be certain.

'Yes, very much so, but—' His hand came down round hers. 'Will you try this?'

And he guided her in a movement much more firm and quick than her own careful exploration. Alison's own attempts to repeat it, though still a little tentative, brought him to moan in pleasure. With a shiver of desire that she felt low in her belly, Alison began to feel her own power in this, how she could bring Ewen's large, strong body to arch against her so with only the grasp of her own small hand.

Presently she felt in fascination how he began to spend, the warm seed that spurted against her, and wondered should she keep stroking him through it; deciding to do so, she was rewarded with such signs of pleasure that she could not doubt it was the right course.

'Oh...oh...' he groaned, and when he began to get his wits back, murmured incoherent praise of her. Alison had to smile, feeling a sense of accomplishment at reducing him to such a state.

'Sorry,' he murmured, reaching for a corner of the sheet with which to dry off the now cooling seed on her belly. But then he coated his fingers in the remaining wetness, and brought them down between her legs.

Alison gasped, and spread her legs eagerly. The evidence of his pleasure had fuelled her desire, and she was very ready for him.

Ewen, still dazed by his own release, looked down upon his wife: her head thrown back, eyes closed, mouth a little open; and the lovely curves of her body leading down to that dark thatch of hair where his fingers played with her. Though he could not help a fierce spark of manly pride at being able to please her, Ewen was not conceited enough to believe that the success of their wedding night was due to his own superior abilities as a lover—he had some experience, yes, but it had been years! No, they had been lucky: not every marriage was a love match, and even so, it was by no means certain that love should guarantee compatibility in the marriage bed.

Recalling what she had asked of him, he murmured, 'Show me how to please you better, m'eudail?'

She moaned, reached her hand down, and showed him.

Some while later, they both lay sprawled upon the bedsheets; Ewen with his hand upon Alison's chest could feel it still rapidly rising and falling. The sunlight lay full and warm on them both.

Alison smiled at him, a little shy again. 'How strange, to lie here in the sunlight like this.'

Ewen grinned at her. 'Do you feel debauched?'

She smiled back, her dimples showing. 'Debauched by my lawful husband, with whom I was very willing to lie?' Alison grew more sober, and continued. ''Tis such a difference, that's all...but a welcome one.'

She turned towards him, and Ewen gathered her sun-warm naked body into his arms, in the broad light of day.

But their wedding night could not last forever: the world must perforce intrude upon them. Ewen called for some water to wash in, then dressed in more every-day clothing which he had, with forethought, left in the room yesterday, and went out, sending in Alison's maid Jeanie who was waiting nearby with similar clothing for her.

They had agreed to come to Lochiel's lodgings for their wedding day breakfast; when they arrived, they were greeted with general congratulation, well-wishing, and smiling remarks on the lateness of their appearance. Ewen could see Alison colouring and felt sure he did so as well. Everyone from Mr Grant to Lady Lochiel must know what they had done! Well, that was after all the nature of a wedding night.

Keith Windham was of the party, as well, though apart from offering conventionally worded congratulations yet again, was content to observe, as the conversation was lively enough without him.

Ardroy and his lady seemed indeed to be happy. Keith could not help but note the change in them since yesterday, which must have been wrought by their wedding night: the smiles and little touches, the way in which their eyes seemed to be drawn to the other. And the blushes, from both of them!

The conclusion was inescapable both that the now-married couple had not anticipated their wedding vows, and that they had found pleasure in their marriage bed. How easily and playfully he had lifted her, last night, into his arms, to carry her into their bed-chamber! But Ardroy was, for all his size and strength, a gentle man—Keith could quite imagine that he would have been careful with her, and solicitous of her pleasure besides. And she, a gently bred and modest woman, to be sure, but with her liveliness and wit, she would not be one to lie back and take no active part in the proceedings...

Ardroy's glance happened to catch his, and Keith struggled not to blush himself, at where his thoughts had been tending. He had met innumerable married couples, and the knowledge that they must surely bed each other did not usually provoke fancies of what they might do in that bed.

'I meant to tell you something, Captain,' said Ardroy in a low tone. 'I didn't want to embarrass you yesterday, at the ball...'

'Yes?' said Keith cautiously.

'You addressed my wife,' and here came upon Ardroy's face an expression of barely suppressed pride at saying those words, 'as Mrs Cameron, which is surely not wrong. But as you are not, I gather, the sort of Englishman who disdains all Highland customs, I may as well enlighten you as to our forms of address. She is Alison Grant still, for we regard marriage as an alliance between clans, but as my wife she is also styled Lady Ardroy.'

Keith could imagine Lady Stowe's expression to hear the wife of a minor land-owner addressed as though she were the wife of a peer, but he said nothing of that. 'Thank you; of course I should like to honour Lady Ardroy with the correct address.'

'I thank you for your courtesy, Captain—and for the efforts you have made to be no trouble to us during your parole. I know I've been busy during the past few days, but I promise you I'll make more of an effort to investigate the possibilities to have you exchanged.'

Keith thanked him for this, and again for his hospitality, but though it was his duty to work for an end to this captivity, he felt an inward pang at the thought of its end. He would miss both Ardroy and his lady, no matter that he had no place at all in their lives.

After breakfast, Ewen went to a council meeting at which he, as usual, said nothing, but stood ready in case the Prince, or anyone else, should need to send a message. Despite having but one function, he performed it poorly, for when he heard Charles Edward say, 'Ardroy, did you hear me?', Ewen came back from a day-dream where he relived last night's activities in his wedding chamber and imagined further ones to come, and knew that he had missed his instructions.

He flushed. 'Your Royal Highness, I do beg your pardon.'

Charles Edward raised his eyebrows. 'Has marriage addled your wits, perhaps?'

Ewen reddened further, and other council members added their jests to the Prince's. But Lochiel smiled fondly at him. Ewen received his instructions again and gratefully left.

While Ewen Cameron was riding to Leith to confer with the captain of a vessel there, his wife was drinking tea with Margaret Ogilvy in the latter's boudoir.

'I need not ask whether you are happy with your wedding night,' said Margaret, smiling, 'for you would not look so radiant if you were not.'

Alison, in the blushing state in which it felt as though her whole morning had been spent, admitted, 'I thought it would be painful, at least at first—but it wasn't, at all.'

'I'm very glad. There was a small amount of pain, for me, but it varies, I think.'

'I suppose so. Ewen gave me so much pleasure before he—well—that it drowned out any other sensation. And he was very gentle.'

'A true gentleman, of course he was,' Margaret said. 'I'm only sorry you won't get any honey-moon.'

'Only a very small one: we have been promised the use of that fine bed-chamber for three more nights. 'Tis something, at least—and then I suppose Ewen will go back to sleeping in that ante-chamber on most nights.' Alison sighed. 'And who knows how long the army will stay here in Edinburgh.'

Margaret sobered. 'Aye, that's what we're all wondering...has Ewen told you anything of the council meetings?'

'Some, but of course he can't reveal any military decisions. He's troubled at the dissension in the council.'

'So is David. From what I've heard, the Prince and some of his supporters are for invading England.'

Alison nodded. 'I've heard Lochiel and Ewen and the others discussing it—they think it folly with such small numbers, without we have promises of French support, or English.'

'Yes...but to stay here and do nothing while the Usurper gathers his forces? Should we not take Newcastle, at the least?'

Alison smiled fondly at Margaret, who looked ready to march that very day, and raised her eyebrows. 'We, you say?'

'Yes, we. Why should we not go as well? 'Tis not an uncommon thing, for soldiers' wives to go with them—I'm sure some of your Ardroy women went.'

'Aye, as cooks, and to do work round the camps,' said Alison slowly. She had thought Margaret to be jesting, at first, but it seemed she was not.

'I should rather endure cold and discomfort, than to be parted from David, and suffer the anxiety of not knowing where he was, and whether he were alive!'

The thought took root in Alison: what would it be like, to have known Ewen as she had now so intimately done, and then to part from him? Were they not joined before God and man, now? 'I had not really thought of it,' she said, considering the matter further. 'That I could go with him. What does your David have to say about it?'

'We did this together, from the first,' said Margaret. 'I helped him muster the tenants, and wrote much of the correspondence—there was really no question but that I would come with him to Edinburgh. But we've been talking further on the matter, and he won't oppose my going with him on campaign, if 'tis what I want—and I think it is.' Her smile grew soft. 'He calls me his 'listed soldier,' she confessed.

Alison suspected that Ewen might rather wish to keep her safe—and she wondered what going on campaign would truly entail. 'I should not wish to be a burden on Ewen, nor on the army,' she said. 'But if there were something I could do, and serve the cause…I'll have to think further on it.'

'Yes—and we don't know yet what will happen. Perhaps, after all, the Prince will stay and hold Edinburgh.'

Their talk turned to other topics—the preparations for the next gathering at Holyrood House, the manifesto which the Prince had recently published in the Caledonian Mercury, and Curly Fergusson's public dispute with one of the city's prominent Whig ladies. But Alison knew that now the notion of following Ewen on campaign had taken hold in her mind, she would not soon forget it.

She and Margaret joined the Prince's public dinner that day, to see and be seen; Alison received many renewed congratulations on her wedding. They went, as well, to hear any news that was going round—but that news was to be rather more dramatic than expected.

Halfway through the meal, a messenger came: a young MacDonald officer by his clothing. He bowed and approached the Prince to give his report, which seemed urgent. Though he leant down close, the nearest diners evidently could not fail to hear him, and ripples of queries and whispered replies spread out through the room like waves spreading out from a rock dropped into a body of water.

The Prince, perceiving that any attempt at discretion must be vain, surrendered to the inevitable and raised his voice. 'Ladies and gentlemen, I might as well tell you the news, or 'twill soon have spread in a wildly exaggerated fashion. Last night, a party of a few Highlanders surreptitiously attempted to scale the Castle Rock, to find a way of getting at the Castle. This valiant attempt failed—I'm sorry to say that one of the common soldiers fell to his death, and the officer was captured. But as he has a French commission, I'm sure he will be well treated.'

French commission? Alison immediately feared the worst. But she was not the only one to wonder, for the Prince added, 'The officer is Lieutenant Hector Grant.'

Alison let out a small cry, and Margaret Ogilvy laid a hand on her arm. 'Your brother, I believe?'

Alison nodded. 'Aye. Oh, how typical of him!' It was just the sort of daring stunt her brother delighted in. 'But after all, I suppose 'tis better that he be captured than fall to his death.'

That evening at supper, having heard of Lieutenant Grant's plight, Captain Windham spoke up. 'I'm sorry to hear this about your brother, Lady Ardroy, but it strikes me that we could perhaps make common cause here. Captain Cameron, what do you think? Lieutenant Grant and I are of similar rank—could there be a chance of an exchange?'

'That is a capital idea!' said Ardroy. 'You are of similar rank, yes, but more materially, he has a French commission.'

Keith nodded. 'There is a cartel with France, as there is not with your party.'

'Yes!' said Ardroy. 'The negotiations to have you exchanged have so far not been promising, but I think your plan may well answer. And, of course, I now have twice the reason to work for it,' he said, exchanging a look with Alison and Mr Grant.

'I thank you,' said Keith, then turned to Alison. 'And I hope, for your sake, that your brother may be free soon.'

'Thank you, Captain Windham,' she said. 'But I have to say, I'm not surprised at his plight!' And she and Mr Grant told a few stories of Hector Grant which had them all laughing rather immoderately.

Before they all retired to bed, Ardroy pulled Keith aside. 'There's a day left of your parole—you see, I remember it this time!—but I thought I'd better ask you now. We have good prospects now for an exchange; will you prolong your parole? For perhaps five days from now?'

'That seems eminently reasonable,' said Keith, and they shook hands on it.

The newly-weds left for their fine chamber at the Palace, no doubt to divert themselves far into the night, and Keith was left behind with Mr Grant. He slept that night in the little bed-chamber that he supposed was meant for Ardroy and his lady, when their honey-moon was over—though Ardroy's duties would, he supposed, keep him at the Palace a great deal, even at night.

When he had gone to bed and blown out the candle, Keith lay looking out of the window, through which he could see the wall of the opposite land, with half of a window with a faint light flickering inside.

He had not seriously thought about the state of marriage in many years. It was an irrelevance for one of his philosophy: love never lasted, and marriage for the sake of money or status seemed rather sordid to Keith. He had seen too many officers hang after wealthy widows or young well-dowered debutantes.

But Keith was finding it difficult to hold fast to his usual cynical state of mind. Ewen Cameron and his lady seemed so genuinely attached to each other, and the thought that they would grow indifferent, would grow to despise each other, or one of them betray the other, as seemed in general quite likely between lovers, was peculiarly painful to Keith.

What was it to him, after all? They had come into his life for a few brief weeks, and would likely exit it with no regrets, and scarcely remember him afterwards. There was no reason why he should particularly remember them, either.

It struck Keith that Ewen Cameron might very well come to grief during the rebellion, and his marriage have no time to lose its honey-moon glow—but that was hardly a comfort.

It was time for him to return to his regiment, Keith decided. These maudlin thoughts must arise from being thrust so closely into the affairs of other people, whom he had no business growing attached to—especially as he might, regrettably, be facing one of them in battle soon.

Keith turned in the bed so as to face away from the other window with its faint light, and drew the blankets up. Only a few more days, and then he would be quit of these Jacobites.

But then he remembered, with a chill, the prophecy of which Alison Grant had spoken—which foretold that they would meet once more, and their fates be entwined. Keith thrust the thought away like one of the irritating midges which plagued the Highlands. What superstitious nonsense!

And yet, he found it peculiarly difficult to fall asleep.

Ardroy and his lady did not fall asleep until late, either, but for a different reason. Throughout the latter part of their supper, Ewen had found his thoughts straying towards bedtime, and hoping very much that Alison would be inclined to continue the explorations which had begun last night and morning. Indeed, it was not the first time this had happened, and Ewen had to admit the justice of the Prince's assertion that marriage had addled his wits.

They left Mr Grant's lodgings and began to walk towards Holyrood House, side by side; Ewen glanced at Alison and found that when her eyes met his, a spark passed between them, such that Ewen felt his whole body flushing with heat. His hand tightened on hers, and he felt her answering press.

And so, when they had closed the door of their fine bed-chamber behind them, Alison reached eagerly up towards him, and Ewen bent down to kiss her. Gone now was the sweet shyness of their wedding night—they both knew the mysteries of the marriage bed, and both hungered for more.

But he must still be gentle, Ewen reminded himself, though he was hard already at the press of Alison's body against his. The thought of going slow was its own spur to his desire, and he groaned into her mouth.

'May I show you something new?' he asked.

She smiled, her eyes sparkling. 'I look forward to it.'

Ewen backed her up to the bed, pushing her down to lie on her back. Alison went very willingly; she made a small squeak when he threw her skirts up, but then spread her legs, planting her feet on the edge of the bed.

He took a moment to look at her lying there, with the most intimate parts of her open to him, while she could see nothing of what he did: her pale rounded thighs leading in to that dark unruly mound of hair, and the rosy parted lips. Surely he must be doing something right as a husband, thought Ewen, for her to be so eager!

'How beautiful you are, m'eudail,' he murmured.

She was quick to reply as always, though her voice was a trifle breathless. 'I'll have to trust you on that—'tis not as though I've ever truly seen that part of myself!'

In reply, he kissed the innermost part of her thigh, and she gasped. He parted her lips with his thumbs and blew warm breath over her, then licked her very gently.

'Ewen—' said Alison, squirming slightly. 'Do you really—that is to say—'

'If you don't like it, I'll surely stop,' he reassured her. 'Let me try it first?'

'...yes, if you really want to.'

'I do,' he assured her.

Ewen could not help recalling the last time he had done this, to a woman who had shown no hesitancy, but accepted it as her due; who had, in fact, taught him to do it to please her. But it had never been a chore to him—quite the reverse.

However, it was not the Comtesse de Coligny lying before him now, but his own dearest wife, and he must not assume she would like the same things—but he hoped she would like this. Ewen began slowly, with small, careful laps of his tongue, then began applying the skills he had learnt. Every sound and response from Alison was a triumph to him.

'Have I won you over, mo chridhe?' he asked at last, when he felt certain of her reply.

'Oh—yes!' she replied. 'But are you really serious when you say that you like it?'

'I love it,' he owned, and leant down to resume his efforts. Alison gasped.

'Warn me before you spend,' said Ewen, for he dearly wanted to be inside her when that happened—he was so hard that he ached, at the mere thought of it.

Presently he could sense that she was close. 'Ah, Ewen—but don't stop, please!'

He did stop, and she groaned in frustration.

Ewen stood, and lifted his kilt to show her the state he was in. 'I want to be inside you. May I?'

'Yes!' She moved up on the bed, to let him kneel between her legs. But when he lifted her knees up, she protested. 'My stays! They're too tight for that.'

Ewen cursed, apologised for it, and, with fingers that fumbled with haste, he loosened her gown and her stays. Alison laughed and rolled over on her back again, lifting her legs up; impatiently, he piled the masses of her skirts out of the way.

But Ewen shook off his haze of desire—he could not just plunge ahead and take his own pleasure. And so, very slowly, he pressed inside her.

'Not too fast?' he asked her. He was leaning over her, supporting himself on one elbow, and their faces were close enough that their breaths, coming quickly, mingled between them.

Alison shook her head, with that intent look on her face, and Ewen groaned as he finally reached the end of that slow, drawn-out thrust.

'Oh! Wait,' she said, and Ewen obeyed. He leant down to close the last distance between them and kissed her with all the passion that was in him, feeling all the while the trembling urgency of his own desire, reined in at her word.

Their mouths parted at last, and he murmured, 'Touch yourself—since I can't do it.'

He was glad to see that she had no hesitation in reaching down to do so. 'Tell me when to move, m'eudail.'

Alison's dark eyes held his gaze as her chest rose and fell rapidly, her loosened stays and shift revealing some of the swell of her breasts. Then she nodded, and Ewen gave her a tiny thrust, barely more than a shift of his hips. Nevertheless, the jolt of pleasure he felt from it caused him to wonder whether he would, after all, last long enough to allow her to spend first.

But he was gratified to see that Alison, too, was showing signs of pleasure: as he thrust gently into her, her head fell back, and her mouth opened in a soundless gasp. He applied himself to eliciting further such responses, and she was soon urging him on, her legs coming up to close round his back.

With a dizzy sense of wonder, Ewen felt her begin to spend round him, her body seizing up in waves; while he might perhaps have been able to hold out some while further, if it came only to his own physical pleasure, he could not hold out against the evidence of hers, and with her cries in his ears, he soon spent himself with a few hard thrusts.

Afterwards, he managed to hold himself up enough on elbows and knees that he would not crush her, but remained where he was, reluctant for the joining between them to end.

'...good?' he asked, with some vague thought of ensuring that she had not been hurt.

She unlocked her legs from round his back and nuzzled her face against his neck. 'Mmmm,' she replied, with as much coherence as he.

At length, he rolled off her, undoubtedly crushing her gown further. 'I've been thinking about this all day,' she owned.

'So have I!' said Ewen with feeling.

They exchanged some further kisses, and then Alison laughed. 'Should we perhaps take our clothes off?'

He laughed, as well, and they did.

Chapter Text

Now ensconced beneath the covers with Alison in his arms, and the candle blown out, Ewen was well content to drift off to sleep. But Alison, it seemed, was not.

'Perhaps I should write a note of thanks to Madame de Coligny,' she murmured.

Ewen roused himself to reply. 'And here I was congratulating myself on having pleased you...but you're quite right. She was a good teacher.'

'And you an apt student, it seems!'

'I'm glad you think so.' How relieved he was that she was not jealous of Louise! For which there was truly no need, so long afterwards.

Alison was silent for a moment, then said hesitantly, 'May I ask you something?'

'Of course,' he said, but wondered at her serious tone.

'I heard a rumour, in Paris—not that it was openly talked of, you understand, but naturally I had my ears open for everything I could learn of you—that Madame de Coligny was not your only lover.'

Ewen was wide awake now, his eyes straining in the darkness to see her expression, but of course he could not. 'Who, then?'

'...the Vicomte de Sainte-Hermine. Was it true?' came Alison's low voice.

Ewen was silent, trying to think of what to reply—but of course his silence was an admission on its own. 'Yes,' he owned at last, fearing what her response would be. 'Do you...despise me for it?'

'Ewen, I could never despise you,' she assured him. 'I—I confess that I'm intrigued by it, though perhaps I should not say that.'

He let out a breath. 'Far better that than have you condemn me for it, I assure you. I admit that when I first came to Paris, I was shocked by the affairs I witnessed among the Paris nobility, and many of them I still consider wrong: husband taking lovers covertly, when they tired of their wives, and wives doing the same; men diverting themselves with young women and promising marriage, only to cast them aside when the novelty had worn off. Perhaps 'tis self-serving of me to justify myself thus, but I did consider the morality of my acts. Madame de Coligny was a widow; she betrayed no one, and neither did I. And as for Monsieur de Sainte-Hermine...'

'Yes?'

'He was unmarried, as was I...and when it comes to the morality of the act, he was fond of philosophy and quite willing to debate the matter, even as far as challenging that it was a sin. I confess I found his arguments convincing: 'tis a matter that harms no one, and even in the Bible, did not David find in Jonathan ''a love that surpassed the love of woman''?' Ewen remembered those discussions well, over glasses of the finest wine he had ever had: it had been seduction by philosophical argument, almost, had not Ewen's own desire and curiosity conspired with Philippe's arguments to bring him down.

'Were you with him before Madame de Coligny? Or afterwards?' asked Alison.

Ewen coloured in the darkness, where none could see it. 'Um. At the same time.'

'What?' exclaimed Alison. 'Do tell me more—I know you would not betray a lover, even had you not just said so.'

He was glad this conversation took place in the dark, where it was easier to confess such things. 'The two of them were great friends. I met her first; she later introduced me to him, and encouraged me to accept his advances, if I were so inclined.'

'Were they also lovers?' she asked.

'No; he was not inclined towards women, or at least, not in the bedroom. But he enjoyed their company otherwise, and with his philosophical and literary interests, was a great favourite with the salonnières.'

'Was he handsome?' Ewen could hear the smile in Alison's voice.

Oh, would the questions never end! 'Yes, quite, though his attraction lay as much in his wit. He was older than I was, though not by very much: somewhere between five-and-twenty and thirty.'

Alison was silent for a moment, and then said. 'You never told me this before.'

'No. Cannot you see why? And when I met you, 'twas over and in the past.'

'Yes, I do see why,' she said thoughtfully. 'Did you part on amicable terms?'

'Yes. Sainte-Hermine went travelling abroad, which put an end to our affaire quite naturally.'

'And Madame de Coligny?'

'I broke with her after I had first become acquainted with you. I knew I could not feel free to court you, as I knew I wanted to do, if I had another lover. But she was not offended: she knew I would not be in Paris for ever, and there were, after all, plenty of other young men with whom she might indulge in gallantries. She certainly had no wish to become the lady of a Highland estate.' Ewen almost laughed at the thought. 'Aside from all else, she never ventured out of doors was there the least rain or storm.'

'Oh! I never knew I was the reason for your parting.'

Now Ewen wished that he could have seen her face, but he could only speak from the heart, with no guidance from her expression. 'You were. Alison, those affairs I had: I'll not say they had no value for me, or that I felt no tendresse towards my lovers, but 'twas not the lasting love I feel for you. And more than that—neither of them could have been a partner and helpmeet to me, as you are.'

She came close, to give him a kiss. 'Oh, m'eudail, I'm not jealous. I should perhaps ask you to forgive me, rather, for prying into your past! 'Twas only, I was so curious...'

Ewen laughed, with some relief. 'Well, I hope I've satisfied your curiosity!'

'And of course you need not fear that I would ever tell anyone.'

'No. But what of your conquests?' he asked, teasingly. 'You must let me ask you that, in return.'

'Oh, there's not much to tell,' said Alison, settling herself more comfortably with her head pillowed on his shoulder. 'Perhaps that's why I'm so curious about yours. But, as you might know, MacDonald of Kinlochgarry courted me before you did.'

'Yes, I do know that much! He was not to your taste?'

'Assuredly not! For one thing, he was twenty years my senior. But more to the point, he was ill-tempered—my maid heard from his servants how he treated them. Father supported me in refusing him.'

'Mmm. From what I've heard of him, I agree with you. No one else?' he murmured.

'Well, I have eyes in my head,' admitted Alison. 'There were men I admired before you, and I own that I flirted with some of them. But you were the first I truly loved.'

He had to kiss her for that, and pull her closer, stroking his hand down her back. She snuggled closer, twining their legs together. After a moment of silence, Ewen murmured, 'Good night, dear heart.'

'Good night, mo ghraidh,' she whispered in reply.

Ewen lay awake some while before sleeping, wondering at the night's conversation. He had not thought ever to tell Alison about Philippe and had thought no hint of rumour had ever reached her about the affair. He could count himself lucky, to have such a wife...

A few days later, Ewen was walking up the hill towards the Castle. Neil and two of his Ardroy men marched before him, as a guard, though their function was more ceremonial than actually to keep him safe, for the Castle was expecting him.

Beside him walked Captain Keith Windham in his scarlet uniform, picking his way through the unfortunate mess of the Lawn Market: the scattered refuse of chamber pots, mixed with a soggy newspaper or two and the occasional food scrap, rooted out by resourceful dogs. But there had, at least, been a heavy shower in the early morning, and the resulting rainwater was now draining down the streets. Gulls cried overhead, where the changeable clouds chased each other over the sky in the fresh wind.

'Will you be able to return to your regiment, do you think?' asked Ewen of the man who was soon to be his prisoner no longer.

Windham shrugged. 'That depends, I suppose.' Then he glanced at Ewen with one of his quick smiles. 'It depends, I should say, on how much longer you'll be holding the city. If you tell me that, I'll be able to reply.'

Ewen coloured. 'I suppose it was rather a foolish question.' For of course the garrison was shut up in the Castle, and Windham could go nowhere, nor his regiment come to him, unless the Hanoverians took the city or the Jacobites left it. There was something about Captain Windham which made Ewen desirous of having his good opinion, and consequently he often felt that he put his foot in his mouth.

'Well, I hope you'll not give an unfavourable report of our hospitality,' continued Ewen, 'but I also hope that 'tis the only thing you'll be able to report on.'

'I will, of course, give what report I can, and some of it my superiors might find of interest,' said Windham drily. 'But I'm sure there are Whig spies in the city already, and I doubt I can add much to their reports.'

'Aye, the city has Whigs aplenty—as it has Jacobites.'

They were silent for a minute, as the Lawn Market gave way to the steeper street of Castle Hill. Then Captain Windham spoke again, in a lower voice. 'But I've something to say, before we part, and I don't care to say it before the Castle garrison.'

Nevertheless, Windham hesitated before continuing. Finally, he said, 'Your lady told me about a...a prophecy, spoken by some...seer at Ardroy.' He seemed to have difficulty taking the portentous words into his mouth, but there was no trace of mockery in his tone. 'If there's anything to it—which I would not ordinarily credit—we're all three of us to meet a third time. I wanted to reassure you of my good intentions, should that occur. Which it conceivably might, of course, regardless of prophecies.'

Ewen had looked at Windham in surprise when this speech began, and felt now a surge of good feeling towards him. Ewen had himself hesitated to bring this matter up, for fear of exciting ridicule, but he was glad that Windham had done so. 'Yes, Alison told me of your conversation. And no, I would not ordinarily credit such a thing, either—but we're at war, and neither of us knows how 'twill end. Windham, God knows I've nothing but good intentions towards you, in return. If we should meet in battle...'

'If that should happen, I'd turn my sword aside,' said Windham in a low, but intense voice. Ewen briefly met his gaze, which was equally intense. Then Windham looked away, as though he felt he had said too much.

But Ewen impulsively stopped, and took him by the shoulder. 'I'll say the same—nay, better.' With his right hand, he drew the blade of his broadsword a few inches, then touched the cold metal. 'Windham, I swear by the iron that I'll not harm you, if I can help it.'

He met Windham's surprised gaze, close at hand, for a few seconds—what singular eyes he had, a light brown or hazel, studded with green—before the subject of his oath looked away. 'I thank you,' he said.

But Neil had turned round, to see why they tarried, and Ewen resumed his climb towards the Castle, with Windham beside him. Had he been rash? There were stories of oaths sworn in haste, that turned awry and to harm in the end...but he had meant what he said, and it surely could be no part of his duty intentionally to harm Keith Windham.

By the Castle gates stood two Hanoverian officers, along with Lieutenant Hector Grant, guarded by three redcoated soldiers. The wind was more than brisk up here on the hill, and the officer who was standing out of the shelter of the gates had to hold on to his cocked hat, to the detriment of his dignity.

'Captain Cameron, I presume?' he asked.

'Yes, and you must be Major Webber?' replied Ewen.

'Ardroy! About time you came,' interjected Lieutenant Grant, and Ewen gave him a quelling glance.

'Yes, I am,' said Major Webber. 'Are you ready to exchange prisoners?'

Ewen nodded, and turned towards Windham. 'Captain Windham,' he said formally, 'I release you from your parole. Your sword may leave the sheath again.'

'Thank you,' said Windham, equally formally, perhaps unconsciously touching the hilt of his sword. He had surrendered it to Ewen upon being taken prisoner, but Ewen had returned it to him upon granting him parole, as a sign of trust.

Ewen felt the impulse to step closer, perhaps to smile and put his hand on Windham's shoulder in farewell, or shake his hand, after the moment they had shared in the street. But he mastered himself in time: he was a Jacobite officer, and Windham would not thank him for showing him any friendliness in front of his superiors. Instead, he only nodded to him.

As Ewen met Windham's gaze, he was surprised by how much it conveyed. Windham's eyes were smiling, if his mouth was not, and Ewen found himself wishing that there would indeed be a next meeting—after the war was ended.

But the moment passed quickly: Windham was striding over towards the gate, and Hector Grant coming forward. Ewen exchanged one last glance with Windham, and then the Hanoverians were withdrawing.

Hector was in high spirits, and with very little prompting regaled Ewen with the story of how he had scaled the steep slopes of the Castle Rock, and his subsequent capture. He told it to Alison as well, after they had been reunited that afternoon, and Ewen observed him in a circle of ladies that evening, telling the story yet again—but to greater acclaim, for they did not scold him, as Alison had done.

October drew towards its end, and rumour flew round the city faster, and penetrated farther into its narrowest close, than did the increasingly chilly autumn wind and weather. Would the Prince move, and if so, in which direction? Would he settle in for the winter? Would the transports of the redcoat regiments have favourable winds from Flanders?

It was clear that something, at least, was in the offing, for the Jacobite troops were shifted to new camps; though Prince Charles had been diligent in inspections and exercises during the whole month, such activities reached a new pitch, and Edinburgh bakers were given large orders of sixpenny loaves.

On the night of October 30th, Ewen tramped wearily towards his and Alison's lodgings with his head turned down against the cold wind, which carried hints of rain. He had been kept on his feet all day with despatches of one sort or other, but now that he was married, he and Archie took turns sleeping in the Prince's ante-chamber. Unlocking the door and entering, Ewen found their lodgings dark. No wonder; with the lateness of the hour, both Alison and Mr Grant must have gone to bed.

Well, no use getting a light; he wanted nothing more than to tumble directly into bed. Ewen felt his way towards the door of his and Alison's small room and opened it quietly, but upon entering it, he stubbed his toe on the leg of a chair.

He stifled his exclamation of pain to a mere grunt, but Alison evidently woke. 'Ewen, is that you?'

'Aye, of course it is—I'm sorry I woke you.'

'No matter,' she said. 'I haven't seen you all day, and I don't want to sleep through it now.'

Ewen stripped down to his shirt and hung his clothes by feel on the chair. 'You know I have my duties.'

'I know—I've no complaints.'

Ewen went towards the sound of her voice and got wearily into bed. He had been longing to take her warm, welcoming body in his arms, and was now at last able to do so, under blankets which were not cold, as when he went to bed alone.

'Ach, now I do have complaints! Ewen, you're cold,' she exclaimed, but nevertheless drew him close and kissed him.

There was silence in the dark room for a few minutes, then Ewen drew back his head a little and sighed in contentment. Her warm hand found its way up underneath his shirt to rest in the small of his back, and Ewen felt himself relaxing against her. After several weeks of marriage, they no longer took every chance they possibly could to bed each other, though indeed they did so often enough. But there were other joys of marriage, as well, and that of simply sharing a bed was one in which Ewen took a great deal of pleasure.

'Did you work hard today?' murmured Alison.

'Mmm. But the Prince drives himself no less hard.'

'Any news yet?'

'No, not yet, though tomorrow the Council must surely reach a decision.' Ewen had begun to confide to his wife things which, strictly speaking, perhaps he should not—but he knew she could be circumspect, and were they not now one in the eyes of God and man? 'I'm almost glad I don't have a vote, for I don't know where I would lay it! No, that's not true—I'd follow Lochiel's lead, of course.'

'But you don't know if he's right?'

Ewen sighed. 'He has no prior military experience—and neither, of course, have I. The Prince has a point in that Highlanders are not made for garrison duty; they would grow impatient and fractious, and go home instead. But give them a chance of battle and glory, and they will bear any hardships. So the Prince is for invading England. Lord George argues that 'tis madness with our small numbers, without we have guarantees that the English Jacobites will rise, as well—and we saw how well that went, in the '15. He is for staying and securing Scotland, and waiting for French reinforcements. But the Prince argues that the time to act is now, before the Hanoverians can bring all their regiments over from Flanders, that France will support us from across the Channel, and that the English Jacobites will rise. The Prince's Irish advisors all side with him, of course, but most of them are adventurers.' He fell silent for a space. 'What do you think?'

'Me? Ach, Ewen, I can see why you hesitate. We ladies talk of it as well, and for the most part they are for staying and defending what we've taken. Which is not strange, for we are Scots—but the Prince is not. He came to Scotland first, yes, but his birthright is all of Britain.'

'I think you see into the heart of it,' said Ewen thoughtfully. 'But as to which has the greater chance of success, I'm not the man to say. I'm good enough with a sword, and I can lead my men, but I'm no general.'

'Mmm. You're good with your other sword, as well,' said Alison slyly, moving her hand to cup that part of him, which was currently rather softer than a sword.

Ewen giggled helplessly into her hair. 'I admit I'm tired tonight, but if you wanted to persuade me, I think you could.'

She joined him in laughter. 'No, I just couldn't resist the wordplay.'

He snorted. 'The swordplay, more like.' They laughed further, and he kissed her with some intent.

But presently they grew serious again. Alison said, with more hesitation than was her wont, 'Ewen. I've been thinking. If the plan to invade England should go forward...'

'Yes?'

'I want to go with you.'

'What?' exclaimed Ewen. 'But—' He did not continue, for the obstacles to her suggestion seemed to him too obvious to need stating.

'I've been talking with Margaret Ogilvy, and she plans to accompany her husband. So does Murray of Broughton's wife, Curly Ferguson. So I wouldn't be alone—Lady Ogilvy and I could share her carriage.'

Ewen made as if to speak, but she continued. 'No, hear me out! I remember how it felt, when you left me at Ardroy, and 'twould be a hundred times worse to be left behind now. Not to know where you were, whether you were injured, and whether perhaps some indifferent nurse neglected you, when I could have been there there to nurse you myself.'

Ewen could contain himself no longer. 'But do you think I could bear to take you into danger!' His arms tightened round her.

'Would I be in danger?' she countered. 'Do you think even the Usurper's army would harm officers' wives? And if I went back to Ardroy, would I not equally be in danger there? We're at war, Ewen, and what if the Campbells went raiding?'

This had, of course, been a possibility from the beginning, but the thought now struck fresh anguish into his heart.

'I know 'twill be hard going, and no pleasure-trip,' continued Alison determinedly, 'and I'd never wish to slow down Prince's army for the sake of my own selfish wish to stay by your side. If I go, I should wish to serve the cause. I approached Murray of Broughton, and asked whether I couldn't be of service as a clerk, to aid with the collection of taxes. I write a good hand, and I've done the accounts for my father's household during the past four years. And some of the work, the counting up of coin and such, could be done in the carriage, even if the roads are too bad for writing. He allowed that it might answer well.'

'But...what if you get with child?' asked Ewen.

'God knows I do want to bear your children!' said Alison. 'But a pregnancy takes nine months—'twould be no immediate hindrance to me on the road, and I would have time to get to Ardroy. Oh, Ewen, please let me come!'

Ewen was silent. She had been ready for this conversation, had marshalled all her arguments as did a general his regiments on the field, and he had been all unprepared.

'Let me think on it,' he said slowly into the darkness. All he knew was that the thought of losing her struck fear into his heart.

The future of the Jacobite venture was settled in Council the next day with one vote to spare: they would invade England—but Prince Charles had to give up the eastern route, in favour of the western one favoured by Lord George Murray. Ewen still did not know which was more likely to succeed, but there was a certain relief in the prospect of action.

The preparations for departure intensified, but while snatching a quick dinner, Ewen glimpsed Lord David Ogilvy, with whom he had been hoping to speak.

He made his way through the crowd towards him. 'May I have a private word with you, sir?' Ewen liked what he had seen of David Ogilvy: a young Lowland lord with great zeal for the cause and an easy and engaging manner.

'Of course.' They went aside, to a corner of the room. 'Is this private enough?'

'I suppose so,' said Ewen. 'It appears that my wife has been inspired by yours, sir.'

'Oh, in which fashion? They do appear to have become great friends.'

'Aye. Alison told me, last night, of her wish to come with me on campaign. I'd never considered the idea before, and my first thought was to dismiss it out of hand, so as not to bring her into danger—but you, it seems, must have thought more deeply on this matter, since Lady Ogilvy is to accompany you.'

David Ogilvy smiled ruefully. 'I own that my first response was similar to yours. But Margaret is both persuasive and resourceful, and once I saw that she had thought of all aspects of the matter, I gave way. She has, in fact, been fully as active as myself in the cause, so how could I deny her?'

'As to the practicalities—Alison tells me that she might share Lady Ogilvy's carriage. Would you have any objection to that?' Something in Ewen halfway hoped that there would be some practical obstacle.

'Far from it—I'd be glad for her to have the company of a friend.'

'Thank you,' said Ewen. 'But you'll be in the Lowland division, and I in the Highland one.' For Colonel O'Sullivan, the quartermaster-general, had divided the army in two, for reasons of both tactics and supply.

'Yes, that's true,' said Lord Ogilvy. 'As I understand it, the intention is not to keep us separated for long, but to converge on Carlisle, and keep in close contact thereafter.'

Ewen nodded. 'But we Highlanders will take the worst roads, and you the artillery train and baggage—our route would not answer for the ladies' carriage.'

'No, they'll have to come with us. Ardroy, I promise I'd do my best for your wife, during the times when she's with our division—I expect she and Margaret could share a bed.'

Ewen recognised ruefully that they were speaking as though it were already an established fact that Alison would come. He shook his head. 'It seems that I can't deny my wife, either.'

'Welcome to married life,' said Lord Ogilvy, with a smile. 'I hope it agrees with you.'

'Thank you, it does,' said Ewen, and took his leave.

Well, Alison's plans to become a clerk were quite reasonable ones: she was not robbing gentlemen at pistol-point in order to add their jewels to the Prince's coffers, like Curly Ferguson...that lady certainly had her admirers, but Ewen was glad to be married to a woman of good sense.

But, nevertheless, that thought woke a further one, on which Ewen resolved to act that same day. Faith, but the first troops were leaving tomorrow! There was no time to lose. Ewen bent over a table and began to pen a quick note to Alison, conveying his approval of her plans, so that she could prepare.

'Ardroy, I've just got word that the Duke of Perth has arrived with his troops,' said a familiar voice behind him. 'Will you ride to Craigleith and let him know our plans?'

'Yes, Your Highness,' said Ewen over his shoulder, and finished the last line of his note. He straightened and strode out of the room, in search of his horse and one of the ever-present Edinburgh caddies to deliver his note.

Though it was late before he could find time to return to their lodgings, the windows were lighted. His wife and her maid was packing, and Mr Grant was looking on with a resigned expression.

'Ewen!' said Alison, whirling to face him. Her face was alight with purpose. 'Thank you for the note.'

Ewen took her in his arms for a brief kiss. 'You know the Lowland division is marching tomorrow? Are you prepared?'

'Aye, I've spent today conferring with Margaret and making sure I have winter clothing.'

''Tis a hard thing for a father,' said Mr Grant, 'to have both my children leave with the army.'

'You shouldn't have had me read you all those military histories, if you didn't want me taking an interest,' said Alison promptly, but then came to kiss his cheek. 'Dearest father, I do understand! I'll be careful as I can, I promise.'

'You are no longer in my care, but in your husband's,' said Mr Grant. 'I do hope he knows what he's doing.'

With Mr Grant's gaze on him, Ewen said, 'So do I. But I promise you, you could not reproach me more than I would myself, should anything happen to her. I suppose Alison has told you of the arrangements we're making?'

'I have,' said Alison.

'I dearly wish we had more time,' said Ewen, 'but I can't stay here tonight; I must attend the Prince. But I've brought you something.'

'Yes?'

'I'd had thoughts of buying you jewelry, after our short honeymoon...but I spent the money on something that 'twill serve you better, I believe.' Ewen took out a leather-holstered pistol. 'You ought to have some means of defense, should you—God forbid—need it.'

Alison took it, drawing the weapon from its holster. 'I have my sgian, of course...oh, but Ewen, this is beautiful!' She turned the pistol over admiringly. The stock was of polished dark walnut, and the steel lock engraved with delicate twining leaves and flowers.

Ewen had spent more money than perhaps he should on it, but seeing her expression, he felt it had not been wasted. 'Have you used one before?'

Alison shook her head. 'But both Father and Hector have shown me how they work. I remember how proud Hector was of his first pistol—he could talk of little else for days.'

Ewen took out the matching little powder horn and the balls. 'Tell me what you remember of how to load it, then.'

'Well, I'd put powder in the barrel,' said Alison promptly, 'but I'm not sure how much. Then I'd ram the ball down with the ramrod, place the hammer at half-cock, and pour a little powder in the pan. And finally, cock the hammer and pull the trigger.'

'Good,' said Ewen. 'I'll show you how to measure the powder, or Mr Grant can do it, but here are some cartridges as well, for when you're in a hurry. Only keep them dry.'

'I will,' said Alison. Then she set the pistol down on the table and reached up to give him a kiss. 'Oh, Ewen, thank you!'

Ewen held her tight. Despite the doubts and reservations he still had, he felt equally that there was something right in it, too, that they should both go forth together, and not be parted.

'I might not be able to be there tomorrow, to see you off,' said Ewen. 'The Highland division is not to set out until a day or two after.'

She nodded. 'I understand.'

A final kiss, and they parted.

Chapter Text

The sun was setting in the west as Prince Charles finally gave orders for the Lowland division to march from Dalkeith. Alison and Margaret had been ready for hours in their carriage, but as Alison was to find out, waiting for orders was a much more common situation in army life than battle was.

Alison tried not to be disappointed that Ewen could not be there to see her off, but she had known it was not likely. As the wheels of the carriage were set in motion, there was a fluttering in her stomach, and she looked at Margaret Ogilvy's face, which held a similar expression. Alison reached out to take her hand, and her friend pressed it and smiled.

The carriage was not a small one, but the two of them, along with Margaret's maid, were a tight fit, for it contained Lord Ogilvy's baggage as well as theirs, along with odds and ends of army equipment which had been stowed there for lack of other space. Alison's maid, Jeanie, had been too timid to follow her mistress into war, so Alison had given her a month's extra wages and a good character, and wished her luck in finding a new place in Edinburgh. Margaret's maid would do for both of them—it was not as though they would need any elaborate dressing.

They arrived in the dark, though it had been a short march enough, at the hamlet of Penicuik, where the fledgling army had its first practice at setting up camp for the night. But Lord Ogilvy found billets for himself, as well as for them, at the house of a papermaker at the mill which supplied the material for Edinburgh's news-sheets.

The next day was a longer march, where Alison saw fear on the faces of townspeople when they entered the town of Peebles. But the men had strict orders not to cause any disturbance, and Alison saw no real sign of it, nor of any resistance from the town.

The troops rested on the following day, but Alison was not idle: she performed her duty as a clerk to the tax-collectors, writing up receipts for land-owners from whom they collected the property tax, and counting up the coins. The money was sometimes given willingly, sometimes not, but the presence of a contingent of soldiers ensured that it was always paid. This civil branch of the aspiring Jacobite state was as important as the army, for the one relied upon the other, and vice versa: a contributing reason for Prince Charles' wish to move on from Edinburgh was that they had exhausted the funds that could easily be raised in that city. Armies cost money, and a lot of it, too.

They were soon on the march again and, over the following days, Alison began to get used to army life. It was tiring enough, to be jolted about every day in the carriage, but she had, after all, chosen it herself, and it was not a hardship she could not easily bear. From what she could see, the troops were not wearied overmuch, though she heard that some of the Atholl men, conscripted as they were, had deserted. But none of the Ardroy men would do so, she was sure.

The army pushed on past Tweedsmuir into the watershed area of the hills, less high than those of the Highlands, but high and bleak enough to those unfamiliar with them, especially in November.

'And now we'll see whether my father will receive us,' murmured Margaret as they descended into Annandale. 'I haven't been to visit my parents since David and I eloped.'

In the event, he did: Prince Charles was a guest the Jacobite Johnstones could not reject and, having welcomed him, Margaret's father could hardly throw one of his colonels out. Alison was overjoyed to see her friend reunited with her mother and, more grudgingly, her father as well. On a practical note, the Johnstones provided the army with food, a change of horses, and other aid that enabled the Lowland division to make a last push to Ecclefechan, just north of the border, there to be reunited with their Highland counterpart. That division had arrived there on a more roundabout route, having feinted to the east to convince the Hanoverian army that their goal was Newcastle.

It was after dark when they arrived, and Alison heard the Lowland officers grumbling over how they would find a billet when the Highland officers must have already snapped up all the available housing. For herself, she cared only about finding Ewen, and was hard put to it to conceal her disappointment when she learned he was not there. Though the bulk of the Highlanders was massed in Ecclefechan, the Prince had pushed on with the Camerons as escort, to cross the border into England.

Margaret stroked Alison's hair consolingly as they lay in the bed David had secured for them, while he himself slept on the floor. 'Never fear, you'll meet him soon—'tis not far to Carlisle.'

'Oh, I know,' said Alison, now rather shamefaced to have been so disappointed—Ewen was in no danger, after all, and neither was she. She kissed Margaret's cheek. 'Don't mind me; I'm sorry to have put up a fuss. Good night.'

'Good night, dear.' They rearranged themselves for better comfort on the narrow bed, and Alison fell asleep with Margaret's arm round her, and her friend's warmth along her back.

The whole army was reunited two days later on Carlisle moor, where Alison heard her first artillery fired. She was now determined to behave like a proper soldier's wife, and not go searching through the army for her husband, who had more important duties to attend to.

But after the first exchange of fire, the project of taking the town had to be abandoned for the nonce: they had got news of General Wade's approach through the Tyne Gap. The Prince was eager for the confrontation with that general, denied him by Lord George's eastern route, and scouting missions were sent out to confirm the news.

So the army was diverted to Brampton, with Ogilvy's regiment arriving there first, along with Lord Ogilvy's wife and her friend. The inhabitants of that town were afraid for both their cattle and their babies, fearing that the wild Highlanders would eat both. Alison could not blame them for their alarm when descended upon by an army, but she made much of the small children at the miller's house where they were billeted, in an attempt to show the townspeople that Highlanders were Christian souls like themselves.

And when the main body of the army arrived, Ewen sought her out at last. Alison was seated on a chair at a table brought out on the main square of the town, busy in writing receipts for the excise. But upon seeing her husband, she leapt up with a cry of delight and, running to meet him, was swept up and swung round with her feet off the ground.

How well he looked, and how handsome! His eyes matched the blue of the sky above, and he seemed not at all wearied by the long days on the road; after a few moments of gazing into each other's eyes, they were kissing, Alison reaching hungrily up to twine her arms round his neck.

'Do you remember when I told you at Ardroy that you handle a pen better than the sword?' he murmured in her ear. 'Well, the pen can serve King James, as well.'

She laughed and kissed him again.

Even the townspeople standing in line reluctantly to pay their taxes could not fail to smile at such a display. When they parted at last, the excise collector with whom Alison was working raised his eyebrows and said, 'You're depriving me of my clerk, sir.' But his voice was not without amusement.

'I do beg your pardon,' said Ewen cheerfully. 'I only wanted to reassure myself of my wife's good health—I haven't seen her since Edinburgh. Now that I've done so, I'll leave her to her work.'

'We're billeted at the miller's house,' Alison told him. 'Do come by tonight, if you can.'

'I'll do my very best,' he promised, and with long strides was off down the street. Alison resumed her work, with only one glance to see his kilt swinging round his knees.

Ewen did come to see her that night, and was able to have supper with her and the Ogilvys and share a bottle of wine. The conversation was lively, for they all wanted to hear how the other half of the army had fared, and tell their own part.

'And shall we bring General Wade to battle, then?' asked Alison, when the subject of the past had been exhausted and they were turning to the future.

Ewen shook his head. 'I don't think so. One of the scouting patrols had just returned, before I came here, and reported that the Tyne Gap is deep in snow, and impassable—especially to English troops. Highlanders might manage it, but not with the artillery train, and not with any speed.'

Alison did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed. On the one hand, Ewen would have gone into battle, with all the risks that implied, but on the other hand, defeating the Hanoverians was their entire purpose, and it seemed a letdown to be denied it!

'I suppose we'll be returning to Carlisle, then,' said David Ogilvy.

'Aye—and on that note, I ought to see to my men,' said Ewen, standing up, 'and see whether his Royal Highness has any further orders.' He leant down to give Alison a quick kiss. 'I'll see you in Carlisle.'

She did indeed see him in Carlisle, without a shot having been fired in the taking of that town: the militia had deserted and the keys of the town were delivered up by the Mayor. Alison stood with Ewen's arm round her, cheering with all her heart, as the Prince rode into Carlisle mounted on a white charger, with pipers playing.

Whether it were the effect of the pageantry, or the fair treatment of the town, they found the people of Carlisle to be, for the most part, well-affected—enough so that the Duke of Cumberland, when the town was later re-taken, treated it as hostile.

Ewen's billet as aide-de-camp, close to the Prince, would not do for them both, so Alison continued to lodge with the Ogilvys. But they did find some time, during the next few days, to spend together.

The second day after they had taken the city was fair, if chilly, and Ewen took Alison out to the banks of the Eden to practise shooting the pistol he had given her.

'Let me see you load it,' he said, and she did.

'You've been practising, I believe,' said Ewen, for her performance was quite creditable.

Alison nodded. 'Margaret and I have done so together. But I haven't got much practice at shooting.'

'Well, there's nothing much to it—just aim and shoot. A pistol hasn't got much recoil.'

Alison turned towards a birch tree that was much the width of a man, drew the hammer to full cock, and fired. She gave a satisfied exclamation to find that she had hit the tree.

'Good eye! Of course, it wasn't very far away,' said Ewen, 'but that's exactly the way you should use it. Let him get good and close before you fire, and you'll do more execution.'

Alison breathed in the sharp unsettling scent of gunpowder, and asked quietly, 'Do you think I'll have reason to use it?'

'God preserve us, I hope not. But I'd rather have you prepared, than not.' He was silent for a moment, then continued, 'One pistol won't help you against several men, unless they give way to the threat—and if you should be captured by honourable men, you ought to give yourself up rather than resist, at any rate.'

Alison snorted. 'And how do I know in advance whether they're honourable?'

Ewen smiled wryly and conceded the point. 'But you're more like to be threatened by the low sort of men who follow armies in the hope of loot and adventure, or common soldiers, if they get out of hand. A Hanoverian officer will, I think, not harm an officer's wife, even a Jacobite one.'

'Well, I hope you're right.'

'Aye. And in any case, we plan to win, not lose! Now, let me see you shoot a few more times, and see if that first shot was beginner's luck.'

She reloaded and missed the tree on her second shot, but hit it again on the third.

The wind came on more sharply, reminding them that it was November and winter was coming on. Instead of shooting at the tree, they went to lean against it, and Ewen took a fold of his plaid to share with her. They looked at the muddy water of the Eden flowing by, and Ewen told Alison of the talk among the officers.

'Lord George felt slighted when the Duke of Perth negotiated the surrender of the town on his own, and moreover argued that 'twill make a bad impression, since His Grace is a Catholic. So he resigned—'

'Who, the Duke?'

'No, Lord George. But he didn't mean it—of course he meant for the Prince to ask him to come back, and as a price for doing so, have the Duke take a less prominent role.'

Alison sighed. 'Ach, there are enough Hanoverians to fight without doing so with each other.' Men and their sense of honour...she loved Ewen for his, but when it came to quarrelling over the least slight, it could grow rather tiresome.

'Aye.' Ewen sighed. 'We'll continue south within a few days, though some argued against it.'

Alison nodded. 'Where are the Ardroy tenants billeted?'

'In a village a mile to the west, mostly in barns and stables,' replied Ewen.

'Are they well? I thought I might visit them with you, and talk to the women who came along. There are two, I think?'

'Aye, there's Ranald's Annie, who is unmarried and came along with her brother. And then there's Duncan's wife Morag. They have no children yet. And that's a good thought.' Ewen smiled at her, and Alison felt the warmth of it even more than the plaid. 'You'll make a good laird's wife, I can see.'

Alison did come with Ewen to visit them, bringing a bag of sweetmeats for the two women that she had bought at the market, and enquired as to their wants. They were both within a few years of Alison's own age, but their hands were roughened by work as Alison's were not, and they marched with the men, rather than riding in a carriage.

Two days later, the Lowland division set out from Carlisle, in the wake of the scouting party, with the Highland division following a day after, since they could not all find accommodations otherwise. They were not to converge until a week later, in Preston, where the army took a day of rest and drummed up sixty recruits: the first real show of English support.

They were to have more of it in Manchester, and Alison felt really heartened by the cheers as they marched into that town. Lord Ogilvy and the women who accompanied him were billeted in the house of John Byrom, who was a Jacobite in theory but clearly reluctant to venture himself in practice. Alison could imagine him preparing to claim that he had received them in his home under duress, should that become necessary.

But his young daughter Elizabeth, or Beppy as she told Alison to call her, received them with great enthusiasm and a white cockade prominent on her dress. Alison and Margaret laughingly answered all her eager questions about the Prince, about the Highlanders, and about life on the march. And when Ewen came to visit them in his kilt and plaid, Alison was amused but gratified to see Beppy's admiration. Well, but she did have a braw husband; Alison could not wonder that others admired him.

There was much for her to do as a clerk the next day, when the excise was collected in Manchester. But Ewen had told her to come find him at the Bull's Head Inn afterwards, and she did so, venturing into the noisy common room where officers were eating supper, with serving maids dodging between the tables, and a group of officer's wives and local Jacobite ladies sat sewing white cockades for later distribution. Alison waved to Margaret, who told her that Ewen was in one of the private dining rooms with a group of Cameron officers.

They proved to be not only Camerons, but the young and boisterous junior officers of several clans, among them Ewen's cousin Alan Stewart. Some of them were playing cards, but most of them were occupied in drinking wine while talking and laughing in high spirits. There were several other women round the table—whether they were wives or camp followers, Alison didn't know.

There were no chairs left, but Ewen turned towards her with a grin and pulled her onto his lap.

'I saved you some pie, are you hungry?' he asked.

She was and, having eaten it, at Ewen's prompting told the company some of the more amusing tales from her work as a tax clerk, to great laughter and acclaim—though truly, Alison suspected that they were ready to be amused by any story.

Not since Edinburgh had Alison been in such physical proximity to her husband, and she felt herself roused by his closeness and warmth, by the arm he had slung round her waist, the hand he rested casually on her knee—oh, she knew what those fingers could do! Her own arm lay round the back of his neck, and she wanted to bury her nose in that space below his ear and smell him. Or lean in for a kiss...

One of Ewen's Cameron cousins was telling a story, and the attention of the room was not currently on them. Alison caught Ewen's eye, and saw that his mind was similarly occupied. She licked her lips.

He leant in to whisper in her ear, 'If I could only have you alone...' She felt his teeth nipping gently at her earlobe, and his arms tightened round her.

'Oh, the poor newlyweds, never having a night together!' said Alan, seeing them. 'You can borrow our room if you like—we'll guard the door for you.' He grinned, indicating a door, and there was general laughter.

Ewen replied, saying that he, unlike Alan, was not so desperate as to need such an offer. But an impish impulse came over Alison, and she leant in to whisper in his ear, daringly, 'Shall we accept the offer?'

'Do you mean that?' asked Ewen.

'Alan is always teasing you—it might shut his mouth. Besides, I want you.'

Ewen drew in a breath, and she could see that he was tempted. 'Very well, let's do it!'

Alison stood, taking hold of Ewen by the shirtfront to pull him up. 'Thank you, we'll accept your kind offer,' she said to Alan, who gaped.

But his neighbour whistled. 'You're a lucky dog, Ardroy!'

'Oh, I think I'm the lucky one,' said Alison with a grin, and they disappeared behind the door, followed by a chorus of cheers and whistles.

In between urgent kisses, Ewen murmured, 'Oh—how long has it been?'

'A month?' She let both hands slide up Ewen's thighs to grab his bare backside under the kilt. Ewen groaned as she pulled him close.

'How did we do without this for all those years?' He leant down to kiss what he could of the top of her breasts, making a frustrated noise when her neckline and stays prevented him from going further. Alison's nipples contracted just from the thought of his mouth on them.

She laughed. 'I don't know. How shall we do it—like this?' She knelt down on hands and knees on the threadbare rug.

'Yes,' said Ewen, his hands busy in lifting her skirts up. How exposed she felt, with her bottom bare—but that only made her the more eager for it.

'Oh—how wet you are, already!' he said, when his fingers had found what they sought.

'I've been sitting in your lap for an hour, what do you think?' And then she gasped.

'Mmm.' He knew her body well by now, knew how to bring her pleasure quickly and efficiently, as well as slowly and leisurely—and now he did the former. Her hands were occupied, and could not touch him in turn, and tease him as she was wont to do.

'Oh, Ewen, please!' She rocked backwards, to show him what she wanted.

Another time, he might perhaps have waited to give it to her, but now he groaned and sank into her, and she groaned in her turn as he seated himself fully inside her. And then they were moving together, Alison bracing herself on hands and knees, with Ewen's fingers moving on her still.

She did not usually spend so quickly—perhaps it was the time they had been apart, where she had often closed her eyes in the carriage and imagined herself back to their bed in Edinburgh—but she soon found herself brought to that peak of pleasure, felt it claim her utterly as Ewen thrust into her again and again. Alison retained a shred of consciousness that she should not give voice to that pleasure too loudly.

But she must have been loud enough for Ewen to hear her—she had noticed before that he never wanted to spend before she did, though she had assured him she would not mind. In truth, he enjoyed too much the sensation of bringing her pleasure, of feeling her lose control, and it always brought him, as well, to the brink soon after.

So it was now, and Alison braced herself for his last hard thrusts, feeling his hands tighten on her hips. And then, soon after, they were both undone, breathing hard with their release. When he had recovered somewhat, Ewen brought out his handkerchief to wipe off her thighs.

'Come, let me kiss you,' he murmured, and she turned round to face him. Their kisses were gentle now, and he stroked her hair. 'Oh, my heart, my most dear...'

Alison returned his endearments and his kisses, wishing that they had more than this stolen moment. Oh, to share a bed again...

Presently she said, 'Perhaps we should go out again. Do you think they'll tease us?'

'I suppose they will—but 'tis a common thing in the army. You haven't seen it, perhaps, but men will ask their fellows to wait outside the room they share, while they bring a woman inside. People make do, in close quarters.'

Alison thought of Carlisle, where she had given David and Margaret time to be on their own, by letting her friend know which hours she would be out with Ewen, though the agreement had been unspoken. 'Well, let's tidy ourselves up.'

Her cheeks were still rosy enough when they emerged that none could doubt what they had been about. A few whistles and remarks greeted them, but the company was now engaged in a lively debate about the battle of Sheriffmuir, the failings of the Earl of Mar as a commander during the '15, and how to avoid his mistakes now. None of them were old enough to remember it, but their fathers had mostly fought in that rising, and imparted all their strong opinions to their sons.

The married couple slipped back to their chair, and Alison curled up again in Ewen's lap and laid her head on his chest, filled with lassitude and a sense of well-being. He, in turn, laid his cheek against her hair and held her close. Some of the loose-living young officers looked at the two of them and thought to themselves that marriage was, perhaps, something to look forward to.

'Alison?' said Ewen's voice, and his hand shook her shoulder.

She came out of her drowsy state and yawned. 'Oh, have I been sleeping? What time is it?' The party of young officers was breaking up, leaving their dirty glasses and plates to be cleaned up by the maids of the inn, who had been working hard all day.

''Tis only half past ten; you missed old Keppoch coming by to look sternly at us. He spoke no word of reproach, but everyone recalled all of a sudden that we would have duties early in the morning.'

Alison laughed, and stood to stretch out her back. 'I'm glad to see they're not lost to all discipline.'

Ewen stood, as well. 'Shall I walk you home?'

'Yes, please do.'

Alison was glad she had her heavy cloak, for the night was clear and cold above the dark streets of Manchester.

'I wonder where Captain Windham is now,' she said, recalling the company they had kept in another town.

'I suppose he has got out of Edinburgh Castle, at the least!' said Ewen. 'I know he wanted to rejoin his regiment; I hope he's been able to do so. But...'

'Yes?'

'I also hope that regiment is still in Flanders—I shouldn't like to meet him on the battlefield...but what makes you think of him? Some men would be jealous, that you spent your days with a handsome officer on parole, while I was away on my duties.' He smiled at her, to show that he was only teasing.

Alison laughed, and turned the tables on him. 'Oh, so you think him handsome, then?'

Ewen flushed at the implication, looking round the street, but no one was close enough to hear them. He abandoned the contest of wits, since he was sure to lose it, and answered seriously. 'Well...yes?'

Thinking of that moment when he and Windham had been walking up Castle Hill, and that sudden meeting of their eyes, Ewen continued, 'I wouldn't have said so at first, not that I spent much time considering the matter. But when he showed a less guarded side of himself, I was surprised at what a change it made in his whole countenance. So, on the whole, I would judge him handsome.'

'I do agree that he improved upon acquaintance—I rather like him now,' said Alison, 'He was at quite a disadvantage that first evening at Ardroy! Poor fellow.'

Ewen looked down at her. 'If you're going to make a habit of asking my opinion on the handsomeness or otherwise of men, I do beg you to so discreetly!'

'We are discreet, aren't we?' They had turned into the street where the Byrom house stood; it was mostly dark, though a light was still burning in the parlour window where Mr Byrom was entertaining some gentlemen friends. 'And your secret is safe with me. I own that I do confide all manner of things to Margaret, but I wouldn't tell her that.'

'I trust you, m'eudail,' said Ewen, leaning down to give her a good-night kiss.

'You weren't really jealous, were you?' she asked, with a frown.

'No, of course not—I was only jesting. As I said, I trust you.'

She gave him another kiss for that, a lingering one, and then she slipped inside the door of the Byrom house and Ewen walked briskly back in the direction of the Bull's Head Inn.

In the morning the army pressed on, crossing the Mersey at several places in order to sow confusion among any spies as to which part of England was their destination. To further confuse the enemy, Lord George launched a diversion that had the Duke of Cumberland waiting on a battlefield for a Jacobite army that never came, while that army slipped past him and continued south.

On the fourth of December, Prince Charles and his army reached Derby.

Chapter Text

'But why?' said Margaret Ogilvy, with feeling. It was not clear whether it was a question or an exclamation.

Their carriage was now rattling its way back along the hard-frozen road that had, only the day before yesterday, seen the Jacobite army march to Derby. This retreat had come as a complete surprise to the troops, who many of them had been eager to march on to London. It had surprised the women in the carriage, as well, and Alison and Margaret were now attempting to piece together the reason why they had turned back. Margaret's maid kept her opinion to herself, but privately thought that she would be glad to return to Airlie without any battles fought.

'Did David tell you anything last night?' asked Alison.

'Yes, some—he said the Prince had been furious not to get his way, but that all the clan chiefs, with Lord George in the lead, had insisted on retreat. They said he had promised them English support, which had failed to appear.'

'But the Manchester regiment!' said Alison. 'Well, but I suppose that isn't much, compared to what we expected. Oh, curse these English Jacobites for a parcel of cowards!'

'Indeed,' said Margaret grimly. 'But did you manage to get anything out of Ewen? I know you spoke to him briefly.'

'Aye, he said that they had got word that there was a third army, besides the Duke of Cumberland's and General Wade's, that was between us and London. And in that case, of course...' Alison trailed off.

'Perhaps it was the best course, after all—but oh, how I should have liked to see His Highness take London, and the Usurper flee back to Hanover!'

'What of the French, I wonder?' mused Alison. 'I should dearly like to know whether they would have been ready to come across the Channel to support us. But they may still send us reinforcements to Scotland, of course.'

'Aye—the war isn't over yet.'

It was not. But there was bitterness in the hearts of many of those marching north again under cold, grey skies, through towns that scorned them now that they were on the retreat. Charles Edward Stuart struggled to keep his heart up: his was a mind with bold visions, but when he was crossed, he did not take it well. And the quick, audacious strike towards London, which had been his best hope, was now lost—through the actions of his own supporters! Lord George, meanwhile, wore the grim but self-satisfied air of a man who felt his warnings had been borne out: had he not said it would have been best to stay in Scotland? The Prince's promises of English support had evaporated like mist in the sun! The two men, who had by temperament been ill-suited to each other from the beginning, now avoided each other as best they could.

Alison met Ewen only briefly that night. They held each other close, standing in the cold night on a street in Ashbourne, and Ewen whispered in Alison's ear, 'Oh! It breaks my heart to turn back.'

And then, at a shouted order, he had to leave.

Despite everything, their retreat north was well-ordered and disciplined, easily outmarching the troops that the Duke of Cumberland sent chasing after them—except once, at Clifton, when they outfought them.

At Carlisle, opinions clashed once again: Prince Charles was for leaving a garrison, ostensibly for tactical reasons, but really to keep a foothold on English soil, for he hoped that the messenger he had earlier sent to Scotland would soon return with reinforcements. Lord George, for his part, wished to be quit of English soil.

Whatever the arguments in the council, many of those who were left to garrison Carlisle would pay with their lives for it.

It had been raining the previous day and through the night, as the Highland army marched out of Carlisle at three in the morning. It was raining still from a sullen sky as they reached the River Esk. But the discomfort of being rained upon they could bear: the greater danger was the swollen waters of the river. Ewen looked with doubtful eyes on that broad stream, on the other side of which lay his native land.

'This here's the ford, Your Highness,' he heard one of their guides say to the Prince.

'Very well,' said Charles Edward. 'Where is it most shallow? Can you show us?'

A discussion followed where the guide insisted it was not fordable, and the Prince insisted. In the end, the guides were mounted on horses to show the best way through, which they did with some difficulty, for the current was strong. Seeing this, the clansmen were determined to follow.

Ewen had often crossed rivers in the Highlands, but he really feared that, should they attempt this one, some would be swept downstream to drown. But he was glad to see the Prince showing spirit again: he was now leading the horse into the river, to stand upstream and break the current for the foot.

Ewen tied up his plaid, wet already from the rain, as best he could, and then followed. The shock of the water, not only its temperature but its insidious strength, took his breath away, and it was all he could do to keep his sturdy mare in her place in the chain that was to safeguard those crossing on foot. At the lower end of the ford, too, were stationed men on horse, to catch those unlucky enough to lose their footing. Ewen shouted encouragement to the Ardroy men, with water up to their armpits; Neil and Lachlan, arms anchored with the others, shouted back.

Most of the army had crossed when Ewen saw one of the riders downstream reach out for the upstretched hand of some poor soul caught in the current—and miss. One of the men who were crossing gave a despairing cry, let go of his fellows, and threw himself downstream. But the riders had seen it, and two of them contrived to grab at his clothing as he passed, to stop him.

'Are you daft, man?' Ewen could hear one of them shout. 'There's no saving her! Don't give up your own life, as well!'

Her. And Ewen realised, with a chill, that the figure swept downstream had been a woman, probably the man's wife or lover. But for the fact that Alison had gone east by Warwick Bridge with the carriages and baggage train, that man could have been him.

The last of the foot was through now, and the horse followed them up on the farther bank. Still arguing in despair with the officers, the Lancashire volunteer who had lost his lover was brought along with them. Ewen's heart ached for him.

Fires were being lit for warmth, and plaids wrung out all about him with a pungent smell of wet and dirty wool, and Ewen found his way to the Ardroy men, some of them shivering in the December cold. He could not blame them. In another part of the army, he could hear a piper beginning to play, and he encouraged Neil to take up his, as well, and make it a brisk tune. It was a strange sight, to see men dancing in these circumstances, but it was a good way to get one's sluggish limbs warm again.

Half an hour after their crossing, Ewen looked at the river again, and doubted they could have made it across, had they attempted it now. Though he could not see it, the tide was rising in the Solway Firth to the west, further swelling the Esk.

There was no shelter on this bleak riverbank, and they were obliged to march on in wet clothing, in wintertime: Ewen did not think any but Highlanders could have done it.

The army was again divided, so that the billets would have room for them all, but with the further benefit that the enemy would be confused as to their final goal. In this case that goal was Glasgow: a largely hostile city, but one which could hardly resist their occupation.

In Glasgow they stayed a week, and Ewen managed to secure a tiny garret room that he could share with Alison. That first night they were both too weary to do anything but lie in each others' arms in the narrow bed; Ewen's legs and back were aching from the long days on horseback.

He sighed, burrowing his nose into her hair. 'Oh, to be warm and dry again! After all those days of rain, I've almost forgotten how it feels.'

'I'm weary myself, but at least I wasn't as wet! Poor Ewen—and our poor tenants, too, how tired they must be.'

'Aye, they are. But you should have seen the fording of that river!' Ewen told her about it, including the misfortune that had befallen one of the women. They were both silent for a while, contemplating what might have been.

Their mood, along with that of the army as a whole, was no longer the sense of adventure and joy they had felt while marching on London. The war was far from over, but retreating instead of advancing has its effects on morale, and even the hardiest men were wearied by marching to Derby and back. The week's rest was sorely needed.

But despite all this, the army was now stronger than ever, since they would soon be united with the reinforcements which had been gathering in Perth, recruited from the Highlands and the northeastern Lowlands. Smaller numbers had arrived from France, but as these were trained troops, officers and engineers, their value was high, not least for morale.

On his way south, Charles Edward had sent one of his trusted officers, MacLachlan of MacLachlan, north to urge these reinforcements to join him in England as fast as could be, but Lord John Drummond, their leader, had had his own opinions. He had preferred to stay in Scotland, and claimed he had orders from King Louis to that effect—when in fact that king had instructed him to put himself at Charles Edward Stuart's disposal.

If those troops had come south, Carlisle might have been saved, and any number of events gone differently...but this was no time to brood over hypotheticals. The Hanoverians were gathering their forces, too, and surely soon the Prince would have that battle he was ettling for.

Ewen's blood was up as he gazed across Falkirk Muir at the ranks of the enemy, forming up some distance away across the uneven heather-clad ground. Lord George's plan had, it seemed, been a good one, for the enemy could not have been ready for this battle—Ewen could not see that they had got their artillery with them, though neither, of course, did the Jacobites.

Well, let the battle be decided by musket and sword, then! All the better. Ewen's smile was, had he known it, rather wolfish, and it was echoed on the faces of Neil and Lachlan.

But a thought struck him suddenly: was Captain Windham somewhere in those opposite ranks? Ewen squinted, but the redcoats all looked alike at that distance, and he did not know what the standard of the Royal Scots looked like—if Windham was indeed with that regiment now. It was impossible to know.

The weather had been fine earlier in the day, but the sky was darkening and the wind was getting up, with a freezing rain admixed with snow beginning to fall—but the wind was in their favour, and in the faces of the Hanoverians.

Ewen saw the enemy's dragoons advancing against the MacDonalds on their right, and glanced at Lochiel to see had he any orders. 'Hold,' Ewen warned his men, and they watched with bated breath, and let it out as one, as the MacDonalds bravely held their fire until the last minute: they presented as one with a vast roar of muskets, and did great execution among the enemy.

But the remaining dragoons advanced, and though Ewen strained to see from his greater height, he could not see much of the mélée that ensued. The snow was thicker now. He glanced at Lochiel again; presently he heard the MacDonalds raising their cry to the right, and dragoons were streaming past.

Well, if they wanted to make themselves targets! Ewen shouted an order, but it was almost unnecessary: his men were already firing at them. Another glance at Lochiel, and now, finally!

Ewen drew his sword and took up his target. He felt his men at his back as a great wall of support, following him as he charged against the enemy line.

Perhaps it required bravery to run, as he did, straight against the enemy muskets, but Ewen scarcely thought of that. He only knew, as he had done at Prestonpans, that this was the culmination of all his training and his worth as a chieftain. Besides, after marching to England and back without his sword leaving the sheath, he was pining for a fight.

In this case, the powder had been ruined by the rain and, luckily for the Camerons, only one musket in five would fire. The soldiers had bayonets, their officers swords, and their numbers were roughly equal, but that was not enough—to win with cold steel, without their artillery and muskets, they must have that intangible quality: morale and will. And moreover, the Hanoverian soldiers were not trained for such fighting.

Despite his earlier thought of Windham, Ewen had no room in his mind for that now: there was only the immediacy of parry, thrust, and slash. Neither had he any notion of how the battle as a whole went, though in front of him the redcoats were giving way, and he pushed forward.

And there he was: Keith Windham. It haunted Ewen's mind, afterwards, the thought that he might not have been able to stop that stroke of his sword. But he did stop it: his hand and arm acting before he knew it, at the sight of Windham's pale, determined face appearing before him. The English officer was clearly attempting to rally his men to stand against the Highland charge.

In turning aside his own sword, Ewen had left himself open for Windham's stroke, and he saw the horror in Captain Windham's expression as he attempted to stop it. But Ewen had his target, and brought it up so that Windham's sword, already with its force much reduced, clattered against it. He read relief in Windham's eyes.

'Mac 'ic Ailein!' he heard Lachlan shout beside him, and turned to see that his foster-brother's sword had saved him from the thrust of a soldier's bayonet. This was no time to be distracted!

He turned right, Windham turned left, and was gone in the press of the mélée.

Presently the redcoats broke and retreated, but in the wind, snow, and increasing gloom of evening, Ewen could not see how the rest of the battle fared. But Neil and Lachlan were by his side, and he began to gather up his men and see to his dead and wounded.

'You saved my life,' he said quietly to Lachlan. 'Tapadh leat, a bhràthair.'

If there had been a moment more full of joy in Lachlan MacMartin's life, he could not recall it. 'I would die for you,' he said, in quiet earnest.

'I would much prefer that you didn't,' said Ewen in a lighter tone, but he was to remember that moment later.

With the mirk of evening and the bad weather, it took the Jacobite command some time to realise that they had in fact won the battle, and by that time, it was too late in the day to chase after General Hawley, who was retreating, not to say fleeing, to Linlithgow. The sleety rain, driven by the hard wind, chilled them all to the bone, despite the warmth of knowing themselves victors. They descended from the muir, claiming the abandoned Hanoverian artillery, and sought refuge in Falkirk town.

Ewen was not reunited with Alison until the evening of the next day, when they were joined by the baggage train.

'Oh!' she cried, and rushed towards him. 'You're not wounded?'

'Not in the least,' said Ewen cheerfully. 'Well, I have an annoying blister on my toe...'

She fixed him with a glare. 'Don't you dare laugh at me! I've had no word of you for two days—you might have been dead for all I knew!'

Contrite, he folded her in his arms. 'I'm sorry, m'eudail! I didn't think of that.' Alison wordlessly held him tight.

Falkirk was much too crowded for them to find anywhere truly private, but in the common room of an inn, they managed to find a corner where their talk went unnoticed by the rest of the noisy room.

'Tell me about the battle?' she asked, leaning in so that he would hear.

He did, and towards the end, he added, 'Oh, and I almost forgot—I came on Captain Windham in the mélée. I do hope he survived it, for we drove the Royal Scots to flight, and I'm sure he would be one to try to rally his men to the last!'

Alison gasped, which he saw more than heard in the din. 'But neither of you harmed the other, at least?'

'No—and I'm very grateful for it. You see, I swore on the iron that I wouldn't hurt him if I could help it.'

'You never told me that.'

'No...it was when I was taking him to the Castle, to have him exchanged. I did it on the spur of the moment. But I do wonder whether this can have been the third meeting Angus saw.' Ewen realised that he was speaking as though he believed the prophecy were true, and hastily added, 'But it might as well have been chance, of course.'

Alison ignored this addition. 'No, I don't think it could have been, for according to the prophecy, we are all three to meet, each time. And I wasn't there.'

'Hmm. Yes, I suppose you're right.'

'But I, too, hope that he survived,' said Alison. 'Indeed, he must have done so, if we're to meet him again!'

At this, Ewen looked cheered. 'I do hope so!' The battlefield of Falkirk Muir had been a grim sight in the light of day, and he had not been able to help wondering whether any of the redcoats lying there, with their blood staining the snow, had been the body of his former prisoner. It was a relief to have a reason to think he had survived.

'What now, do you think? Are we to take back Edinburgh?' asked Alison.

Ewen shook his head. 'I don't know—I wish I did.'

One of the maids at the inn brought their supper at last, shouldering past the crowded tables; she apologised that they had only bread and gravy left, with so many people to feed. But they were hungry, and happy to have it.

The next day another council, with opinions divided again, decided to resume the siege of Stirling Castle on the advice of Lord John Drummond, rather than to advance against Hawley's demoralised army, which most of the Jacobite army was eager to do. That siege proved fruitless, and after ten days had passed, Charles Edward, who had been ill for a time, felt that the time had come to attack the Hanoverians at Edinburgh.

But Lord George and the clan chiefs had other plans. They confronted the Prince with the claim that so many men had deserted that they would be obliged to retreat to the Highlands, and could always rally again in the spring. Charles Edward accepted perforce, but with great reluctance, and when he saw at Crieff that the supposed desertion had mostly been Highlanders going home to stow their loot, as was their wont, and then returning to their post, he was furious. Why should they go on the defensive, instead of attacking? Why should they abandon their loyal friends in the Lowlands, and the possibility of succour from France?

But he was overruled once again: they would retreat.

Keith shivered in the cold wind, looking forward to the lighted windows of the inn, and stamped the snow off his feet before entering. But his men could find no such relief: they had to sleep in tents which, though they kept the wind out, were cold and damp. It was no wonder so many of them had fallen ill.

The Duke of Cumberland's army had been in Aberdeen for a week now, kept there by the cold weather, the heavy snowfall, and by the contrary winds which kept their provisions from arriving by sea. It was clear that Aberdeen, and the north-east of Scotland in general, did not hail them as saviors—rather, the local population submitted with a sullen and rebellious reluctance. Incredibly, in Forfar the Jacobites were still beating for recruits the day before they arrived, and returned to do so again after they left!

But Keith's viewpoint was that of a captain responsible for his company, and he had no insight into the plans of the high command. It had been somewhat of a relief to him to rejoin his own regiment of St Clair's Royal Scots, after being shut up in Edinburgh Castle with no real duties. He knew his own men and subordinate officers, though he found that his lieutenant had risen to the occasion and proved more competent than Keith had feared when he had left the company to him. Well, that was all to the good.

'Get me some coffee,' he told one of the maids, and she nodded. Keith joined the other officers of his regiment at a crowded table.

'Any trouble?' asked Captain Havelock, who was his senior in the regiment.

Keith shrugged. 'No, excepting the weather. I hate to set my men to guard duty in this icy wind, though it has to be done.'

'Yes. Curse the Pretender and curse this wretched winter campaign,' groused Havelock, and the general conversation round the table descended into a familiar tally of current and past complaints.

Keith could heartily join in Havelock's sentiments, but the unthinking revilement of the Jacobites, in which he might have participated before coming to Scotland, was now impossible to him: his two periods of captivity had brought him too close to two particular Jacobites. It had also shown him that the excesses of the newspapers were unfounded.

Whichever way this war ended, he could see only misery ahead: certainly if the Jacobites won, for Keith was a convinced Whig, but for the rebels, the consequences would be dire if they were defeated. Ardroy would lose that estate he held so dear, if not worse... Some of them (though not Ardroy) had surely been forced out, as well, and he was not sure whether the courts would take proper consideration of that. By gad, how he disliked civil war! Britain surely had a history of it, but one would have hoped that it belonged to past centuries.

Keith's mind drifted back, as it had done before, to the battle of Falkirk: in many ways a humiliating memory, but for that bright image of Ewen Cameron. He had dreaded a meeting with him, in case they should either of them come to harm, or be forced to act as enemies, but in the event there had been only a flash of recognition and warmth, before they both passed on.

What a swordsman he was! Not that Keith had had many moments to admire his skill in the heat of battle, but he had known already that his swordplay had finesse. It was now clear that he also had strength of muscle and of will, and the ability to lead his men...but no one who had seen the man could have doubted it.

And where was his wife, Lady Ardroy, now? Perhaps she had stayed in Edinburgh, but Keith thought it more likely that she had returned to Ardroy. He hoped, at any rate, that she was well out of the way.

It was over a month before the Hanoverian army finally set out again, and by the end of that month, Keith was in better spirits. Adequate lodging and food had at last been procured for the men, and Keith had spent much of his time drilling them in the use of their bayonets, as ordered for all regiments by the high command, the better to withstand the Highlander's swords. Morale was much improved as they began to march along the coast towards Elgin and then Inverness, although Keith was too cynical to appreciate the displays of leadership which Cumberland was giving the men, by marching on foot at their head, and similar tricks—he had felt much the same about the young Pretender. The commanding officer ought to be where he could have the best overview of the army. But then, he was not the intended audience for those displays: the common soldiers were.

The night before they hoped to join battle, Keith lay in his blankets, listening to the sounds of the night: his lieutenant's slight snoring, the rhythmic noise of a loose tent flap in the wind, the low voices of two sentries talking nearby. His thoughts spun fruitlessly round, and he turned in his blankets yet again and tucked them in against the cold. This was not how he had felt before Fontenoy, when he had viewed the coming battle from a professional standpoint, with nothing to distract him from that but his own, purely personal concerns: the chance of distinguishing himself, and the inevitable risk that came with it.

It would surely be to the good if they could win a decisive battle against the rebels. But he could not help seeing, before his mind's eye, an image of Ewen Cameron shot down by Keith's own men...

But in the event, Keith never saw him at the battle of Culloden.

That was the one thing which Keith remembered as an unalloyed good, when thinking back over that day. The clear victory was a relief—surely now the Pretender would give up and slink back to France!—but it was...not unalloyed.

Unlike at Falkirk, there had been no casualties in Keith's company, though he noted grimly afterwards how Sempill's and Bligh's regiments had been almost cut to pieces by the enemy's charge. But that was nothing to how the Jacobites had been mowed down: the artillery, which had been so lacking at Prestonpans and Falkirk, had told at last.

When the enemy had been broken, they fled—some to the south, but many towards Inverness, and it was in this direction that the Hanoverian foot was now set to advance at a marching pace. Keith saw with horror how the horse was set in pursuit of the fleeing Jacobites, and how they were slaughtered at will, with no command to the contrary. It was one thing for pursuing troops to get out of hand, when their enemies had just broken! That had happened at Prestonpans when the Hanoverians had fled, as Keith had heard, but the Jacobite officers soon got their men under control, and began taking prisoners instead of cutting them down.

But there was a dreadful method to this slaughter, and Keith saw with his own eyes an officer being cut down, though he tried to surrender. As the foot advanced, the measured lines of soldiers had to part, if they were not to step on dead bodies lying like so many bloody bundles on the ground. Keith's gaze flicked over each one: none, as yet, had been Ewen Cameron—at least that he could see.

The town was easily secured—after all, it was little more than a large village in Keith's eyes. The defenses of Fort George, which had fallen to the Jacobites, were blown up, and its provisions plundered. The Royal Scots were set to scouting out where a camp might best be set up near the remains of the fort, and Keith was in the midst of this task, when one of Cumberland's staff officers came riding up.

'We need more men to search for fugitives, before darkness falls,' said Major Munford. 'Take thirty men and search those hovels down along the Ness.'

'Yes, sir,' said Keith.

'And before you go, you are to take notice that we found the order, in the Pretender's own hand, that the rebels were to give us no quarter today.'

'Yes, sir,' repeated Keith.

'Good,' said Major Munford, and rode off. Keith gathered thirty of his men, mounted his horse, and set off to perform a task he liked much less than the previous one.

The rain and hail that had fallen during the battle had let up, but the wind still blew hard from the north, and dark, low-bellied clouds hung over Inverness. Keith's heart was scarcely less heavy. Could it be true, that the rebels had meant to give no quarter? It scarcely agreed with their actions at Prestonpans, or at Falkirk—though it might, of course, be possible that desperation had overridden their principles. Not Ewen, of course! Keith knew in his bones that Ewen would never kill a helpless man, or one who had surrendered. But he did not know the Pretender as well...

In any case, it made no difference: regardless of whether or not other men had acted dishonourably, Keith himself would not do so. Before they reached the first dwelling, Keith turned to his men and said, 'Be on guard against armed men. But any Jacobite soldiers we find are to be taken prisoner, not killed out of hand. Don't hurt the inhabitants, though we'll take note of any that harbour rebels. Any questions?'

There were none, though Keith thought he saw one or two of the soldiers look defiant, as though Major Munford's news had provoked them.

The first dwelling yielded nothing but a numerous Highland family, three half-naked, dirty young children hanging round their mother's skirts, their two older sisters, and an old man and woman. There was no able adult man, and Keith wondered whether he had been among the Jacobite army. The woman's lips were pressed tightly together, but she said nothing as Keith assured her they would not harm her.

But at the next dwelling, Keith's soldiers dragged a man from hiding: he had, in all likelihood, fled the house at the redcoats' approach, but the soldiers, spreading out to search the surrounding bushes, had caught up with him. At the first sight of his red hair, Keith's heart was stabbed with fear—but no, it was not Ewen, though he did wear the Cameron tartan.

It was obvious that the man had been in the battle: a bloody rag encircled his leg, and he limped as he backed up against a tree. He had a sword in his hand, and the light of desperation in his eyes. With a flash, Keith saw himself, as he might have appeared to Ewen at Loch Oich side.

'Do you surrender?' asked Keith. 'We will not harm you, if you do.'

The man looked at the soldiers who surrounded him, and his mouth twisted into a bitter smile. In serviceable English, he said, 'You won't harm me?'

'No, we won't. We'll take you prisoner.'

He looked round, then shrugged and laid down his sword.

When dusk fell, Keith's troop had rounded up four Jacobites, all variously wounded: the able-bodied ones, of course, had escaped farther away. One of them Keith judged unable to walk, and he was mounted, hands tied, on Keith's horse.

Keith dismissed such of his men as were not needed as guards, and reported to Major Munford. 'Sir, here are the results of my search along the Ness.'

'What's this, Captain?' said the man, his eyes flicking over the prisoners.

'The Jacobites I captured, sir.'

'But why bring the vermin back here? Didn't I tell you to dispose of them?'

Keith felt a chill in his heart, though it was nothing to what the captured Jacobites felt, who had been told they would not be harmed. 'Sir, you gave me no instructions as to what to do with the Jacobites I found. I assumed they were to be brought back as prisoners—they've surrendered their arms.'

Munford's lip curled. 'Be careful what you assume, Captain, or one might suspect you to harbour tender feelings towards the rebels. But I suppose, now that they're here, that you may toss them in the gaol, till the King's pleasure be known. But I don't promise that mercy is designed 'em.'

'Yes, sir,' said Keith, and followed orders.

As he ate a late supper, Keith reflected that at least the worst must be over now. Feelings ran high on the day of the battle, but on the morrow, the high command, who could not all consist of men such as Munford, must have sobered and returned to rational conduct. And he had saved those men from being slaughtered out of hand, at least.

Chapter Text

During the following week, Keith began to doubt whether he had done those prisoners any favours, or whether they would have suffered less if they had been simply cut down on the spot.

His sanguine hopes of the evening after the battle had not been borne out. Instead, the concerns he had harboured before the victory—that the rebels might not get fair treatment in the courts—began to seem like the naïveté of a child. It was soon clear that Major Munford's attitude had the full support of the high command: the Duke of Cumberland, the Earl of Albemarle, and General Hawley all expressed themselves in a manner that left no room for doubt. Keith nurtured a hope that St Clair, the colonel of his own regiment and a man whom he respected, would have disagreed. But it was impossible to say, for he had remained in London and left his lieutenant colonel in command.

The morning after the battle, one company of the Royals and two of Price's regiment were commanded to make an incursion into Fraser country, which was near Inverness, to exact revenge for the clan's coming out in the rebellion.

They were supervised by Major Munford, who gave his orders in the presence of all three captains and their men: 'You are to burn the houses and barns, and take the cattle to be herded back to Inverness. Any armed resistance is to be given no quarter.' He glanced at Keith with meaning. 'To be clear, you should kill them. Any lenience now and we'll have another rebellion in five years.'

Now he let his gaze roam over the soldiers. 'And as for the women, you may take your pleasure.' There were scattered cheers among the men, though some stood silent.

With an effort, Keith kept his expression neutral, though he simmered with outrage. The British army often recruited among convicts, thieves, and the worst sort of men, and it was often a struggle to discipline those men not to loot and rape! Was all that effort now going to waste, by the wilful breaking of the rules of war—and by the high command, no less! By gad, he would not stand for this...

But Keith was only a captain; it was not in his power to stop it. His men had all heard the orders, and he could hardly countermand them—besides that, Major Munford would be accompanying them.

Keith was to remember that day as one of horror. He himself did as little as he possibly could, but all the same, he killed a man—another time, he might have called it self-defense, for the man attacked with frenzy and unexpected strength, but he could not use that word when his men were setting the man's dwelling on fire.

He could not help but wonder whether this was the fate that awaited the house of Ardroy, where he had been so hospitably received, and which was so beloved of Ewen Cameron...

While he stood eating a hasty dinner with the two captains of Price's regiment, Keith carefully sounded out their opinions as to the orders they had received. One of them was a grim-faced older man who allowed as to how ruthlessness was perhaps necessary, but he equivocated enough that Keith suspected him of finding the business distasteful. The other one, Captain Jackson, was the worst sort of young careless officer, coarse and callous besides. He seemed to have no difficulties in following Munford's orders, and even to relish them.

Some distance away, two soldiers from Price's regiment were dragging a struggling young woman from a house. The young captain watched with seeming appreciation as one of the soldiers set about raping her while the other waited his turn. Keith turned his eyes away, his heart burning with shame and rage.

Never mind the house: was this the fate that might await Alison Grant, whom he had last seen smiling and happy in Edinburgh? He could hardly bear the thought.

Captain Jackson spat on the ground. 'I'm sure these filthy slatterns will give 'em the itch. Wouldn't catch me fucking one of them, but I guess they're good enough for the common soldiers...now, you saw them bringing in that Mackintosh bitch this morning? Lady Anne, I think she's called. Wouldn't I like to give her some good English cock.'

Keith's nails dug painfully into his palms with the effort not to acquaint the captain's face with his fist. He said nothing, for he was not sure he would be able to keep his tongue in check if he did.

But the older captain, finally provoked into speaking by this threat against a woman from a better class, even though she was a Highlander, said shortly, 'Keep a civil tongue in your mouth, sir.'

Keith left, on the pretext of letting his lieutenant eat.

That evening, Keith received further orders: his company was to set off as part of a larger unit for Glenmoriston, there to continue today's atrocities. That was Grant country: would they burn some estate belonging to Alison Grant's kin? Keith felt as though trapped in a nightmare.

He had always been proud of his profession and his place in the army. On his visits to his family, he had always told his half-brother Francis stories of army life, somewhat modified, of course, to suit the ears of a boy, but they had been essentially truthful. Could he think of telling Francis that he had supervised the burning, looting and raping of a civilian village? No, he could not.

He could refuse to follow orders—which would lead to a swift court-martial—or he could resign his commission, and keep his honour and his ability to look his younger brother in the eyes. It cost Keith a great deal to consider that, for he had pinned much of his future hopes on military promotion and success, and he had no other position or skills by which to live. He shied away from the idea—surely this madness could not last much longer! And then he could get back to real, honourable warfare on the continent...

Perhaps he could find another way out of his immediate situation, at least. Keith donned his cloak, left his tent and walked down the path that led into Inverness town; the sun was sinking among dramatic, bloody clouds that towered like the western mountains, and the north wind blew cold off the Moray Firth. Keith had seen the Grant tartan before, on Alison Grant's shawl, and remembered it; seeing a lad with a dirty plaid of the same pattern, he beckoned to him.

This would be a risky endeavour, for there were two branches of the Grants: those of Glenmoriston, who were Jacobites, and those of the main branch, who were chiefly Whigs. Who could tell which branch this lad belonged to? And he might not even have enough English for Keith to speak with him.

He did speak some English, but with a strong accent. Keith glanced about to see whether there were other redcoats about. 'Will you take a message?' He held out a coin.

The lad nodded; he looked thin and hungry.

'Very well,' continued Keith in a low voice. 'I want you to go to Glenmoriston and warn them that there will be a raid tomorrow.' He opened his cloak to show his uniform.

A light flared up in the lad's eyes. 'But you're a—'

'Never mind that. Tell them to get the women and the cattle out of the way, at least. And the patrol will burn the houses.'

'Aye, sir,' said the lad eagerly. 'I'll do it.'

Two soldiers appeared round the street corner, and Keith hastily handed over the coin and walked on, his heart pounding. They seemed to be only common soldiers who took no interest in him, but who knew? What he had just done was enough to get him cashiered or executed, depending on the severity of the court-martial.

This cold knowledge sank into his mind, and the grim text of the Articles of War, which he had previously thought of as a tool of discipline in his own hand, ran through his mind. If any Officer or Soldier shall refuse to obey the lawful orders of his superior officer, he shall be punished with death, or otherwise, as a General Court Martial shall see fit... He had not precisely refused, but he had certainly subverted the order—and what he had done could surely be regarded as treason, as well.

But there were some things a man had to do, regardless of the risk—he could not have endured another day such as today, without doing something to stop it.

Keith would not have said that he slept well that night, for he could not get the images from the past day out of his mind, but he might have got a worse night's rest had he not sent that message.

It was a rare sunny day, with a blue sky above, as four companies of redcoats rode down the Great Glen from Inverness. Keith had hoped that the Grant lad would warn the settlements along the way as well, but one of them at least was unprepared. Again, the burning houses, the hopeless resistance, the pleas for mercy—and that detestable captain from Price's had apparently found a woman he considered worthy of his unwelcome attentions.

Keith concluded grimly that his messenger had, in all likelihood, gone up the western side of Loch Ness.

They spent the night with the garrison in what remained of Fort Augustus, before venturing into Glenmoriston in the morning. And here, at last, Keith breathed a sigh of relief—for his warning had been taken seriously. The houses and barns were empty: no men, no women, no children, and the cattle had been driven up into the hills, or so he assumed. Only a flock of hens picked round the kailyard of the nearest house, and a lean black-and-white cat watched them from the door.

Those houses were torched and the hens killed in petty revenge, but Keith saw the canny cat escape up a birch tree, there to sit and gaze down in slit-eyed displeasure with its tail lashing.

No murders, no rapes: he breathed a sigh of relief.

But Major Munford, who once again commanded them, did not share Keith's feelings. Adressing the three captains, he said harshly, 'It seems the news of our coming has preceded us.'

'So it seems,' said one of the other captains. 'Well, 'twas to be expected that we can't take them by surprise anymore. These settlements must communicate with each other, after all.'

'Not completely by surprise, no,' answered Major Munford. 'But the Grants clearly knew we were coming today.'

'Perhaps they had sentries set, and saw the marching column from across the lake yesterday,' hazarded Keith. It was an entirely reasonable explanation, but his heart was pounding: he felt that his duplicity was surely visible to everyone.

Major Munford narrowed his eyes, but then seemed to dismiss it. 'Very well—perhaps that is the explanation. We'll do what we can here, then.' He glanced up at the hills which encircled the glen, as if trying to ascertain where, among their folds, the Grants might have hid themselves. The major said nothing, but Keith could guess what he was thinking: in a large contingent such as theirs, they need fear no attack, but if they divided to search the hills, they would make themselves vulnerable to ambush, on ground known to their enemies.

Not all the dwellings would burn, for some were partly made of turf, and the ground was soaked from the night's rain. They returned that evening to Fort Augustus, and Keith had this satisfaction: that Alison Grant's kin had lived, and their womenfolk gone unmolested, because of him.

Back in Inverness, Keith kept his head down and tried, when he could, to thwart the orders he was given. How he hated that he could not be honest with his fellow officers! He was sure that there were more who felt like him than expressed it—which was fair, for he himself only discussed his abhorrence for the army's current activities with one of his fellow captains in the Royals whom he had known for a long time, and then only in guarded terms.

His fear of reprisals was not only hypothetical, for already one officer had been cashiered by a court-martial for 'fraternising' with the rebels.

A few days after the raid on Glenmoriston, Keith was walking down the main street of Inverness, his head turned down against the ever-present northern wind. The gulls wheeled overhead, looking for refuse on the streets. A contingent of prisoners in chains, guarded by soldiers, was standing near the inn which served as army head-quarters. The unfortunate prisoners were dirty and dull-eyed, and looked, some of them, as though they had been ill.

Keith looked away, then thought better of it. He had put men in that prison—he should be able to look at them, at least! When he did, he recognised with a shock the red hair of the man he had captured just after the battle, though the man looked now like a shadow of himself.

'Sir,' said the Jacobite in a low voice, looking at Keith, 'will you get us some food?'

'Silence!' said one of the guards.

'Don't they feed you?' asked Keith.

The man's mouth twisted. 'Not enough.' And Keith could see the truth of that.

'Where are you taking these men?' asked Keith of the guards.

'The gaol is full, sir—we'll have to put them elsewhere. But there's some hitch, and the captain is in there sorting it out.' The guard indicated the head-quarters.

'Very well,' said Keith. He was sick of keeping his head down, sick of the orders he was forced to obey, and now to deny this simple plea for food from a fellow human being—he could not do it.

With determined strides, Keith went down the street to buy a few loaves of bread and a cheese from a vendor, and returned to give them to the man who, with hands awkwardly chained, nevertheless was able to tear the bread and share it with his fellow prisoners. Keith felt, as he watched the man bite into the cheese, that it was well worth the risk.

'God bless you, sir,' said the red-haired Jacobite with feeling.

Keith stayed to watch, aware that the guards might seize the food if he left; as it was, they eyed each other and shrugged.

A captain Keith knew by name and appearance, but no more, came striding out of headquarters, one Aires. 'What are you doing with my prisoners, sir?' he said suspiciously.

'I only gave them some food, sir,' said Keith calmly. What satisfaction it gave him, to speak instead of remaining silent!

Aires narrowed his eyes. 'I'll have to report that, sir—the prisoners are under my supervision.'

'Report it all you like,' replied Keith shortly, turned on his heel, and left.

But his temporary elation soon dispersed, and he was left with the feeling that the clouds overhead were gathering in a metaphorical, as well as a literal, fashion. Had it really been worth it? He might be court-martialled for that! And all the dread of that prospect returned to him: cashiered, returned to his family in disgrace, having lost the only profession he knew...

How he wished that Colonel St Clair were here—Keith would trust him to protect his officers. But he must hope that his lieutenant colonel would do so as well. Keith went straight to the latter's tent; best to be beforehand with the matter, and not wait.

The lieutenant colonel of the Royal Scots rubbed at his forehead, as though he had a head-ache, and sighed. 'Windham, I'd take it as a personal favour if you kept out of trouble.'

'Sir, you know I do my duty,' said Captain Windham, interpreting that word in his own fashion—'twas surely a Christian duty to protect and feed the helpless. 'I've had no orders not to give the prisoners food, and 'tis hardly a crime.'

That earned him a glare. 'You cannot possibly be so dense. Very well, I thank you for letting me know, and I'll do my best for you. Dismissed.'

'Yes, sir,' said Keith and left the tent.

He gave his company orders for the night, for it was their turn to take the watch, and went to bed; his sleep was troubled by dark, inchoate dreams.

Early in the morning Keith was summoned to his lieutenant colonel's tent; he obeyed with alacrity, but there was foreboding in his heart.

'Ah, there you are. No adverse report of you has reached me yet, but I thought I'd take this opportunity of getting you out of the way—though really, I can't say you've earned this honour.' He held up a sealed missive. 'His Royal Highness has a despatch for Lord Albemarle in Perth, and none of his aides-de-camp and staff officers are available to do it. I said I'd find someone. Your lieutenant can take over for you.'

'Thank you, sir, I very much appreciate it,' said Keith.

Soon he was riding south, out of Inverness; by his side rode a Highland orderly who had quickly been found for him, a Mackay from Lord Reay's country, who was to serve as guide and interpreter.

What a different aspect the land wore for him now, compared to when he first rode down the Great Glen on that fateful march that had ended so ignominiously at High Bridge! He had found the scenery barbarous and forbidding then, and wished for nothing more than to leave it. And that had been in August, which he now knew to be the most clement season in these northern latitudes—it had even been hot, with a languid wind, which seemed improbable now.

For now it was April, with snow still on the heights, the land soggy, with barely a green blade of grass, and the wind blowing cold: and yet Keith breathed deep of that cold air and welcomed it. At least it was clean, and the craggy hills and mountainsides held none of the misery that prevailed in Inverness. Oppressed as his spirit had been, he felt it as an immense relief to be free of his duties there—at least for the time being.

On the previous evening, Alison Grant trudged wearily into a small hamlet on Loch Ness side, followed by the Cameron lad who accompanied her. She was not used to walking long distances, and her feet ached; there was a blister on her toe. But she was young and determined, and had good reason to keep walking all day.

On the day of Culloden, Ewen had given her a hasty kiss before leaving for the battlefield. Neither of them had said anything, but in the grim look they exchanged lay all the knowledge of the gravity of the situation: the lack of funds, of food, of sleep—and Cumberland's oncoming army. Alison did not know how she could have borne that day had it not been for Margaret Ogilvy; they sat in their shared lodgings looking out over the street, listening for any sounds. Margaret's hand in hers was tense.

Then an insistent knock on the door. 'Yes?' said Alison, without opening.

'Ma'am!' said a voice in Gaelic. 'The battle is lost!' She opened it, recognising Seumas, one of the Cameron lads from Ardroy, gangly and with his ears sticking out beneath his bonnet.

'I was away looking for food—I swear I didn't mean to miss the battle!—but the redcoats are on their way here, I saw them!'

'Calm down,' ordered Alison sharply. 'Get rid of your musket before you come in, 'tis impossible to hide. And your sword and cockade too.'

'But—'

'Do it,' said Margaret. 'If they find that here...'

He obeyed, and Margaret grimly began to burn all letters kept in their lodgings. 'What shall we do?' she asked, her voice matter-of-fact.

'Stay, I think, at least for now?' said Alison. 'To try to leave would be immediately suspicious, and we could be caught up in the fighting.'

'Aye, I think you're right.'

Seumas came back in, sans musket and sword. 'Remember, you're my servant now,' said Alison to him. 'Not a soldier.'

'Yes, ma'am.'

It was hard on them all, to wait and wait that day; no redcoats came to knock on the door, though they could see and hear their activities in the streets as Cumberland's army took possession of the town. That night, they whispered their fears to each other in the darkness, as they lay in each other's arms for warmth and for comfort.

On the next day, their landlady, who had Jacobite sympathies, ventured out to the market and came back with reports of cruelty towards captured Jacobites beyond even the fears of the previous night. There was no way of enquiring whether either of their husbands were captured, without revealing that they were, themselves, Jacobites.

The expected visit from the occupying force came on the following day. The English officer who knocked on their door was a little too fond of unwelcome gallantries when in the company of two well-dressed young ladies, attended though they were by two male servants and a maid. For a moment, Alison thought of Keith Windham—all English captains were certainly not of the same quality!

Margaret marshalled all her hauteur in order to impress their class upon him; seeing that he was an Englishman and thus not likely to have any intimate knowledge of Scots families, she gave herself out to be a fictitious Johnstone sister, here to visit her Grant friend, who was of the branch of that clan well-affected towards the government.

The officer did not dispute their identities, but he and his men did conduct a thorough search of their rooms—for which they had been prepared. He found nothing.

But for every day they stayed, the likelihood increased that further enquiries would be made, and their true identities revealed. And for every day, their fear and uncertainty over their husbands' fates increased, as well, though they tried to keep up a brave front.

Their landlady had brought back a pamphlet from the street, perhaps brought by some redcoat, in which Jacobite women were slandered as being mannish creatures who fought with sword and musket in the army and subjugated their weak and womanly husbands, and whose true aim was to overthrow the tyranny of men. They had a much-needed laugh over this, and skewered the anonymous author (who must surely be male) with such barbs of wit that they would scarcely have needed the swords he alleged them to have, in order mortally to pierce him.

'Listen to this,' said Alison, reading from the pamphlet. 'Could they take to the battlefield upon any meaner Motive, than to recover the long contested Empire of the Males, and to fix us for ever in their Chains, in Spite of our Beards and boasted Wisdom!'

Margaret laughed. 'Oh, in spite of your beard, sir. Is that the source of your vaunted manhood?'

'I'll have to save this to show Ewen—I'm sure he'll find it amusing,' said Alison, and then fell abruptly silent at the thought, which she was trying constantly to suppress, that Ewen might not even be alive to read it.

Margaret had fallen silent for quite another reason, for she had come upon the section of the pamphlet which mentioned her by name. 'Perhaps I was foolish to give Johnstone as my surname.'

'How so?' asked Alison.

Margaret silently gave her the text to read, and presently Alison said, 'Well, at least nobody would recognise you, from this description—nor Lord Ogilvy, for that matter.'

'No, perhaps not.' But the grotesque likeness on the page had ceased to be amusing to Margaret, when it was meant to refer to herself.

'And surely that English captain would not know your maiden name? If he were searching for anybody, 'twould be Lady Ogilvy.' She reached out to press Margaret's hand.

'He might not, but the intelligence officers might—and surely the army must have them.' She shivered. 'And I don't relish finding out what they'd do if they caught us.'

'Shall we try to get out, then? Tomorrow?' Alison realised that she had been delaying this moment—she had come to rely so much on Margaret's company: her laughter, her steadiness, her courage. And now they would have to part.

'Yes,' said Margaret grimly. 'Are you coming with me?'

Alison shook her head slowly. 'No. I'm going to Ardroy.'

'Not to Glenmoriston? 'Tis closer, and surely you have kin there.'

'Distant kin only, and no one I could easily find. No, I should get to Ardroy; 'tis where I belong.' Where Aunt Margaret would be waiting for her; where Ewen—please God!—would make his way also. ''Tis closer than Airlie; you're welcome to come with me, if you want.'

It was Margaret's turn to shake her head. 'David will make for France, if he—if he has survived. And I think I should, as well, since I am so...notorious.' Her mouth twisted. 'But you ought surely to be safe at Ardroy.' For, shut in as they were, they had no notion of the extent of the fire and sword that was being visited on the rebel clans.

The following morning, Alison held Margaret close, reluctant to let go. 'I'll see you again,' she said unsteadily, as though the very words could conjure reality.

'Yes,' said Margaret fiercely, and kissed her.

Alison, dressed in her Grant plaid, contrived to leave Inverness without being detained. She had obtained a Grant plaid for Seumas also and, when asked by a redcoat sentry, gave herself out to belong to the Hanoverian branch of the Grants.

And now there was the length of Glen More to travel. Alison narrowed her eyes and gazed down the hazy distance; between the hills bordering the glen to the west and those of the Monadhliath to the east, one could just make out the sleet-grey Loch Ness cradled between them. Beyond that, the view was obscured by the foggy moisture in the air which, while not falling as rain, still pearled on their garments and prevented any clear sight. It was cold—not the bitter cold of winter, but the raw cold of spring which yet had something new in it. On the boggy ground beside the road, the cottongrass bloomed as little, dark heads which had yet to develop the white gossamer from which they took their name, and a wagtail ran bobbing on a field.

Alison took a breath of the cold air. Who knew what dangers lay between them and Ardroy? And she had almost no money left—but they should be able to rely on Highland hospitality. She glanced back; Inverness was almost out of sight.

'Let's get off the road,' she said, and stepped into the wet heather. Her skirts would suffer for it, but better that than run into the redcoats.

She had not imagined how much slower the going would be, on the uneven, boggy ground, but this way they could crouch down and hide whenever they saw soldiers coming along the military road.

The moisture in the air had, unmistakably, turned into rain, as the day descended into evening and dusk began to fall. Alison was not cold, for walking kept her warm enough, but should she stop, she knew that she would be—there was frost in the air, and they could not spend the night in the open. But there, past the next fold of the land, was a hamlet, which would surely shelter them...

The Frasers received them with what hospitality they could offer, which was not much: they had been visited by the redcoats once already and some of their dwellings had been burnt. The only supper they could offer was oatmeal, but it was warm, and Alison and Seumas ate it with much gratitude.

Alison lay that night on some dry rushes on the dirt floor; her limbs ached and were beginning to grow stiff, while the blister on her toe throbbed. In Inverness, which she had escaped, Margaret Ogilvy remained still, now imprisoned by the redcoat officers who had grown suspicious at her attempted passage out of that town. But Alison could not know that; neither could she know that another redcoat officer, one whom she knew, was just now showing reckless kindness to prisoners on the street.

And Ewen, where was he? Having left Inverness, she felt somehow closer to him. Was he, too, skulking behind bushes and avoiding soldiers? Or perhaps he had already reached Ardroy...

She could not contemplate the alternative.

Chapter Text

'Tha na saighdearan dearga a' tighinn!'

Alison woke with a start. The man who had shouted the warning had already gone on to the next dwelling. Cold, sharp fear ran through her, and spurred her to action. Seumas, who had woken likewise, looked at her in equal alarm.

'Come,' she said. She had slept in her clothes, and had only to stick her feet in her shoes and snatch up the plaid she had used as blanket.

While the inhabitants were still arguing over what to do—for they had their whole lives in their village, and had not thought to see a second raid after the first one—Alison and Seumas burst out of the house. Seeing a column of redcoats led by an officer on horseback approaching the village from the military road, Alison lifted her skirts and ran.

Better to get away, if they could, than stay and be caught up in the raid: she had heard in Inverness what those were like. Soon her breath was coming harsh in her throat—she had never run like this in her life, with the sharp teeth of fear snapping at her from behind. Her legs were burning, but she kept going, with Seumas at her side.

Presently she ducked behind a bush, and glanced behind—only to see one of the officers coming in their direction at a trot. They could hardly expect to escape him.

Alison felt for her pistol, which she had carefully loaded the morning she had left Inverness, and kept as dry as she possibly could during the long walk yesterday. With shaking hands, she cocked the hammer back. God send the powder was not ruined! Seumas, beside her, drew his dirk.

But it might be foolish to attempt to use the weapons; an officer would, perhaps, not harm them. The one who had searched their rooms in Inverness had not.

Alison concealed the pistol behind a fold of her plaid as the man pulled on the reins and dismounted. 'Well, what have we here?' He was a blond, powerful, well-fed man of perhaps twenty-five, with a smile playing upon his lips that Alison did not like the look of. But perhaps her best hope was still to appeal to his sense of chivalry—if he had any.

'Sir,' she began, 'I hope you will aid me.'

His smile grew broader as he took in her cultured speech. 'A pleasant surprise, I must say! I hadn't expected a woman like you to be hiding in one of these miserable hovels. And then to go running like a hare before the hounds—I like a bit of chase, gets the blood up.'

No, Alison concluded with a cold shiver, this man had not a trace of chivalry in him. As the officer came towards her, Seamus stepped between them, with his dirk raised. She might have used her pistol, but oh, she had not been quick enough! And now she had no clear shot.

'Ha!' exclaimed the officer, and drew his sword. Alison shrank back while they thrust and parried, with her heart in her throat—and shortly Seamus was lying dead on the ground, and the officer, annoyed, glancing at the blood dripping from his arm.

'You'll pay for that,' he snarled, stepping over Seamus' body. As though the poor lad had not paid already!

'However, 'twill not prevent me from dealing with you as I've dealt with other Jacobite bitches,' he continued with gloating satisfaction.

He stepped closer. Alison stood her ground, hearing in her mind Ewen's voice: Let him get good and close. And just before he was in range to grasp her, she brought her arm up and shot him point blank in the face.

With her mouth dry and her hand shaking, she brought her arm down. Thank God, the powder had been dry enough. He had fallen like an ox to the ground; the ball had gone in through one of his eyes.

But she could not stay here; the shot might have attracted the attention of the other redcoats. She looked round quickly. The ground ahead had not much cover, they would see her if she ran. That willow thicket—but no, the leaves were yet too small, it would not hide her. Crouching down, she made her way to a high clump of heather some distance away: the Highlander's last resort.

If she lay down behind it, with the plaid over her, she thought it might be enough. The ground was wet, and it seeped into her clothes, but that did not matter. A hasty look through the brown fronds of the heather, and she could see that redcoats were indeed making their way here. With some awkwardness, because of her position, she drew a powder cartridge from the front of her dress, inside her stays, where she kept them to stay dry (she only hoped her sweat had not ruined them!) and loaded the pistol again. But with several soldiers, it would not help her.

Incongruously, she heard the laverock singing as she lay there, for the clouds had parted and shown blue sky. The tears came to Alison's eyes then, at this reminder of the beauty of the world, when they had not come at Seamus' death, or her own peril.

She dried them and listened to the sound of approaching soldiers; this close, she dared not lift her head to look.

'Look, it's the captain!' said a disconcerted voice.

'What, this scrawny lad killed him?' said a second voice, lower than the first.

''Twasn't his dirk that did it. Look, he's shot in the face.'

And here Alison realised, with cold dread, the flaw in her plan, if her quick, instinctive actions could be dignified with such a word. Seamus had no pistol, so how could he have shot that officer? The soldiers would be sure to notice the lack of one, and conclude that the real killer must be nearby.

Faith, why had she not left the pistol? But she had clung to it by instinct—not that it could save her now.

The soldiers were slower to notice this incongruity: they were more concerned with their own culpability in this matter.

'An officer killed—do you think we'll be blamed?' said a third voice.

The first voice scoffed. 'What, it's our fault he decided to ride over here?'

'Don't matter to the nobs, does it, whether it's actually our fault.'

'Well, I won't miss 'im.' Alison heard the sound of a man spitting; she hoped he had aimed at the dead officer. 'Remember that time he had me flogged?'

'Which time?' Laughter from the other two, but it was sympathetic.

'The time he said I was drunk on watch. Well, I wasn't, but what did he care?'

'And there was that other time, when—hey, what's that?'

Alison waited impatiently to hear what the unexpected sight was, for she had to remain as still as a grouse, hoping to avoid the hawk's gaze.

'Looks like an officer, don't it? Maybe if we get him over here, we won't have to decide what to do about this. Hallo! Sir!'

'Or we should just fetch the sergeant.'

But it was too late, for the officer on the military road, which was curving close by, had already heard them and checked his horse. He made his way over to them. 'What's going on here?'

Alison hardly dared to breathe, lest he, from his greater vantage on horseback, should spy her. But...that voice. Was it not familiar?

'The captain was killed, sir,' said one of the voices.

'Well, don't you have a lieutenant?' said the officer's voice impatiently. Could it possibly be...Captain Windham? She had only heard him in polite conversation round the dinner table before, and perhaps she was imagining the similarity.

'No, he's not here, sir.'

'A sergeant, then. I'm carrying a despatch, I can't stay.'

'Told you we should have got the sergeant.'

No, she had to take the risk. Very slowly, Alison lifted her head to peer through the heather. And there he was, those handsome features harsher now that they were not animated by dinner table conversation. Instead, they now expressed annoyance at this interruption of his journey. Alison slowly lowered her head while in her mind a furious debate raged.

On the one hand, Captain Windham would be sure to be sympathetic towards her. But he might be on his way back to Inverness, and construe it as his duty to bring her along—and once there, he might not be able to protect her. On the other hand, if she stayed here and did nothing, the soldiers might leave without finding her, and in that case, she would be able to continue towards Ardroy. Without the protection of poor Seamus, it was true, but she would at least be free.

'Wait,' said Captain Windham. 'Your captain was shot with a pistol, but this other man only has a dirk. Where's the pistol, did any of you take it?'

Silence.

'You idiots. He must have been shot by someone else—have you searched these bushes?'

And now only one choice was left to her: it must be the hand of Fate, for of course they were meant to meet. As Alison rose from her hiding-place in the heather, she prayed that their Fate would not be a cruel one.

'Sir,' she said, holding out her open palms, 'I surrender myself as a prisoner to you.'

Alison could see the moment when Windham recognised her, his eyes widening. She had chosen her words carefully, to remind him of his own time as a prisoner among the Jacobites.

Whatever Keith Windham had expected when he turned aside from the road, it was not to see Alison Grant rising from the heather like a memory from the past. No: in the past she had been a laughing young woman in a dress of blue brocade silk, with her hair carefully coiffed and powdered. She was not that now. But still, he knew her instantly, and with more warmth of feeling than he could have predicted.

There was only one thing he could do. 'I accept your surrender, and will take you into custody.' For her sake, he told the soldiers, 'Now, you louts, search these bushes thoroughly, and find the man who must have shot your captain. If he hasn't escaped already, of course. And call your sergeant.'

'Yes, sir,' said one of them, and looked askance at the woman who had risen from the heather.

'Come,' he said to Alison Grant, and she came. Keith turned his back on the corpse of Captain Jackson and led his horse out to the road again.

In an undertone, he said, 'I have an orderly, Lady Ardroy—we'll talk later.'

'Yes, sir,' she said.

Keith wondered at his immediate sense of collusion with her; that they would have things to say to each other which he would prefer to keep from his orderly. But so it was.

'Mackay,' he said when they reached the road. 'This woman will be coming with us. Take everything from my saddlebags and pack it in yours.'

He turned to Alison. 'I'd let you have his horse, madam, but 'twould slow us down too much for one of us to walk. I'm carrying despatches, you see. I do apologise for any inconvenience or discomfort, but you'll have to ride pillion. You look light enough that my horse won't be slowed down much, I believe.' Keith spoke as politely as he could; he would hardly ask a woman such as her to ride like that in any ordinary circumstance.

'I understand, sir,' she said.

When Mackay had finished redistributing the baggage, Keith slung a blanket behind the saddle and helped her to mount. She sat awkwardly sideways on his powerful stallion's back, holding on to the saddle. He mounted as well. 'Again, I apologise. Can you hold on to my coat?'

He certainly wasn't going to ask her to put her arms round him. Keith thought grimly of what that detestable Captain Jackson might have intended with her—had he not got his just deserts.

'If you could try to avoid touching the horse's flanks with your feet, I would appreciate it,' said Keith. The horse would be confused enough at the unfamiliar distribution of weight.

'I'll try,' said Alison. But after a minute's riding, she added apologetically, 'I'll need a better handle, I'm afraid—I'm hardly a skilled rider. Do pardon the impropriety, sir.'

And he felt her arm come round his waist. 'I understand, madam,' said Keith. 'I won't take it amiss.'

As the Mackay orderly was in hearing distance, neither of them offered any further conversation. The military road snaked its way down the long stretch of Loch Ness side into the hazy distance; they met no other redcoats, for which Keith was grateful. How had she come to be here? And where was Ardroy? God send he had survived the battle... Though if it had been her husband who had been hiding in that heather, Keith would have had a much more difficult dilemma on his hands! For it would certainly have been his duty to bring in a Cameron chieftain, whereas a woman, though she had almost certainly killed that officer, was scarcely a military threat.

The day was clear, for the Highlands, though quite cold, so that Keith felt all the more the warmth of Alison Grant's body pressed against his back, and her arms clasped firmly round him. He reflected, with a self-deprecatory irony, that this was the closest he had been to a woman's embrace since...why, since Lydia, four years ago. Well, he was not likely to get closer to one, but that was by his own choice.

The road began its climb up towards the relative heights, and Keith pulled up his horse—he would need a break, with the extra load. And they could eat, as well.

Keith helped Alison Grant to dismount, then told Mackay that he needed to speak to this woman alone. His orderly shrugged, but took his food to sit some distance away, out of earshot.

'And now, Lady Ardroy, we can speak more freely.' Keith laid out bread, cheese and meat on a convenient rock between them. 'Please,' he said, indicating the food.

'Thank you, Captain Windham,' she said, taking out a small knife in order to cut the cheese. She could not quite conceal how hungry she was, and Keith decided to let her eat her fill before he began questioning her.

She was clad in one of those plaid-like garments he had seen other Highland women wear, though not of the Cameron tartan, but of the Grant. On her feet were the usual Highland shoes of soft leather, no doubt with holes cut to allow the water to drain. Her hair was tied back, though a few dark strands had escaped to lie along her cheek. But she was not changed simply in her outward fashion. She had never been plump, but now she was almost thin: it brought out a quality in her that seemed like strong cord, and a keenness in her expression that had not been there before.

She looked at him, and Keith flushed slightly at having been caught watching her. 'How did you come to be so close to Inverness, Lady Ardroy? I should have supposed you to be at Ardroy.'

'I haven't seen Ardroy since September, Captain Windham.'

'Then you stayed in Edinburgh?'

'I followed my husband, sir,' she said, with a proud lift to her chin. 'I've been to Derby and back, and to Falkirk. And Inverness.'

Keith was silent. Since he had so recently thought of Lydia, the comparison came easily to mind, and not to his former lover's advantage. Lydia had been beautiful, to be sure, and dressed to show that fact to best advantage; she had also been quick-witted. But she had not been the sort of woman ever to wish to follow a man into the hardships of military life—she had preferred what material ease and luxury she could find. Not that Keith had considered this a flaw in her character, at the time. Though the idea would never have entered his mind, Keith Windham's taste in women had, up until now, perhaps been more influenced by his mother's example than he would wish to admit.

Alison Grant, though fond enough of fine gowns and witty repartee, was at bottom another sort of woman entirely. She was like a sword, kept in a jewelled scabbard, that when drawn revealed itself to be, not simply a dress sword, but fine sharp steel that would not shatter.

Keith cleared his throat, and met her eyes. 'But you are on your way to Ardroy now, perhaps, madam?' He was conscious of a powerful admiration for her, and withdrew somewhat into formality in consequence.

To let her see that admiration was impossible, not only because she was married, and to a man he greatly respected, but because of the recent general conduct of Hanoverian officers towards Highland women. She must find the entire breed repugnant, and the shame he felt at that thought curdled his stomach.

'Aye,' she said, cutting another piece of meat. 'Or I was, at least.'

Keith let the implied question lie, for now. 'I don't ask where he is—believe me, I don't want to know!—but do you know whether your husband survived the battle? I wish, with all my heart, that he has done so.'

She turned her face down, but not before he had seen her expression. 'I thank you for your good wishes, sir, and I only wish I had that knowledge to conceal. I haven't seen him since before the battle.'

As he grasped for any sprig of hope which he might offer her, he unexpectedly found one. 'You yourself told me of the prophecy that the three of us should meet again. If it is true, does it not mean that he must be alive?'

Alison looked up, startled, to look at Keith Windham's face. She thought it expressed only genuine concern for Ewen—but she was aware that her fate rested in the hands of this English captain. No matter how sympathetic he had seemed in Edinburgh—and seemed now—he was part of an institution that might bind him to actions that he might not choose himself; therefore, she observed his every expression, his every word and action, to see how they might affect her. That was, perhaps, what it meant to be a prisoner.

But this question, she thought, she might safely answer. 'Believe me, sir, I've had the same thought many times. But who knows how prophecy might twist my expectations? It might be his wraith that we are to tryst with!'

'I see. I saw him at Falkirk, but not at the recent battle. As I said, I wish him only well.' Captain Windham had plucked a few stalks of sedge and was twisting them in his hands. Presently he continued, 'I hope that captain, who is now beyond hurting anyone, had no time to hurt you in any way?'

Alison wondered at that, for he phrased it as though it was only a matter of time, not of whether he would hurt her. 'No, sir, he did not. I—'

He quickly held up a hand. 'I pray you, Lady Ardroy, leave me room for some plausible denial. Had I definite knowledge of who shot him, it would be my duty to bring that person in.'

'Of course, sir.' She had not been planning to tell him.

Now he glanced at her, with a wry smile. 'I'd considered the possibility of what I should do if I captured your husband, but it had not occurred to me that you might become my prisoner.'

Perhaps she might push a little. 'And now that we find ourselves in that position, what will you do with me?'

Captain Windham was silent for a moment, then said. 'I'll let you go, after escorting you as close to Ardroy as I can—which will, I warn you, not be very close, for my destination is Perth.'

She had not dared to hope that he would release her, and her surprise must have shown on her face.

'You can hardly constitute a military threat, Lady Ardroy.' It had, in fact, crossed his mind that she might be carrying information or despatches, but he could not bring himself to offer to search her.

'No, I warrant not,' she said.

'If by releasing you I can, in some small way, compensate the atrocious behaviour of my fellow officers...' Captain Windham's voice was low and intense. 'I have, in the past, been proud of my profession and my position in the army, but I have been more ashamed of that institution in this past week than I can ever recall before.' He shook his head. Alison thought he looked wretched.

'Did you know that man? The dead officer?' she asked.

'I did,' said Keith shortly. 'And I despised him.'

How she liked him for that! Alison had the impulse to reach out to him somehow, to press his hand, but she did not. She did smile at him, a genuine smile that felt, by contrast with the troubles and toil of the past few days, like a gift. 'Captain Windham, I thank you for those words. I would not blame you, whom I know from previous acquaintance to be an honourable man, for the crimes of another.'

Captain Windham's expression had responded with warmth to her smile, like a rare glimpse of sun on a darkly clouded day, but then settled back into bleakness. 'I wish it were so easy,' he murmured.

It crossed his mind to justify himself, perhaps to tell her of his actions to save her kinsmen in Glenmoriston, but no: he could not present himself as any sort of hero, when he had participated in several of those raids. His own hands were hardly clean.

Instead, he shook his head and ventured into practicalities. 'Have you finished your meal? If so, 'tis time to leave. I'd like to spare my horse on this uphill slope, so you may have Mackay's, and he can walk. 'Twill not, I think, slow us down much.'

Keith was, in fact, grateful for this excuse to avoid further physical closeness with Alison Grant. Mackay took the news philosophically, conveying in his Gaelic-accented English that he was, in any case, more used to walking.

In the middle distance towards Inverness, Keith could see a group of redcoats approaching, and he felt some uneasiness as to whether, if that group was led by some higher-ranking officer, he might enquire about why Keith was travelling with Alison Grant, when he was carrying despatches. Keith's eyes fell upon a track which followed a stream up a valley to the left. There would be a bivouac in the vicinity of the Corryarrick Pass, or so he had been told, under the command of a certain Major Guthrie of Campbell's regiment, and there Keith had planned to spend the night. If they took this path up to the left, might they not eventually reach that branch of the military road?

Alison, consulted on the matter, was ignorant of the paths in these parts, but Mackay averred that he knew it to be so. They left the road and set off, therefore, up that smaller path.

Mackay's horse lacked a sidesaddle, so Alison struggled somewhat with the riding, but she found that the horse had no ambitions beyond calmly following the lead of Keith's stallion. As the ground became more rough, she left the horse to find its own footing and pace.

On the heights, it was bitterly cold, and Alison drew the plaid closer round herself. After an hour had passed, the track had run out and they had dismounted for a rugged bit of rocky ground; she listened to Captain Windham berating his Mackay orderly, who had, it seemed, no justification for his confident assertion about that track. But even should they be temporarily lost, she thought she was still better off with Captain Windham than alone.

Her eye was caught by a spot of colour—a plaid, that must be! It looked like a woman's figure. While the men talked, Alison approached the figure in the hope of obtaining directions. But before she reached it, she suspected the truth, for the figure was so unnaturally still.

That could have been me, thought Alison, looking down at the white, stiff face and the pitiful bundle she held. And that fate could still be hers, for the war was not yet over...

She heard an exclamation behind her, and turned to see Captain Windham. As her eyes met his, that bleak expression came upon his face again; he uncovered his head and stood silent.

'Sìth Dhè dha h-anam,' murmured Alison, and Mackay echoed the prayer.

They contined on, though Alison's thoughts lingered by the dead woman's side. So was poor Seamus Cameron lying unburied, and so might Ewen lie, somewhere she would never know or find...but her heart rebelled against that thought.

Presently Alison had to dismount, for she was growing weary of riding and thought that walking for a spell might do her good. Mackay took the horse instead, and they were toiling up the slope of a brae when Alison heard what was unmistakably a far-off human voice, shouting.

'What was that?' she said.

'I heard nothing,' said Captain Windham.

But the orderly pointed forward. 'It came from there, sir!'

They continued on. No more shouts were heard, but two musket shots rang out, and the mountains echoed with them.

'Be careful, madam,' said Captain Windham to her. 'You must stay back, if there's fighting.'

'Yes, sir,' said Alison.

Without a horse, she crested the spur of the mountain later than the riders did, and saw what Keith Windham had already seen: the green, narrow little glen beneath them, the shieling huts, the body of redcoats and their mounted officer—and the crumpled figure in a plaid which they had just shot.

Alison continued down, slower than Captain Windham and his orderly, for there were bushes behind which she might seek shelter and not be seen. Captain Windham would, she assumed, seek directions from this execution squad.

Another Highlander was now being dragged out of the shieling, and planted in front of the shieling wall, though he struggled to stay on his feet. He was in the Cameron tartan, as was the first one, and...

Alison gave a low cry as she recognised him, and felt as though her heart would break. But Keith Windham, closer at hand, gave a cry as well. 'Good God! Stop, stop!'

She had the strange sensation that Captain Windham were doing what her heart wished that she herself could do: he spurred his horse towards the shieling, leapt off, and ran desperately between the already levelled muskets and Ewen Cameron. Alison had begun running as well as soon as she had seen him, but some trace of self-preservation stopped her, and she hid behind a broom thicket, looking between its budding leaves. She could do nothing for Ewen: her pleas would be met only with derision, and they would likely rape her after killing her husband.

But Captain Windham could, perhaps, stop them. Alison watched with her nails digging into her palms as Ewen swayed and sank to the ground—but not before Keith Windham caught him in his arms. They looked, incongruously, like a Madonna holding the wounded Christ in her arms, as Windham felt for Ewen's pulse.

The other officer had ridden up, towering over the both of them. He spoke, and while Alison was too far away to hear his exact words, she did hear his biting and scornful tone. Captain Windham laid Ewen down and stood, replying in a polite manner.

Oh, why could she not hear them! Alison cupped her hands behind her ears, but in vain. Ewen's life depended on that conversation...and he was wounded, too; she supposed those wounds must have been sustained at the battle. His leg, it looked like, and perhaps more, too? And how had he managed to get here?

While she waited in suspense for the outcome of the officers' discussion, she wondered over Captain Windham's actions. The muskets had been levelled already—he could have been shot along with Ewen! He could not, in reality, have been impelled by Alison's feelings, urgent as they were, but by motives of his own. How extraordinary that this English captain, who had seemed such a detached and even cynical man at first, had such hidden depths!

But had she not seen signs of such a thing before? The expression on his face earlier today, when he spoke of his shame at the Hanoverian army's actions...and she recalled earlier such occasions in Edinburgh, when they had spoken of the prophecy and its implications. Alison felt now that she wanted to know and understand him better, to plumb those hidden depths.

The two men had finished, it seemed, and at a gesture from the unknown officer, a couple of soldiers lifted Ewen's body and dragged it into the remaining shieling. So Captain Windham had prevailed, then!

But then the mounted officer said something which, from its peremptory nature, seemed to be an order. Captain Windham nodded and mounted, as well. He looked over his shoulder at Alison, who could see, from the intensity of his gaze, how much he wished that he could speak to her.

But she could deduce, perhaps, what he meant to convey: that this was where they must part. He surely understood that she would not leave Ewen's side, and if they were now close to the Corryarrick Pass, it was perhaps, in any case, the nearest point to Ardroy that his journey would take him. And Windham could not stay, if that other officer was superior to him, and had given him an order to accompany him. All the more remarkable, then, that he had defied him!

Alison barely waited until the last of the redcoats had wound away along the mountainside before she rushed down into the hollow where her husband was—please God!—still among the living.

Chapter Text

Dusk was beginning to fall, but there was still light enough for Alison recognise the Highlander who lay shot where Ewen would have lain as well, had it not been for Captain Windham: it was Lachlan MacMartin. Though he had died by violence, his face seemed somehow at peace, perhaps because he had perished in the attempt to protect his beloved chief and foster-brother, although against impossible odds.

Alison paused only to murmur a brief prayer for him, before she ducked into the low shieling. The interior was dark, and she could at first see only a pile in the corner; as her eyes adjusted, she gave a little cry of dismay. Ewen had been flung there with little regard for his wounds or for the coming cold of night. At least he was not lying directly on the dirt floor, but on a makeshift pallet of dried fern and heather, and there was a plaid lying in a heap on the floor.

'Ewen?' She knelt down to take his limp hand in hers. He replied only by a moan and the smallest flexing of his fingers, but by that, she knew at least that he was still alive. 'Oh, my heart,' she murmured, not knowing whether she were speaking for herself, or for him.

His face was gaunt and his cheeks poorly shaven, but his features were no less dear for that. She could see the lower end of a dirty bandage on his thigh, and another on his arm, through the ragged shirt. What a change the week since Drumossie moor had wrought...

There was an overturned bowl on the floor; Alison went to fill it from the nearby burn, in case he should wake and be thirsty. And now? She should perhaps examine his wounds, but she was reluctant—might she not do more harm than good? And she had no clean cloth for bandages. She had no food to offer, and he was in no condition to eat, in any case.

The only thing she had to offer him was the warmth of her body. Alison took the plaid from the floor and unwrapped her own, then lay down beside him and wrapped the plaids round them both, being careful of his wounds. In the dim light, she could just distinguish his features as, with infinite tenderness, she stroked the hair from his forehead. He had always been so much the stronger, but she would have to be strong for him now. She put her arms round him to share as much of her warmth as she could; his body did not shift, as it always did otherwise, to accommodate hers.

And tormorrow, then? Even if he woke, he was in no condition to walk, and they had no horse or garron, and no food. She might go and find help, perhaps...yes, she must do that. And if she could find no one, if they died, it should be side by side.

Despite everything, the physical closeness between them gave her some measure of comfort, and she grew drowsy. With the free association of a mind near sleep, she wondered whether the prophecy were now fulfilled. Windham had been their prisoner; she had been his. He had saved Ewen's life, and perhaps hers, too...their lives, braided together...and she slept, with her face in Ewen's neck.

Alison woke in the night, as she felt Ewen stirring.

'Who...m'eudail, it cannot be you...I must be dreaming,' he murmured, in a weak and wandering voice.

'Oh, Ewen,' she said, feeling for a moment as though she might be dreaming, as well. 'I'm really here, I promise you.' She brought her hand up to his cheek, stroking the uneven stubble, and turned his head so that she could kiss his dry mouth.

'How—?' he said wonderingly.

'Let's talk in the morning. For now, are you thirsty?'

'Aye,' he got out. Alison rose to find the water in the dark, supported his head, and held the bowl to his mouth to let him drink.

She came back to the pallet, and Ewen, who had feared that he would never see her again in life, found the tears leaking from his eyes. Alison kissed them away.

'Sleep again, love,' she said, and they did.

He woke again in the very early morning, and she with him. The light had the grey, colourless quality of pre-dawn, coming in through the open door of the shieling, and the red of the Cameron tartan under which they lay was still only a dark shadow.

She could distinguish Ewen's face enough to guess that he was in pain, but nevertheless, he smiled at her. 'Still not a dream.'

'No.' She smiled back, despite everything.

'Alison. Rose of my heart, how did you come here?' He was weak from hunger and from his wounds, but the night of warmth and comfort seemed to have revived him somewhat, where a night of exposure might have killed him. 'And I seem to recall—but surely that was a dream.'

'Does it involve Captain Windham?'

'How—was that real? Tell me everything!'

So Alison did, beginning with hers and Margaret's tense days in Inverness, then her escape from that town, her encounter with that villainous English captain, and with their own, far more honourable, English captain.

Ewen lay silent for a moment, then said, 'How glad I am that I gave you that pistol.'

'So am I. But oh, why did I not shoot him before he killed Seamus? That poor lad, he tried to protect me so bravely, when he had only a dirk and the officer a sword...'

''Tis only natural to hesitate, when you've never killed anyone before.'

'I did not hesitate to kill that man,' said Alison tightly. 'He might not have killed me, but he would have done...other things. And he killed Seamus.'

'I meant in the manner of execution,' said Ewen mildly. 'You might have hit Seamus, if they were moving quickly.'

'Aye,' said Alison. 'I had your words in my mind...to let him get good and close.'

'I'm glad,' said Ewen, and then coughed. 'But poor Seamus, he was a brave lad.' He swallowed laboriously, as though his throat were dry, and Alison got up to let him drink again. 'But I said another thing, back in Carlisle, that proved to be false. I said that you should be safe with Hanoverian officers.'

'Yes. But I had heard enough, in Inverness, to know that this was not true.'

'I know now, to my sorrow, that the Hanoverian officers have abandoned all honour...but there is one of them who has not!' Ewen's voice, weak as it was, broke as it tried to convey his intensity of emotion. 'You say...that Captain Windham rushed in front of the muskets for my sake? I don't remember that...I only remember finding myself in his arms.'

'I would have done that for you, as well,' said Alison, wondering again at his actions. 'But I could not have protected you. He could, and he did.'

'And I swore an oath not to harm him! He has done so much more than that—he saved my life...' said Ewen wonderingly. 'But I don't mind an obligation to such a man. Not that I'm likely to be able to repay it.'

'Ewen, don't say that!'

He looked grim, and recounted briefly to her the story of how he and Lachlan had come here. 'In these high hills we are far from any habitation. Neil has gone to scout for food, but he must either have gone far afield or have met with disaster, for he's been gone since the day before yesterday.'

And Alison thought of that other MacMartin brother, who lay outside in the grass, slain by the redcoats' muskets. 'Lachlan...he was shot before they tried to do it to you. Did you know?'

'Yes. I heard the shots, and saw his body as they dragged me past it,' said Ewen grimly. 'I'll miss him sorely.' In a flash, he remembered that moment after the battle of Falkirk, and Lachlan's expression as he said that he would gladly die for Ewen. That phrase now took on the sinister cast of prophecy, though Ewen knew it had been but an expression of his foster-brother's love and devotion—which he would now never again express in life.

Ewen turned back to their present difficulties—he had no time to mourn Lachlan now. 'If Neil does not come back, you'll scarcely be able to move me by yourself. And I can't even stand.'

'I'll go and find help myself,' said Alison, with determination.

But before Ewen could reply to this, the opening at the door, which had been growing by degrees less dark as dawn approached, was blocked by a human figure. It was dark against the light, and they could only discern that it was a soldier.

Ewen drew in a sharp breath and made an involuntary movement that was cut short by his disabling wound. Alison, for her part, grimly reached for her pistol: she had despatched one redcoat and could do so with another—but with despair in her heart she knew that where there was one, there must be others.

'Don't be alarmed! I'm alone,' said the figure urgently, and at the sound of that familiar voice Alison felt a rush of relief. How quickly she had come to see him as an ally!

'Captain Windham!' exclaimed Ewen, struggling to sit up, and failing. Alison moved to lay a plaid behind his head for support.

'Captain Cameron—Ardroy—' said Keith Windham with feeling.

He came into the shieling and knelt before them. 'I thank God you're alive! I hoped it...but you seemed so weak last evening.'

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, Keith could see them better than they could see him, silhouetted against the light as he was. The expression on Ewen Cameron's face was more than enough reward for the risks he had run by riding up here alone. And on Alison Grant's face, as well, was relief and welcome.

How strange, that he should value so much more the good opinion of his enemies than of his fellow officers. But then, his opinion of Major Guthrie, a superior officer and one whose plans he was now attempting to thwart, was very low.

'If I'm alive, 'tis thanks to you!' Ewen's voice was weak, but the emotion it carried was unmistakable. What a difference a few months had made! Ardroy's eyes were hollow and his exhaustion and injury plain, but those eyes were still so blue.

'I've brought food,' continued Keith, turning his gaze down from those eyes, and produced wine, bread, and meat from a bag.

Ewen stared at it in wonder. 'I've had nothing but water for three days...Windham, my obligation to you was already great, but now I begin to think 'twill never be repaid. This debt...this more than kindness...'

'For God's sake don't talk of debts, Ardroy—or, if you must, remember what I owe you!' muttered Keith, and began to pour wine into the bowl he found on the floor.

'Nay, Captain Windham,' said Alison Grant softly, 'you must let us express our gratitude! As for me, you have brought me to my husband and then saved his life—I thank you from the bottom of my heart for it.'

She took the bowl from him and began tearing the bread into smaller pieces to soak them in the wine. With great tenderness, she supported her husband and helped him to eat. Keith watched her do it with emotions to which he could not put a name.

Ewen swallowed a few pieces of bread, then managed, 'You talk of your debt to us...but what we did for you was only common decency, and the treatment any captured officer should expect.'

The words stung; Keith looked away. 'You know, no doubt, that the prisoners we have taken have not received such treatment, and I cannot say how much that shames me.' He saw again in his mind's eye that red-haired Jacobite he himself had taken prisoner, who had not even bread to eat.

'Your feelings do you credit.'

Silence fell for a few minutes. Keith sat on the bare earth floor of the shieling and watched as Alison got a few more morsels of food into her husband. Dawn was closer, though the light falling in through the open door was still far from that of day; he could hear a bird outside begin tentatively to sing, as though preparing to greet the sunrise. It was past time that he told them why he had come.

'Bringing you food was not my only errand,' he began, 'though I would have come for that alone. Lady Ardroy has no doubt told you how we came to meet, and that I have nothing to do with the shootings here—I'm carrying despatches.' No, he had nothing to do with Guthrie's executions, but his own troops had carried out similar ones, and under his command...

Keith shied away from that subject and continued. 'To prevent your being shot yesterday, I had to persuade the officer in charge that you were important enough not to kill out of hand. I told him your name, that you had been the Pretender's aide-de-camp, and were Lochiel's kinsman. I am sorry! I was at my wit's end, and could see no other way.'

'You needn't apologise for that,' said Ewen. 'I should not have concealed my identity, had he asked me.'

'Perhaps not, but it may put you at some risk. Major Guthrie told me, as we were riding away, that there's a thousand pounds on Lochiel's head. He intends to return this morning and bring you into the camp as a prisoner, in the hope that he can persuade you to reveal your chief's whereabouts.'

Ewen's countenance turned grim. 'You must know that I would rather die than betray Lochiel.'

'Yes, I know it—but Major Guthrie does not. 'Tis possible that you may get some care and sustenance were you a prisoner, if only because of your potential value to them, but...'

Alison was slowly shaking her head. 'Ewen, we must stay out of their hands!'

'Aye, if we can...' said Ewen.

They exchanged a private look; the man exhausted and injured, lying prone on his back with only his head supported, and his wife kneeling over him with a fierce expression on her face, as though she would defend him against all the redcoats in the world. Keith could see very clearly that quality in her which he had so admired yesterday. Ewen smiled a little at her—how it transformed his drawn face!—and turned his palm up to take her hand. Keith looked away from them, with an ache in his heart.

Then Ewen turned to Keith. 'Captain Windham, I thank you for the warning. Regardless of my immediate treatment in that camp, I would surely risk execution for treason if they took me. I'd rather take my chances with liberty, wounded though I am. And as for Alison—'

'I think we all know what I would risk,' she said grimly. 'But Captain Windham, would you really help us? I can't carry my husband, no matter how much I want to.'

'I'm carrying a despatch—I can't stay. But yes, I'll help you.' Though he knew his superiors would think otherwise, Keith could not even truly feel that it was a betrayal of his duty: he could not knowingly abandon them to a man such as Major Guthrie, who would almost certainly mistreat them, when their capture could be of no military importance—for Ardroy would never reveal Lochiel's whereabouts. 'I have my horse; by that means we can get Captain Cameron some distance away from this hut, at least, so that you may hide. And I have more food for you. Now, can you move at all?'

With Alison's aid, Ewen managed to sit. But when he cast the plaid aside and revealed the poorly bandaged state of his thigh, visible beneath the hem of his shirt, Keith drew in a breath between his teeth.

'That, I think, needs some attention.'

Alison looked uncertain. 'Yes, I thought of it, but...oh, I haven't any experience in caring for wounds! I wish to God that I had.'

'I have some, at least,' said Keith, 'if only from the experience of being wounded and cared for myself.'

'I think my petticoats are rather dirty, and would make poor bandages,' said Alison, 'or I would tear them up.'

'No need for that,' said Keith. He went outside, glanced down the glen to make sure none of Guthrie's soldiers were yet in sight, then reached into his saddlebag for torn strips of clean linen which he had brought for this purpose. He brought as well a lantern, for better lighting.

When he returned, Ardroy was still silent, gazing at him with an expression which Keith found difficult to read.

'Will you permit me to dress your wounds, Captain Cameron?' asked Keith, with some hesitation.

'Permit you?' said Ewen wonderingly. 'Yes—but please, my dear Windham, no need for such formality. Ardroy will do.'

Keith felt a flush rising to his cheeks at such an address—yes, they were possibly intimate enough now to warrant such terms, but bereft of the formality, he felt in some obscure fashion that it had been a shield to him. 'Ardroy, then,' he said gruffly.

He approached the wounded man and began with his sword-arm, unwrapping the dirty bandages. Ardroy's skin was warm and dry, perhaps warm enough to be fevered—Keith could not tell.

'That was a bayonet-thrust,' murmured Ewen.

'Yes, I can see that,' replied Keith, looking at the red swollen gash, which had however closed itself.

'How does it look?' said Alison, who was supporting her husband from behind.

'I'm sure 'tis painful,' said Keith, though Ardroy was showing no sign of it, 'but I believe it gives no cause for anxiety—though I'm certainly no surgeon.'

He washed it with clean water, then wrapped it up again securely in clean linen. And now for his thigh, which Keith suspected would be worse...

The wound was on his farther side, so Alison assisted Ewen in sitting up and turning. Seeing Ewen's dirty shirt lying over his thighs, Keith was reminded of that evening in Edinburgh, the night before his wedding, when they had both undressed for bed. He had been in the full flower of his strength, hale and handsome, with his white shirt draping his body—and now... Well, Keith could not help but find him handsome still, but how it pained him to see Ewen so weak and exhausted!

Keith began gingerly to unwrap the bandages on Ewen's thigh; he thought the wound was no longer bleeding, but it had left a wet sticky residue on the dirty linen which had barely covered it. In the poor light, Keith could not tell whether there was mortification, though he was not sure of his ability to do so in any light.

'This wants a surgeon's attention,' muttered Keith, appalled. Then, reddening, he recalled the deliberate denial of care to the Jacobite wounded at Inverness, and the actual removal of their instruments from the few of their own surgeons imprisoned with them. He was not sure whether Ewen would know this, but the burning shame was almost more than he could bear.

'We don't have one,' said Ewen evenly enough, though by his set face he was concealing pain.

In an instinctive gesture, Keith curled his hand round Ewen's leg just below the knee, as though he wanted to give him something else to feel besides the pain. His skin was warm, but there was tension in his muscles. Keith felt them relax slightly.

Alison came to her knees behind her husband, to look down at the wound. Had Ewen been able to see her, she might have controlled her expression, but Keith met her eyes and saw her full horror. He shared it—the thought of Ewen Cameron crippled for life or dead of a mortified wound was intolerable to him.

But Ewen could, however, see his expression, so Keith strove to let none of this show. 'I've seen such wounds healed,' he said, which was true enough—though far from true in every case. 'But I own that I haven't the skill even to know whether 'tis best to wash it, or let it be. I'm sorry,' he said helplessly. 'I wish I did.'

'I don't blame you for that, Windham,' said Ewen gently. 'Let it be, then.'

Keith bent his head to the task of exchanging the soiled bandages for fresh, clean ones, and to making sure the wound was well covered.

'There,' said Keith when he was finished, and without thinking he let his hand briefly caress Ewen's leg, in that same place below the knee. He flushed and removed his hand.

But Ewen reached out with his own hand, to press it. 'I thank you for that. And now, you must help me up.'

Keith moved to the side where his wounded leg was, to take most of his weight—indeed, Alison could not take much of it, being too short. But at least the arm which he needed for support was not his wounded one. With Ardroy's arm resting heavily on his shoulders, and Keith's arm round his waist, they limped their way out to Keith's horse. Ardroy smelt of sweat and his plaid of dirty wool, an undeniable physical presence of which Keith was strongly aware.

Dawn was now very close, or had perhaps already come: the sun not yet above the hills to the east, but the light had almost the quality of daylight, though from a dark and clouded sky. No soldiers could yet be seen, but Keith did not expect them yet—they had no reason to hurry, for Guthrie believed his quarry helpless.

'I must see Lachlan before we go,' said Ewen, and Keith supported him to walk the short distance to where his dead foster-brother lay. Keith himself had no reason to mourn that man, who had proposed to drown him in the loch. But the expression on Ewen's face as he, with difficulty, knelt down to stroke the hair from Lachlan's forehead and kiss it, moved Keith to compassion for his grief.

'I'll see that you're buried, if I can,' he heard Ewen murmuring, and then a few phrases in Gaelic, which Keith thought he recognised from Alison's prayer over the dead woman the previous day. Then Keith helped him up, and they turned to leave.

The task of mounting Ardroy seemed at first impossible, but he had reserves of strength still, or perhaps the night had brought him rest, and they managed it together. But his face went pale and strained as he sat the saddle, and Keith did not wonder: his wounded leg must be put under excruciating pressure.

'Where shall I take you?' Keith asked, looking anxiously up at him and wondering how much riding he could bear.

Though the hills round it were bare, the glen had a fair amount of cover, low whinbushes, heather, and willows that were nevertheless substantial enough to hide in. A little farther down, another glen branched off from the main one, also leading down to Wade's road, or so Keith assumed. He must take that way himself on his way back, so as not to meet any soldiers and come under suspicion. Perhaps he could take the fugitives some way down it.

Keith made this suggestion, and Ardroy and his lady nodded. Their progress was not fast, for Keith led the horse slowly so as not to jar the wounded rider. Some way down that second glen, the cover began to grow sparse and give way to open heath and grassland; they had turned round a shoulder of hill and could no longer see the shielings.

'You may leave us here,' said Ardroy, indicating a dense clump of whinbushes.

'Are you sure?' said Keith, hesitating.

Ewen exchanged a glance with Alison, who nodded in agreement, and continued. 'I see no other option—you must go on, and in that open country, we should be far too exposed. We'll skulk here until evening.'

And then what would they do? Keith asked himself that question, but did not utter it out loud. Ardroy could not walk, and they had no horse... But Keith helped him to dismount, wincing at the sharp intake of breath when his leg was jarred.

'I wish I could do more for you,' said Keith miserably, as he helped Ewen make his way towards the thicket.

'Do more!' said Ewen in astonishment, and his sharp glance from so close was unnerving. 'My dear Windham, you saved my life! Moreover, you have come here in order deliberately to thwart a superior officer's intentions by helping an enemy to escape, you have brought us food and dressed my wounds. If I don't mistake, you could be court-martialled and cashiered for this, if not more.'

Keith was silent. Ewen's assessment was entirely correct and, put so bluntly, Keith was momentarily at a loss to justify his own actions. But he rallied. 'That may be. But a man can only obey orders so far against his own sense of honour and his own conscience. Other Hanoverian officers may lay their honour aside, but I will not.'

Ewen was regarding him with wonder. 'I'll remember this forever,' he said simply.

Keith could hardly put a word to his own emotions at hearing those words, delivered, too, while Ardroy was in such close proximity to him.

To break the moment, he turned to Alison. 'In my saddlebag you'll find a package of food I made up for you. It should keep you a few days, at least.'

But her face, too, showed her gratitude and emotion. She fetched the package of food, and then insisted on expressing that gratitude in terms that had Keith flushing. Then she added, 'Do you remember that prophecy I told you about in Edinburgh? I own that I was afraid that it would lead to some terrible fate, perhaps that we would all die. And I shouldn't tempt fate by assuming that 'tis now averted, but so far you have brought us only friendship and good fortune. I only hope 'twill have no ill consequences for you.'

'You think that prophecy—if it truly is one—is played out, then?' asked Keith.

'We've had three meetings, and it could fairly be said that our fates have been twined together,' said Ewen. 'But I for one will regret it if we never meet again. I hope we do, and that we can, in some way, make a return for all that you've done. Come, Windham, will you shake my hand?'

Since Keith's right hand was currently round Ewen's back, they had to disentangle themselves for that to happen. Ewen sank to the ground, which he would in any case have had to do to crawl into the thicket. He reached up to take Keith's hand warmly, and enclosed it in both his own.

'Farewell, Windham. May God keep you, and the road rise up to meet you.'

Keith cleared his throat. 'Farewell, Ardroy. I wish you may safely reach your home.'

Alison, when he turned to her, reached out her hand to him wordlessly. He bowed, brought it to his lips and kissed it, and felt he had truly earned that boon from her.

And now it was past time to part from them; Keith mounted and, with a last look back, rode on. He felt as though all the time since he had parted from Ewen Cameron outside Edinburgh Castle had been spent in some world of drab grey—but when he had come upon Alison Grant outside Inverness, and then Ardroy in the shieling, it had come into sharp vivid colour again. Riding away from them now, back into the sordid reality of his military duties, he sorely felt the loss.

What was worse, he could not even rouse himself from these thoughts enough to dismiss them as ridiculous.

Chapter Text

When Ewen and Alison had made themselves as comfortable as possible in the gorse thicket, trying as far as they could to avoid its thorns, they ate a frugal breakfast from the stores Keith Windham had left them. They could not but know, with every swallow of bread and meat, how much they owed him.

'I could never have guessed,' said Ewen in a hushed, wondering tone, 'what would come of that chance meeting by Loch Oich side.'

'No,' replied Alison in a similar tone. 'How I hope he doesn't get in trouble for it.'

They spoke little after that, only lay side by side on the ground beneath their plaids, listening in silence for the tramp of feet, men's voices, the jingle of harness. For an interminable stretch of time, there was only the sough of wind in the gorse and the thin cheeping of the meadow pipit. They were still enough that the small bird landed on a branch near them, and they watched its delicate feet shift restlessly while its black beady eyes kept watch.

Presently they heard, unmistakably, what they had feared: the tramp of soldier's boots, and voices slowly approaching from the direction of the shieling. Evidently the troop had found those dwellings empty.

Lieutenant Paton, who had been sent to fetch Cameron of Ardroy back to camp, had none of his superior officer's cruelty, but he was nevertheless determined not to leave empty-handed—not only because he was a conscientious officer, but because he knew that Major Guthrie's bad temper and ridicule would fall harshly on him if he failed. He could hear Guthrie's voice in his mind already. 'Jist ane easy turn, Lieutenant, ah should hae thocht it wad be a skoosh fir ye wi yer cliveralitie. But mibbie the chiel ran ower fast fir ye, eh?'

And so Paton set his men thoroughly to investigate the bushes near the shielings; when those proved empty, he ordered them to widen the search.

The two fugitives knew what the grouse felt, as it lay stock-still among the heather with the dogs snuffling on its trail. But they could not, as the grouse could, attempt freedom through a sudden burst of flight. Alison prayed silently, with only her lips moving, and held Ewen's hand tight.

Her prayer was not granted.

'At last! Here they are,' said a soldier's triumphant voice. 'Don't move.' He stuck his bayonet into the thicket to rest the point threateningly against Ewen's side. 'Hey, fetch the lieutenant!'

Ewen's eyes met hers with an agonised acknowledgement that they could neither of them prevent whatever fate awaited the other. 'Tha gràdh agam ort,' he murmured to Alison.

Presently they heard what was presumably the lieutenant's voice. 'Come out of those bushes, sir. I'll not harm you.'

There being nothing else to do, they came.

The officer seemed taken aback to have caught a woman, as well. 'I'm Lieutenant Paton of Guise's, sir, and I have orders to bring you back as a prisoner. But my orders don't mention anyone else.' He hesitated. 'You, madam, can have no military importance. Unless you wish to come, we'll leave you here. Don't touch her,' he said to the soldiers.

Alison's feelings at this pronouncement were mixed: relief and gratitude towards this unexpectedly sympathetic officer, certainly, but also reluctance to be parted. Ewen's feelings were less mixed. 'Go to Ardroy,' he urged her in Gaelic. Thanks be to God, at least she would be spared!

'Speak English,' said Lieutenant Paton sharply.

'I only urged her to go home, to safety,' said Ewen. 'I'm afraid I cannot walk, so if I'm to be brought in, you must carry me in some fashion.'

'Yes, we've brought a litter for that purpose,' said Lieutenant Paton, and ordered two of his soldiers to fetch it.

And so Alison was left behind, alone on the hillside as she watched the redcoats carrying her helpless husband away. Reluctant to give anything away to the sharp-eyed lieutenant, they had spoken only with their eyes as they parted: but what emotion those glances carried! It was entirely possible that, with Ewen in the clutches of the redcoats, they would never meet again in life. He might be shot out of hand, when it became clear that he would never betray his chief, but even if all due process was observed, he would be eventually be imprisoned, tried in court, and very possibly executed for treason.

They had made no plans for the eventuality that she would remain free, but Alison had the food which Captain Windham had given them, and she had her pistol. She could have made her way directly to Ardroy, as Ewen had urged her, but she did not intend to do so.

When the last soldiers had disappeared behind the shoulder of the next hill, Alison began to follow them. She would keep out of sight, but she must find out what happened to Ewen, and see where they took him.

Keith and his orderly negotiated the zig-zag turns of Wade's road as it descended from the Corryarrick Pass, looking out over the wide prospect offered by the height. The road lay like a ribbon below him, disappearing into the hazy distance past Dalnacardoch, and far beyond that, Perth and the Lowlands.

No longer in Ardroy's and his lady's presence, Keith's instinct of self-preservation re-asserted itself. He could not regret doing his best for them, but he had, last night, been forced to ask a sergeant where to find food and wound dressings, and wondered whether Major Guthrie would come to hear of that. His orderly had known nothing except that he had been told to wait while Keith rode away on an errand.

But it was quite possible that, if the party of soldiers came back empty-handed (which, please God, they would!), Major Guthrie would discover Keith's absence and the stores he had taken, and put two and two together. As it was, he had returned early enough to escape suspicion, and had only taken a brief farewell of that detestable officer and ridden off.

Presently he saw two other riders coming towards them on the road, at first small as toys, appearing and disappearing among the folds of the landscape. One was an officer, which Keith saw when they approached, and he stopped to address the man.

'I'm Captain Windham of the Royal Scots, sir,' he introduced himself.

'Major Herbert of Pulteney's,' said the other, a burly middle-aged man with a slight Welsh accent. 'Where are you going?'

'To Lord Albemarle in Perth, with a despatch from His Royal Highness.'

'Ah! My errand is just the same, but in the other direction.'

They spoke a few words about the state of the road and whether they had met with any hostilities, whereupon Major Herbert said, 'Listen, captain, what do you say about exchanging our despatches? 'Twould mean a shorter ride for us both, and make no difference for the messages.'

'Yes, certainly, sir,' replied Keith.

The major was naturally interested to hear news of Inverness and, after speaking a few minutes on such topics, they exchanged their despatches with no further ado and both turned round.

Keith found himself facing, from the other direction, the steep zig-zag climb up to the pass again. Halfway up, he stopped to rest their horses, and stood looking out over the road he would not, after all, ride. This was certainly unexpected...he had, after doing his best for them, thought that Ardroy and his lady's fate was out of his hands. But now he must certainly stop to find out whether Guthrie's quarry had slipped through his hands, which Keith fervently hoped, or not.

Not that their fate would be in Keith's hands now, either—however much he detested him, Major Guthrie was a higher-ranking officer and Keith could not gainsay his orders, whatever they were. But he had to know.

The camp was in the same place still, on a hillside along the desolate stretch of road down from the pass. Keith could not immediately see Major Guthrie, but something out of the ordinary was clearly taking place in the camp: a group of soldiers were loitering near a tent, as though curious, and Lieutenant Paton, as well, was standing indecisively near it.

Keith dismounted and addressed him. 'Lieutenant Paton. What's going on?'

So deep in his thoughts had the young man been that he started at Keith's words. 'Sir! I didn't expect you back.'

'No, nor did I expect to come here again—I met another officer with a despatch, and we exchanged them,' said Keith impatiently.

Paton glanced at the tent, from which Keith had heard the low sound of Guthrie's voice, though he had not made out the words. Then he seemed to come to a decision. 'You men! Disperse and find a task round the camp, or I'll find one for you.'

The soldiers duly dispersed, and Paton drew him aside. 'This morning, sir, I brought in Cameron of Ardroy as a prisoner.'

Keith's heart gave a great thump, but he strove to control his expression, and only nodded. Had Paton brought in Alison, as well? But he could hardly ask that without revealing more knowledge than he ought to have.

'Major Guthrie has been questioning him all day, in a manner which I do not feel at all justifiable. In fact...'

'Yes?' asked Keith urgently, with a glance at the tent.

'At first he tried to throw suspicion on your actions, and insinuate that you, too, only wanted to get information from Ardroy. The Major seemed to suspect that you had ridden back to those shielings this morning, in order to steal a march on him—the Major, that is—and gain that information, and the reward, for yourself. He alluded to the fact that you had been a prisoner of Ardroy's, and no doubt you wanted to get even for that.'

Keith was astounded. This was an interpretation of his own actions which he could never, in his wildest dreams, have imagined. Well, no doubt a man like Guthrie suspected others to share his own characteristics, which did not include tender feelings towards rebels. If there had been the slightest risk that Ardroy would believe this slander...but, however, Keith knew he would not.

And indeed Paton went on, 'Ardroy was very close-mouthed and would reveal nothing, not even to confirm or deny that you had been there'—here Paton gave Captain Windham a speculative glance—'so the Major changed his tune. He gripped him by his bandaged arm, which must have hurt a great deal by itself, and asked him whether he knew how we deal with folk that have valuable information and will not part with it?' At that the prisoner did open his eyes, and said with a good deal of contempt that, from what he had seen of the Major, he could very well guess.

'Good God!' exclaimed Keith. 'What has he done?'

'The Major threatened to flog him, sir. I told him plainly that he might very likely kill the prisoner if he was so barbarous as to do that in his present condition, and he seemed to see reason, at least insofar as that it might lose him his source of information. But the Major has questioned him pretty continuously since then without result, and has just declared that since he will not speak, 'tis time to try the flogging after all. He has just ordered the man tied to the tentpole.'

All through this speech, Keith's disbelief and outrage had mounted. Ewen Cameron, a gentleman and an officer, ordered to be flogged! When he was wounded and ought instead, by all the conventions of war, to receive medical attention! By the end, Keith had attained to a sort of white-hot rage that demanded immediate action, and cared not for the consequences.

'I thought you might perhaps persuade him...' began Paton, but Captain Windham was already in motion. Paton looked at his back as he strode towards the tent, alarmed by the expression he had seen on Windham's face.

Keith ignored the two soldiers at the entrance of the tent, one of whom was trying to ask him his business there. Instead, he thrust inside and saw, to his horror, that Ewen Cameron had been tied solidly to the tentpole with his hands above his head, the rough rope no doubt cutting into his wrists. Keith could not see his face, as his pale back was turned, ready for flogging, but his auburn hair was dishevelled and partly out of its plait; Keith could imagine that his loose hair would, when the lash broke his skin, get caught in the wounds and grow sticky with blood. Ardroy's disabled leg clearly could not carry his weight, nor had he in general the strength to stand. When Keith entered, he had been resting his weight partly on his arms—no doubt very painful for that bayonet wound—but struggled to his legs again at the commotion.

Keith, momentarily silenced by the sight before him, had not spoken yet, so Major Guthrie did. 'Aaready back, Captain? Ah thocht ye had despatches fae Perth. Whit's yer business here?'

Keith turned on him. His voice was low but intense. 'I think that question is rather for me to ask: What are you doing here?'

At the sound of it, Ardroy started, painfully turning his head round to look in amazement at the newcomer.

Major Guthrie raised his eyebrows. Captain Windham's manner was little short of insubordination: no 'sir', no reply to his superior's question, and the effrontery to ask questions of his own. But for now, Guthrie replied calmly enough. 'I scantlins due ye ony account, captain. Still an on, I wad hae thocht whit ahm daein is plain as parritch: ahm daein ma duty speirin at a rebel. '

Keith himself could not care less that he was making demands of a superior officer. 'Your duty?' he exclaimed. 'The torture of a sorely wounded enemy officer can be no part of your duty!'

Guthrie narrowed his eyes. He had a certain cunning for finding the weakness in his fellow man, and Captain Windham's behaviour over this Cameron rebel, which he had from the beginning found peculiar, was not conforming to the theory he had initially formed of him. 'Ah thocht ye'd pauchled a mairch on me this morn, but the noo Ahm fair wondering if yer no mibbie ower fond o yon rebel. Or mibbie o his cause.'

Captain Windham flushed angrily. 'Do you accuse me of being a Jacobite, sir? I can assure you that I am not. I am, however, far too attached to my honour ever to mistreat a helpless prisoner.'

Major Guthrie was now beginning to grow impatient. This headstrong junior officer, who had rushed wildly into his tent, would not dictate his actions to him in his own camp. 'Ah think ye misremember yer station, captain,' he said coldly. 'An yer ower-nice in yer honour, gin it pits ye fae daeing yer plain duty. Ower the heid o that, ye'll look on while Ah flog Lochiel's hidie-hole oot o yon stinkin rebel.'

He had of course not originally intended to do the flogging himself, but to have his drummer do it. However, Major Guthrie's blood was now up, and he seized the cat o' nine tails in his own hand. There would be a certain pleasure in whipping some humility into this haughty rebel, who styled himself a gentleman, though he certainly didn't look much like it now! And there would be pleasure, too, in seeing the look on Captain Windham's face when his precious prisoner got his just deserts.

Keith would afterwards recognise the moment when the knotted whip struck Ewen Cameron's bare back as his moment of no return, the one that irrevocably changed his life—in some way, he knew it even then.

Major Guthrie was not a weak man, and he put his back into the blow. Ewen did not give him the satisfaction of crying out, but his body jerked, and on two of the reddened marks left by the whip, the skin was broken. The blood trickled down, bright red against his pale skin.

Keith stared at it. If his anger had been blazing hot before, it was now cold and controlled: he had reached the calm eye of the storm and knew what he must do.

He took two steps forward and gave Major Guthrie a stinging backhanded blow across the cheek. 'You,' he said clearly, 'have less gentility and honour than Ewen Cameron has in his little finger.'

Guthrie slowly raised his hand to his cheek, and the red mark where Keith's signet-ring had drawn blood. He was a man who enjoyed needling his fellow men, when he could find their weak spots, but his taunts usually stopped short of insults, or could be explained away as jests when they were taken so. This Captain Windham must be a madman! He behaved as though Guthrie had bedded his lady-love.

But Windham did not sound like a madman as he continued grimly. 'There's no use in asking me to apologise. I stand ready to offer you satisfaction...but perhaps you are too much of a coward.'

That final word settled the matter. On paper, the regulations of the Army dictated that Captain Windham be placed under arrest until he could be tried at a court martial. In practice, Guthrie might be shunned by his fellow officers for refusing a challenge. The two soldiers at the entrance of the tent would surely talk among their fellows, and the insult of that blow—and the word 'coward', which his men had heard!—could not be wiped out by any other means than a duel.

Keith Windham's lip curled at the delay, as though dwelling on what he had said, and Major Guthrie said icily, 'Ah'll get the mends o it then.'

'As you wish,' said Windham in a similar tone. 'I am at your disposal. But I regret to say I have no available second.'

'Ah'll get by wantin ane, then,' replied Guthrie. There was, at any rate, no one but that mealy-mouthed Paton, since his captain was away at Fort Augustus.

They quit the tent. When Lieutenant Paton, who had waited outside, became aware of their purpose, he only did his duty when he tried to dissuade them—but it was not very likely that either of them, in their present state of mind, would listen to a junior officer. The news quickly circulated among the men, who gathered to watch the spectacle at a distance.

''Twill be difficult to find level ground,' remarked Windham, gesturing at the tussocks of moor-grass and heather that surrounded the tents.

'Ah trew the road will mak the best steid,' replied Guthrie curtly, and they went to a flat stretch of it some small distance from the camp.

As they stood a few yards apart, Keith drew his sword and watched his adversary do the same. 'We have no seconds to ensure a fair fight,' said Keith scrupulously. 'Do you agree that the field, and the weapons, are fair?'

'I do,' said Guthrie.

'I call on Lieutenant Paton as witness to it,' said Keith.

'Yes, but...' Paton attempted, bravely, to step between them. 'Gentlemen, I beg of you! Won't you reconsider?'

'No,' said Windham, with finality.

'Oot the road,' snarled Guthrie, and Paton went. The two men stood for a moment, poised on the cusp of action, both in the same uniform, with equal expressions of hostility. Above them, dark clouds chased over the sky.

Keith could not, in that moment, have fully articulated his plan. But as a mere captain, he could never have counteracted Major Guthrie's orders, and thus instinctively he had sought to level the field and meet him as an equal. He had been carried along by a vast swell of emotion, and yet he had made his choices aware of the immense consequences they would very likely have—it was just that those consequences weighed less to him than Ewen Cameron's life.

He would enjoy this duel. Keith bared his teeth in a smile and advanced.

Their opening moves were conventional enough, for Keith did not mean to be incautious. He soon found that his caution was warranted: Major Guthrie was a more than competent swordsman.

But so was Keith. Lieutenant Paton watched with suspense their circling moves, their sudden flurries of strokes and parries, their attempts to force the opponent onto poor ground. First blood went to Guthrie, for Windham's left sleeve was sliced cleanly open, though the blood did not show against his uniform.

Guthrie stepped back, to see whether his adversary would own himself defeated, but Windham, with a snarl, attacked again.

Keith was vividly aware of his own body, of the stones of the road beneath his boots, of every move that they both made, though he felt not at all the pain from his wound. He knew, as well, that he might very well die here on this desolate moor. Keith accepted that: he would at least have died for something worth dying for.

But on the surface of his mind, the bout demanded all his attention; they were both growing wearied now, for such intense struggle would tell on any man, however strong. Any small mistake might mean the end. And finally, one did: Guthrie, stumbling, left himself open, and Keith without hesitation took advantage of it. As his blade slid in, he felt nothing but fierce satisfaction.

Dimly, he was aware of a clamour from the watching soldiers, and wondered whether they were glad to be rid of their commanding officer, or would resent his death.

If the man were dead, that was—for the makeshift surgeon belonging to the company hurriedly began to work on Guthrie, attempting to stem the tide of blood. Keith wiped his sword clean with peat moss, sheathed it, and went to stand beside Paton, who eyed him uncertainly. This grim-faced man did not appear to be the same to the lieutenant as the sympathetic officer of the day before, whom he had welcomed as a change from the hard Guthrie.

'You may certainly report my actions as you see fit,' Keith told the subaltern drily.

Paton glanced at him again. 'Yes, sir. My captain is away in Fort Augustus, I don't know when he'll return.'

'Well, you're in command here until he returns. But I'll be taking charge of that prisoner.' Windham's tone dared Paton to make an objection; he did not.

The surgeon rose, shaking his head. 'He's gone.' Then he saw Keith's arm, and impartially came to bind it up.

Keith impatiently shook off the surgeon's attempts to make him take his coat and shirt off—he had no time for that—but suffered him to wrap bandages round it on the outside. Then he hastened to the tent and to the man for whose sake he had just risked his life.

Ewen Cameron had been tied all this time to the tentpole; his eyes were closed, but he opened them when Keith spoke in a low voice. 'I'm taking you out of here.'

Ewen did not reply, perhaps from caution, perhaps because his strength had given out. Keith stood behind him and cut the cords; though he had been ready and braced for it, Ewen's weight as Keith caught him in his arms drove Keith to his knees. He heard Ewen's low grunt of pain, whether from his wounded leg or from the marks of the whip rubbing against Keith's coat, Keith did not know.

The bare skin of Ewen's chest felt heated to his touch; Keith laid him down and found his shirt. 'Here, can you put this on?'

Ewen complied, moving slowly and gingerly, then re-wrapped the plaid that had been round his waist more securely.

'Now you must walk a little, with my help,' said Keith. Ewen nodded grimly, and Keith knelt to put his right arm round Ewen's back. Ewen drew in a breath, then with a great effort got to his feet, with Keith taking a great deal of his weight.

How well matched they were, Keith thought whimsically: his own wound—which he still hardly felt—was on his left arm, leaving his right to support Ewen on the side where he most needed it.

'Only a short distance,' Keith murmured very low, as they quit the tent, 'but then you must go on horseback. I'm sorry.'

Ewen huffed out a breath. 'Sorry?' he said under his breath. Then he asked. 'Major Guthrie?'

'Is dead,' said Keith flatly. Ewen's eyes widened.

It was more difficult than the last time to get Ewen on horseback, but Keith did not ask for help. Paton stood watching him uneasily, and Keith wondered how much he had heard, and what interpretation he had made of the duel. It might not necessarily be the true one: perhaps he thought that Keith had duelled Guthrie over the rights to the knowledge of Lochiel's whereabouts? Keith had liked Paton, and was sorry to leave him in such a manner, but it could not be helped.

Keith took his orderly's horse, leaving that Highlander, now thoroughly bewildered by the actions of his commanding officer, to walk.

'Can you ride?' asked Keith anxiously of Ewen.

'It depends upon what you mean by that word,' Ewen got out. 'No doubt my horse can follow yours.'

Yes, he sat the saddle more like a sack of meal than with the splendid seat he had formerly had, and Keith feared he might collapse altogether.

'Lead his horse,' said Keith to his orderly.

The desolate and wide expanse of the hills spread out before them as they set out along the military road towards Fort Augustus, with the Great Glen visible only as a dip in the rolling landscape. The north wind had free play, with the moorgrass bowing before it, and some bird of prey rode above them on its upper currents. Keith felt acutely visible.

He thought of himself as standing on a great height from which he was about to fall—but in fact he had already taken that irrevocable step. He had provoked a superior officer to a duel, had killed him, and had taken charge of a valuable prisoner whom he already knew that he would be incapable of committing to the hands of his superiors.

Keith was in a free fall and waited only to see what ground would break that fall—and whether he would survive it. His career almost certainly would not.

Keith's mind shied painfully away from the latter subject; but no, it had to be addressed. He had been swept powerfully along by a flood of feeling, but now the waters were beginning to recede, and he must take stock of the wreckage.

The duel with Guthrie alone was not serious; while the Articles of War explicitly forbade them, duels among officers were in fact widespread and silently condoned. But Keith did not imagine that a court-martial could ignore the reason for that duel—to kill another officer for the sake of his poor treatment of a Jacobite prisoner! There were witnesses to the cause, too: those soldiers on guard in the tent.

And what was he to do with Ewen Cameron? He glanced at the drooping head and bowed shoulders behind him.

Keith's mind circled round this problem, and the problem of whether his own position was in any way salvageable, but could find no solution. They were now descending into a lower glen, and the first stunted trees began to appear; some distance to their right, the Tarff was cutting an ever deeper wooded ravine into the landscape. He could discern Loch Ness in the hazy distance down in the Great Glen. Abruptly, Keith pulled up his horse—perhaps Ardroy might contribute something to his plans.

He dismounted and sent Mackay to hold his horse some distance away. Ewen had lifted his head at the halt, and his gaze, dulled by pain, sharpened as Keith approached.

'How are you holding up?' asked Keith, almost without thought putting a hand to Ardroy's knee.

Ewen shrugged minutely. 'I'm endeavouring not to fall off.'

'What became of Lady Ardroy?'

Now Ewen smiled, as though finding joy in the midst of pain. 'Lieutenant Paton let her go, and ensured that the soldiers did not molest her.'

'I'm very glad to hear it,' said Keith, and meant it. 'Where is she now, do you think?'

'I urged her to find her way to Ardroy.'

She could not now be of any aid to her husband, then. Keith had nurtured some vague notion that she might, if she were nearby, somehow bring help, and relieve him of the impossible responsibility of his prisoner—if he could be viewed as such, any longer.

And then, perhaps, some miracle would occur to absolve Keith of all guilt in the eyes of his superiors, and he could return to his regiment as if nothing had happened. While he was at it, that same miracle could perhaps turn the minds of his superiors towards mercy and honourable conduct. Keith grimaced and shook his head, looking up yet again helplessly to Ewen Cameron.

It was strange, it was alarming, to feel how strongly drawn he was to this man, and how, even while they were parted, their intimacy had progressed—like the roots of trees growing secretly towards each other in darkness.

Keith Windham was a man peculiarly ill equipped for such strong emotion, having for so many years disclaimed it. Another man, realizing his own feelings for what they were, might have mastered them and acted upon them with more deliberation and moderation; but Keith, not even fully acknowledging what he felt, had no such control.

'What am I to do with you?' he whispered, almost to himself.

Again that minute shrug, and that gaze which pierced into his heart. 'I am in your hands.'

And Keith knew what he must do.

Chapter Text

Keith went to his saddlebags and extracted a pencil. He sat down on a stone by the road and wrote, on the outside of the folded and sealed paper of the despatch, the following missive.

To the commanding Officer of Fort Augustus,
Dear Sir,

The Despatch with which I was entrusted from His Royal Highness to Lord Albemarle at Perth was deliver'd into the Hands of Major Herbert of Pulteney's, who gave me in Return the following Despatch in the opposite Direction. It is deliver'd to you for further Conveyance by my Orderly, a Proceeding which I am aware is highly irregular.

My Orderly conveys to you also my Commission, which I hereby resign, & beg you'll pass it on to Lieutenant-Colonel Beddingfield. That you may not suppose me to have chang'd my Allegiance in favour of the Pretender, I assure all it may concern of my continuing Loyalty to King George, but it is impossible for me to further serve him in this Manner.

Keith hesitated. He could only guess what his superiors would make of what he had written—given that he was about to abscond with an important prisoner, his assurances of loyalty were likely to ring rather hollow. Well, while he was burning his bridges behind him, he might as well have the satisfaction of speaking his mind.

I have been accustom'd to being proud of my Commission, but with the cruel Treatment of Prisoners, the Murder of unarm'd Men, the deliberate Rape of helpless Women, & the Burning of Villages on British Soil, I find I am now asham'd of it.

Your humble, obedient Servant,
Keith Windham

Keith stared down at the paper he had now filled with close-written text, and had a moment of vertigo. He closed his eyes. Was he really about to send this—about to deliberately wreck his own career?

But when he opened his eyes again, the situation was, as he had known it would be, unchanged—except that Ardroy had succumbed to exhaustion, lying forward along the horse's neck. Keith contemplated changing his mind, leaving Ewen Cameron by the road to fend for himself and very probably die or be recaptured, returning to Inverness and attempting somehow to conceal or explain away his own actions, to justify his duel with Guthrie...and return to those duties which were so repugnant to him.

No, he could not. His whole being revolted against it.

Abruptly, Keith stood, took out his commission and called on his orderly, handing him the papers. 'You will take this to the commanding officer at Fort Augustus. But you must do it on foot; I need the horse.' He did not, in fact, so much need the horse as he needed to slow down Mackay's progress towards Fort Augustus. Fleetingly, he was aware that he would now add horse theft to his crimes. But no matter.

'Yes, sir,' said Mackay. 'Shall I come back here afterwards?'

'No, you may stay there.'

When Mackay was out of sight in the undulating landscape, Keith approached Ewen Cameron. 'Ardroy?' he said, laying a hand on his shoulder.

'Yes?' said Ewen dully.

'I am in your hands now, as much as you are in mine. Which is the best way to Ardroy, if one is to stay under cover?'

'What?' Ewen's brows drew together in puzzlement. 'I don't understand.'

'I mean to help you, and take you to Ardroy. To let you go.' He glanced up and down the road, eager now to leave it.

'But—your duty?'

'I'm no longer bound by it,' said Keith grimly.

'What?' exclaimed Ewen, with no great eloquence.

But Keith had caught sight now of a tartan-clad figure making its way towards them from behind a fold of land that sloped down towards the Tarff. He might have been alarmed, save that he immediately recognised it.

And so he witnessed the reunion of husband and wife, who had thought they might never meet again. He looked aside, to give them privacy, but could not help hearing their low voices speaking in Gaelic, and hearing, as well, the emotion those voices carried.

Presently Alison approached him, with some uncertainty in her manner. 'My husband tells me that you have taken him away from that camp, Captain Windham, and that you'll help us.'

'I'm no longer a captain—I've given up my commission,' said Keith, a trifle roughly, for the words could not but be painful.

Ewen gave a low exclamation, but Keith continued. 'But yes, I'll help you. Which is the best way to Ardroy?'

'But—why have you done this?' exclaimed Alison.

'Let us speak of it later,' said Keith tightly. How could he convey his own reasons for acting as he had done—if he could even fully know them himself? It was immoderate, immense, to say that he had thrown away his entire career because he could not bear Ardroy to be tortured. What was Ardroy to Keith, that he should feel so? But to say, on the other hand, that he had left the British army because he disagreed with its policies, would be to put much too rational and impersonal a face on it. He would feel a liar.

'We should get off the road now, I think,' continued Keith. 'I shouldn't like to meet any soldiers.' For the British army would be a danger to them all now.

Ewen, with a great effort, roused himself to sit upright. He swayed in the saddle, breathing hard through the pain from his leg and arm. Windham rummaged in his saddlebag, then held out a flask of brandy, the universal remedy for all wrongs when no true remedy was to be had. Ewen drank of it gratefully. He looked at the man who was a captain no longer, though he wore the uniform still, and tried, with his pain-muddled mind, to understand why.

'Please—will you trust me?' asked Windham.

That, at least, was easily answered. 'Yes,' said Ewen without question, and Alison echoed it.

Ewen looked round, remembering what Windham had asked of him. They could, of course, not continue along the road, both because they might meet redcoats and because it would lead them to Fort Augustus. But they were near the point where the Highland Army had joined that road, when they had first marched out of the Highlands—it had been less than a year ago, but felt as though it were another life.

'We can go down that glen; 'twould let us avoid Fort Augustus. I've gone that way before,' he said, pointing.

Windham nodded, accepting the plan without question. 'Would you like to ride, ma'am? You must be tired. I'll lead Ardroy's horse.'

Alison agreed, and Windham helped her mount. Then, with a last look up and down the road, they left it.

They travelled in silence down the winding glen, where the birch and willow now grew thicker; Ewen had little strength for anything except staying in the saddle, especially on the downward slope. Though he would never complain, the constant pulsing pain wore on him. He wondered whether he would ever walk again, or whether he would be lamed, then shied away from the thought: they had more immediate concerns.

Windham glanced anxiously up at him a few times as the horse took an especially jolting step, but there was, after all, little more he could do. Ewen could otherwise not see much of Windham's expression: there was only his cocked hat and the hair of his wig, beginning now to grow bedraggled. And, of course, his scarlet officer's uniform, with epaulettes and sash. Round his arm was a white bandage, stained with red blood that was beginning now to dry.

He had taken that wound for Ewen.

That first moment in the tent, when he had heard Keith's voice addressing Major Guthrie, cold and challenging, Ewen had wondered whether his mind were conjuring it out of thin air. That Windham had saved his life at the shieling, had come back there to help them—that was incredible enough, but what he had done now went so far beyond that...

Faith, but the prophecy was now truly fulfilling itself! Ewen shivered.

Keith stopped and addressed him. 'If we continue, I suppose we'll emerge on the road towards Fort William?'

'Yes,' said Ewen. 'Do you think there's a search out for us?'

Windham hesitated. 'Not immediately, at least. I only told Lieutenant Paton that I was taking you into custody, but not what I would do with you—I suppose he'll make a report of my actions, and a search might be made when it reaches Fort Augustus. But the fort does not expect us, at least.'

'Then, if we meet with any redcoats, we might pretend to be your prisoners?'

Windham grimaced. 'At a pinch, yes. But 'twould be strange for me not to have an orderly, at least. And besides that, I should prefer not to impersonate an officer when I no longer have that position.' He glanced at his epaulettes, but left them on for now.

'Then we should travel at night, perhaps?' said Alison.

'Yes, that's a good notion,' said Ewen. 'We might rest here until nightfall, and then cross the glen by moonlight.' Indeed, he was not sure he could go on without rest. And this was as good a place for it as any, within a fold of the small glen that led down to Glen More, and with sheltering trees round them.

'But Ewen...do they know your name?' said Alison.

'Aye. Or at least, Major Guthrie did, and presumably Paton.'

'Won't they search for you at Ardroy, then?'

'Perhaps. But they don't know that land as I do. We can take to the heather, and hide.'

Windham had been watching Ewen, and now stepped close. 'Come, you need to rest.'

Between them, Alison and Windham got him off the horse, though when he was down, he stood wholly supported by Windham's arms, breathing shallowly against the pain of jarring his leg. They stood so while Alison gathered bracken and heather for a bed, and spread her plaid upon it.

'Sit here,' she said, and Keith helped lower him to it.

'Have you eaten? asked Alison, and at Ewen's shake of the head, handed him bread and, though he felt little hunger, persuaded him to eat it. He felt better for it. She broke the rest in two and gave one half to Keith, who took it. The simple act of breaking and sharing bread felt significant: they were in truth companions, in the Latin sense.

Ewen lay down. He felt heavy as lead, and wondered how he would ever find the strength to rise again.

'You're wounded,' said Alison tentatively to Windham, 'and that bandage looks rather makeshift. Shall I help you with that?'

Windham glanced at the wound on his arm, which had begun to bleed a little again at his exertions to help Ewen down from the horse. ''Tis not serious, but perhaps you'd better.'

Alison unwound the bandage, and Windham, with some hesitation, took his coat off and undid his buttonlink, so that Alison could move his sleeve up.

'How did you get this?' she asked, as she wrapped the linen more securely round his bare arm.

Windham was silent long enough that Ewen said it in his place. 'He fought a duel for me.'

'He—what?' exclaimed Alison, in great surprise. 'Who?'

'Major Guthrie, who was...questioning me. Windham provoked him to a duel and killed him.' Stated so baldly, it seemed incredible, and Alison must have found it so as well, for she tied off the bandage in stunned silence.

Windham fastened his buttonlink and donned his coat again. 'Thank you,' he said.

'How many times will you save us?' she said wonderingly, but still Keith said nothing. Well, they would speak more of it anon; Ewen was too exhausted to press him now.

Alison came to lie at his side, curling up close and settling the plaid over them both. He smiled at her. 'I thought I told you to go to Ardroy.'

She smiled back. 'Perhaps I have a mind of my own.'

'I'm glad you do,' he whispered.

It was early evening, though dark enough with the grey, heavy clouds overhead. Ewen's eyes fell closed; he heard the repetitive see-saw song of a titmouse in a tree nearby, and the quiet tearing sound of the tethered horses grazing the moorgrass. His abused leg throbbed, his arm did likewise, and his weary mind moved slow as treacle. Had it only been last night that he had been reunited with Alison, and torn from her this morning? But he was free again now.

He was free because of Keith Windham. Ewen forced his eyes open again and saw Windham sitting on a fallen birch trunk with a blanket round his shoulders, his gaze turned away from them. His handsome profile showed an expression that, despite its unguarded nature, Ewen could not quite read: sadness, perhaps, or anxiety. It was certainly not happy.

Ewen's heart went out to him in a rush of feeling. It was not right that he should sit so alone, not right that he should be sad. Ewen felt that instinctively—though it would scarcely be strange if the man regretted his actions today, rash as they had been.

'Windham?' he called, in a low voice.

Windham turned towards him, his face now blank. 'Yes?'

'Won't you rest?'

'No, I'll keep watch.'

Ewen frowned. 'But...if we're found, won't it be too late, regardless? You should rest, too. You must be weary.' Windham had been up before dawn to come to that shieling, and they would be travelling this night.

Windham said nothing. Ewen patted the makeshift pallet beside him. 'Come and lie down.' When he still hesitated, Ewen, unable in his present condition to manage any more eloquent persuasion, simply said, 'Come. I want you to.'

Windham looked at him a moment longer, then rose and came. He lay down beside Ewen on the plaid-covered heather, and tucked the blanket round himself. There was initially some little distance between them, but the slight slope of the ground conspired against Keith, so that he was soon lying pressed against Ewen's side.

'Good,' murmured Ewen.

Yes, this was right. It was right that they should lie so all together, right that one of them should not be cold and lonely. And with that thought, Ewen slipped into exhausted sleep, with Alison's warmth on one side and Keith's on the other.

It was Alison who woke first. The heavy cloud cover had grown lighter, and in the east, the moon between the black branches of the trees was turning the clouds to silver. Farther down the glen, an owl called, a shivering lonely sound in the still night. It was colder now, and Alison was loath to leave her blankets.

But they should not waste such a good night for travel. Reluctantly, she got to her knees and looked down on Ewen. He was resting so peacefully that she hated to rouse him, and close by his side, Keith Windham lay, with his face untroubled by all the day's momentous doings.

She looked at them both for a long moment, and then gently shook Ewen's shoulder. He stirred, and at his movement, Windham woke.

'Is it time?' he asked, then looked up at the moon and drew his own conclusion.

'Ewen?' said Alison. 'How do you feel?'

He grunted and levered himself to a sitting position. 'Stiff. But I'm sure 'twill pass.'

It took a great effort from both her and Windham to get Ewen on the horse, and though he tried to conceal it, Alison was sure that he was in considerable pain. He should be resting in bed, and seen to by a doctor! But that, of course, was impossible.

Progress was slow in the dark, with Windham walking first, with Ewen's horse, and Alison following after on hers. Presently they saw the military road, a ribbon of silver in the darkness, and gathered to decide on their next course. Alison and Windham both deferred to Ewen, who had the best knowledge of the land.

'We should ford the Oich,' said Ewen, 'and then ride along the western side of Loch Oich. When we get to Invergarry, we can ride upstream and then make for Ardroy from the north.'

'How long will that take, do you think?' asked Windham.

'In the dark, at a walking pace?' replied Ewen. 'We can't make it in one night. But anyone in Glengarry would shelter us for the day.'

If their dwellings still stood, that was—but none of them mentioned that.

They crossed the road, with the horses' hooves briefly clattering loudly on stone, then began to cross the low-lying tussocky land that lay between them and the Oich, with Ewen directing them towards one of the fords.

Alison felt the night as a friend to them, hiding them from pursuers, and the moon their helper, lighting their way. But it was still dark enough that some questions could be asked that might be easier replied to than they had been during the day.

'Windham?' she called, in a low voice.

'Yes?' came his voice. She could see his shadowy figure, leading Ewen's horse ahead.

'Won't you tell me more about yesterday? What happened?'

He was silent for a minute, then said, 'Yes, I owe you that. But tell me first about you: what happened after I left you?'

'There's not much to tell, for my part. We were found by soldiers, led by a Lieutenant Paton. He seemed a good fellow, for a Hanoverian—' She stopped, in some confusion. 'I'm sorry.'

'No, you have cause,' said Windham grimly. 'Go on.'

'He let me go, but took Ewen,' continued Alison. 'I followed them until I could see the camp from afar, at least the comings and goings from it. And then followed you, after you left it. But Ewen, what befell you in the camp?'

'I was...questioned, by Major Guthrie,' replied Ewen. 'He wanted to know Lochiel's whereabouts, but naturally I told him nothing.'

'He was more than questioned,' broke in Windham, his voice grim. 'Forgive me, Ardroy; I understand that you might want to spare your wife, but she'll see your back eventually.'

'What?' exclaimed Alison. His back?

'I don't know what devilry Guthrie did to him before I was there to see it,' continued Windham, 'but when I came, he had tied him to a tent pole and intended to flog him. But he only got one stroke in.'

Flogged him! Even with what she had already witnessed since leaving Inverness, Alison was shocked. It was such a deliberate act.

'How did you come to be there, Windham?' asked Ewen. 'I thought you had a despatch for Perth.' Alison recognised that Ewen was changing the subject to draw attention from what he had suffered, but she, too, wanted to know the answer to that question.

'I did,' said Windham. 'But I happened on an officer with a despatch bound the other way, and we exchanged them and turned back.'

'And then?' Alison prompted.

'Naturally I wanted to know whether you both had been captured, or whether you had escaped—which I very much hoped for. But when I found Ardroy in Guthrie's tent, as I described to you, I...' Windham fell silent; Alison wished that she could see his expression.

Presently he contined. 'Let me first tell you more of what I saw in Inverness. I was shocked and appalled at how my superiors treated the Jacobite survivors after the battle: it violated every civilized rule of war. I am deeply ashamed of whatever part I was forced to take in it. For I did take part: my company had orders, and I could not countermand them, though I kept them from excesses whenever I could. I hoped, at first, that it was only a temporary measure, in the few days after the battle.' His voice was harsh now, as though he was determined not to conceal his own culpability. Neither did he tell them of his own small acts of resistance—it would have felt like bragging over actions that any humane and honourable man would surely have taken.

'When I was sent away with that despatch, I was relieved. But I could not leave the atrocities behind: first you,'—he turned to look at Alison—'and then Ardroy were victims of it, when you should have been treated with the courtesy due to an enemy officer and his wife. Treated as I was, when I was your prisoner.' He sounded deeply unhappy. 'I could not bear it. And that is why...' He shrugged.

'No, spell it out for me, please,' said Alison. 'What is it that you have done?'

'I provoked Major Guthrie to a duel and killed him,' said Windham briefly. 'After that, I was the only remaining senior officer, so I took Ardroy and left. Then I sent my orderly to Fort Augustus with my despatch and my commission both.'

There was silence for a moment. 'At least I am not a deserter,' said Windham. 'At any rate, I do not view it so—any officer may give up his commission. But in the eyes of my superiors, I think it comes as close as makes no difference. I think, in fact, that in the circumstances I could be tried for treason.'

The word hung in the air between them. Finally Ardroy said, 'Well, nobody could accuse you of being an opportunist, and switching to another cause when the fortunes of your own were on the decline.'

'I am no Jacobite,' said Windham tightly.

'No, I know.' Ewen's breath hitched as the motion of the horse jarred his leg. 'But Windham, regardless of your allegiance, we owe you a debt that can, I think, never be fully repaid. And besides my obligation, you have my eternal regard: we may have treated you well, but it cost us nothing to do so. You have given up more than I wish to consider in order that we should have the same treatment.'

'Thank you,' said Alison softly. 'With all my heart.'

Windham was silent, and Alison wondered whether he could consider their gratitude a sufficient consolation for his loss, or whether he regretted his actions, which had cost him so much. In any case, they had now reached the Oich, its waters appearing dark and unfathomable in the night—but Ewen assured them that this was a passable ford.

Windham went first into the water, with a sturdy stick as support and to feel his way; then, when he had found a good crossing, he came back for Ewen's horse and then Alison's. Alison began to protest that she might ride over, and spare him another crossing, but he shook his head and came back to take the reins of her horse. 'I'm wet already, and the footing can be treacherous. I'd better lead the horse.'

When they had all gained the farther bank, Alison looked back to see the moon risen higher in the sky, and its light glinting in the flowing waters of the Oich. The hills of the Corryarrick whence they had come were a looming darkness beyond it. Windham stopped to empty his boots and wring out his socks, but still, Alison could hear his boots squelching as they began to move away from the stream.

She thought for a moment of how helpless she and Ewen would have been, even had they been free, without Keith Windham and his horses: Ewen could not walk, and she could not have supported him any distance. Alison watched the shadowy figures ahead of her, and listened to their low conversation.

'There should be a path along the Oich,' said Ewen, and then, after a minute, 'Here it is. It should continue along the loch to Invergarry.'

'Are there no settlements along the way?' asked Windham.

'There are, but they would never betray us. The only danger would be if redcoats were encamped along the way.'

'Is it difficult to go across country, and not follow the path?'

Ewen was silent, considering. 'Not for the stretch that leads us to the lake, perhaps, though 'twould take more time. But the shore of Loch Oich is narrow, and the hill steep. We'd have to go round another and longer way to avoid that path, over the hills. And...' Ewen fell silent for a moment. '...I'm not sure I'm strong enough for that, even mounted.'

'We'll risk it, then,' said Windham in a matter-of-fact tone. 'I think, at any rate, that we are close enough to Fort Augustus that any contingents of soldiers would stay there instead. And the western side of the loch must be less frequented than the east, where the road is.'

'Very well,' said Ewen.

They rode on in silence. Presently they reached the loch, visible by the reflection of the moon in its surface, a shifting road of silver leading to the far side. With their slow, even pace in the darkness, Alison felt her head nodding and her eyelids drooping, and had to pinch her hand to stay awake.

She came to sharp attention when Windham suddenly stopped: was there some threat? 'What is it?' she whispered.

'No cause for alarm, only...Ardroy, do you recognise this place?'

Silence. Then, 'Yes—is this where we first met?'

'I believe so: that oak tree is where I made my stand, foolish though it was.' There was a smile in Windham's voice.

In the silver moonlight, Alison could make out the shape of a sturdy oak. 'Did you fight?' she asked. 'I didn't know that.'

'We did, though I had an injured head and a sprained ankle,' said Keith. 'I was swiftly defeated, and Ardroy sent my sword flying up into the branches of that oak.'

'It was a valiant stand,' protested Ewen. ''Tis quite understandable that you wouldn't give yourself up without one.'

Alison smiled into the dark. They certainly sounded anything but enemies now. But something struck her, and she asked, 'Haven't we had more meetings than three now? I thought the one in that sheiling was the third one.'

'So did I,' said Ewen slowly. 'But in Edinburgh we certainly had many meetings, if we count the separate occasions we were all three in the same place. Perhaps 'tis all part of the same meeting now. Ach, who knows the ways of prophecy!'

Presently they continued. The moon had passed overhead and, in the shadow of the steep brae, was beyond their sight. But their eyes could still make out the path; though sunrise was not yet here, the very first intimation of dawn was making itself known, in the gradual lessening of the darkness. They reached the Garry as it flowed into the loch and followed it upstream, in search of a house of one of the Glengarry Macdonalds whom Ewen knew. Alison was very tired; she could only imagine how Ewen felt.

As they approached the house, which showed as yet no sign of the depradations of the redcoats, Ewen said, 'Windham. You'd better put on one of the plaids, so as not to startle the Macdonalds.'

Keith complied, wrapping it about himself with little skill. The first rosy tinge of dawn was now visible in the east, and a maid was out, fetching water in two buckets from the stream. She set the buckets down and looked at them with wariness and curiosity.

Windham assisted Alison in dismounting first—how stiff and sore she was!—and then they together contrived to get Ewen from his horse. It was clear that he was pretty much at the end of his strength, and required both of their support in order even to remain on his two feet.

By now the master of the house had come out—a sergeant, Ewen had told them, in the Glengarry regiment—along with what Alison assumed to be members of his family. They were made welcome and assured of a place to rest until the night, when they could continue to Ardroy. And they were assured also that they had had word from Margaret Cameron at Ardroy a few days ago, where all was well.

However, at this point Keith's inexpertly wrapped plaid shifted, revealing his uniform. There was general consternation.

'He's a friend!' exclaimed Ewen. 'He has recently given up his commission, when he saw the true colours of the Hanoverians.'

Keith could not dispute the description, though he feared it might give the wrong impression.

A clamour went up at Ewen's speech, and it may be imagined with what mixed feelings Keith Windham received the congratulations and acclamations of these Highlanders, who had until so recently been his enemies.

But they were all of them too weary to further discuss any implications of this, or share any further stories or news with their hosts. A bedchamber was given over to their use and, with only a brief but fervent hope that the redcoats would not visit the house during the day, they were all soon lost to the world.

Chapter Text

At dusk, three travellers left the MacDonald house, two of them mounted, and the third, with his red uniform swathed in a cloak, leading one of the horses. It was a raw, cold evening, and one would be hard pressed to say whether the moisture in the air were drizzle or merely a heavy fog, though it pearled on one's clothes regardless.

The moon was hidden behind clouds tonight, and they would surely have been lost without Ewen's intimate knowledge of all the paths and landmarks round Ardroy. Even weary and wounded as he was, he could lead them home in the mirk of night.

Home for him and Alison, at least, while the man who was no longer a redcoat wondered whether he now had any home at all.

Their progress was slow, but that was, as would soon be evident, not only because of the darkness. Keith Windham's steps became more dogged and faltering, though neither Ewen nor Alison saw it. Finally he stumbled on a tussock of moor grass, fell forward, and did not immediately rise again.

'Captain Windham?' exclaimed Alison, then hurried to correct herself. 'Mr Windham, I mean. Are you well?'

Silence for a moment, as he struggled to his feet. 'Not entirely, I fear,' said Keith reluctantly.

'What ails you, then?' asked Ewen, with concern.

'I believe I'm running a fever. My wound—'twas slight enough, but...'

Ewen drew in a breath through his teeth; he had seen the sometimes fatal consequences of even small wounds that festered and refused to heal.

Alison slid awkwardly off the horse and approached him. With only a slight hesitation, she reached out her hand and laid the back of it against his forehead. He was burning hot to the touch. 'Oh! And your boots must still be wet, too, from fording the Oich...that can't have helped. Why didn't you say anything sooner?'

Keith shrugged. 'I thought I could walk, at least.'

How stubborn he was! Alison pressed her lips together. 'Well, you must ride instead of me, and I'll walk.'

'But—'

'I am fully able to walk, I assure you—but you, it seems, are not. Now come.'

He obeyed her order, and mounted with some effort. Alison took the reins of Ewen's horse. 'Which way?'

'We are just past Beinn Tigh, though you can't see it. Just follow the path.'

Alison did, finding her way by subtle differences in the shades of black round her, by the feel of the path underneath her feet, and by some sixth sense that she could not describe. They would be home, soon...

Ewen felt it, as well, even through his pain and stiffness. When they reached Slochd nan Eun he could feel that the loch was there ahead of them, an unseen expanse in the darkness. But it was not the same, for Lachlan would never again be there at Slochd nan Eun, and, in all likelihood, neither would Neil. Ewen's heart ached for them.

But every step on that well-known path along the loch brought them closer to the house. Though he knew that their troubles were not over, Ewen could not but feel it as a vast relief and a deep sense of home-coming.

When they drew nigh to the house, the darkness had lightened the barest degree, so that they could just see the bulk of it against the sky. It was too early yet even for any of the maids to be awake, so Alison, at Ewen's urging, knocked loudly upon the door.

Presently her knocking was answered by one of the manservants with a light, peering warily out of the half-opened door. But when he saw Ewen, he exclaimed, 'Mac 'ic Ailein! Thanks be to God! We didn't know...I'll get Miss Margaret.'

Shortly she, too, was at the door, in only her shift and a hastily wrapped plaid. 'Ewen! My dearest, dearest lad...' There were tears in her eyes.

'Aunt Marget,' he said, smiling very fondly.

'Some of the men have come back, but none had word of you. But you are wounded! How serious is it? Duncan, help him down from that horse.'

Duncan did so, but Ewen had the odd feeling that it should have been Windham's arms that received him, as they had done the last two days. But Keith Windham was ill now, and could not help him...God send he would survive it.

Ewen gratefully gave himself up to Aunt Margaret's capable hands, and trusted that she would arrange everything for the best. Presently he was lying in his own bed-chamber, between clean sheets, after having eaten some broth and bread. The morning light was coming in through the window, in the same angle and illuminating the same view as it always did. He almost wept with relief.

Alison slipped into bed beside him. How strange! He had imagined their first night together in this bed so many times, in happier days—but never like this. Ewen tried to convey this thought to her, but feared he was rambling.

'Sleep, my dearest heart,' she murmured. 'I'll sleep beside you.'

But he could not rest quite yet. 'Windham?' he asked.

'He's in the guest room; Marsali is looking after him.'

'Good,' he said, and let himself sink into exhausted sleep.

Ewen woke late in the afternoon and made some effort to get up. There were a hundred things he should be seeing to: what of the men who had escaped from Drumossie Moor? How was Windham? Had the house seen any redcoats? What of Neil MacMartin, had they heard from him?

But Ewen found that in this condition, he was not master of his own household, for he was confined to bed with everyone united against him.

Aunt Margaret came in to report to him of the men who had returned, and of what had passed during his absence. 'I don't mind telling you that 'tis not safe for you here,' she said. 'But it can't be helped—you're in no condition to take to the heather yet.'

'I suppose not,' said Ewen meekly. He felt the truth of her words in the stiffness and pain of his wounded leg, which he had abused during so many days of travelling. Even had he been allowed it, he could not have stood on his own two feet.

'But I do have a visitor for you,' said Margaret Cameron, smiling. 'One I think you will be very happy to see.'

And she called in Neil MacMartin, who knelt by Ewen's side and took his hand. 'Mac 'ic Ailein!'

Ewen pressed his hand. 'Neil! I thought you were lost, like your brother...'

Neil looked grim. 'I found Lachlan's body, when I came back to those sheilings. But you were gone, and I hardly knew what to do! In the end, I could do nothing but return here...'

'Yes, I see that. How glad I am to see you!' They spoke some while further, recounting what had passed while they were parted.

When Neil had quit the room, Margaret Cameron said, with a serious expression, 'And what of the redcoat you brought with you? Alison has told me some of why he's here, but...what shall we do with him?'

'Do with him?' Ewen was instantly afire. 'We'll do everything we possibly can to take care of him, and everything to aid him, when he's well! Aunt Marget, he saved my life, and very probably Alison's as well, and moreover gave up his whole career to do so. What we owe him goes beyond any ordinary obligation.'

She was smiling. 'Dear lad, I did not propose to throw him out. You do not, I hope, question my hospitality, and indeed I am grateful to him! And perhaps he may become an ally, if he has renounced his allegiance to the Elector. I only meant that we should take some thought for how his situation might affect ours. Will he be searched for, do you think?'

Ewen frowned. 'I don't know. 'Tis possible, but if he's as fevered as he seemed last night, I absolutely forbid you to move him. He must have the best care we can provide.'

'Indeed, Alison seems to feel the same, for she's with him now,' said Aunt Margaret. 'Yes, I suppose any further planning on Mr Windham's account will have to wait until he's better, and is capable of participating in it.'

'Yes. I only hope he will get better.' Ewen thought of Keith, fevered and suffering, and perhaps dying—and on his account!

Keith Windham indeed could not have participated in any such planning, or indeed any activity that required rational thought. Delirious with fever, he knew that he was in a bed, but was not always aware of where that bed was. It could not be Stowe House, nor was it some impersonal hospital, crowded with pallets...no, he had a room to himself. Often he knew the room, but imagined himself during his first captivity. He was tended occasionally by a manservant, but most often by an old woman who forced vile draughts down his throat and changed the bandages on his wound.

But always he knew Alison Grant, and longed for the cool wet clouts she would lay on his brow, and the way her hand would stroke his hair away before she did it.

Alison divided her time between the two men, and, as she joined Ewen in bed the next night, held her hand to Ewen's forehead as she had done to Windham's. 'Thank God, no fever. Your wound is so much worse than his, and yet, he's the one who is burning up...'

'Aye. I've been very lucky,' said Ewen. 'There's no telling how wound fever may strike. How is he?'

Alison sighed. 'I don't know. Marsali thinks he may recover, but...'

If Windham died, Ewen would never understand him, never truly know why he had given up so much for them... He was surprised at how painful the thought was.

But Windham did gradually recover over the following days, though he was still weak. On the morning of the fourth day, Alison unthinkingly brushed her hand though his hair and laid her hand on his forehead to gauge his temperature. His wig had, of course, been taken off in his sickbed, and she had seen his own hair for the first time: a dark brown, as she had expected given his general colouring. It was short, but as he had sweated in his fever, the locks had curled slightly round his brow.

He was a little hot to the touch, perhaps, but much better. With her hand still on his head, her fingers mingled with the softness of his hair, Keith's eyes met hers. His gaze was self-possessed now, not that of a man whose mind wandered with fever, and she wondered why she had never noticed his eyes before: not really brown, nor green, but some indefinable and attractive mixture of both.

Abruptly, he was a man to her, not a patient, and she felt the impropriety of her touch. Alison drew back, flushing. 'I beg your pardon,' she murmured.

Had she really needed to feel his temperature? Perhaps she simply liked touching Keith Windham...it was a disquieting thought.

'No matter, Lady Ardroy,' he murmured. His voice was deep and slightly hoarse with disuse. 'I shall live, I believe?'

'Marsali says so,' Alison concurred. 'I'm very glad.'

'So am I. Though I'm not sure what I'll do with the rest of that life.' His mouth twisted slightly. 'Ah no, ignore that, please! I chose this course myself.'

'You know that we are at your service, Ewen and I,' said Alison, and meant it.

'I thank you.' Their gazes met and held for a moment. 'How is Ardroy?' he asked.

'He's much better for the rest, though his wound will take time to heal. I fear he'll get up much earlier than he ought to.' But Alison smiled at the thought of Ewen's impatience.

'I'm very glad to hear that he's better,' said Windham.

Taking his arms from beneath the blankets, he adjusted the pillow beneath his head, the better to prop it up, then folded his hands on his chest. He was in only his shirtsleeves, and below his neck, the slit in his shirt revealed a sliver of the bare skin of his chest, with the same dark hair as on his head. Her eyes were drawn to it in slight fascination—she was not accustomed to seeing men in such déshabillé. Aside, of course, from her husband.

'Now that I'm no longer bound by the duties I previously had,' he continued, 'may I congratulate you on shooting Captain Jackson?'

Yes, of course he had never been fooled. 'You certainly may—but he was your fellow officer, was he not?'

'He was, yes, but I loathed the man, and I'm glad you gave him his just deserts.' Windham's mouth twisted. 'Please understand: I'm no hero. I watched him do...what he no doubt threatened to do with you...to other women, and did nothing.'

'Was there anything you could have done?'

Windham considered this question, his face serious. 'I could, perhaps, have called him out, as I did Guthrie, over some contrived personal slight.'

'You could not have called out the entire corps of officers of the British Army,' she said gently.

His countenance did not lighten at this. 'No. But I am still complicit.'

'Faith, you're too hard on yourself!' exclaimed Alison. 'Allow me to give you some credit for what you have done, which is surely above and beyond. When you first came on me, for example, you misdirected those soldiers so that they would not suspect me for the shooting. I have yet to thank you for that; let me do so now!'

Now he did at last smile, and she was happy to see it. 'I could not have lived with myself had I allowed you to come to harm.'

Alison could not help but be gratified by that, and with a peculiarly warm feeling in her breast, she thanked him for it again. Their conversation drifted to lighter topics for a few minutes, before Windham grew weary and she left him to rest.

Later that day, Keith heard the approach of an uneven knocking sound, then a different sort of knock on his door.

'Yes? Please come in.'

Ardroy opened the door and made his way inside with two crutches, one under each arm. 'I had one of the manservants fashion them for me,' he explained. 'I can't bear this inactivity.'

He let himself down with relief in the chair Alison had sat in, which was drawn up close to the bed, and Keith regarded him with great satisfaction. Ewen Cameron looked himself again: no longer the man who had almost collapsed from weakness and exhaustion. He was thin still, and his leg would obviously not bear his weight, but there was a light in his blue eyes and a purposeful set to his mouth.

This was Keith's own doing, and he felt in that moment that it had been fully worth the cost. 'I'm very glad to see you better,' he said.

Ewen grinned. 'I can say the same for you!' He reached out to press Keith's hand, lying on the covers. 'How happy I am to see you.'

They remained so for a moment, hands clasped and smiling, before Ewen loosed his hand, sat back, and said seriously, 'Have you given any thought to your situation, and what you'll do?'

Keith sighed. 'In truth, I have not. A fever is not particularly conducive to rational thinking.'

'No, of course not!' exclaimed Ewen, contrite. 'I should not have asked you now, perhaps, when you're not quite well yet.'

'I'm well enough. And 'tis a very pertinent question.' Keith deliberated for a moment. 'I can say for now, at least, that I should prefer to avoid the army. I don't know how my actions are likely to be construed, but...'

'There, at least, our desires align,' said Ewen dryly. He hesitated, then continued, 'If I may ask...what did you write, in your letter to Fort Augustus?'

'I told them nothing about you,' replied Keith. 'I only apologised for the irregularity of conveying my despatch to them by way of my orderly, and informed them that as I could no longer with honour serve in the British Army, on account of their shameful treatment of prisoners and Highland villagers, I was resigning my commission.'

'I hope I should have been able to do the same, if the situation had been reversed.' At the open admiration on Ewen's face, Keith flushed with gratification.

'That does remind me,' Keith muttered. 'I hope you won't take this amiss, but...I was told by my commanders that your side had orders to give no quarter, if they should win the battle. It did not agree with my previous impressions of Jacobite officers, but—was it true or not?'

Now Ewen's eyes flashed. 'Did they say that? No, that was a vile lie. But I suppose that, having abandoned all honour himself, Cumberland wishes to paint his opponents with the same colours, to justify himself.'

'I thank you for telling me,' said Keith dully. It was one more blow to his conception of the British army.

'I'm sorry,' said Ewen gently.

How Keith liked him for that! He recalled his first visit, when Ewen, far from revelling in the victory of his side, had been reluctant to disclose how few in number the Jacobites who had defeated Keith at Highbridge had been.

A sudden insight struck Keith, as he recalled his confusion over his own motives in saving Ewen Cameron, at the cost of his career: had he done it for the sake of his attachment to the man, or for more high-minded considerations of honour and morality? He knew now that those two motives were so much intertwined that they were effectively one and the same—if he had done it for the sake of attachment, then he himself must also live up to those ideals which Ewen himself so much exemplified. And if Ewen had lacked such qualities, surely he would not have been worthy of Keith's attachment and of his actions?

Keith became aware that while this revelation had worked itself out in his mind, he had been gazing into Ewen's eyes. Flushing, he turned his eyes away and fumbled for the thread of the conversation. ''Tis scarcely your fault. But thank you.'

'I believe I've expressed some of this before, and Alison has, as well,' said Ewen. 'But let me tell you again, now that I have more of my faculties again: I cannot enough express my gratitude and obligation for what you have done for us both. It goes without saying that we will both do our utmost to aid you, in return. But this goes far beyond any simple quid pro quo—there are so many men who, finding iniquity and dishonour in their own camp, would turn their back on it, or defend it, particularly when speaking out against it would cost them their own livelihood and career. Keith Windham, you are a man in a thousand, and, over and above my gratitude, I admire you deeply for what you've done.' Ewen spoke softly, but deliberately, holding Keith's gaze.

Keith felt his cheeks burning—Ardroy's words struck some chord deep in his own heart. He cleared his throat and attempted to convey some of what he had himself so recently understood. 'I could not have acted as I did, I believe, had you not first showed yourself to possess such qualities of honour and of generosity. I could not but respond in kind.'

Ardroy smiled. 'I've hardly proved myself as you have done—but perhaps the opportunity for that is yet to come, and if so, I hope I'll live up to it. But, as I say, this is not about obligation alone: Windham, will you be my friend?'

The warmth in his voice was such that Keith replied, without thought, 'With all my heart.'

'I'm very glad.' Ewen reached out a hand to clasp his again.

That evening, when darkness was falling, and Keith was falling, as well, by degrees into sleep, he knew that the philosophy he had espoused for years now was entirely abandoned. He felt that he had not done this of his own volition—indeed, he had resisted it!—but it would be useless to insist that he was in any way free of attachment now. Perhaps it would also be useless, or, rather, cowardly, to say that it was something that had simply happened to him: that would be to disavow the conscious choices he had made.

On the other hand, Keith could not say that his philosophy had been wrong, as such: his attachment had brought him ruin, and the loss of the career he had built his whole adult life. And perhaps he would come to lose more than that—God only knew what would become of him.

Yet he had gained something, as well, of incalculable worth, and Keith closed his eyes and thought of Ardroy's hand in his, and of Alison's gratitude. Still there was enough left in Keith of cynicism to caution him that it was just when one's warmth of feeling was strongest that one ought to be most on guard against betrayal.

But no, Keith could not believe that Ardroy could ever play him false—and the situations were not the same! He was trusting in an honourable man's friendship now, not the faithfulness (or, rather, faithlessness) of a woman's love. Briefly he thought of Alison, who had risked life and limb and virtue for her husband...yes, for her husband. Hers was surely a faithful love, but not for him.

These reflections might have been enough to render him sleepless, but the weariness from his recent illness spared him that, and Keith soon sank into sleep.

The spring had been a cold one, but now the warmer season had perhaps truly come: the sun's rays were blessedly warm on the faces of the Ardroy tenants and on the fields that they tended. It was not to be wondered at if they discounted the melancholy of the willow warbler's song, and felt that the chaffinch was perhaps justified in its bright cheery optimism.

But, though no signs of it could yet be seen or heard from Ardroy in its secluded sunny glen, the war was not over. In the evening of the next day, Ewen was reminded that their haven was not beyond the reach of the marauding redcoats. A messenger arrived from Glen Garry, who carried the news that some of the houses there had been visited by a company of soldiers, and the usual retribution carried out.

Aunt Margaret was most firm in her opinion. 'Ewen, you are still not well, but so much better that I really think 'tis advisable for you to leave the house. The redcoats could be here tomorrow.'

The set of Ewen's mouth was unhappy, but he did not protest. 'I hate to leave the house, but perhaps you're right...'

'Thank the Good Being you won't be stubborn about it! And how glad I am that I sent the cattle and sheep up to the summer pastures the day before yesterday—they won't take those, at least, and such of our valuables as can be hidden away have been taken care of, as well.'

'But what of you?' asked Ewen, still hesitating.

'I'm an old woman,' she began.

'You are not!' interrupted Ewen.

She continued firmly. 'Dear lad, I won't leave the house. And I won't have you in it, nor Alison either. That's that.' And it was, for she was formidable enough that Ewen could not gainsay her.

That evening saw Ewen ride up the hills to the west, to the sheilings that lay on Ardroy's summer pastures. Alison walked beside his horse, and behind them on another horse rode Keith Windham. The glen was already in shadow from the setting sun, but as they crested the hill, they had to shade their eyes from its slanting rays. The rich, warm light lay like a benediction on the pastures and on the higher peaks round them, capped by the remains of the winter's snow—but Keith, still an outsider, found these heights a bare and bleak world.

A casual observer would have seen merely three Highlanders, for Keith's wig and uniform coat now lay folded in one of Ardroy's linen closets, and he had been provided with a plaid and a bonnet instead. Ardroy had shown him how to wrap the former before they departed, though Keith now felt it slipping loose again and was not sure how best to secure it. But unfamiliar as it was, he had to admit that the garment was suited to the Highlands: the weave was very tight, and offered excellent protection against the wind, and the wool kept him warm. He had, however, refused to wear the kilt, which he felt to be improper, and kept his breeches.

Keith was glad of the horse, for he was still weak enough that he might not have managed the slope else. It was difficult enough to keep his seat. Before the last rays of the sun set behind the rugged peaks to the west, they descended into a little glen, barely more than a depression in the undulating landscape. The early grass grew a little greener here, and a portion of Ardroy's cattle stood grazing with deliberation, their dark ragged flanks lean from the winter.

Close by a small burn stood two shielings, makeshift dwellings constructed of stone and turf, that would return to a state of nature were they not maintained. But maintained they were, and two lads, who came up to meet the party, led them to one of them. By the other dwelling sat two young women, their hands busy with spindle and thread as they kept one eye on the cattle and another on the newcomers.

Ewen exchanged some words in Gaelic with the lads, who then assisted him down, and did the same for Keith. The step down from the horse put him out of reach of the last rays of the sun; Keith shivered at the cold of the clear sky and pulled the plaid closer round himself.

At his first sight of the dim interior of the shieling with its earthen floor and walls, Keith had some misgivings. This was to be their dwelling? But as his eyes adjusted, he saw the broad pallet covered in heather and dry bracken that took up one whole end of the dwelling, doubtless prepared by Ardroy's tenants. Ewen was sitting upon it already, and Keith, overcome by dizzy weakness, sank down beside him.

'We are both useless, I find,' said Ewen, but his smile took the sting from the words.

'Very true,' replied Keith.

'Well, you're lucky to have me, then,' said Alison, reaching past them and beginning to spread a blanket over the bracken, tucking it round any stray leaves.

'Indeed we are,' said Ewen, in quite a different tone, and caught her hand to kiss it.

Keith leant his chin on his hands, looking away. Perhaps it was his recent illness, but he found himself swept by a despondency which was not lessened by this evidence of an intimacy in which he had no share. He shivered again in the raw cold, having come so recently from a warm room with a fireplace.

Behind him, he heard the sounds of the bed being arranged, and Ewen lying down upon it.

'The lads will keep watch,' he was saying, 'and give the alarm if they see any redcoats in the glen below. Now come and sleep.'

Keith had thought he was addressing Alison, but when Keith did not stir, he felt Ewen's foot nudge his back. 'Come and sleep, I said—I'm sure you need it.'

He turned and, seeing them both lying there wrapped in plaids and blankets, Keith laid himself down in the space they had left for him, between Ewen and the wall. He awkwardly unwound the plaid, in order to rearrange it as a blanket—truly a versatile garment. But despite the covering, Keith found himself shivering, and was not sure whether it was from the cold or from some remaining fever and weakness.

Keith heard Ewen turning round. He reached across the slight distance Keith had left between them, as though he meant to pull Keith close.

'Keith? There's no need for that. We have blankets enough, and you'll be warmer here with me.'

The casual use of his given name went straight to Keith's heart; so did Ewen's tone, as though it were self-evident that Keith's place was by his side. It was, of course, not the first time Keith had shared a bed with a man—he had done so often enough in crowded inns and on campaign. But Ewen was now, by his own profession, Keith's friend, and he did not yet know what that would mean.

Keith came closer, and Ewen rearranged the blankets so that he could tuck them round himself, as well. Ewen's body was indeed warm, and Keith was grateful for it. But still he shivered slightly.

'Are you cold?' Ewen asked, with concern. 'Perhaps you have a fever still?' His hand came up to Keith's forehead.

'I—I don't know. Perhaps,' said Keith in some confusion.

'You must lie between us, then,' said Alison.

'But—' protested Keith.

'There's no impropriety, we're both dressed,' she said sleepily. And she got up to move to Keith's other side.

It seemed likely that Keith's shivering was indeed fever, for it continued even after he was surrounded by warmth on both sides. He felt some embarrassment at having caused such a pother, but underneath that, Keith could not deny the comfort it gave him.

Chapter Text

Keith professed himself to be well in the morning, but as it was raining, he was strongly urged to remain swaddled in his blankets so as not to lapse into illness again. The roof of the sheiling, fortunately, did not leak.

Over the next few days, Keith did lose the fever, though he was still weak. Margaret Cameron sent up food for them, richer than the oatmeal and oatcakes that were the main sustenance of the young people who tended the herds.

They were sitting against the sheiling wall on the third day, all three of them, eating the bread, meat, and cheese sent up that morning. Keith closed his eyes against the sunlight that came and went as the clouds scudded across the sky. He had no duties to be about; how strange it was.

He opened his eyes, squinting against the sun, turned his head to look at Ardroy and his lady, sitting beside him, and attempted to put some of this into words. 'I have nothing to do—'tis not a situation I am much acquainted with.'

'You are a convalescent,' said Alison. 'You and Ewen both—surely you ought to rest and regain your strength.'

Keith leant back against the wall. 'Yes, of course—but even had I been in good health, I would have had no duties here.'

'Yes,' said Ewen thoughtfully. He had finished his meal, and was idly twisting a blade of grass round his finger. 'I take your meaning. After all the rush of the campaign...I hardly slept, some nights, and now...'

He gestured at the prospect before them, where his cattle peacefully grazed, and the wind, which at these altitudes was often harsh, now gently played with the moorgrass and heather. New shoots, vivid with the first greenery of spring, laid a veil of fresh colour over the hills. It was a sight to make one forget the reason they were here, and not down in the house.

Ewen smiled, his expression growing a little mischievous. 'But you're a gentleman, Keith, and surely deserve some leisure—I don't expect you to herd my cattle, after all.'

Keith had now begun to see what it would mean to be Ewen Cameron's friend: always before, there had been some formality to his manner. When they had first met, Keith had, perhaps unconsciously, wanted to see who he was underneath it, and had consequently made some jests that were not well received. Having learnt to value Ewen's good opinion, Keith had become more careful with his pleasantries.

But he now saw that Ewen had a playful side, too, albeit one that he did not show to all and sundry. He had also begun to use Keith's given name as another adjunct of that confirmed friendship, and so Keith, as well, had with great pleasure begun to use his.

As a response to Ewen's latest remark, Keith snorted. 'I am a gentleman, yes, but not one with the means to be idle all day. If I were a rich man, don't you think I should have purchased a higher rank for myself?' He wondered whether he would ever recover the price of his captain's commission, but it was too serious a thought to utter in this light conversation.

'But we have, at least, leisure for the moment,' replied Alison. 'And I think we should put it to good use: we have been thrown together by fate, and yet I still know so little about you. Won't you tell us more about yourself?' Her expression showed her genuine interest, and Keith could not help but feel gratified by it.

But for a moment, Keith was at a loss for an answer: he had been so changed by his association with them that he scarcely felt like the same person. To gain time, he said, 'The circumstances of my life are not of much general interest, I think, but I'll endeavour to answer your question.'

Alison smiled at him, her charming dimples in evidence. 'How fortunate, then, that we are not the general public, but already have an interest in you.' Yes, Alison had been more free than Ewen with her wit from the beginning, when they had been thrown together in Edinburgh—but Keith owned himself more affected by it now. 'But since you are so reticent, it seems I'll have to drag it out of you. To begin with, where is your family from?'

Keith smiled back. 'Nay, I'm not unwilling. The Windham family has several branches, but I grew up in Somerset, near Bristol—or at least, that was where I spent my early boyhood. I was an only child.' He paused for a moment, thinking of how to continue.

'Did your family move when you were older?' asked Ewen.

'In a manner of speaking,' continued Keith slowly. 'My father, Philip Windham, was a colonel in the army, and was often away. But he died when I was five, and my mother remarried. 'Twas rather a change in circumstances, for my father, though as a boy I admired him, was not rich nor had much interest.'

'Wait,' said Ewen. 'Are you related to Sir William Wyndham, who sat in the House of Commons?'

'Yes,' allowed Keith with some annoyance at being associated with this decidedly Jacobite and Tory politician. 'We are of the same branch of the Somerset Wyndhams, though my father and he were at odds. Indeed, my father changed the spelling of his name to distance himself from Sir William.'

Ewen, with great tact, did not ask whether the disagreement was of a solely political nature, but instead took up another strand of Keith's story. 'Was your mother's second husband a man of means, then, since you say 'twas a change of circumstance?'

'Yes—he is the Earl of Stowe,' said Keith briefly.

'That is a change of circumstance indeed,' said Alison, and Keith saw, as he knew he would, the surprise on their faces. She hesitated, then continued, 'Was he kind to you? Not all step-fathers are.'

'He was, and is,' Keith assured her. 'But you understand that, despite his kindness, I was determined to have my own means of livelihood—I don't care to live as a dependent.'

'Yes, of course,' said Ewen. 'I understand that. But...while we're asking personal questions, there is another matter about which I've long been curious. Why do you bear a Scots name? Have you perhaps Scottish kin, as well as English?'

Keith shook his head. 'There’s not a soul of my blood north of Tweed, at least that I know of. But my father had once a Scottish friend, killed at Malplaquet before I was born, for whom he must have had a great affection, since he gave me his name. He was a John Keith.'

'So your father's fate was also twined with a Scotsman's...well, I don't intend to die if I can help it,' murmured Ewen.

'Nor if I can help it,' said Keith promptly.

'Nor I,' added Alison.

There was a moment of silence, after which Alison broke the serious mood. 'So you're named after the Keith family? You know their political allegiance, I hope—that must be somewhat of an embarrassment for a Hanoverian.'

Keith indeed knew of the Earl Marischal James Keith and his brother, now serving on the Continent since they would not serve a Hanoverian king—doubtless there were numberless further Jacobites in that family. But he rallied and said dryly, 'You have me at a disadvantage, Lady Ardroy, since I don't know your own family connections well enough to bring up any embarrassing Whig relatives you may possess.'

She laughed. 'Oh, don't call me Lady Ardroy; surely we are past that. Call me Alison, please. And forgive me, Keith—I hope I may call you that?—I know 'tis a sensitive topic, and perhaps I shouldn't jest on it. I'm sorry.'

'No offence taken—Alison,' said Keith, looking at her smiling face turned towards him. The liberty she had taken by jesting, though he might have taken it amiss from someone else, merely served to heighten the intimacy that the use of their given names implied. Keith could not help but welcome it, though he knew it might not be wise.

'But you must confess now,' he continued. 'Do you have any Whig relatives?'

'You forget that half the Grants are Whigs,' she owned. 'Though none of my close relations—my father belongs to the Glenmoriston branch. Ewen?'

Ewen was laid back against the grassy wall of the sheiling, and gave them a self-satisfied smile. 'I do believe none of my kin are Whigs. Excepting those Grant relatives by marriage.'

'Isn't Lady Lochiel a Campbell?' asked Keith, raising his eyebrows.

'Aye—a Jacobite one. They do exist.'

Keith shook his head, looking in helpless fondness at him, and wondering at his own feelings. 'A year ago, if someone had told me what I should be doing now, and with whom...I wouldn't have believed it.'

'No, nor I. But Keith—I may not have any Whig kin, but I do have a Whig friend.' Ewen's gaze rested on him, and Keith flushed and looked down.

Over the following days, they had leisure to talk more, whether it were outside in the sunshine and wind, or sitting on the bed inside the sheiling while the rain came heavily down. Keith told them of his young half-brother, and Alison of her youth in Paris and her own younger brother, and Ewen of his studies in Paris and his boyhood at Ardroy. When the rain continued long, they would play cards with pebbles for stakes; Alison lamented that they could not play quadrille, being only three, but they fell back on the more old-fashioned ombre instead. On the Sunday, Ewen read the Church service from his worn Book of Common Prayer for them and for the assembled shepherds; Keith bowed his head and listened to him pray for King James, without comment.

Keith recovered fully from his fever, and his wound began to heal. Ewen, though his more serious wound would not be healed for a long time, was by Keith and Alison's vigilance kept from unduly exerting his leg, and he lost the gaunt appearance which his days as a fugitive had given him.

Neil often came up to give them reports of the glen below, and the news which had reached them from the wider world. Ewen's face grew grim as he heard of the further depredations of the redcoats, but Ardroy had so far been spared. Charles Edward Stuart and Lochiel, as well, had eluded capture, which was a great relief to Ewen and Alison. Occasionally, Neil would glance doubtfully at Keith, and Ewen would step away to hear some sensitive piece of intelligence.

'I do beg your pardon,' said Ewen after the first time this happened.

'Not at all,' said Keith sincerely. 'I may not be an officer in King George's army any longer, but by my own profession I'm not a Jacobite, so 'tis entirely reasonable not to share your intelligence with me.'

Ewen looked relieved. Another day, a messenger who was not Neil MacMartin arrived, and Ewen's interview with him was entirely out of Keith's hearing. He was, it appeared, a Grant, and Alison, too, was in conference with him.

Later that day, as they sat in the lee of the sheiling to get out of the day's strong wind, Alison told them some part of what he had said to her. 'Glenmoriston has been visited by redcoats several times, but it seems that they had warning the first time, and could prepare. A Grant lad said he got the word from a redcoat, if you can believe it! Oh, it gladdens my heart...Keith, do you know of any others among your fellow officers who thought as you did?'

Keith's heart thumped; his expression must have been peculiar, for Alison narrowed her eyes with sudden intuition and asked, 'Did you do that?'

'I...yes,' he owned, flushing.

'Oh! Why didn't you tell us?'

Keith turned his gaze down from the expression on her face. He had, in fact, partly done it for her, though he had not ever thought she would know. 'I haven't told you every particular of those actions of which I am ashamed, committed under orders. How, then, could I tell you of the actions of which I am proud? 'Twould give an altogether biased view of my conduct.'

But Alison did not heed him; she leant over and laid her arm round his shoulders, giving him a swift, fierce embrace. Briefly, he felt her soft cheek press against his own.

'Thank you, Keith, from the bottom of my heart.'

He did not know what to say, and looked up to see Ewen, sitting on Alison's other side and looking as though he would embrace him, too, if he were nearer. 'That was a good thing you did. God bless you, Keith,' he murmured, his eyes alight.

Keith murmured some acknowledgement, he scarcely knew what.

In some ways, this peaceful and rustic interlude up in the hills was a happy time for Keith—though he had lost much, he had gained much also. But at times, he was struck by the impossibility and uncertainty of his own position, and the looming shadow of the future; Ewen and Alison's society, which at other times he so much valued, seemed but a distraction. At these time he would grow bleak and low. What was he to do: give himself up and hope for mercy? Flee the country? Write to his step-father and beg his protection?

He did none of these things. Perhaps he ought to take counsel with Ewen, but it was as though he was caught in some state of inaction, exacerbated by having no knowledge of events in the wider world...

Ewen would show him quiet consideration at these times. He never asked Keith about his plans for the future, perhaps out of tact—but if he was chary with questions, he was generous with affection. He would lay a hand on Keith's knee, or an arm round his shoulders, in the natural and easy way of a man who was used to such physical expressions of friendship.

Keith was not used to such expressions, and Ewen's closeness would often fluster him, as it sometimes also did when they shared the bed at night. It was not unwelcome—far from it—though Keith found himself responding to it in ways which he could not put into words. But perhaps it was not to be wondered at that a man who had been solitary for so long should respond in such a way. Whatever Keith's confusion of feeling at these gestures, Ewen almost invariably brought Keith out of his low mood, to the knowledge that he had faithful friends, and the heartfelt value of that fact.

Alison did not often touch him, now that he was well again—that brief embrace, given when she had learnt of his action on behalf of Glenmoriston, had been the exception, and he could not help remembering it. But that was as it should be; she was another man's wife.

One afternoon, no different from the preceding ones except perhaps in the lack of wind, Alison exclaimed over a plume of smoke rising from the direction of the glen.

Ewen regarded it with his lips tight. 'It may be nothing, but...' Then he let out a breath, his expression showing just how little he believed that it was nothing. 'I must go and see, at least to look down on the glen.'

'No, you won't!' said Alison. 'Your leg isn't healed, and if you take a horse, it might show against the sky. If there are redcoats...'

'I'll send one of the lads, then.'

'I'll go, if you like,' said Keith quietly. He did not need to say that, as a former military man, he would take all precautions.

'Would you?' Ewen's gaze was eloquent.

Keith approached the rim of the hill carefully, making his way on hands and knees to peer down at the glen below. His heart ached to see Ewen's fears come true: the smoke indeed rose from the house of Ardroy, a plume that obscured the house itself, but one could not doubt what had occurred. He saw a column of redcoats marching down the glen southwards.

Keith hurried back to the sheilings. 'The house is burning, and I saw Government soldiers,' he said. There was no way to soften the news. 'I'm sorry,' he added helplessly.

Ewen made a sound as though someone had struck him a blow. Alison, sitting beside him, reached for him, and Ewen turned his face down into her hair; Keith could hear his harsh breathing.

Standing there looking down at them, Keith felt entirely useless. But after a long moment, recalling what Ewen had done for him during his bleak moods, Keith laid his hand on Ewen's shoulder and sat down beside him. Perhaps this would not be welcome—Ewen had his wife to comfort him, after all—but after a moment Ewen reached out his hand blindly, seeking his. Keith took it, though the grip was so hard as to be almost painful. Awkwardly, he stroked Ewen's shoulder.

'Aunt Margaret!—I suppose you couldn't see much?' asked Ewen, somewhat incoherently.

'No,' said Keith gently. 'Indeed, I could not see whether the house was completely ruined or not; there was a lot of smoke, and it obscured the view. But at least one group of soldiers—perhaps all of them—were marching away.'

'It was my father's house, and his father's before him...oh, I should have been ready for this.' Ewen took a deep breath and mastered himself, sitting up straight again. It struck Keith that had he not been Ewen's friend, Ewen might not have shown such emotion before him.

'Surely someone will come to report soon,' said Alison, 'so that we need not wonder.'

After a few hours, someone did come, tailed by one of the shepherd lads.

'Aunt Margaret!' cried Ewen, who had been keeping watch.

Her face and hands were sooty, and so were her usually neat and clean clothes. 'That slope,' she muttered. 'I'm not twenty any longer. But I thought you must've seen the smoke, and I wanted to give you the news myself.'

'Come here,' said Ewen, and she came down on her knees so that he could embrace her fiercely, despite the soot. 'You are alive, even if the house is gone...'

'Dear lad, the house is not gone.' She stroked his shoulder.

'Not gone!' exclaimed Ewen. 'But all the smoke...Keith saw the house burning.'

'Yes, no smoke without a fire, certainly. But—' and she related the strange and wonderful circumstances which had left the house still standing. With a glance at Windham, she said, 'It seems that officer was another of your ilk, for which I thank the Lord. He did have his soldiers search the house for Ewen with all diligence, ruined some of the crofts, and took what little cattle they could find. And killed some of my hens, too! But when it came to put the house to the torch, he approached me and said, ''Madam, I have carried out my instructions—and it is not my fault if this wood is damp!'' We certainly made that wood smoke, when he had left, to preserve the illusion.'

'What about the tenants?'

'None were killed, and none ravished.'

Ewen let out a breath.

'I'm very glad you were not in the house, Eoghain,' she said more gently. 'They obviously had instructions to search for you, in particular.'

'And I'm more glad than I can say that you were not harmed!'

'But you must not take this as a sign that 'tis safe for you to come down,' she continued. 'We know that they have visited other places twice, or more. And their officers may not all be as honourable as Mr Windham here.' This with a look at Keith, who wondered whether the officer had had instructions to search for him, as well.

'No, indeed,' said Ewen. ''Tis good to know there are others of his kind.'

'Yes. But regardless of that, should you not escape to France, while you still can? Your father did so, after the '19.'

There was a silence. Making their way to the Continent was a possibility which had occurred to them all, but which they had, for various reasons, not properly discussed. For Keith, who had waged war with France for his whole professional life, it was not a step lightly taken.

'Do you think 'tis really warranted?' asked Ewen. 'Surely we're safe enough here, for the moment, and there's still the chance that France may send us aid, and the tide turn...'

'I would be easier in my mind if you were well out of the way,' said Aunt Margaret. 'And the estate would be safe in my hands.'

'I don't doubt it. But I don't intend to make my way to the coast without the knowledge of a likely ship to board. That would be dangerous indeed.'

Margaret Cameron looked troubled, but did not urge him further. 'Well, I'll return to the house. God bless you and keep you.'

Had she but known it, Margaret Cameron had an ally in the matter of escape to France, who was even now making his way towards Ardroy. He arrived a few days after the redcoats' visit. Those days had been cold and wet, in the sudden reverses that often came in spring; Alison had taken cold and developed a persistent cough, and Keith, as the most hale member of the party, made sure to spare her any effort.

One of the shepherd lasses had seen the visitor, and given warning—but he had a Cameron plaid, and came alone, with long strides across the moorland.

'Archie!' exclaimed Ewen, when he was close enough for his features to be recognisable.

His cousin looked weary and gaunt, but full of purpose. 'Eoghain, how glad I am to see you!'

Archibald Cameron came in out of the rain and paid his respects to Alison; Keith he disregarded, for sitting in the dim light against the wall with his plaid and bonnet, Archie evidently took him for a gillie.

'I had heard that you were wounded; that is part of why I'm here,' he said to Ewen. 'You cannot stand, I find—how are you, my lad?'

'I'm well enough,' said Ewen impatiently, 'but you must tell me...ach, wait.' He looked at Keith, and beckoned him closer. 'You may not recognise him now, but you have met this man before.'

Dr Cameron drew his brows together in some puzzlement, but then Keith gave a bow. 'Dr Cameron, I'm pleased to meet you again.'

At the man's English accent, Dr Cameron's expression showed his astonishment. 'I—forgive me, sir, if I can't place you.'

'I was a parole prisoner the last time you saw me: Keith Windham is my name.'

'Ah, yes—Captain Windham. How do you come here, sir?' he asked warily.

'Merely Mr Windham now,' Keith corrected him. 'I have given up my commission.'

'You have joined our party, then? If so, I heartily welcome you.'

This was not the first instance Archibald Cameron had seen of a man who had turned his coat. But most of the rest had had Jacobite leanings to begin with, and had, while the prospects of a rising seemed distant, taken service in the British Army only to abandon it when the opportunity presented itself. Given what he had seen of Captain Windham during his time as a prisoner, he would not have supposed him to be such a man.

'I have not,' said Keith, with firm courtesy. 'But, given the actions of the British army in the Highlands, I find that I cannot honourably serve King George in that fashion. Given the likelihood that such criticism will be seen as treason, I find myself a fugitive.' He hesitated, then sighed. 'I suppose 'twill come out regardless, so I suppose I ought to tell you that there's another reason I'm likely to be taken for a traitor: Ardroy was a prisoner, and I freed him.'

Dr Cameron raised his eyebrows. 'That's quite a story—and I look forward to hearing it in more detail. For now, let me only express my gratitude for what has doubtless saved my cousin's life, and my admiration for a man who places honour above blind obedience.'

'Thank you, sir. Let me assure you that, despite not pledging myself to your party, I wouldn't pass information about you. But I beg you won't burden me with knowledge of your...young gentleman's whereabouts, or any military intelligence.'

'Very well, sir.'

Ewen had heard this exchange with poorly hidden pleasure, and by his warm glances at Keith Windham, Dr Cameron surmised that they were already fast friends. What a remarkable story! And, though Mr Windham did not profess himself a Jacobite, Dr Cameron had rarely seen such a promising prospect for recruiting a man to the Cause: he had quit the Elector's service on his own initiative, and begun associating with Jacobites. Well, time would tell; he would not hurry the man.

'Archie, do you know anything of Lochiel's whereabouts?'

This was neither about the Prince nor military intelligence, so Dr Cameron thought he could safely discuss it in front of Mr Windham. 'Indeed I do! He is in safety, and as well as can be expected given his injuries—he was shot in both legs on Drumossie moor, did you know that?'

'No, I didn't!' Ewen looked stricken.

'But I have tended to him myself, and his prognosis is good. Now, Eoghain, what are your plans? In my opinion, you and Alison ought both to escape to France when the opportunity arises.'

'But—surely we are well enough skulking in the heather for a while? And I should be ready, if...'

Archie glanced at Windham, but they were speaking in general enough terms. He shook his head. 'You can do no good here, not at the present moment. And 'twill do neither you nor the Cause any good if you were to be captured, as you surely would be sooner or later. 'Tis coming on to summer now, but you cannot skulk the whole year round, and the redcoats, I believe, will still be here in winter. Lochiel would say the same, and indeed, he intends to go to France at the earliest opportunity himself.'

Ewen was silent, but Alison began to speak. She was interrupted by a fit of coughing, then said, 'I agree with him, Ewen: we cannot stay in this sheiling forever, and Aunt Margaret will take good care of Ardroy while we're gone.' In a lower voice, she added, 'If you were captured, I don't know what I'd do.'

'I'm glad your wife can see sense, at least,' said Dr Cameron.

Ewen did not commit himself to this course of action, but he did ask, 'And do you know of any ships that would take us, then? I don't fancy making my way to the coast on the mere hope of finding one.'

'No, indeed. But France, you know, though they failed to provide any larger body of troops, will at least aid us in this. I just got word of one French privateer which made it off the Rough Bounds near Morar with a group of refugees. They are coming back for another, so in a few weeks' time you ought to be on that ship.'

'Have you heard anything of Lady Margaret Ogilvy?' asked Alison anxiously. 'We parted in Inverness, and I know she meant to go to France.'

'She was captured in Inverness, I'm afraid,' said Dr Cameron, and Alison gasped. 'I don't know where she's held now. Her husband, however, got on a ship to Norway, or so I heard. But in general few women have been taken prisoner—only those who are known to have been with the army. And Lady Mackintosh, but then she was very visible in raising her clan regiment.'

'I'm sorry—I know the two of you are great friends,' murmured Ewen to Alison.

'Yes,' she said, but then took a deep breath and determinedly asked Dr Cameron, 'How long will you stay? You must eat with us, at any rate.'

'Not long, though I'll gladly eat with you. I have an important message to deliver, the contents of which I trust you'll forgive me for not sharing. But alas, I am only one man, and I have another message that ought urgently to be delivered as well—it concerns Lochiel and his prospects of escape to France. My Jean, who managed Achnacarry in Lady Lochiel's absence, has served as a messenger as well—women can often travel openly where we men cannot, and attract much less suspicion—but she is otherwise occupied now.'

'I would take it, if I were well,' said Ewen.

'Of course you would—but you are not well, and I still need to examine that leg of yours.' He turned to Alison. 'I do not propose to ask you, though I don't doubt your bravery: I know you followed the army with Ewen. But precisely for that reason, you should not do it, in case you are recognised—and besides, you don't yet know the Highlands well. But I've spoken to Margaret down at Ardroy, and she is very willing to do it, under the pretense of visiting a lady of another estate. 'Tis not a great distance.'

Ewen found that he wanted instinctively to protest, but no: it was no wonder that Aunt Margaret, as well, should want to serve Lochiel, and he must let her do it.

'I would have done it, if you had thought me a fitting messenger,' said Alison, and then succumbed to another coughing fit.

'Of course you would. But your cough is another reason against it—I don't like the sound of that,' said Dr Cameron, frowning. 'In this cold, and the dampness and smoke of the sheiling, it might very well get into your lungs. I think you ought to spend a few days down at the house, in a properly heated room. To my mind, the risk is not great, for Margaret's quick thinking must have convinced the redcoats that the house is burnt.'

'If you think it best,' said Alison, her voice hoarse.

'I do, and I'll give you some instructions for Marsali.'

They ate together, after which Dr Cameron further exercised his original profession as a doctor in examining Ewen's leg, before resuming his current one as a messenger and spy, striding off southwards in the drizzle.

Chapter Text

Ewen did allow Alison to ride down to the house that evening, but he summoned Neil to urge him to the utmost vigilance, and to find some hiding place sufficiently near the house that Alison might be brought there in case the redcoats were sighted.

''Tis only for a few days, after all,' said Ewen to Keith, as though attempting to convince himself.

'Yes,' agreed Keith, 'and you'll get reports of her every day.'

'Very true,' Ewen conceded, with a sheepish smile.

The next day continued cold and damp, and they spent it in the sheiling, idly playing cards or reading side by side, Ewen with the Scots Magazine and Keith with Margaret Cameron's copy of Joseph Andrew, which he had never finished on his first visit. The silence was comfortable and easy, occasionally interrupted by one or the other of them making some observation, and the other offering a thoughtful reply.

Towards evening, Ewen grew noticeably anxious, and Keith remarked that Neil, or some other messenger, was sure to come at any moment. Ewen looked rueful. Neil presently arrived, reporting that all was well and Alison's cough a little improved. Aunt Margaret had departed that morning on her mission for Dr Cameron, and was expected to return after a few days.

They were only two in the bed that night, and Ewen curled round Keith as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Keith lay in his arms feigning sleep, though his heart beat strongly and he struggled against a consciousness that he barely managed to keep from conscious thought.

The next morning dawned fine for the first time in several days, the sky blue as though the plenitude of rain had washed it quite clean.

'What a lovely day,' said Ewen in appreciation as he emerged from the sheiling. Keith sincerely agreed. A lad came up from Ardoy with food for them, bringing as well a little note from Alison, who was doing as well as could be expected; Ewen wrote her a reply.

They broke their fast and afterwards lay dozing in the sun, their eyes closed against the warm light. Presently Ewen sat up and leisurely stretched his arms above his head. 'On such a day, I'd be swimming in the loch—if I were not a fugitive with a wounded leg. But what do you say to washing in the burn? I, at least, have need of it, and Aunt Margaret sent up those fresh shirts for us yesterday.'

The small burn which flowed past their sheiling gathered up its waters in a little pool some distance downstream, in which they had all washed before. But Ewen and Alison had naturally done it together, while Keith gave them privacy and washed at another time.

There was nothing to which Keith might reasonably object in Ewen's suggestion, and he agreed. Ewen manoeuvred quite deftly on the crutches by now, and they made their way down the burn, which was swelled by the recent rain.

'Archie told me not to wet the bandage—and by the way, you must help me change it tonight. But I can manage to get clean despite that, I hope.'

Ewen sat down to take off his shoes and stockings, then shed his plaid and kilt, and with no further ado pulled his shirt over his head. Keith flushed and tore his gaze away from the progress of Ewen's disrobing. Instead, he turned his back and proceeded to take his own clothes off, for it was inevitable that he must do so.

Not that he was a stranger to nudity in itself, among men—that would have been impossible, in the army. But this...and Keith carefully avoided explicating to himself why this was different.

Keith had still his shirt on when Ewen exclaimed, 'Oh, bother! Keith, can you hand me the soap?'

He was standing with his bad leg on the shore, so as to keep water from the bandage, and supporting his weight on his good one, with water up to the knee. The posture left little to the imagination.

'Yes, of course,' said Keith, for Ewen ought not unnecessarily to strain his leg by getting up the bank again. He fetched the soap that Aunt Margaret had sent up for them and handed it to Ewen.

Well then, it was his turn. Keith turned his back again, pulled his shirt off, and ventured at once into the water. He would not ordinarily have appreciated the icy cold of that burn, but it was now a welcome distraction.

Keith heard Ewen laugh behind him at the gasp he had not been able to suppress. 'I'll thank you to make no remarks about soft southerners.'

'No, no, I wouldn't dream of it,' said Ewen, and Keith could hear the smile in his voice. 'Here, would you like the soap?'

Keith turned to receive it, lathered himself, and sought further distraction by rinsing himself in the cold water.

They had no towels, and while Keith might have dried himself off on his old shirt, Ewen sat down on a smooth rock, apparently intending to let the sun and wind do it for him. Keith sat as well and drew his knees up to rest his arms upon them, feeling that it would shield him better than standing there naked in Ewen's sight. He felt that he ought to speak, but could only sit there, tongue-tied, and closed his eyes against the sun to feign a relaxation he did not feel.

'Did you swim, as a boy?' asked Ewen.

'Yes, some,' replied Keith, grateful for something to say. 'Enough that I wouldn't drown in deep water—but I haven't done it in years.'

'I love it,' said Ewen meditatively. 'Aunt Marget told me I should have been born an otter.'

''Tis a wonder you survived your boyhood, with that loch on your doorstep.'

'Aye, she told me that, as well. Oh, I do hope she'll return safely from taking that message!'

'So do I,' said Keith.

Another few minutes, and Keith, feeling himself to be dry, stood to put his fresh shirt on. Then, hesitating, he turned to move Ewen's pile of clothes closer to him, to spare his leg.

'Thank you,' said Ewen warmly.

Keith muttered something in acknowledgement, then turned his back again and pulled his breeches on.

By the time they were back at the sheiling, Keith wished rather desperately for some time to himself. 'The day is so fine,' he said abruptly. 'Would you mind if I took a walk? I am, of course, sorry that you cannot join me.'

'Not at all—there's no reason why you should be restrained by my disability. May I recommend ascending Glas Bheinn?' Ewen pointed to the south, at a peak more gentle than some of the steeper ones surrounding them. 'Tis near the boundary with Lochiel's lands, and you may have a lovely prospect of parts of Loch Arkaig and the hills south of it.'

Keith thanked him and set off, the threads of his feelings so tangled that he could not at first consider them rationally. But the walking did him good: he found a ridge of land leading roughly in the direction he wished to go, where the ground was firm, short turf instead of boggy moss or a rocky jumble, and let his legs stretch out.

He could no longer deny that part of what he felt for Ewen was desire: a strong physical desire that, when he dwelt on it, had him flush at his own thoughts. Keith had never felt so for a man before—but then, he had never felt such deep attachment and admiration for a man before, either. Was it perhaps the case that the former naturally arose from the latter?

It was natural to Keith that such admiration, when harboured for a woman, might engender desire for her—so it was with Alison, and unfortunate as such attachment was to a married woman, there was no difficulty for him in understanding it. Perhaps it was so—at least for him—regardless of sex.

This hypothesis seemed reasonable, but did not entirely account for all the evidence, as far as he could clearly discern it. In retrospect, it was obvious to Keith that he had admired Ewen's physical appearance long before he had grown attached to him, and that in a manner similar to how he might admire a beautiful woman. From the very first day, even! Keith coloured at the memory.

Here his train of thought was broken by the interposition of a stretch of boggy ground between himself and his destination; Keith muttered an imprecation before he navigated it, at the price of wet boots. After that, the way seemed clear—but he must not let his state of mind distract him from the necessity of vigilance. He could see no one, however, but Ewen's distant shepherds and their livestock.

Returning to the subject at hand, Keith wondered whether Ewen was singular, or whether other men had ever had the potential to awaken such desire in him. Certainly he sometimes admired handsome men in passing, with no thought of any meaning beyond simple appreciation of their physical form. But that could scarcely mean anything; surely most men did so? When he searched further back in time, Keith did remember a schoolfellow whom he had admired, and whose attention he had longed for...but that, whatever its potential, had led to nothing.

With practicality, Keith abandoned the past for the present. In the immediate present, he was now ascending the verdant slope of the hill and, after his days of rest, was quite enjoying the exercise. But in his larger situation, he must somehow untangle these inconvenient desires of his...

There was a part of Keith which thought it might be best simply to flee. He would have no such desires to trouble him, then, no warm bodies beside him to disturb his sleep. His bed would be lonely, but it would be by choice—as in the days before he met Ewen and his lady.

But it would not, indeed, be a return to his previous condition—he would have given up his whole career for a friendship which he then immediately renounced! It would leave him doubly bereft.

Keith crested the hill, the name of which he had now forgotten (although, had he understood the Gaelic, it simply meant 'green hill') and looked round. There was Ardroy, looking like a child's toy, and the patchwork of the fields round it; there was Loch Arkaig, the deep blue colour of Ewen's eyes...Keith turned slowly round, breathing the clear cold air and wishing it could bring him equal clarity. Far above him, a buzzard turned in widening circles. He sat down by the cairn that marked the very top, his thoughts circling like the bird. Whatever thread he tugged at was connected with another, so that this tangle, which had begun with his desire for Ewen, had now grown into the wider question of his future—which subject he had been avoiding since he arrived at Ardroy.

He had been thinking of it as a choice: to go or to stay. But was that really a choice he had? What place did he have with Ewen and Alison, beyond their immediate situation of all being refugees from the British Army? Of course they had welcomed him, but he could scarcely stay with them forever. They had spoken of going to France—that was a possibility for him, as well, but what would he do there? It was not uncommon for Whig officers to seek employment in the Low Countries, or some other Protestant realm...perhaps he might do that, once he was over the Channel.

Keith sighed. He closed his eyes, and let his thoughts drift. Soon he was back where he had begun, for though he had tried his utmost not to stare, it was clear that he very well remembered all the details of Ewen's nudity. What would it be like...?

But before he had got very far into reveries of this sort, Keith shook his head firmly. No. He could not afford the luxury of such thoughts, not when he had to sleep next to the man tonight. In fact, there was only one thing to be done, and he had, after all, done it before: it was not as though he had had no physical needs and desires during his long years of forsaking attachment. He needed only to dismiss them, to suppress them, and he hoped he could marshal the self-discipline necessary for that task.

With that thought, Keith stood. He had not settled the matter of his future, but he had at least settled how to handle the revelation that had burst upon him this morning.

When he returned to the sheiling, he was able to greet Ewen with tolerable composure, conversing on his walk and the views from the hill. He was put to the test that evening as they retired to bed, with Ewen's warm body lying next to his. But he found he could master that situation, as well; could know what he felt and then firmly reject it. Keith was, after all, rather practiced in such rejection.

Despite this, it was several hours until he fell asleep that night.

Ewen woke the next morning, his arm slung over Keith, who was to all appearances still sleeping, turned towards him with his face half buried in the pillow. Ewen smiled fondly at the sight, then felt a pinprick of anxiety over Alison. Neil had not come up yesterday evening...and what of Aunt Margaret and her mission?

But he need not wait long: soon after Ewen had risen, young Angus came, full of apologies—one of the MacMartin cattle had wandered off yesterday evening, and they had had to search for it. Miss Margaret had returned last evening, quite unharmed. No redcoats had come, and Alison was much improved; she thought she might return tomorrow.

Well, that was good news! Ewen conveyed it to Keith, when he came out of the sheiling, and they broke their fast together. The day was not as fine as the previous one, but fine enough to sit outside. Leaning back against the wall, Ewen regarded with satisfaction the several cows grazing before him, which had grown visibly less lean since their arrival.

He wished Alison were here today, so that he might consult with her on the matter of their proposed escape to France. Archie's arguments had, together with Aunt Margaret's, fully convinced him of the wisdom of this course of action—but Keith had said nothing. What were his plans? Ewen dearly wished to invite Keith to go with them, both for the sake of his escape from a charge of treason, and simply because Ewen did not want to part from him. But he should speak with Alison about that, first...and if they were two, they might better press him to accept.

Ewen looked sidelong at Keith, sitting beside him. He seemed to be contemplating the clouds scudding across the sky; Ewen could regard him unobserved for the moment. One corner of his mouth was a little upturned, as though his thoughts diverted him—but there was, as well, a serious or perhaps melancholy set to his eyes. Keith's was a remarkably expressive face, though Ewen had not noticed it at first.

This was not the only instance where a longer association with Keith Windham had changed his impression of the man. Ewen recalled Alison's teasing question of whether he found Keith handsome. The answer to that question was now so unequivocally positive that he wondered how he could not have been struck by it on first sight. But his was a subtle charm, perhaps, one that required time, and the discovery of Keith's remarkable bravery, loyalty, wit, and sense of honour to appreciate. Ewen felt that he appreciated it more every day—including the physical aspects of that charm.

It was no wonder, really, that he had not been struck by it before: in Edinburgh, when he and Alison had been newly-weds and giddy from the consummation of that long engagement, Ewen could have walked past an Adonis, or a Helen, on the street and not noticed. And after that, there had been the campaign, and Drumossie moor...

Now that they were thrown so closely together—no, not thrown together; that had been the case at first, but now they were together by choice—Ewen found that it was becoming difficult for him to separate his deep friendship with Keith from his increasing attraction to him.

Physical attraction to men was nothing new to him, in itself, but this was no fleeting admiration. Ewen tried not to dwell on the matter, but he suspected that would not cure it.

It had been wrong of him, perhaps, to propose that bathing expedition yesterday. He could justify it entirely from practical considerations, and there had certainly been nothing improper in it, as such—but neither could he deny the prurient interest he had taken in seeing Keith undress. Ewen might regret this knowledge of Keith's naked body, when he had to lie beside the man at night.

And he felt a little ashamed, too, of ogling Keith, however surreptitiously, when he seemed so shy. He had turned his back while undressing, which struck Ewen as singular in a military man, who must surely be used to the sight of men in all conditions of dress and undress. Well, but he supposed some men were just shy. He had noticed, too, that Keith was less free with physical contact than he himself was, though when it was offered, he did not rebuff it. Ewen always felt a gratified warmth on those occasions when Keith offered it.

Perhaps it came of Keith's being an only child? So had Ewen been, strictly speaking, but he had grown up with the MacMartin children, often playing together like a contentious but happy pile of pups. And when he was older, he and Lachlan had been constant companions; not equals, it was true, but close nevertheless.

Ewen's thoughts drifted, turning from Keith to his foster-brother, lying dead below Beinn Laoigh. Had he been still among the living, Lachlan would have been the one running errands down to the glen and bringing back intelligence. Neil served Ewen well, but he had his family to think of, whereas Lachlan would have been with Ewen every moment up on these high pastures. Ewen could not prevent the tears that filled his eyes, threatening to brim over.

Keith happened to glance at him. Had the man beside him been someone else, Ewen would have felt shame at the tears in his eyes—but Keith had seen him worse than this and still stuck by him. Ewen would much rather this, than to have been caught admiring Keith.

Ewen could see the slight hesitation, before Keith deliberately reached out his hand to rest on Ewen's shoulder. 'What is it?' he asked quietly.

'I was only thinking of Lachlan...'

'I'm sorry,' said Keith. After a moment, he added, 'Tell me more about him? I'm afraid he never showed to best advantage when we met.' This with a wry little smile.

Ewen had to smile, as well. 'I suppose not.' And he spoke of Lachlan for a while, striving to do his character justice.

Alison returned the next day, riding Keith's horse up the slopes to the high pastures. How much better she felt for those days down at the house! Aunt Margaret and Marsali had coddled her shamelessly, and Alison had allowed herself to enjoy it, resting in her warm bed for long hours. What deliciously spiced possets Aunt Margaret had got the cook to make for her! Alison was very lucky in the woman who was so close to a mother-in-law to her.

The sun was shining on the peaks; Alison lifted her face up towards them. When she reached their sheiling, her husband was sitting by Keith Windham's side, both of them also enjoying the warm sun.

Keith immediately rose and assisted her in dismounting; Alison thanked him with a quick smile and was soon in her husband's arms. Their lips met, but after no more than a brief kiss parted again, conscious that they were not alone. Alison glanced at Keith, who was politely looking away, and when she turned back to Ewen again, there was a light in his eyes that she had not seen for some time—since long before the battle of Drumossie moor. It sparked an answering desire in her, and she leant in to kiss him with more intent, as his hands curled round her neck. But she soon drew back again, with a small sigh.

Alison stood and adressed the two of them. 'Are you both well? I hope you didn't take cold after I left, as well—that was some miserable weather.'

'It was, but we were spared,' said Keith, turning back towards them. 'And I do believe the Highland weather has repented of its rain, and aims for summer now.'

Ewen laughed. 'You may hope so, but I assure you 'twill shift again. It always does.'

Alison went to the saddlebags. 'Aunt Margaret sent up seedcake for us, with her good wishes.'

Ewen exclaimed happily, and their light conversation continued as they all sat down to enjoy the cake. Alison sat in the middle, with the men on either side, talking and laughing with either in turn.

While down in the house, Alison had pondered over her own manner with Keith Windham: their conversation was by now very familiar. She had always found him easy to converse with, even back in Edinburgh, and now, as their intimacy progressed, she felt that their repartee could almost border on gallantries and flirting. With a man she trusted less, she never would have ventured so far, but Keith had proved his trustworthiness and his respect for her beyond doubt.

Indeed, she thought he sometimes checked himself when he thought their conversation might have ventured too far—or did she imagine that? Perhaps it was not for the reasons she thought. At any rate, Alison did try to guard her tongue, for she could not deny to herself that she found Keith Windham attractive.

On occasion, she had had the urge to reassure Ewen that there was nothing between them—but it would be foolish to deny it when Ewen had not accused her of anything, or even questioned her. Ewen trusted her, and she felt he was right to do so: she loved him deeply, and would never go behind his back.

Later in the day, while Windham took a walk, Ewen took her aside for a private conversation, sitting in the lee of the sheiling. She wondered what he had in mind.

'Have you thought more on the matter of a possible escape to France?' asked Ewen, coming straight to his topic.

'I have,' said Alison, 'and I own that Aunt Margaret and I have been speaking on it, as well.'

'I can well imagine what she would say. Are you in favour, then?'

Alison nodded. 'I am. Aside from all the force of the arguments we have already heard, I've lived there for most of my life. Not that I don't consider Ardroy my home now! But the familiarity of Paris will ease the difficulties of finding lodgings and employment.'

'Until we can return,' said Ewen, though he by no means looked as certain as he sounded.

Alison's heart went out to him. 'Yes,' she said, pressing his hand. 'Until we can return.'

'Then your judgement concurs with mine, and 'tis settled. Archie told me enough about that French privateer that we should be able to reach it. But there's another matter...'

'Yes?'

'I should like to ask Keith to come with us. He's said very little about his plans, if he has any, but staying in Britain must be dangerous to him...'

Alison was nodding. Perhaps it was strange, but she felt a protective instinct towards him. 'Yes. And he doesn't know France—'twould be difficult for him to make his way in Paris, with no connections.'

'How glad I am that you agree! We owe him so much, and anything we can do to help him...well, you must help me convince him.'

'I will.'

They spoke for a while on less consequential subjects, and Alison curled up with Ewen's arm round her. He nuzzled her hair, and by mutual inclination they were soon continuing those kisses which had been interrupted before. How long it had been since they had bedded each other—while still lying side by side every night! With a small hungry noise, Alison rolled over to straddle her husband, pushing him down on the hillside the better to kiss him.

After a while, she remembered to be careful. 'Oh, m'eudail! Your leg—'

Ewen snorted. 'My leg, I believe, is not the limb you want.' He gave a little movement to show that the limb to which he was referring was fully functional. Alison felt it even through their clothes, and it sent a jolt of heat through her.

But after another kiss to show it, she murmured. 'But we can't—we're not alone...'

At this moment, movement in the corner of her eye showed her that they were indeed not alone. Alison looked up to see that Keith was back from his walk, and had just come round the sheiling. Meeting his eyes, Alison felt another jolt that, though she tried to deny it, shared in some of that heat.

Flustered, she said, 'I do beg your pardon—'

Keith, though he had looked as flustered upon first seeing them, now composed himself. 'Not at all. Would you like the use of the bed for a while? I'll keep watch.'

Now Alison felt as though her face was entirely red. Somehow there was more to this than to that similar incident in Derby...

But Ewen, sitting up, said, 'Thank you, that would be kind. Alison?'

She nodded, still flushed, and they made their way to the entrance of the sheiling.

Keith, true to to his word, set up as a sentry. The sheiling had no proper door, but he positioned himself so as not to see the bed, and at a distance which would, he hoped, not allow him to hear any sounds they made. The shepherds and their flocks were in another part of the pastures, so his only task was to keep watch for Neil or some other messenger from the glen.

These practical matters accomplished, Keith tried to dismiss from his mind the image of Ewen on his back, with Alison straddling him, skirts disarranged round her. With his wounded leg, they would surely have to continue in that position...

No, he could not keep thinking of that! Somewhat desperately, Keith resorted to performing military drill in his mind, first the standard musket drill, and then taking his company through ever more complicated marching evolutions, useful only on the parade ground. It kept his mind occupied sufficiently that he managed not to intrude further, even if only in thought, into the privacy of Ewen and Alison's marriage bed.

Chapter Text

Before Keith's vigil was over, the capricious Highland weather had time to change: a rain squall had swept in from the west. Presently Ewen gave a call from the entrance of the sheiling. 'Keith! Do come in!'

He did. They had put themselves and the bed to rights, so that there was no trace of the activity which had undoubtedly taken place—except in the rosy cheeks of Ewen and Alison.

'Thank you,' said Ewen, 'and I do apologise for keeping you out in the rain!'

''Tis no matter,' said Keith briefly, and shook out his wet plaid.

'Do sit down,' said Alison, moving to give him space on the bed, which was the only place to sit. Keith did, and there was a moment of awkward silence.

Ewen broke it first. 'Alison and I have been talking—not now, of course, we didn't keep you out in the rain for that!' Flustered, he started over. 'Er, what I mean is, when you were taking a walk earlier, we were speaking of our future plans.'

Alison took over. 'Both Aunt Margaret and Dr Cameron have pressed us to escape to France and, after consideration, we intend to take that course. We should very much like you to join us.'

'If you wish to, of course,' added Ewen. 'But I could not bear it, if you should stay behind and risk a trial for treason on our account...'

Keith felt taken off guard. He should not have been, for he had been thinking on this matter himself—but his tangled feelings for the couple sitting in the bed beside him, and the consciousness of what they had recently been doing in that bed, combined to stop his mouth.

'You need not reply now, of course,' said Alison. 'But I've spent most of my life in Paris, and Ewen has many connections there, as well. We would do everything we can to help you.'

'For the friendship we bear you,' added Ewen softly.

Keith cleared his throat. 'Thank you. I'll think on it.' He stood, feeling the need for some distance, and strode the few steps to the entrance. The rain had almost let up, though every blade of grass was bedewed with drops of water, and the sun, shining through a gap in the clouds, set them to sparkling like jewels.

Had he any other, more promising plans than to leave Britain? No, he did not. And after all, his future was not fixed just because he got on that ship: he might continue on to the Low Countries, or some other land. Then why did he feel such ambivalence?

Keith sighed. The answer to that was no mystery, but only the same reluctance to expose himself to the risks of attachment and entanglement. Had he not made that choice already? If his choice to leave for France had had to be made in an instant, and in a situation where his going might save Ewen or Alison from some danger, then he would have had no hesitation.

They had made no reference to their obligation to him, but only to friendship—somehow this was what broke through Keith's ambivalence, so that he turned back to them and said, 'Yes. I'll come. And—thank you.'

Their words and expressions were such that Keith could not doubt their genuine pleasure at his decision.

Ewen now began to make plans for their departure to the coast; good horses they had, thanks to Keith, but he must decide which men to take, and by which route to make for Morar. Conferring with Neil, they decided that he would stay to support Aunt Margaret and his family, but Neil considered that Ewen ought nevertheless to have a MacMartin by his side. Ewen agreed to take young Angus, who might thereby learn French and other useful skills.

The day before they left, Ewen and Alison rode out to look down upon the glen; Ewen wished he could go down to say farewell. But when sentiment was the only argument in favour, and all practical considerations against it, he could not insist. Alison helped him to dismount, and he sat for a long while looking down upon the house, the fields, and the waters of Loch na h-Iolaire, which faithfully mirrored all the shifting moods of the sky.

'We'll come back,' he said softly, and did not know if he said it to himself, to Alison, or to the glen itself.

They would take a route that led them, not by Fort William, Loch Eil and Loch Shiel, which was the most common and easiest road to the Rough Bounds, but across the high country parallell to Loch Arkaig, then past its western end into the narrow glen beyond, and over the watershed to Loch Morar. Though Ewen had never gone that way before, once they reached that loch it should not be difficult to find their way out to the coast.

In the first part of the journey, when they were travelling on the heights, they would risk travel by day. And so, a small party of travellers set off the next morning: Ewen and Alison mounted and Keith walking, along with young Angus, two gillies, and a garron to carry their packs.

That evening saw them encamped by a nameless burn, with the peak of Gairich blocking the western sun. Outside the bounds of the Ardroy pastures as they were, Ewen had never ventured so far west of them before, though the peak itself was familiar to him as a distant view. But he knew well enough where they must be, and that tomorrow would come the dangerous passage of Kinloch Arkaig—not that he expected there to be redcoats so far into the glen, but they must not be complacent.

Alison looked tired, sitting with her plaid like a hood up over her head and looking out over the rocky slope; Keith, on his other side, looked so much like a Highlander that Ewen marvelled at it. His hair was beginning to grow out, curling a little beneath his bonnet, and the red of the plaid suited his dark hair; he wore the garment with more assurance now.

Keith caught his eye and raised his eyebrows in a question.

'The plaid suits you,' Ewen murmured.

Keith's mouth grew tight. 'I'm not one of your gillies,' he said sharply.

Ewen bit his lip; he had not considered how the remark might sound to Keith. 'I didn't mean that.'

'What did you mean, then? I may wear the garments of your clan, but I'm no Jacobite,' continued Keith.

Ewen would never own it to Keith, but it would have given him no small degree of pleasure to be able to call Keith his comrade in arms, as well as his friend. This sentiment had, it was likely, informed his idle remark, though he knew he could never say so. But there had been another aspect to it, as well.

'Perhaps my remark was ill-considered,' said Ewen. 'I hope you'll trust that I would never expect you to become a Jacobite. I simply...well, I know the plaid is not the garb of an English gentleman, but 'tis the one I grew up with. I merely meant that I find you handsome in it.'

If he had meant to disarm Keith, it succeeded beyond Ewen's expectations: his friend flushed and turned his face away, but what Ewen saw of his expression seemed abashed, not angry. How curious—Keith did not often lose his poise. But no, that was not true; it might be true of Keith Windham when he was among general society, but not among friends.

Keith looked up, having composed himself. 'Forgive me, I took offense when I had little reason to do so,' he said, referring to Ewen's original remark and ignoring the last one.

Ewen was very ready to forgive him. 'No matter. You have left the Army to go among those you have previously considered enemies—'tis a vulnerable position, and I understand that.'

Alison, who had watched the exchange with interest, contributed quite another observation. 'You are not used to compliments, I find.'

For a moment, Ewen thought Keith might respond with some witty remark. But in the end he simply said, 'Perhaps not,' and went on to change the subject, asking about some detail of tomorrow's march.

Ewen had a momentary impulse to give him further compliments—faith, but he deserved them!—but it was not, perhaps, the time for that.

Not that it might ever be the time to give Keith such compliments as Ewen wished to do, or in other ways to act on his attraction. Had Ewen not been married, he would have been free to seek Keith as a lover—but he was emphatically married. These feelings for Keith did not displace the strong and constant love he felt for Alison, nor his desire for her, and he owed her his faithfulness. Attraction to Keith was surely nothing to be ashamed of, but it could not fully be acted upon—he could act on the friendship, surely, but not the desire.

He had once been in a situation where he could act upon his desires with two lovers—but Alison was not Madame Coligny, who had had many lovers, and he would not ask her to accommodate him in this. They had not been husband and wife long; Ewen could not bear to have her think she did not come first in his heart. So many husbands strayed and expected their wives to look the other way and accept it—he would never be one of them.

Alison seemed genuinely to like Keith, and vice versa; Ewen was glad of that. Very well, they would all be friends, and he would have to be content with that—it was no small prize. And, after all, Keith most likely had no interest in him at all as a lover.

But it was growing cold, and past time to sleep, and Ewen rose and said so; they banked the fire and prepared for bed.

During their stay in the sheiling, one of the shepherd lasses had served Alison as maid, inasmuch as she had needed one. But they had not brought her along, and Ewen loosened Alison's stays himself, so that she might sleep in greater comfort—she did not take them off, in these rough surroundings.

They slept that night under the open sky, which was cold and full of stars, on beds of heather and bracken that Angus and Duncan had assembled. Without comment, Keith came to lie next to Ewen, who had Alison on his other side. Some distance away, an owl called, a shivering, drawn-out sound, and Ewen pulled Alison closer under the plaids.

Their journey to the coast was blessedly devoid of any incident that could be described as adventure, though as they reached the unfamiliar land round Loch Morar, the roughness of the hills meant that a deep crevice or a face of rock, impassable to horse and often to man, barred their way more times than Ewen could count. In these situations, they would be turned out of their way to find another route, and made small progress.

Ewen grew impatient with his own disability, and sometimes almost succumbed to despair at the thought that it might become permanent. But it would not do to complain—none of them did so. Alison was not at all used to such rough travel, but even when the rain poured down, not a word of complaint passed her lips. Though he was no Highlander, Keith showed his worth in scouting and never shirked any of the work.

It was sparsely populated land; passing the watershed, they had left the last of the small Cameron settlements behind and entered MacDonald country, but as they kept mostly to the heights, they saw few people. One evening with endlessly drizzling rain, they came upon a herd of dark cattle, standing round a sheiling with their heads down in patient endurance. As Ewen's company passed between them, their flanks gave off the familiar smell of wet cow.

There was only barely room for them all in the small dwelling, but they were nevertheless received with hospitality, sharing their own food with that of the shepherds. Keith sat in silence as the rest of the party conversed in Gaelic with the two MacDonalds, though Alison, sitting beside him, would lean in to translate the essentials for him.

Yes, there was a ship; yes, it had been seen off the coast, and a party of refugees had already reached it. Yes, they were close to the sea now, and would see it in the morning, if the fog lifted. But there were also redcoats patrolling the shore, confiscating boats and sometimes doing much worse. One of them ought to go down tonight, under cover of darkness, and see about finding a boat to take them out to the ship.

As Ewen could not go, Duncan undertook that task, with one of the shepherds as guide. With so much hanging in the balance, Ewen slept poorly that night, but at dawn, when Duncan returned, he was much relieved to hear that a boat had been arranged for them the next night.

There was an element of unavoidable risk in this business; few redcoats ventured into the rough hills, but the border between land and sea was bound to be guarded. Ewen began to hope, when the fog descended that evening, that it would safely cloak their departure, but as they neared the beach, the skies cleared and the revealing moonlight shone down on them and on the silver expanse of the Morar beach.

What remarkable white sands! Even caught up in peril as they were, Ewen could not help but admire them. The beach was empty; evidently the commander of those redcoat troops was not as competent or vigilant as Keith Windham might perhaps have been, had he been assigned to guard the coast.

With pounding hearts, they were down at the boat; they pushed it out to sea; they began to row towards the distant ship.

A cry from farther down the beach—they were seen, after all! The redcoats were dark figures on the sand, approaching at a run; Ewen and the others redoubled their efforts at the oars. Only distance could save them now. Ewen glanced at Keith—what must he feel, to be fired at by his former comrades! But Keith was working as hard as any of them at the oars, his head down.

Now beyond musketshot, they could only hope that the redcoats had no boat—but if they had, surely it would already have been launched. The coast receded, though still they could see those white sands, gleaming in the moonlight, with the dark bulk of the hills behind them.

The French privateer and its captain received them hospitably, this being the very reason of their lying off the coast. Ewen learnt that they hoped to rescue the Prince, but had had no sight nor word of him yet.

But there were other Jacobite refugees aboard, among them, to Ewen's great joy and relief, Lochiel and Lady Lochiel. Ewen's chief could walk no more than Ewen himself could, and the next day, Ewen and Alison sat on the deck with the two of them, drinking in their words. Lochiel had been with the Prince, and had only praise for his endurance and gentility.

The French spoken by the sailors round them spelled safety for Ewen, and he was almost giddy with it. Beginning to speak of his own and of Alison's travails, he recalled Keith Windham, and looked round. His friend was standing by the ship's stern, looking in towards land, and Ewen's lively sympathy for him led him to suspect that Keith, perhaps, was not as reassured by their French company.

Ewen began to rise, but a twinge in his leg dissuaded him. He turned to Alison. 'Will you see to Keith, and bid him join us?'

She nodded, and readily went to Keith; Ewen watched her hand on his arm and his head bent down as they conversed.

Keith, when he had joined them, bowed to Ewen's chief and his lady. 'I well remember your hospitality and your honourable treatment of me during my captivity, sir, and am glad to see you escaped the battlefield alive.'

When he saw that Ewen's plaided companion was none other than his erstwhile prisoner, Lochiel's astonishment was great, and it required the explanations of all three of them, at some length, to answer the questions that arose. Ewen was at some pains properly to show Keith to best advantage, for it was very natural to him to wish that two people whom he held in such great affection should properly appreciate each other.

'I cannot say which is greater—my cousin's worth to me as a loyal chieftain, or my affection for him as a kinsman,' said Lochiel at length, and Ewen's heart sang at these words. 'So you must allow me to thank you, Mr Windham, for saving his life. I am a fugitive, but if I can use any interest I have in France to aid you, I certainly will. And since you have left the Elector's service, I am sure you are aware of the possibility of entering the service of a man who is, to my personal knowledge, a more worthy and more rightful king.'

Ewen was gratified by this acknowledgement of Keith, who thanked Lochiel with eloquence—though he passed by in silence the last part of his speech.

Two days afterwards, Dr Cameron arrived as well, very early in the morning. A squall had rendered his passage out to the ship almost impracticable, and he was dripping wet as he came aboard.

To the great disappointment of the Jacobite refugees, he carried the intelligence that the Prince would be unable to make the rendez-vous, but that he was for the moment safe with friends, and that they should leave for France.

Keith was no judge of such things, but their passage to France seemed swift enough, and with no more than the usual discomforts. He shared a cabin—a very small one—with Ewen and Alison and Dr Cameron, and the company on board the ship no doubt prefigured what he might expect in France: the Jacobite refugees mingled freely with the officers of the privateer, and Keith felt himself to be singular among them. For one thing, his French was not as fluent as Ewen and Alison's, but had it been only that, he would not have been alone, for some of the refugees spoke it on the same level.

No: despite their different nationalities they were all one community, and Keith, betwixt-and-between as he was, felt he had no place there. Had he been a prisoner of war, it would strangely enough have been easier, for no one would then have questioned his place or allegiance.

He would have had no place, that was, but for Ewen and Alison. Keith could not but be aware of how much they exerted themselves to include him in every conversation, and translate when he had difficulties, and it warmed his heart immeasurably. Ewen introduced him to the others as mon cher ami, and they came to Keith's defense at any questioning of his neutral status—not that he felt he had to assert the latter at every opportunity.

Standing just aft of the shrouds one morning, trying to keep out of the sailors' way, Keith looked out over the grey-blue sea. No land was in sight, nor sun either: the unbroken grey of the clouds above blended into the horizon and the water. He would have been lost, but no doubt the ship's master was not. The movement of the sea, the shifting colours of it, the white birds that followed the ship; Keith let his gaze be absorbed by these things, having nothing else to do.

One was never alone on a ship: all round him were voices and the activity of both sailors, officers, and passengers, but Keith paid them no mind until he heard two voices in particular, which could not fail to draw his attention.

He turned to see them standing but a few feet away, near the taffrail. They gave him brief smiles, then continued their conversation; Ewen had set down his crutch and held on to the rail instead.

How dependent he was upon Ewen and Alison! They had urged him to come and, having persuaded him, now did everything in their power to support him...but Keith could not help but feel the vulnerability in his position, especially considering his own feelings towards them.

A wave, larger than the others, set the ship to heaving unexpectedly, and Ewen staggered, almost losing his hold on the rail. Without thought, Keith was by his side, supporting him by an arm round his back; Ewen's arm came as naturally onto his shoulders, leaning his weight upon his friend. Keith felt the thrill of Ewen's body heavily against his own.

'Thank you,' said Ewen ruefully. 'I ought not to be allowed to stand yet, I find.'

'You've made great progress, from when Alison and I first found you,' said Keith, letting himself keep his hand curled round Ewen's side.

'Perhaps,' said Ewen, then changed the subject. 'We shall be in France within a day or two, I'm told.'

'At last!' said Alison. 'I do wonder whether my father will be there—I haven't heard from him since Edinburgh. He never came to Ardroy, but I suppose he could still be in Edinburgh, or perhaps, when he heard about the defeat, he might have taken ship for France.'

'Even if he stayed in Edinburgh, surely he would not be arrested?' said Ewen. 'He was never out with the army.'

She frowned. 'No, but he was often at Holyrood.'

'I do hope we find him in Paris,' said Keith, struck by compassion for her anxiety.

'Aye,' she said, wrapping her plaid more closely round herself against the wind.

There was, besides Ewen and Alison, one other passenger on the ship who paid Keith any attention, and that was Dr Cameron. Perhaps it was only for Ewen and Alison's sake, or because they shared a cabin, but Keith found him an intelligent man of parts, well worth conversing with.

A few days after his arrival, he examined Ewen's leg. Keith would have left, except that Ewen bid him stay, citing the rain that was soaking the deck outside. 'And besides,' said Ewen with a smile, 'you were the one who dressed my wounds in that sheiling, when they were much worse.'

'Was he indeed?' asked Dr Cameron. 'You cannot have done a bad job of it—the leg has healed well.'

'That, I think, is not to my credit,' protested Keith. 'I only changed the poor bandage for a better, cleaner one, and dared not touch the wound itself, not even to rinse it.'

Keith indeed found much to interest him in Dr Cameron's examination, his questions, and his prescriptions for Ewen—and not only because he cared about Ewen's well-being. When it was finished, he asked some questions as to what would have been the proper care for such a wound as Ewen's had been.

'Alas, the proper course would have been to dress it as soon after it was incurred as possible, and remove any foreign elements such as bullets or pieces of clothing,' replied Dr Cameron. 'But that, of course, you could not do, and I can well imagine that it looked nasty.'

The setting sun of the next day found the ship at Havre-de-Grace, its slanting rays illuminating the sailors working in the rigging as the ship came into harbour, while the passengers on the deck were already in shadow. But the sun soon dipped completely below the horizon, leaving the stars slowly to brighten over the little French harbour. The seagulls ceased their crying and settled down for the night.

Alison was impatient to disembark, but they had better stay on board the ship for the night, instead of having to find and pay for lodgings in the town. So it was not until the next morning that they set foot on French soil, and it surprised her how much it felt like home—but glancing at the two men by her side, who had each their own reason to feel regret over their coming, she did not say so.

Like the wild geese of a generation or two before, who had followed James II into exile, France received these rebel sons and daughters of a smaller country with which their Auld Alliance still held, though the aid they were given was, as was only natural, qualified by the interests of the French state. That was the hope and the frustration of the Jacobite cause for many decades.

Most of the refugees went to Paris, as their party also did in the company of Locheil. Once there, it did not take long for Alison to find out, through the tight-knit social circles of the Jacobites, that her father was there. It was difficult to say on which side the reunion afforded more relief and joy—for her father had had no more news of her than she had had of him, and it could fairly be said that his anxiety had more cause, after the news of the Jacobite defeat.

But they could not lodge with him, since Mr Grant shared a small apartment with an old schoolfellow of his. Alison knew that Ewen would be taken up with meeting Lochiel and other refugees, and with trying to secure what position and interest he could find here in Paris, and so she urged him to let her make their domestic arrangements with the best economy she could.

Taking Keith with her, she undertook to investigate all the potential lodgings with which her connections could supply them. Many, however suitable, were beyond their means, for though Ewen had brought funds with him from Ardroy, and Keith had contributed what he could, it was clear that they could not be profligate.

'What do you think of this, then?' she asked Keith, on the third day of their search. The rooms were certainly not in the fashionable quarters, but then, they could not afford that. 'Ewen and I could sleep in this room. The smaller one here,' she indicated a door leading off from the main room, 'could be yours. You see it has its own door to the outside, besides this one, so you wouldn't have to go through ours.'

'Yes, that is an advantage,' said Keith. He had said nothing yet to them of his potential plan of going to the Low Countries—perhaps he should not take rooms with them when his plans were still so unsettled? But surely it could not hurt to stay with them for a while...

'I know 'tis meant as a servant's room, really,' said Alison apologetically, 'and 'tis small, besides.'

Keith smiled at her solicitude. 'Believe me, I've lodged in worse conditions with the army. 'Twould do for me, if you approve of the rest.' He was now neither the British officer in scarlet coat, nor the feigned Highlander in plaid and bonnet, but a gentleman in a wig and a blue coat that had been Ewen's in his youth, a little faded perhaps, but she liked the colour on him.

'Well, let me take stock of the landlady, then.' Alison turned to that woman and began thoroughly to inform herself about the rent, the possibility of finding a part-time maid in the neighbourhood, the costs of laundry, the quality of meals served in the house and what they cost, and other such necessary details. She had long since decided that it would be too expensive to have a kitchen and a cook of their own. At one point in the negotiations, she had to make clear that Keith was, despite appearances, not her husband, but only a friend who would lodge with them.

Keith watched her negotiate the terms, admiring the added vivacity which the speaking of French seemed to grant her. She, as well, wore the plaid no longer, but a wine-red gown that very well suited her—but she had a tartan silk shawl over her shoulders.

'Well, that's done,' said Alison, turning to Keith with a satisfied air. He offered her his arm as they left the house, and she took it. 'I have taken the rooms, and managed to haggle down the price, too! She was pleased that I agreed to take as maid the girl she recommended—if the girl is wanting, we can always find another instead, and she already has a home nearby, so we don't need to pay for her bed. Angus and Duncan can sleep with the servants in the attic.' She did not mention the landlady's mistaken assumption that Keith was her husband, and neither did he.

Ewen, too, was pleased when he learnt of Alison's success that evening, and they moved from their temporary lodgings into the new ones the next morning. After supper that day, they all three sat round the little table in Ewen and Alison's room, sharing a bottle of wine.

Ewen proposed a toast. 'To my fair and capable wife! Ach, how glad I am to be out of that cheap inn, and not sharing a room with strangers anymore.'

Keith raised his glass. 'Your wife is worth a toast, indeed.'

Alison, gratified, accepted their accolades, and they all drank. 'I do hope the lodgings will suit us.' After a moment, she asked, 'Ewen, have you any news? Has Lochiel had an audience at court yet?'

'He has met with the Comte d'Argenson, to urge him, as the minister of the armies, to further efforts on the Prince's behalf. We have no word of His Royal Highness yet.'

'And—not as weighty a matter, I know, but important to me,' said Alison, sighing, 'I've heard nothing of Margaret Ogilvy yet.'

'There are so many fugitives...God grant they will get away safely, as many as possible.' Ewen glanced at Keith, who was looking down into the burgundy depths of his wine. 'I count you as one of them, Keith, not one of the persecutors.'

'I have been both,' stated Keith mildly. The warm candlelight played on his features, and Ewen felt a surge of tenderness for him.

He wished he had some excuse to take Keith's hand—but then, with the wine for his excuse, did so anyway, and pressed it. 'You were never the latter by choice. No, don't protest,' he said, when Keith would have said something, no doubt to assert his own culpability.

Alison was watching them thoughtfully. 'Is this still our third meeting, do you think? By the prophecy?'

Ewen let go Keith's hand in order to drink a sip of wine. 'I haven't thought of that in a while,' he said.

'Nor I,' added Keith. ''Tis a long meeting, if so.'

'But,' said Ewen, thinking it through, 'perhaps we've reached the end of it, for Angus did say that our fates would be intertwined. Three strands, braided together at the end—those were his words. And I think that may fairly describe us.'

'Aye...we wouldn't be here, if not for Keith,' Alison mused, 'and he would not be here, but for us.'

Keith met their eyes over the candles that were burning low, and thought of his half-formed plans to go to the Low Countries. He had not spoken of them, and could not do so now, for he thought it might break his heart to leave them—and might equally break his heart to stay.

'Forgive me if I enquire into what isn't my business, but—what of your family, Keith?' asked Alison. 'Have you written to them of where you are?'

Keith shook his head, and sipped his wine to clear his throat. 'I have not, no.'

'Do you fear your step-father's disapproval?' asked Ewen.

'Yes,' he replied, simply. 'As I've said, he is a kind man, but...' He shook his head.

'But you have a half-brother of whom you are fond—and surely your mother must be anxious to know whether you are dead or alive,' said Ewen.

Was she? But Keith did not voice that bitter thought. 'I'll think on it.'

'I'm sorry for pressing you on such a private matter,' said Alison apologetically, and Ewen added his apologies, as well.

'No—I do need to consider it, and I think you know me well enough by now to say such things.' It struck Keith that they were the only people who knew him well enough to say such things.

'I'm glad,' said Ewen.

They spoke a while longer on less consequential topics, and when the candles had almost burnt down, Alison said they might take that as a sign it was time to sleep. Ewen agreed, with a yawn. And so Keith wished them good night, took the stump of one of the candles into his own room, to sleep in his own bed in privacy for the first time in a long while.

Chapter Text

Keith did assay a letter to the Earl the next day, but it was so full of crossed-over phrases and sentences that were begun but not ended that he abandoned the attempt. He told himself, though he knew it to be a lie, that perhaps it would be easier another day, when he had pondered the matter further.

Instead, he went with Ewen and Alison to have dinner with Mr Grant. He knew he could not put off the matter of his future forever, since his money would certainly run out sooner or later. In a pinch, Keith might sell the gold watch the Earl had given him when he came of age, perhaps, but it would be better if he could access the money he had laid aside in an English bank—or far better still, regain the price of his commission, if that were possible.

Mr Grant, who knew Keith from Ardroy and from Edinburgh, had of course to be told the story of how Keith came to be there, and he pronounced it remarkable.

'But,' added Ewen, 'he is not a Jacobite, or we would have tried to procure him an officer's commission here.'

'What is your objection to Jacobitism, philosophically and politically?' asked Mr Grant pleasantly. He did not seem to share Ewen and Alison's reluctance to bring the subject up with Keith.

Alison reddened, in the manner of a child embarrassed by a parent, who could yet say nothing to stop him.

'I have no wish to speak ill of the allegiance of my friends,' said Keith cautiously.

'I'm sure they would take no offense—you are not, after all, likely to express yourself as the Whig broadsheets of London do.'

'No,' said Ewen, solicitous that Keith should not feel constrained in his speech, surrounded by Jacobites as he was. 'I am sure I could not be offended by anything you say.'

'Then I should like to hear your opinions,' said Mr Grant. 'I am seldom in speech with Whigs—and if our riven nation is ever to be healed, surely we must be able to discuss political differences in a generous and polite fashion.'

'That is a fine sentiment.' Keith took a deep breath. 'Then: I believe that the power of a king must be balanced by that of Parliament, if it is not to descend into tyranny.'

'Why, there we agree,' said Mr Grant. 'I know that Whigs often call King James tyrannical, but I assure you it has no basis in fact. Both he and the Prince are fully in favour of a free Parliament.'

Keith tried to conceal his surprise at this. 'How may we be guaranteed of that?'

'You may look the King's proclamations of his policy, which have been consistent since 1708, and at the Prince's manifesto when he was in Edinburgh. These are not just empty words: the King signed a compact in 1708, as an agreement with his prominent supporters, who indeed themselves demanded such a guarantee—and his position has not changed since.' Mr Grant did not mention the previous King James, who had perhaps not been as willing to accept the constraints of Parliament.

'I am glad to hear it,' said Keith, whose suspicions of the Pretender, ingrained since many years, were not entirely allayed—but it would ill-bred to doubt Mr Grant's words, which were news to Keith. 'Let me then raise another question: England and Scotland are both Protestant nations, and a Catholic king would ill suit us. That was why—' he had been about to say, 'why the nation welcomed King William of Orange', but decided on a more neutral phrase, '—why the Whigs supported King William of Orange.' He had also, for politeness' sake, used the word 'Catholic' rather than 'Papist'.

Keith glanced at Ewen and Alison, to see how they were taking this discussion—he was relieved to see that they did not look offended, but only attentive.

'I support freedom of conscience,' said Mr Grant, 'and I understand your concern. But the most part of King James' followers in England and Scotland are Protestants! We would not support him had he not pledged to uphold the Church of England, and indeed he arranges Anglican services for his followers in Rome. 'Tis true that he wishes British Catholics to be freely able to practice their faith, but equally the same would be true for Dissenters. There would be no favoritism, nor any persecution on the grounds of faith—I have heard the Prince express himself most strongly on this point. King James will not convert, I believe, but his son may well conform to the Church of England, and then every such objection would be removed.'

Keith had not known that the Pretender supported freedom of conscience for Dissenters, who were often the targets of Tory riots—as Papists were the targets of Whig ones—but, after gathering his thoughts, he went on. 'Faith is not merely a matter of private freedom of conscience: it determines international alliances, and to be Catholic is to be obedient to the Pope in Rome. It is also to be allied to France, which, though I am loath to speak ill of a country in which I currently reside, has a form of government I cannot support.'

How astonished Keith, who spoke from conviction, would have been if he could have known that in seventy years' time, the British Parliament would send troops to France to help restore the Bourbon kings! But this irony of fate lay far beyond his knowledge, as did the great revolution which was the cause of that reversed alliance.

'France must determine its own form of government, as Britain does,' replied Mr Grant. 'But I cannot approve the alliances of the Whigs, and the wars that they occasion. Has not—' he paused, to find a neutral term where he would otherwise undoubtedly have said 'the Elector' '—your monarch obligations to Hanover, as well as Britain? And these, in my opinion, cause him to spend the taxes of the nation on wars which are not truly to the benefit of the people, and cause those taxes to be raised unduly high.'

Keith could not help flushing slightly at this. Mr Grant, seeing it, added immediately, 'Forgive me, Mr Windham—I forgot that you were a military officer. I intended to throw no shadow upon your own service.'

Keith struggled for words for a moment, for this was a difficult topic. 'I cannot agree that the army, in itself, is unnecessary, for even beyond the differences in religion, I see France as a great power and a threat from whose influence we must fight to keep free.' After a short pause, he went on. ''Tis a common thing, in debates, for men to build themselves ever higher fortifications round their own preconceived opinions, in order to defend their positions against the artillery of their opponent's arguments. But in my case, my own actions would show such a course to be hypocrisy: you know that I have left the British army, and why. I can neither fully endorse the Whig party, nor fully abandon the principles to which I have long held, and take up yours.' Keith gave a wry smile. 'I am destined, I suppose, to give little satisfaction to either side.'

Ewen, who had been silent, now burst out, 'You may think so, but I, for one, admire you for showing such honesty and integrity!'

Mr Grant smiled. 'And I, as well. As you have been so honest as to admit to the faults of your own side, I will do so as well. There were moments, in the '15, when I doubted...being of a weak constitution, I served my king with words rather than arms, so I was not in the fighting. But I heard of the fire and devastation visited on Perthshire in order to deny the Government troops food and fodder, and saw some of it, too...ach, 'twas not well done. From what I hear, we have done better in that regard, this time. But I won't confine myself to the past: I confess I like not the scheming and jostling for position among some Jacobites, where men look to their own gain rather than the good of the nation.'

'Such men are scarcely unknown among Whigs, as well,' said Keith. 'But I thank you, Mr Grant, for your candour and generosity.'

Mr Grant expressed similar sentiments, and more than one member of the party breathed a surreptitious sigh of relief now that the fraught subject of politics had been navigated successfully.

They would have liked to spare the expense of taking a coach back to their lodgings, but it was some distance, and Ewen's leg, though improved, could not support him so far. In the coach, Alison said apologetically, 'I never thought my father would bring up politics in that manner—but perhaps I ought to have known...'

Keith laughed. 'I am well acquainted with feeling mortified by the actions of a family member. No need for embarrassment on my behalf—I think it went well enough.'

'It did indeed!' said Ewen. 'I admit that I have been curious as to your opinions, but I felt that I, well...'tis a sensitive topic.'

'Indeed,' said Keith dryly. 'And I admit I learnt some new things about Jacobite policy—but that, I suppose, is not surprising, since I had my earlier notions from Whig sources.'

'You are very welcome to ask, if you want to know more,' said Ewen, who still nurtured some hope that Keith might come round to his way of thinking.

'Thank you,' said Keith.

Alison had apparently been thinking of something else. 'Do you have personal experience of feeling mortified by family members, then?'

'Well...' said Keith. 'I suppose I shouldn't speak ill of my mother, and I would not, except to close friends. She is very beautiful, which grants her the licence to occasionally behave in...a somewhat mercenary fashion.'

'How strange, that you should be so unlike her!'

'Indeed, I don't take after her in looks,' said Keith dryly. 'My half-brother is quite handsome, however.'

Alison raised her eyebrows. 'One might almost think you're angling for a compliment, Keith. No, I meant in moral principles.'

Keith bowed his head. 'I think you have given me one, regardless, but not on my looks.' He contemplated the impossible idea of a meeting between his mother and Alison Grant: in wits they were matched, and he privately considered that they were matched in beauty as well, though he knew the world would give Lady Stowe the preference—but how different they were in other respects!

Arriving at their lodgings, they each went into their own rooms, for it was late. Keith undressed for bed; his room, small as it was, afforded him the luxury of privacy, and however much he appreciated the company of his friends, he valued that commodity. Not for the first time, he wondered over Alison's manner: had an unmarried woman behaved so towards him, he would unquestionably have taken it as flirting. But Ewen seemed to see nothing amiss in it—perhaps it was the influence of her French upbringing, for the French certainly had a reputation for gallantry that committed them to nothing.

Keith settled himself in bed, pulled up his blanket, and blew out the candle. The room was plunged in darkness. He could hear the creak of a board as someone walked past outside his door, and the distant clopping of hooves from the street, but otherwise all was silent...no, what was that?

When they had just come back, Keith had heard the sound of Ewen and Alison's conversation through the adjoining wall: not loud enough to make out their words, but only to make out their voices. What he heard now was not speech, but a low moan. He knew instantly that it was Alison's, and his imagination supplied all the circumstances that might produce it.

There was a low laugh which he knew to be Ewen's, and then another moan from Alison. Keith lay still, his breathing shallow—still, that was, except for one part of him, which was quickening without his own volition.

Judging from the volume, they were trying to be quiet, and not intending for him to hear; no wonder that they should want to bed each other after so long with no privacy. But Keith did hear, and lay for a long while tormenting himself with every faint sound; he was almost painfully hard now.

At last, Keith could bear it no longer, and reached down to take that neglected instrument in hand. It was all he could do not to moan himself; he had rarely been so stirred by the simple touch of his own right hand. Confused imaginings filled his mind: Alison lying beneath him, and his own exertions drawing from her those sounds of passion, or—and this was what pushed him over the edge—being rather in her position, and the forbidden thought of Ewen above him, inside him—

The intensity of his release left him gasping and stunned.

Keith could not, in the immediate aftermath of such pleasure, feel much remorse at what he had done, but in the sober light of next morning, he did regret it. For how could he look his friends in the eyes after such imaginings? Ewen would in all likelihood be appalled if he knew, and as for Alison—not only was she the wife of his friend, but Keith remembered all too well the violations which Highland women had been subjected to by officers like himself...

Nevertheless Keith called upon his reserves of politeness and did steel himself to meet their eyes; he fancied they saw nothing amiss. However, he declined their offer to accompany them to call upon a Stewart relative of Ewen's, recently arrived in Paris, citing his intent to write those letters to his family which he had put off. This was not simply an excuse, for last night had determined Keith to take his own destiny better in hand, instead of drifting further into this intimacy which he could so ill bear.

Ewen had offered their table as writing-desk, for Keith's room had none. And so he sat there, biting his lip in long moments of silence before he intermittently set his pen to paper to write a phrase or two, before raising it again and sighing in frustration. These three letters must be the most difficult he had written in his life!

July 3, 1746 (English style)
Paris, France

My Lord,

I know not what News of me has reach'd you from Scotland, if any, but I imagine the very Opening of this Letter will surprise and pain you—for any Fate that could land me in France must surely be an ill one. 'Tis possible that whatever News you have heard will tempt you to renounce all Connection with me, but I beg of you, for the Sake of whatever Family Affection you may bear me, at least read my Words before you judge me, tho' the World may have judg'd me already.

The Victory at Culloden Moor over the Pretender's Son was one at which I whole-heartedly rejoic'd, as you may imagine—tho' I could not rejoice at its Aftermath, which was one of Butchery, even of wounded & surrender'd Officers! Those Jacobites who were not kill'd, but taken Prisoner, were treated with such Negligence & Cruelty that I could not countenance it, & the helpless Countryside was swept with Fire, Sword and Rapine. I do not know whether, or how, these Matters were reported in the London Newspapers, but I have seen them with my own Eyes.

In Fine, I have resign'd my Commission, for I cannot serve under such Conditions. But the Circumstances in which I did so require some Explanation, & I fear that, should I return to England, 'twould be only to be brought before a Court Martial.

I spent some Time in Captivity earlier in the War, & there made the Acquaintance of the Laird of Ardroy who, tho' a Jacobite, is a Man of Honour and Generosity. After the Battle, I came upon an Officer who, having captur'd the sorely wounded Ardroy, propos'd to flog that Gentleman for Information! You may imagine my Indignation; I had a Rencontre with that Officer which prov'd fatal for him, & afterwards sent back my Commission & aided the helpless Ardroy in departing that Place.

You begin to see my Difficulty: to abscond with such a Prisoner would without Doubt be seen as Treason, tho' my Motive was the Obligation I was under for Ardroy's good Treatment of me when the Situation was revers'd, rather than any Wish to aid the Pretender. Having Regard to the harsh Punishment meted out to Officers who shew'd even the slightest Kindness to Prisoners, my Friend urg'd me to accompany him & his Wife to France, which Course I then took.

By my Honour as a Gentleman, I swear this to be the whole Truth, and that I consider myself innocent of Treason. I shall, naturally, not attempt to return to the Army, but find some other Employment, perhaps as an Officer in the Low Countries or some other friendly Nation.

I most fervently wish I could have ended my Letter thus, and put no Strain upon my Relations with you, who have ever been the kindliest & most generous Step-Father a Man could wish for, but my straitened Circumstances put such a Course out of my Power: I humbly ask whether you might enquire whether there be any Charges laid against me, and whether it be possible to regain the Price of my Commission, for else 'twould be difficult for me to establish myself in a new Country. I am sensible of the Embarrassment it would cause you to be associated with one perhaps tainted with Treason, however innocent of Intent, and deeply regret the Necessity of begging such a Favour from you. Any Efforts on my Behalf, tho' they may be fruitless, would render me your grateful Debtor for Life.

I beg you will share this Letter with my dear Mother and Brother, to whom I also enclose shorter Notes, and hope that despite the Pain my Missive will undoubtedly cause, you are all in good Health, as is,

Your most humble and obedient Servant,
Keith Windham

Dear Mother,

I beg you will read the Letter to His Lordship before perusing this one. I deeply regret the Pain and Embarrassment that Letter will have caus'd you, & regret that I can never now follow in my Father's Footsteps, but assure you that I will strive to find a new Situation in Life that will not shame his Memory.

You affectionate Son,
Keith

Dear Francis,

'Tis with Hesitation that I use the familiar Name by which I have so far been accustom'd to call you, for I may perhaps have lost the Right to use it. You will have read of my present Circumstances in the Letter to your Father, & I wish'd only to add that, however the World may see it, I have still the Consolation of knowing that I have never acted contrary to my personal Honour. Without this Conviction, I should not have presum'd to write to you, whom I have always lov'd as a dear younger Brother, & hope that whatever News you hear of me, some Affection at least will remain in your Heart for one who, perhaps presumptously, still considers himself

Your affectionate Brother,
Keith

Keith sat back. His shoulders and hands were cramped from the several hours it had taken him to write these painstaking letters, and not only from the physical task of writing: he was tired, with an incipient headache.

He sat for a while, gazing at the letters and wondering dully how they would be received, then stood abruptly. Perhaps he ought to get some fresh air, or as fresh as one could get in the city.

But as he was donning his coat, the door opened to admit his friends; Keith's heart lifted to see them, even as he warned himself against relying on them too much. Ewen laid aside the cane he used to climb the stairs, and looked at him searchingly. 'Dear Keith, you look wearied.'

Keith allowed that he was, but that he had at least finished his letters. He enquired about their visit, then considered that he might as well get all his disagreeable tasks over with at once.

'You do not,' he began, 'enquire into the contents of my letters, but I may as well tell you that, besides explaining my circumstances, I ask his lordship to enquire into any charges that may be laid against me, and whether it be possible to recover the price of my commission.'

'That seems a prudent course of action,' said Ewen.

'Yes,' said Keith. 'I have some money put by in an English bank, which I'll try to transfer here, but 'tis little enough. Plainly stated, I don't have the means to live in idleness, but must find some occupation.'

'That is our case as well,' said Ewen. 'I have hopes of a French commission, as you know.'

Keith nodded, taking a deep breath. 'But I—I cannot serve France. I thought I might perhaps go to the Low Countries, and take service there.'

Alison looked up sharply, and Ewen was silent for a moment, before saying, 'Yes, I...see that it would be a reasonable choice for you.'

'I need not decide yet, of course,' said Keith hastily as he met their eyes, and cursed himself for saying it. Could he not stick to one course of action? 'I could not, at any rate, before I have the money to purchase a commission there.'

'No, I see that—and it seems a matter to consider carefully,' said Ewen. He hesitated, then added, 'Have you supped yet?'

'No.' Keith rolled his shoulders, which were scarcely less tense now. 'But I need some fresh air first, I think.'

'If you've been writing all the afternoon, I do see that,' said Alison. 'We'll wait for you.'

Keith nodded, and left. When the door had closed behind him, Ewen sighed. 'I had hoped, somehow, that he might see the justice of our cause, and stay in France...'

'So had I,' said Alison slowly.

Ewen sat down, to ease his leg. 'How I should have liked it, if we were captains in the same regiment!'

'Aye,' said Alison. 'But we cannot press him on the matter—'twould be neither kind nor honourable, surrounded as he is by Jacobites.'

'You're right, of course. But it must be some time until his family replies to his letters, and perhaps in that time...' Ewen shook his head. 'Ach, I should stop hoping for it!'

When Keith returned, they supped on bread, cheese and wine, and all three of them were careful not to make reference to Keith's future—though it pained Ewen to have such constraint between them.

Alison, for her part, did her best to keep up the conversation, but she watched Keith with concern. He seemed tired, with a frown line between his eyebrows that she wished she could smooth out; she wondered what it had truly cost him to write those letters. Oh, if her feelings for Keith had been a simple matter of exchanging gallantries with a handsome man! She could have set such an attraction aside easily...but she cared for him more deeply than that.

She knew that Ewen was, for his own part, also deeply attached to Keith, and she could not help but wonder whether his feelings partook of any of that physical attraction for men of which he had confessed him capable. It was impossible to know...impossible, that was, unless she asked him.

Simple in conception, and perhaps in execution, the idea was nevertheless one which set her heart to racing. Yes, she did want to know, though how she was to bring herself to ask, she scarcely knew! But simple curiosity could not be a reason to do it—no, there was a purpose to which her thoughts were tending, which she almost dared not admit to herself...

But she could not ask Ewen of his feelings, without first admitting her own: to do otherwise would be cowardice. And what of Keith? What were his feelings? Who knew...

They did not sit up late, and Keith soon retired to his room. Ewen and Alison, too, were soon in bed, and Alison blew out the candle.

'Good night,' murmured Ewen, with a kiss on her temple, and she replied in kind.

But Ewen, at least, did not sleep, and by Alison's restless movements in the dark, Ewen could tell that she did not, either.

'Are you awake, m'eudail?' he whispered.

She sighed and turned towards him, her arm coming round his back. 'Yes.'

'My thoughts keep returning to Keith,' he confessed. 'He is very dear to me—'tis strange, perhaps, when we have known each other so short a time...'

'Not so short, in lived experience! I feel as though five years have passed, since the Rising began...'

'No, perhaps not. I would miss him, if he left...'

'So would I,' she said in a low voice. They were silent for a while, and then Alison said, with a hesitation she did not often show, 'Do you remember, in Edinburgh, when you told me of your time in Paris—that is, about the lovers you had?'

Ewen drew in a breath. The connection to Keith was very clear in his mind, though he did not know whether it was, to Alison, a non sequitur. 'Yes.'

'Oh, I don't know whether I am right or wrong to say this!' she continued, in some agitation. 'But I have been thinking, lately, of—of what it would be like, to—oh, I don't mean to flirt with Keith, but I think I sometimes do.'

Ewen's heart was pounding. 'Do you care for him, then?'

'Yes—I thought you must have seen it. But Ewen, I love you, you know I do, and would never go behind your back!' She was speaking quickly now, with disjointed urgency. 'I should have said nothing about it, and tried to suppress it, had you never told me about your lovers, and put the idea into my head....tell me, how do feel about Keith? I know you're very fond of him, but do you care for him that way?'

How strange—Ewen had thought along these lines himself, but without any expectation that it might actually come to anything. Listening to Alison's words in the darkness, he felt himself aware of the dangers of this entanglement, all the ways in which they might each of them hurt the other.

'God help me, I do,' he whispered into the darkness.

She laughed shakily. 'Well, I suppose I've opened Pandora's box now. Was I wrong to say anything?'

He could feel the tension in her hand as it lay on his back, and pulled her close. 'Dear heart, I hardly know!'

'I might not have, but for the thought that he might leave...'

'I confess that, when I think back upon my time with Madame de Coligny and Monsieur de Sainte-Hermine,' said Ewen, 'it seems a simpler situation to me. I did not think so then, of course! It was all new to me, and I certainly had my share of anxiety over how to act. But we were none of us married, and I had no prior attachment to either of them. Perhaps for them it might have been new, to share a lover...or perhaps they had done it before. I don't know—but in any case, the situation now is more difficult, to me. You are my wife'—and he kissed her on the forehead, with as great a tenderness as he could muster—'and you must be my first consideration. And Keith—he is so dear a friend to me...I couldn't bear it, if this should somehow be the cause of an estrangement between us.'

'You haven't wondered at my manner with Keith? I am never sure whether my attraction to him is evident, or not...'

Ewen considered it. 'In the first place, I've simply been glad that you liked each other. And as for your manner...you do both seem to bring out the wit in each other. Perhaps I have wondered, a little, but as my wife, I must extend to you a trust that would preclude any suspicion of you.'

She made a small sound of distress. 'And have I now betrayed that trust?'

'No!' exclaimed Ewen. 'You have not gone behind my back. And I...I'm not jealous, exactly, only conscious of how fraught the situation is. No, I'm glad you said something—we could not go on like this, without being honest with each other. And I could scarcely blame you for an attachment which I myself feel, as well...'

They were both silent for a moment, and Ewen pulled her close, wishing to reaffirm their own bond. Alison seemed to feel the same need, for she buried her face in his neck, and they lay so for a while.

'And do you feel any jealousy?' murmured Ewen presently.

'At the moment, I'm almost relieved that you feel the same! But I'm certainly not complacent...I think I cannot fully tell what my feelings will be, when they have settled.'

'Let us take time for them to settle, then. There's no need to rush into anything—Keith will not go anywhere, I hope, until he gets word about his commission. And after all, he may not share our feelings at all.'

'Yes, he very likely might not. But I'm glad to have it off my chest, at least.' Alison drew a deep breath and let it out; he could feel her body relaxing and molding itself closer to his.

'Let's try to sleep, mo ghraidh.' Ewen sought her mouth for a kiss; she gave it, and they both fell silent.

He was tired, but after such a conversation, Ewen wondered whether he could sleep. As he thought further on their situation, it struck him that it was very likely that Keith should return Alison's feelings; looking back on their conversations, he could well imagine it. But that Keith should return his—Ewen's hopes of that were slim indeed. Keith was his dear friend, yes, but that he should want to bed Ewen seemed vastly improbable. Most men had no interest in such things.

Could he really be selfless enough to allow Keith and Alison to share a bed, while his own passion for Keith went unrequited? Ewen was not sure he could.

Chapter Text

As they all three ate breakfast the following day, Alison was exceedingly conscious of the conversation she and Ewen had shared last night; she only hoped Keith would not notice anything amiss in her manner. They had only broached the idea of Keith as a lover, but it seemed to have brought the reality closer to mind—Alison watched Keith's fingers on the cutlery. He had such attractive hands...

No, she must check such thoughts; they were premature, at best! She was almost grateful when a note arrived, requesting that she attend Lady Lochiel on a visit to a French lady that afternoon, the name of whom Alison recognised as of importance at court. Yes, she certainly must go, and call the maid to help her dress well...

When she returned that evening, Keith had retired to his room, and Ewen was writing by candlelight. 'I thought I should send another letter to Aunt Marget; we sent one already, but who knows whether it has gone astray? Tell me if there's anything you'd like me to add.'

Alison read what he had written and suggested some additions, which Ewen made while she took off her cloak and shoes. He then laid the letter aside, stood, and embraced her.

'I suppose your thoughts, like mine, have been distracted today...'

She leant against his chest and let her arms close round him, drawing in his familiar smell. 'They have, indeed! There is one thing, in particular, which I failed to say last night. Ach, you must have thought me selfish indeed...'

With a glance at Keith's room, Ewen lowered his voice. 'We should be more quiet, I think. And come, let's sit on the bed.'

They arranged some pillows against the wall, and Alison nestled into her husband's arms. 'I have not borne you any children yet. You haven't asked me, but I've kept a close watch on my periods, and they have been regular enough so far.'

Ewen, like most men of his rank, had read one of those manuals, intended for married men, on how best to encourage conception and what the signs of pregnancy were. As the woman's pleasure and her spending was a necessity for conception, he felt, with a glow of pride, that he could be satisfied with himself on that account. 'But aside from those first weeks in Edinburgh—' he smiled at her, and saw that she remembered them as well as he did, '—we have not had much opportunity to share a bed in privacy before now. 'Tis no wonder that you have not conceived yet.'

But all the same, Ewen saw the connection between that and the subject of Keith.

'No, perhaps not,' replied Alison. 'Ewen, I didn't mean, yesterday, to suggest that—well, that even if we came to some arrangement, the three of us, that I would want to risk Keith siring children on me.'

'Yes, that is a consideration,' said Ewen slowly, 'I've thought of it, too.' The subject of inheritance could not fail to be of material importance to a Highland chieftain. But even beyond that, Ewen felt some measure of possessiveness at the thought of another man, even Keith, doing such things with Alison, and spending inside her. Perhaps he was not capable of this, after all...

And yet, when Ewen imagined Keith taking Alison in his arms, kissing her, the thought of it stirred him with a confused warmth and yearning. Ach, he did not know his own mind!

Ewen shook his head with a sigh; Alison looked up at him swiftly. 'Ewen, I almost regret that I said anything—you know that I love you, don't you?'

She turned to kneel and look into Ewen's eyes, her hands on his shoulders; the light from behind left her face in shadow, but he knew her expressive features so well that he had no difficulty in reading them. Alison's eyes held an uncertainty that mirrored his own, and it was almost a relief to see it.

'I do know it. I love you,' he affirmed, then drew her close.

Alison shifted to straddle his lap, and Ewen wrapped his arms round her back and turned his face into her neck. They stayed so for a while, and then he leant back with a sigh. 'I, too, have been thinking. Perhaps 'tis only my own partiality for you speaking, but I do think it quite likely that Keith returns your feelings. But does he return mine? How can I hope so? Most men have no such interest in other men...'

Alison listened with sympathy. 'I think it very likely that he cares for you deeply, at least—think of what he did for you, in duelling with Guthrie, and leaving the army so that you would not be recaptured! He might have left the army in any case, but that he did it so precipitously, in a manner so injurious to his own interests...'

Ewen's heart warmed at the thought. 'You may be right, but that in no way implies that he wants to bed me.'

'No, that's true,' Alison conceded.

'And if he does not, I am not entirely sure that I could...'

He did not finish the sentence, but Alison swiftly apprehended his meaning. 'Oh, Ewen. I would never want to pursue my own happiness at the cost of yours—I could not, for if you were unhappy, so should I be.'

Ewen pulled her close again, with a shuddering breath. 'I have you, at any rate,' he mumbled into her neck.

'Yes,' she murmured. 'And I have you.'

Perhaps they both needed the kisses that followed, which had more of re-affirmed tenderness than passion—though passion followed, after some time.

Afterwards, Alison rose to tidy away their clothes, before going back to bed, blowing out the candle, and curling up in Ewen's arms under the covers. 'I wonder whether Keith ever feels lonely,' she murmured.

'I think we have both exerted ourselves to the best of our ability to prevent it,' said Ewen, 'but he is in a precarious position, more so than we are, perhaps.'

'Regardless of whether anything ever comes of what we both feel for him,' she continued, 'I should want to do the best we can for him.'

'Aye.' Ewen considered for a while in the darkness, then said, 'I think we should take no precipitate action. Consider the situation from his side: he is quite dependent upon us while he stays in Paris, and if we...indicate our feelings to him, and he does not return them, or returns only yours, 'twould be quite awkward for him—and for us all, for that matter...'

Ewen was entirely sincere in what he said, but wished it did not feel so much like cowardice.

'Yes. But we may observe him, and perhaps see some indication of what he feels. Ach, if we could only know...' She sighed.

Keith had found lately that his mind dwelt fruitlessly on matters about which he currently could do nothing, and so Ewen's invitation to a fencing salle the following day was most welcome.

'Archie has said that I may attempt some light exercise now,' said Ewen as they sat in the coach. 'And I would love to see you spar.'

'Indeed, 'twill be a relief to be active,' replied Keith.

He had met several of the men at the fencing salle before: aside from a few French officers, they were Ewen's fellow refugees among the Camerons and Stewarts, who accepted Keith as Ewen's English friend and savior, and greeted him cheerfully enough.

The large salle was full of men in their shirtsleeves and the clang of their flurets; it smelt of the sweat of their exertion.

Keith stripped off his coat and wig, after which they found a pair of blunted flurets to borrow, and sought out a free corner of the room. Mindful of Ewen's leg, they began slowly and kept to form.

'Our situations are reversed compared to our last bout of swordplay, I find,' said Ewen with a quick flash of smile. 'You were the one who was disabled then.'

Keith laughed, and ventured a thrust which Ewen easily blocked. 'Very true—but it was a more temporary injury for me.'

How fine it was to see Ewen in such spirits, and with such a light in his eyes! Keith felt his own mood respond in kind. But he must not let himself be distracted by the sight... Keith grinned, and speeded up his movements a little.

Ewen was so skilled that it was easy to forget about his leg, and they had a very good bout until, forced to rely upon the leg too suddenly, Ewen lost his footing and fell. From his grunt of pain, Keith feared that he had landed badly.

'Ewen! How are you?' he said, kneeling down to grip his shoulder.

From his expression and his breathing, Keith could see that he was indeed in pain. 'I fear I have overreached myself—perhaps Archie would not call this light exercise.'

'Come,' said Keith, helping him to rise with an arm round his back. 'Let us go aside.'

Perhaps he might have let go, but Keith allowed himself the luxury of keeping his hold round Ewen's warm back as they made their way to some chairs along one wall. Even after they had sat down, he kept one hand on Ewen's shoulder. 'How are you? I'm very sorry if I pressed you too hard.'

Ewen shrugged. ''Twas not your fault.' Keith thought he would say no more, but after a moment, he continued in a lower voice, 'Sometimes I fear 'twill never heal right, and that I shall be lame.'

Keith stroked his shoulder. 'Has Dr Cameron said so?'

'Archie tells me I will certainly walk freely again—but that it might be with a limp. He cannot say how much. Faith, perhaps 'tis beneath me to be plagued by that thought!'

'Of course not!' exclaimed Keith. ''Tis the most natural thing in the world, and 'twould concern me, too, if I were in your shoes. But consider how much you have improved, since I first came upon you in the Corryarrick. You could not even stand by yourself, and riding must have pained you beyond words...and now you can walk, though with the help of a cane.'

'Yes...' said Ewen. 'That is true.'

'It is. And in a year's time, I expect you will defeat me in a swordfight again as easily as you did last August.'

Now Ewen laughed, and Keith felt a small glow at having caused it. 'Oh, I very much doubt that!'

'Well, perhaps not quite as easily,' Keith replied, with a gleam in his eye.

'Now that we're here, you must have some real opposition, since I'm not in a state to provide it. Hi, Charles!' Ewen waved to a burly man who had just finished his latest bout. 'My leg prevents me from sparring further—will you do me the honour of meeting my friend Windham?'

The bout went forward and, though he had been rested and the other man had not, Keith found himself hard pressed; but with his best effort managed to hold out for four minutes before losing his weapon.

They had attracted an audience, who cheered when Keith's Highland opponent won, but Keith found himself clapped on the back and congratulated also. He shook hands with this Charles and thanked him, before making his way back to Ewen on the chair.

Ewen grinned wickedly. 'That was Charles Stewart of Ardsheal, by many considered the best swordsman in the Highlands. You did very well, I reckon.'

Keith laughed and shook his head ruefully, breathing hard from the exertion. 'You could have warned me.'

Keith wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his shirt, unaware of what a powerfully attractive picture he made to Ewen: face flushed, chest heaving, shirt open and sticking to his skin with sweat, and with an open, happy expression on his face that Ewen rarely saw. He wished he could see it more often.

And so he did, for their visits to the fencing salle became a regular habit over the next few weeks; Keith sometimes went there without Ewen, as well, and was welcomed by the Scots and French gentlemen who frequented it.

How easy it would be, at least in some ways, thought Keith wistfully, to become one of Ewen's party in truth, and fully to share in their camaraderie. But he knew he could not—as he could not have stayed with the British army. By gad, there was truth in what he had said about pleasing neither party in full!

Keith both longed for and dreaded a reply to his letters to England, but no such reply could be expected for a while yet.

Lochiel's and Ewen's service was presently rewarded when Lochiel obtained a French colonelcy and Ewen a captaincy under him, though Archibald Cameron had taken up his trade as physician again and preferred that to an officer's commission. Both Angus and Duncan enrolled in the regiment, as did many of the other Camerons who had escaped. On the day after the happy news was announced, Keith accompanied Ewen and Alison to the dinner which Lochiel held to celebrate, and gladly raised his glass to toast their success.

They piled into a coach to get home in the evening, all in high spirits which derived equally from wine and festive conversation. Ewen, squeezed between Keith and Alison with his arm round the latter, wished he could put his other arm round Keith, as well.

Faith, why should he not? And, emboldened by the general mood, he put his arm round Keith and pulled him close. 'I'm very glad you didn't stay behind in Scotland.'

'I'm glad I came,' replied Keith, with a quick smile.

There was no hesitation in his voice; Ewen rejoiced at that. But he did not keep his arm round Keith, as he did with Alison.

'What do you say to playing cards?' asked Alison, when they had come back to their lodgings.

'Yes, why not?' said Keith.

Ewen opened a bottle of wine, and Alison set on the table some sweet almond biscuits; they lighted three candles, an extravagant amount, but this was a celebration, after all. Alison drew the highest card from the deck and consequently dealt the cards, while Keith poured the wine.

'Now, what shall we play for?' she said. It was tacitly agreed between them never to play for money.

'How about these rose petals?' said Ewen, gathering up the red fallen petals of a wilting rose which Alison had set on the table some days ago.

The others agreed. Ewen recalled the game of 'love me, love me not' that could be played with flower petals, pulling one after the other until the last one gave the verdict. If there were only such an easy way of coming at the truth...

In their first game, Keith was ombre and took, in the end, six tricks and their pool of rose petals. Ewen congratulated him. 'You have an excellent face for cards; I never know whether your hand is good or bad.'

Keith laughed. 'You, as laird, have less occasion to conceal your thoughts than I did as a military officer, I think.'

Were his feelings open to anyone to read, then? Surely not, or Keith would have noticed...

Addressing himself to Alison, Keith continued, 'Your face, on the other hand, is very expressive, but I can never trust that your cards actually match your expression.'

Alison smiled. 'That, after all, is part of the game.' She drank a sip of wine.

They had another round, which Ewen, as ombre, lost to Alison. Keith excused himself, in order to step out and relieve himself; as the door closed behind him, Ewen groaned and lowered his forehead to the table. 'I cannot take much more of this,' he mumbled.

'Nor I,' said Alison with feeling, her hand coming down on his neck to rub it. 'Ewen, what if we played for kissing forfeits? We might get some idea of his feelings, and if he takes offence, we can always blame it on the wine.'

Ewen lifted his head sharply and stared at her. He could not tell whether it truly was a brilliant notion, or whether the wine had, in actuality, gone to his head. 'Yes,' he said recklessly. 'Let's do it.'

In the minute before Keith came back, Ewen had time to consider his previous resolution that they should wait—but they had waited! It had been weeks, and some time soon Keith would get a reply to his letters and perhaps leave for the Low Countries...

'Will you suggest it?' he murmured to Alison. She only had time to nod before Keith was back.

'We are running out of rose petals, I find,' she said when Keith had seated himself again. 'Perhaps we should play for kisses instead? The winner decides who should kiss whom, and the kisser may decide where to plant the kiss. I played it that way with my friends as a girl, sometimes.'

Keith stiffened; he only hoped that his face concealed his emotions as well as it had his hand of cards. This seemed perilous ground, though, on the other hand, a kiss on the hand or cheek was not much. And he should seem a prude if he turned down a girlish game of forfeits...

'Yes, why not?' he said, and dealt the cards.

Keith played with his mind awhirl, forcing himself to meet the gazes of his friends. They were both looking particularly well tonight, having dressed up for the dinner; Alison's hair was charmingly arranged with one curling ringlet hanging down, which Keith had been aching to brush from her cheek. And Ewen had dressed in a blue coat and waistcoat which brought out the colour of his eyes, though he was now in his shirtsleeves—Keith thought he had seldom looked more handsome.

If skill was not with him, luck was; Keith won with five tricks. 'Well then, you may kiss your husband.'

Alison flashed him a smile. 'That is never a chore.'

She got up to sit in Ewen's lap. The kiss did not last very long, though neither was it short, and there was certainly tongue involved. Keith felt a flush of heat at the sight..

Alison dealt the next round, Keith played rather poorly, and this time Ewen won. 'You may give your tribute to Alison, then,' said the winner.

Keith got up; he supposed he ought to kiss her hand. No, why not her cheek, after all? He held aside that tempting lock of hair and let his lips lightly brush against her warm cheek. His mouth remembered the sensation as he sat down again.

Keith refilled their wine while Ewen dealt the cards, to have something to do. Yet again the cards did not go Keith's way, and it was Alison's turn to win. 'Well, I suppose I shall make a return, then,' she said.

Alison got up, and came to sit in Keith's lap as she had sat in Ewen's. Heart pounding, Keith's arms came up to steady her—he had not had a woman in his lap for years!—but now Alison's hands were on either side of his head and her lips were on his, a deliberate, soft pressure, though quickly gone again, and she rose as quickly. But Keith could still feel the weight of her on his lap, and the feeling of his hand curling round the side of her chest—and her lips on his.

Keith flushed hotly and glanced at Ewen. What must he think, with his wife kissing another man like this! But he was certainly not taking offence—and he must see that it was not Keith who had instigated that kiss...

Keith pulled himself together. 'Shall we deal again?'

He thought, after he said it, that he might have suggested retiring for bed, but too late for that now. And did he want to? What on earth were they playing at?

Ewen dealt; they played in intent silence, with their murmured bidding the only sound to be heard. Keith won and, with pounding heart, wondered what to do. He glanced at Ewen, sitting in his shirtsleeves with the candlelight golden in his hair. Well, why not, then? Ewen would give him a peck on the cheek, in the manner of the French, and that would be that.

'Come and kiss me, then,' he said, almost defiantly and with an ache in his heart.

Ewen stood and came round the table. 'I think I am too heavy for your lap,' he murmured. 'Will you stand?'

Keith stood. Slowly and deliberately, so that Keith might at any moment back away, Ewen raised a hand to curl round Keith's neck and drew close. Keith stood entirely still as he approached and could not, until Ewen's mouth was on his, believe that this was what he intended. But it manifestly was, and in the silence, the little noise Keith made when he felt the tip of Ewen's tongue between his lips seemed shockingly loud.

Keith's heart pounded; he tilted his head and Ewen did likewise. Somehow Keith's hand had come up and was fisted in Ewen's shirt, and Ewen's was cupped firmly behind Keith's head. Oh, his tongue...

There was a loud knock at the door.

They sprang apart, and Alison, who had been watching them wide-eyed, jumped up from her chair.

Keith, in a daze, hung back; surely whoever was knocking did not want him. This proved true, for when Alison opened, there stood two Highland gentlemen whom Keith recognised as lodging across the street from them. They were clearly in high spirits.

'The Prince has come!' one of them announced.

'What?' exclaimed Ewen, sounding almost as dazed as Keith felt.

'He's escaped from Scotland, and is even now at Lochiel's house! Come, we have a coach ready,' said the other. It did not occur to them that anything could take precedence over this, which was surely an event of supreme importance for any Jacobite.

Ewen turned back to Keith, with a conflicted expression on his face. In a low voice, he said, ''Twould look strange, if we didn't go. Keith, I'm sorry.'

'Go, if you want,' said Keith.

'Are you coming?' said one of the gentlemen at the door.

'We'll talk tomorrow,' said Alison, laying a hand on his arm.

They bustled out of the door, and before he knew it, Keith was alone in the empty room. Slowly, he sat down on his chair. With an automatic habit of frugality, he blew out two of the candles, then supported his chin in his hands and looked down at the cards lying on the table. His cheeks blazed hot as though he had been standing before a fire.

Keith closed his eyes and re-lived the moment that had been so abruptly cut short: Ewen's hand behind his neck; his body, so close; my God, his mouth! He had not seen Alison's expression, but surely Ewen would not have done such a thing without her foreknowledge and agreement. And, equally, Keith felt sure she would never have kissed him on the mouth, without his. They must have planned this. He touched his own lips, remembering the brief, firm press of her lips.

Keith was almost relieved that they had gone, and with them, the tension in the room—and felt, simultaneously, as though he had been dropped like a glove on the floor. No, that was not fair...they could not have known that their Prince would come this evening, nor refused to go.

All the same, there was an ache in Keith's heart. What were they after: to seduce him into their bed? And was that not what he wanted? Yes—no—but he wanted more than that, not just to be some diversion in their marriage bed.

Keith stood abruptly, taking the candle and retiring to his own room, leaving behind the scene of the game they had played—that he could not help feeling Ewen and Alison had played with him.

Chapter Text

Alison woke late, with a slight head-ache; she squinted at the ceiling for a moment before she recalled the previous day. Oh. Well, that had certainly been an eventful evening—and a late one, too, for there had been further toasts to make to the Prince, and they had not returned from their second visit to Lochiel until after two in the morning.

'Ewen?' she said, shaking his shoulder.

'Aye?' he mumbled in a gravelly voice. He grimaced at the light from the window, then sat up abruptly. 'What time is it?'

Alison took Ewen's watch from the bedside table. ''Tis almost nine.'

'Faith, I should attend Lochiel on regimental business.'

'He was up as late as we were, as was everyone else! Surely he cannot expect you to be bright and early.'

'Perhaps not, but I shouldn't linger. And what about Keith? We just left him here last night.'

Alison groaned, dragged herself from bed, and threw on a dressing gown before calling for the maid and asking for water for washing. 'We did. I wonder if he's here now?'

'I suppose we'll see.'

'I must attend Lady Lochiel, as well—she asked me to come.' She began to look through her gowns to find the best fit for the occasion.

'I almost find it difficult to believe that happened yesterday—with Keith,' said Ewen.

'Yes! And I can't believe I suggested such a thing! Oh, I was drunk—or no, I suppose I used it as an excuse.'

'Well, I agreed to it. But did you see it—did you see the way he responded when I kissed him?' There was wonder in Ewen's voice.

'Did I see it?' She turned to him. 'I've never seen anything like it,' she added softly. 'Wow.'

'Do you think...I mean, how did it feel for you?' asked Ewen.

'To kiss him?' She coloured. 'Oh, I very much enjoyed it. Of course, those kisses weren't like yours was, but I do think he responded to them...'

'So do I,' said Ewen. 'But I meant: how did it feel for you, to watch us?'

'I was hoping, so much, that he wouldn't reject you...' Alison paused, struggling to convey how she felt. 'So I suppose I felt relief, but also...well, I liked seeing you together.' She felt her cheeks flush further, for those words felt wholly inadequate to describe her complicated emotions, composed of heat and of tenderness and of the fluttering tension of the unknown.

'I'm glad. I felt it as well, with you and Keith,' murmured Ewen. But at that moment, their maid arrived with water, and the rest of the conversation had to be postponed.

When they had washed and the maid had dressed Alison and done up her hair, she went over to Keith's door with some apprehension. 'Shall we knock, and see if he's here?'

She saw Ewen take a deep breath. 'Yes.'

But their mental preparations were unnecessary, for there was no reply to their knocking. Ewen let out his breath in a sigh. 'Well. I'll write a note for him.'

In a few minutes time they left, leaving the following letter folded and pinned to Keith's outside door.

Dear Keith,

The same Matter which call'd us away so precipitously and so inopportunely late last Night continues to demand our Presence now, as do my regimental Duties, but I cannot stress enough how much I regret that the Conversation we surely need to have has been so much delay'd. Alison and I will decline any other Evening Engagements and return here at eight o'clock at the latest, and hope very much to see you then.

Your affectionate Friend,
Ewen

When they returned that evening, the note was gone, so Alison assumed that Keith had read it—but when she knocked on his door, he did not reply.

She bit her lip and looked at Ewen. 'Where is he, do you think?'

He shook his head. 'I don't know. But 'tis still half an hour until eight o'clock.'

They went into their own room, and she asked, 'Can he have taken offense, do you think? Or—oh, I don't know. Surely nothing has happened to him?'

Nothing had, in the sense Alison meant, though Keith's emotions had demanded the outlet of physical exercise. He had gone for a walk in the morning, returned to find the note, and gone after that to the fencing salle, trying—and succeeding only very temporarily—to find distraction in that demanding activity.

And now he was walking home in the rain through the streets of Paris, every step carrying him closer to an interview upon which he felt his whole happiness depended. He had dwelt at length upon Ewen's letter and on every word and action of last night...

He stood before their door, hesitating, heart pounding. But by gad, what a coward he was! With that thought as goad, Keith raised his hand and knocked.

Alison opened it. 'Keith! I'm very glad to see you.'

'Let me change into something dry, and I'll be with you presently,' said Keith.

He went into his own room and, having changed his shirt for a fresh one and his coat into that old blue one of Ewen's, went through the connecting door.

'Have you supped?' asked Alison. They had food on the table: bread, butter, cheese, and a bowl of red cherries, along with a bottle of wine.

'No, I have not,' said Keith, and then added dryly, 'No cards, I see.'

He was glad to see Alison flush. 'No.'

Ewen poured wine for them all, and they sat down. By their uncertain glances—Keith himself not excepted—they were all three of them unsure of how to begin, but Keith was hungry and took that as an excuse not to be the first to speak.

Ewen cleared his throat. 'Keith, I do apologise, again, for leaving so suddenly last night, and for being gone all day.'

'I understand,' said Keith briefly. 'You both have duties which I do not.'

'Yes. I...don't know whether you would like an apology for what came before.'

Keith's heart ached as he looked at the two of them. 'That, I suppose, depends on what you meant by it.'

They glanced at each other, and whatever communication passed between them, it was Alison who continued. ''Twas my idea, so I suppose I should explain. We have both...grown very fond of you, and though we have discussed that between ourselves, we said nothing to you, for reasons which seemed good to us at the time. But you might be leaving soon, and...'

'So you thought you would seduce me,' said Keith bluntly.

'Well...' Alison gave him a wry smile. 'I'll be honest and say that I was slightly drunk when I came up with it. What I said to Ewen was that perhaps we could get some notion of how you felt, and if you took offense, we could blame it on the wine. It was, perhaps, an ill-advised scheme.'

'Well, at least you own up to it,' muttered Keith. He was aware that he was giving them nothing, and that fear of exposing the depth of his own feelings lay at the root of his reticence. 'Did you want to have some diversion in bed with me before I left, then?' he said tightly.

'Keith, no!' exclaimed Ewen. 'We've gone about this all wrong, I find.' He took a slow breath, and when he spoke, he had straightened and his voice was deliberate, as though about to make some declaration of import. 'Keith. You already know my deep regard for you as a friend, but...I have come to care deeply for you as a lover, as well. The thought that you might leave us is painful to me. And...' he bit his lip, and his expression became less controlled. 'I didn't know whether it might not cause you to leave, if I confessed it.'

Keith stared at him, his heart pounding, and then turned to look at Alison. 'But—but you're married.'

'We are,' said Alison. 'And for that reason, I've reproached myself many times, when I have found myself perhaps flirting a little too much with you.' She smiled ruefully.

'I have wondered,' murmured Keith.

'Yes. But we've talked about it since, Ewen and I. Since we both agree to it, we don't consider our marriage vows a bar. And Keith—I, too, care for you more deeply than any simple diversion in bed. 'Twould be much more than that.' Alison's expression was serious now, and her dark eyes met his steadily.

Her words, and her tone, filled him with shivering wonder, and together with Ewen's words, began to loosen Keith's tongue. 'I—I never dared to hope for any of this,' he said unsteadily. 'I have been, for the past few months, more—' his voice gave out at what he was about to say, and he was obliged to take a sip of wine before he had the courage to take the irrevocable plunge, '—more deeply in love with the both of you than I believe I have ever been in my life.'

There. It was said.

Ewen drew in a breath. 'Keith,' he said, his voice low and wondering. But Keith held up a hand. It would be cowardice not to declare himself fully, now that he had begun.

'Let me speak, now that I've finally found the courage to do so. My attachment to you was from an earlier date, I believe,' he said to Ewen, 'though I didn't know it. But my feelings for you came earlier to my conscious knowledge,' and he turned to Alison. 'I've never known any woman like you. Oh, I've known women with your wit and beauty, but none with your courage and strength. When I met you outside Inverness, when you had just shot that despicable officer and were making your way across country to Ardroy...well, I only hoped that you wouldn't see how much I admired you.' He reached across the small table, took her hand in his, and raised it to his lips.

Alison was staring at him, her cheeks colouring. 'What a thing to be admired for—and how I like you for it,' she murmured. 'No, I certainly didn't notice; I was far too anxious about Ewen. Keith, I liked you from the start, but I only came to admire you so much later on...'

'And as for you...' Keith said, turning to Ewen. He was silent for a moment, as the enormity of what he was doing overcame him; but then, seeing a hint of uncertainty in Ewen's gaze, he continued. 'I never—never felt so for any man before. That's why I didn't know it, or didn't admit it to myself, until...well, until we went bathing together,' he muttered, turning his gaze aside and flushing.

'Oh, he is a very nice sight,' murmured Alison.

When Keith looked up, a smile was lurking in the corners of Ewen's mouth. 'Well. I did also appreciate the sights of that bath.'

'But 'tis not just—Ewen, you must know how very much I admire you, and have done ever since we met.'

Ewen caught Keith's hand, which was lying on the table, kissed it gently as Keith had done with Alison's, then turned it over and put his lips to the palm of Keith's hand, then the inside of his wrist. Keith shivered at the sensation.

'You don't think it's wrong, then? To bed another man?' asked Ewen.

Keith took his hand back, finding that it was necessary in order to think clearly. 'I am no Puritan. And I always thought 'twas one of the more unnecessary of the Articles of War—what do I care what the men get up to in their own beds, so long as they're disciplined on duty, and don't mistreat the daughters of the local farmers? I never—I never had much reason to consider how it might concern me, before...'

'A practical approach, but 'tis good common sense. Philosophically, I always found the parallel to religious freedom of conscience to be striking,' said Ewen.

Keith looked at Ewen's impossibly handsome face in the candlelight. 'Mmm. I find I am less interested in the philosophy than the practice—although I've no experience of it.'

Ewen's smile widened. 'I do,' he murmured. His words seemed to imply a wealth of promised pleasures.

Keith turned his gaze down, a wave of heat washing through him. 'And you have no objections?' he said, turning to Alison.

'I very much enjoyed the sight of you kissing,' she murmured.

'Well, then.' Even now that Keith had heard their declarations, which still seemed almost unbelievable to him, and given them his own, the possibility—the probability, even—that this would end in grief for him remained. But his attachment to them was too strong for him to turn his back and leave; he must sink or swim. 'If you care to make another attempt at seduction, I dare say you'll succeed.'

There was a short pause, pregnant with possibility. Then Alison said to Ewen, 'May I kiss him first? You made more of your opportunity the last time...'

Ewen grinned. 'You did get two kisses. But yes, of course...I hope we will both shortly have more kisses than we care to count.' Then, sobering, he turned to Keith. 'There is one more thing we should discuss: Alison and I have agreed that we would not wish to risk...well, that you sire any children on her out of wedlock.'

'That is your right, and I fully agree,' replied Keith immediately, 'I should never insist on risking any such thing.'

Ewen looked relieved. 'Well, that's settled, then.'

Alison rose and, a little hesitantly, came towards him. 'Keith,' she murmured, raising her hand to settle on his neck.

Keith stood, and his hands came about her waist; he felt her warm and responsive body beneath the supporting stays. Her dark eyes were serious, as though kissing him were a commitment. Keith glanced instinctively at Ewen, and so did she. Just as seriously, he nodded.

When their eyes met again, she smiled, an expression that was more in her sparkling eyes and her dimples than in her mouth. It sparked the memory in Keith of all those times when he had wondered as to her intentions—and he did not have to wonder any more.

He made that last step forward and took her up on the invitation that was clear on her upturned face. The kiss was light at first, and playful, but when Keith deepened it with a soft moan, her mouth eagerly opened to his.

After a while, she drew back enough to murmur, 'Let me take your wig off.' When it was gone, her hands were in his own short hair, a sensation that sent shivers through him. His own hands travelled up the curve of her back.

Alison broke the kiss to murmur something in Gaelic to Ewen, soft and interrogative; Keith wondered what it was. Ewen nodded. He was watching them intently.

'I own,' said Alison, 'that Keith is rather easier to reach than you are.' Her voice was teasing.

'Perhaps Keith will find it easier to reach me than you do, then,' he said, and stood. 'Is it my turn?'

'Yes, perhaps it is,' replied Alison. 'I should not like to monopolise him.'

'Will you pass me between you at will, then?' asked Keith, striving for Alison's teasing tone, but sounding breathless to his own ears.

'Never,' said Ewen, and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, his fingers sharing the space with Alison's. 'Keith, will you do me the great honour of kissing me?'

Keith was roused already, but Ewen's nearness and his deep, gentle voice sent his heart to beating quicker still. 'There is nothing I want more,' he said huskily.

He had never been with a man...but kissing one was surely not much different from kissing a woman. Keith told himself so, but he knew already from last night's experience that this was not true: the mechanics might be the same, but Ewen's height, his slight stubble, the shape of his body, and more than all these, the knowledge of his masculinity, was such that Keith stood in breathless anticipation in Ewen's arms.

But Ewen did not move in to kiss him at once. He looked at Alison for her approval, then looked seriously at Keith, like Alison had, and murmured, 'Keith. I have wanted you so much.'

Then they were kissing, and it was everything Keith remembered from last night, and more. Some of the restraint was gone, and Keith felt himself strongly roused by it: Ewen's hands, the assurance in his kisses...and the hard evidence of Ewen's desire, pressed against his own. The latter sent a shock through him, and involuntarily he drew back a little.

Instantly, Ewen eased his grip. 'Keith?'

Keith nodded. 'Yes, I...'tis new, that's all.'

But after all, he had only been shocked by the strength of his own desire, and with pounding heart, he reached up to draw Ewen down again.

After some while, he felt a hand on his shoulder. 'Keith? May I touch you?' murmured Alison's voice in his ear.

He nodded, and Alison's hands, insinuating themselves between them, began to undo the buttons of Keith's coat, and slide it off his shoulders; next she went after his waistcoat. There were two pairs of hands on him now, and after so many years with none at all, Keith felt almost overwhelmed by it.

Now Alison's hand was curled round his hip. 'May I?' she asked again, her hand edging closer to the front of his breeches.

'Yes,' said Keith breathlessly, and then her hand was stroking slowly along his hard length through his breeches, between him and Ewen. Keith moaned into Ewen's mouth, helplessly roused, then turned to Alison and captured her mouth instead, with a more urgent and forceful desire than before. She met and equalled it.

Ewen moved behind him, now devoting his kisses to Keith's exposed neck. 'You taste of sweat,' he murmured with approval.

'I was at the fencing salle,' Keith got out between kisses.

'Mmm. You look very handsome when you fence.' Ewen was wrapped round Keith's back now, pressing against his hip; Keith felt his hands come down and unbutton Keith's breeches.

'Wait,' said Keith, overcome by a sense of vulnerability.

Ewen's hands grew still, and Alison pulled back. 'Keith?' she murmured.

'I feel somewhat...underdressed compared to the two of you. Will you...?'

'Yes, of course,' said Ewen, and began to shed his clothes. Keith stepped out of his breeches, which had slid to his feet, and stood in shirt and stockings.

'You may help me, if you like,' said Alison, sounding a little shy now that they were no longer kissing.

How long it had been since he had helped a woman undress! When she had unpinned her gown, he untied the laces of her stays and loosened them. 'May I take your hair down?' he murmured.

She nodded. Keith kissed her neck and worked the pins out of her hair, which felt almost more intimate than the kisses they had shared. Her dark hair, loosed of its confinement, fell down her back, and he gathered it in his hands with reverence and brought it up to his face. Keith looked up to find Ewen looking at them wordlessly.

Keith's hands stilled, feeling momentarily as though caught out at some forbidden act—but no, that was not the case, for Ewen smiled at him. His shirt was his only remaining garment, though his hair was still in its plait.

Keith cleared his throat. 'May I loosen your hair as well?'

'Surely you may,' said Ewen. He seated himself in a chair, looking over his shoulder at them; the candlelight brought out the warm golden-red in his hair.

Keith untied the ribbon which secured the plait and, unravelling it, combed his fingers through the auburn locks. Alison came to sit in her husband's lap; he slung a comfortable arm round her and murmured something low in her ear. She nodded and kissed him, then looked over Ewen's shoulder at Keith. 'I see you admire his hair as much as I do.'

'Mmm,' said Keith, smoothing his hands now over Ewen's broad shoulders and burying his face in Ewen's hair by his neck. It still felt almost unreal to be able to touch him.

Ewen helped Alison to pull her stays off, and when her petticoat was gone, they were all three of them in only shirts and shift.

Keith took a deep breath, took hold of the neckline of his shirt, and pulled it off. He stood before them naked, in all his imperfect, scarred humanity. His heart was pounding; he was not hard any more.

'Are you sure?' asked Keith. 'You may have wanted me, but...the reality of actually bedding me may not—you must tell me, if you change your mind.' Though he thought his heart would break, if they did.

Ewen and Alison exchanged a glance, then Alison deliberately pulled off her shift. Keith took in the shadows and curves of her body, her rounded thighs and hips, in the short glimpse before she was too close to him to see.

'Keith,' she murmured, and kissed him.

How different it was to kiss her now that the outward seeming of her was not shaped by stays and gown—how soft and pliant and warm she was, and the sensation of her skin against his sent shivers through him. 'I do want you,' she whispered in his ear, and her words and her nearness sent a rush of feeling through him.

She stepped back, and looked at Ewen. He, too, pulled off his shirt, and Keith had again the sight which had met him at that Highland pool. Notwithstanding the scar on his thigh, he must be the ideal of manhood itself—those ancient Greek statues could be no closer to it!

But at that time, there had been no prospect of realising Keith's desire; now that the moment had come, Keith felt intimidated. He did not doubt his own desire, no, but...

Keith saw, suddenly, that Ewen looked as uncertain as Keith himself had done, upon taking off his shirt. 'Keith...I know you said that you wanted me, but since you have never been with a man, I cannot help fearing that when it comes to it...'

The anxiety which Keith could not soothe on his own behalf, he acted by instinct to soothe in Ewen. He stepped quickly towards him and laid a hand on Ewen's chest. 'I suppose I must show you, then.'

With beating heart, Keith closed the distance between them and kissed him. The reality of Ewen's naked body against his own was such that he could not attempt any description in his own mind, nor categorise how it differed from embracing a woman; he could only moan breathlessly into Ewen's mouth.

After a space of time, Ewen lifted his head and murmured into his ear, 'I think I cannot doubt your desire, at least.'

No, for the evidence of it was pressing hard against his thigh. 'Nor I yours,' replied Keith.

'I should very much like—Keith, would you sit on the bed, and let us pleasure you?

Keith was entirely happy to let them take the lead. He hoped he was not, in general, a poor lover who would not exert himself for his partner's pleasure, but Ewen and Alison already knew each other well in bed, and Keith had, as had already been established, no experience with men. 'If it would please you,' he replied.

'Oh, would it,' said Ewen huskily.

So Keith sat, and Ewen and Alison exchanged a few words, after which she came to sit beside him, with one leg folded and placed behind him, so that she might easier embrace him. Keith turned his head to kiss her, while her hands roamed over his chest, and one of them stopped just above his groin.

Ewen knelt before him. 'You must tell us if you dislike anything we do,' he said, and bent to kiss the inside of Keith's knee.

With his legs parted and Ewen so close, Keith felt exposed—but he certainly did not dislike it, and still less did he dislike Ewen's hands gently stroking up along the inside of his thighs like that. Ewen glanced up at him, and then, slowly, so that Keith would see him coming, he took Keith's hard member in his mouth.

Keith cried out in pleasure mingled with shock—that a man would want to—! But Ewen most evidently did want to. Keith could hear Alison's quick breathing in his ear. 'Do you like it?' she asked.

'Yes,' Keith got out, incapable of any eloquence.

Ewen's hands were still on his thighs, his thumbs gently stroking as he pleasured Keith so sweetly and thoroughly that Keith knew he could not last long.

'I'm glad,' said Alison in his ear, before she slipped her hand down, her clever fingers gently cupping his balls and then firmly gripping him below where Ewen's mouth was working. Even before her hand began to move, Keith felt himself succumbing helplessly to their combined efforts. Had he retained any capacity for rational thought, he would have warned Ewen, for surely he would wish to take his mouth away—but in the peak of his passion, he had no such control over his actions, nor of the sounds that he made.

Keith returned to an awareness that Alison was supporting him, and that Ewen was looking up at him, his head leaning against Keith's thigh, with a satisfied expression on his face. Had he—swallowed that?

Alison, who was still loosely gripping him, gave Keith a final caress, which drew one more sound from him, almost a whimper. Ewen got up to take a drink of wine from the table, then returned. His very visible arousal drew Keith's eye.

'I—' Keith began, but was at a loss as to how to continue. He swallowed.

'I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did,' said Ewen.

'You—' Keith was apparently capable only of single words.

'As did I,' murmured Alison in his ear, and bit gently at his earlobe.

'Thank you,' said Keith stupidly, for he had to say something.

'My pleasure,' said Ewen, with a slow smile. 'Now, which of us will you have first?'

Keith took a deep breath and gathered his wits. 'You cannot possibly expect me to answer that, and favour one of you over the other.'

'I suppose 'tis up to us, then. Alison?'

Alison looked down at him over Keith's shoulder. 'I know you're too polite to say so, but I suspect you of being rather desperate. You may go first, and I shall enjoy watching you.'

Keith leant down to kiss Ewen with no further ado, and in that kiss confirmed Alison's judgement. 'May I lie down with you?' Ewen asked urgently when their mouths parted.

Wordlessly, Keith moved to lie on the bed, and Alison moved out of the way. Keith wondered what Ewen expected of him—even if he did what Ewen had done for him, he could in no way be as skilled in it...and there were other things men did together, too, which he had never done.

But he need not have thought of it: Ewen lay down beside him, and despite his urgency brought their bodies against each other only slowly and gently. 'Oh, Keith,' he breathed.

'Come,' said Keith, pulling him closer until he felt Ewen hard against him.

Oh, he must have Ewen in his hand, and know what it felt like! Keith reached down to take hold of him, and Ewen left him in no doubt of how welcome the grip was, nor Keith's efforts to please him which followed.

Ewen's sounds and movements grew more desperate, until, seeking Keith's mouth for a kiss, he rolled on top of him and, with a few hard thrusts against his hip, spent himself between them.

Keith wondered at himself: far from being shocked at the heavy weight of a man upon him and the warm sticky result of his spending, he was almost shocked at how very acceptable it was to him. No, it was beyond acceptable: he craved more of that strength which he could feel in Ewen's body. Ewen was still kissing him, one elbow on either side of Keith, gentler now that he had come.

'Keith—Keith, I'm sorry if—I should have asked first...'

Keith laughed. 'I may not have any previous experience with men, but I assure you that I am not so fragile, either in mind or body, as to break under your weight.' He let his hands explore down along Ewen's back to the swell of his backside, then up to his shoulders and the auburn hair that was spread all over them both.

Ewen kissed him again, more leisurely now. 'I have wanted you so much,' he whispered.

Keith had been the object of someone's desire before, but he believed it had never thrilled him as much as now. 'And I you.'

After another kiss, Ewen lifted his head and looked aside. 'Alison? Are you...?'

'I'm here,' she said from beside the bed. 'Perhaps you might want this?' She held out a towel to them.

Ewen laughed. 'Yes, thank you. But 'tis rather our turn to supply your wants, than the other way round, I think.'

'I confess I am quite ready for that,' she said, as Ewen took the towel and began to clean them both off.

'We have neglected you, I find,' said Keith.

'No, no, you made a lovely tableau for me. And it really didn't take long,' she said, with a mischievous glance at Ewen.

'I do usually last longer,' said Ewen, with a sheepish smile. 'But come, lie on the bed and we'll make it up to you.'

'We are neither of us capable, at the moment, of pleasing a woman in the usual way,' said Keith. 'Though I would not have done so, in any case,' he added quickly, with a glance at Ewen. 'But we both have hands and mouths.'

Ewen's smile widened. 'We do.'

Keith felt some apprehension in pleasing a woman while her husband, who surely knew much better what she liked, looked on, and so he began by simply kissing Alison. She urgently returned that kiss. When he ventured by degrees lower, her gasp and her arched back told him that she very well liked his mouth on her nipple.

'Tell me what you want,' urged Keith. 'Do you like this? Or do you like it harder?'

'No, that's good—not harder,' Alison instructed him. She took his hand and guided it to her other breast. Keith cupped it in wonder at his touch being so welcome, but that was not what she wanted, for she made impatient noises until he began to touch her there with more purpose.

'Here, let me,' said Ewen, coming to lie along her other side and applying his mouth to her other nipple. 'And your hand can be free for other purposes...'

Keith explored downwards, across her smooth belly and to where her legs were already eagerly parted. Oh, how wet she was! Keith's explorations had Alison thrusting her hips up to gain more contact. But Keith kept his touches slow and light, finding some satisfaction in her eagerness. Only when she begged him with words did he seek out the spot that would give her greater pleasure.

He need have felt no apprehension about how to give her pleasure, for she was not shy about instructing him as to which of his efforts pleased her most. After a while, Ewen reached down to press some several of his fingers into her.

When Alison began to spend, Keith found his head pulled up to hers and kissed deeply and with urgency. He strove to keep giving her that which she needed, until she protested weakly that she could take no more. But her kisses continued, now with gentler sounds of passion.

'Oh, Keith,' she murmured, with a sigh. But then she opened her eyes and turned to Ewen, as though to see his response. Ewen leant down to kiss her, and murmured something in Gaelic. Keith wondered what it was; but after all, perhaps it was not strange if they should wish to communicate without him.

Ewen looked up at him. 'I'm sorry; the Gaelic is a habit with us. I only told her that she need not be concerned about any jealousy on my part—perhaps you needed to hear that, too.'

Keith let out a breath. 'Yes—thank you.'

Nevertheless he could not help feeling some shyness, or awkwardness, now that the thing was done. Alison seemed to feel the same, as though, now that she had spent herself, she was embarrassed to think of how she had commandeered them both.

Keith's stomach chose that moment to growl, in reminder of the supper which had been cut short. Ewen laughed, and soon, so were they all, though in truth it was not much to laugh at.

'I'm ravenous,' declared Ewen. 'Shall we finish the meal?'

'Yes, perhaps we should,' said Alison.

And the neglected meal, which had been left half-eaten, was once again resumed, though this time when they sat down at table, they were much disshevelled and only half-dressed.

Chapter Text

Keith closed the door gently behind him, having wished Ewen and Alison a good night. He stood leaning against it for a while, gazing into the flame of the candle he carried while his thoughts whirled like a moth round the one consuming subject he could not avoid.

They had offered to let him share their bed for the night; he had wanted that, but equally he had wanted space to think, without them.

Presently Keith smiled to himself, shook his head, and moved to set his candle down on the bedside table. He got into bed, blew out the light, and lay in the privacy of darkness, contemplating this unexpected turn of his life.

Keith wonderingly touched his own mouth, and the sensitive skin round it which tingled still from Ewen's slight stubble. These lips had kissed Alison's mouth, her breast...his hand went lower, slowly cataloguing how he had touched and been touched that night. He had not known anyone in that way for so long...

And by a man, too. Keith had been aware of his own desire since that day on the heights above Ardroy, but never believing that it would be requited, he had not spent much time on practical considerations...well, he had had a taste of the practice now. He touched his hip and belly, where Ewen had spent himself. There had been a brief moment, after it was over, when he had balked at what he had first so desired...no, not balked perhaps, but seen it from outside, as it might appear to others: himself, covered in seed and with a man on hands and knees above him.

But Keith thrust that thought away, in favour of warmer memories. And he need not, it seemed, rely on memories only—there was a whole promised future in the words they had exchanged. Keith knew that neither of them would utter such words if they had not been seriously meant...though lovers might still fail each other, despite sincere promises.

He had something to lose, now.

And yet, changing the emphasis in that phrase, Keith had something now. Not even his habitual doubt could dull the joy in that knowledge: a joy of the heart and of the body both.

Eventually he slept, and did so deeply and securely.

Alison woke later than usual, with Ewen still sleeping beside her; she lay for a while contemplating the previous night, with a small smile of reminiscence.

Ewen stirred, reaching for her. 'Mmmm. Good morning.'

'Yes, it is,' she murmured.

'So you're pleased with yesterday evening, then?'

'I am. And you?'

Ewen nodded, with an expression of quiet delight that Alison smiled to see.

Later, Alison knocked on Keith's door, raising her voice to offer him the water for washing that was left. He, it seemed, had also slept late, and emerged presently with newly shaven cheeks that Alison longed to touch, but did not.

Ewen cleared his throat and broke the mutual shyness. 'Neither of us have any regrets. If you do, let us know.'

Keith shook his head. 'I have none.'

The little smile which accompanied his words emboldened Alison to step close and brush her lips against his, raising her hand to stroke his cheek. 'Good morning, Keith.'

'Good morning,' he replied, inclining his head down to meet her.

Ewen pulled him into a brief embrace, after which they sat, somewhat self-consciously, down to breakfast. Keith was perhaps not the most demonstrative man, Alison thought, but his glances showed that he was certainly not unmoved by the situation.

They spoke of their plans for the day, a subject which felt inconsequential, but then anything would, compared to the events of the previous night. Ewen had his regimental duties, Alison was to visit with Jean Cameron, Archie's wife, and Keith said briefly that he was going out, too.

She wondered what his errand was, and whether he actually had one, or was simply going out for the sake of it...but she did not ask. It must be difficult for him, with no work to do and no connections in Paris beyond what they could give him. Was what they had shared last night enough to outweigh the meaningful employment he might find in a place like the Low Countries? Perhaps he would leave, regardless of last night...

But Alison shook these thoughts off and spent a few enjoyable hours with Jean, trading news of the Prince's latest doings and of the Jacobite community, and all the while keeping silent on the truly important recent event in her life. When she returned to their lodgings, Ewen was still absent, as she had expected, but Keith was there, sitting by the window reading.

He looked up as she entered, and prepared to rise. 'The light is much better in here,' he said apologetically.

'Your room is tiny; of course you should sit here,' she said warmly. 'What are you reading?'

He held up an issue of La Gazette, which was usually passed between the Jacobites, expensive as it was to buy. 'Improving my French, and keeping up on foreign affairs. Though I hardly know how much I can trust the French news of Britain,' he said with a wry smile.

'I see what you mean,' said Alison, hanging up her cloak.

'I do have a few difficult words you might help me with,' he said.

Alison sat down on the bed and patted the covers beside her; Keith took the hint and seated himself there. She was deliciously aware of his closeness, though they were at present doing nothing more than going through the short list of words Keith had underlined.

'Your French is not bad at all,' she remarked.

'My accent will never be much good, I'm afraid,' he said deprecatingly.

'But you make yourself understood perfectly well,' she protested. She could not resist casually laying a hand on his knee, and running her finger along the hem of his breeches. How she had longed to do such things, before! And now she was free to do so...

Alison smiled at Keith, with a glint in her eye.

'And you, I think, make yourself understood without any language at all,' he murmured. His arm came round her waist, and she looked up into his eyes for a few breathless moments, before he kissed her.

There was a playfulness in it that was different from the tentative nature of yesterday's kisses, and Alison liked it. Her hand came up round his neck, and the kiss deepened.

Keith was very much not Ewen, and Alison admitted to herself how much that difference and novelty added to her desire for him. It still felt a little shameful, though it was not as if she wanted to bed all men who were not Ewen! Keith was special...

She moved to straddle his lap, and Keith's hands came up to hold her waist as she contined to kiss him.

'I can still scarcely believe this,' he murmured into her mouth.

She laughed shakily. 'Oh, Keith; neither can I. May I take this off?' she said, sliding a hand underneath his wig. 'I'm more accustomed to kissing a man without a wig, and I do prefer your own hair.'

'Short as it is? Be welcome to it.'

Alison made herself welcome to more than that: she pushed him down to lie on his back, and he went willingly. How delicious, to slowly take off his cravat, unbutton his coat and waistcoat... She could feel Keith's strong, slim body tensing underneath her as he partially sat up to shed the unbuttoned garments, and between Alison's parted legs where she straddled him, she could feel him growing hard under his breeches.

With a rush of heat, she knew that she wanted him inside her; with an equal surety, she knew that she would not give way to that desire. But they could do other things.

Keith slid his hands up along her legs, under the skirts, and Alison shivered most pleasantly. His thumbs stroked her inner thighs, then retreated to work at one of her garters. He loosed it and, turning to lay it aside, happened to see the text on it.

'God Bless PC and Down with the Rump...PC being Prince Charles, I suppose.' Keith began to laugh helplessly, falling back on the bed. '

'Oh, don't you like my seditious garters?' said Alison sweetly, though she was hard put to it not to laugh herself. 'If you want me, I'm afraid you'll have to take me sedition and all.' Keith was still giggling, and Alison could not help but join in.

'Oh, believe me, I know full well what sort of company I've gotten myself into,' Keith got out. 'I just wasn't expecting the Jacobite propaganda in bed.'

It struck her that she had never seen him laugh so much that he had to wipe tears from his eyes. 'I swear I hadn't planned that,' she murmured, her smile wide and happy, 'but I like seeing you laugh.'

He looked up at her. 'I don't know when I last did so—not like that. I think you're good for me.'

She leant down to kiss him for that. At first it was an expression of fondness, but after a while, they regained the desire that mirth had temporarily displaced. Keith's hands again found their way underneath her skirts.

How pleasant it was to take their time, to get to know the taste of Keith's neck and the feel of the very slight hint of stubble that had appeared on his cheeks since that morning's shave...

The sound of the key turning in the lock caused them both to stiffen. ''Tis only Ewen, it must be—nobody else has a key,' said Alison. 'But I do hope he's alone!'

The thought of anyone else seeing them like this had her sitting up, but she had no time to do more before the door opened. Her expression perhaps mirrored her fear of exposing them to the public eye—which indeed she need not have feared, since Ewen was alone.

But the expression on Ewen's face was, in that first unguarded moment, a stricken one. 'What are you—' he exclaimed, before he swallowed the rest.

She stood, and Ewen could see that, while they were both disshevelled and Keith was only half dressed, he still had his breeches on. For a brief moment Ewen's mind had seen only his wife straddling another man, as though riding him—and the sight had stabbed him with jealousy.

'I beg your pardon,' said Ewen, just to say something. His cheeks felt heated.

'Ewen?' Alison came up to him, frowning. 'Did Keith and I overstep? Of course we hadn't talked about doing anything without you, but I suppose I assumed you wouldn't mind...I'm sorry.'

Shame was now beginning to be uppermost in Ewen's mind. Keith had given him his word that he would not bed Alison in the usual way of a man with a woman; had Ewen then doubted the word of a friend in whose honour he trusted beyond words? And had he not also doubted Alison, his dearest heart?

'I'm sorry,' said Ewen, a trifle stiffly. 'I was surprised, when I came in the door, and not expecting to see—and for a brief moment, I—' He could not bring himself to say what he had assumed, or feared.

Keith had stood up by now; he looked a little wary, for which Ewen could not blame him. 'I apologise, as well. I'll do nothing at all with Alison on my own again, until or unless you give your permission.'

But now that the brief moment of jealousy was past, Ewen could not help but feel quite differently towards them both: Keith in his shirtsleeves and his own hair—and how could he blame Alison for wanting to undress him?—and Alison, with her hair mussed and an expression of anxiety in her dark eyes.

'You've done nothing wrong, neither of you,' said Ewen, with a rush of feeling. ''Tis I am the fool, and I hope I may make it up to you.'

Alison laid a hand on his arm, and he embraced her in apology, the familiar shape and smell of her a reassurance. 'Don't call yourself a fool, Ewen,' she said into his chest. 'This is new to all of us, and 'tis no wonder if you briefly felt...something other than what you now feel.'

'I was jealous,' he admitted ruefully. 'Briefly so...but not now.'

He released Alison and looked at Keith. 'Will you embrace me, too? I'm sorry, Keith.' The apology was for more than Keith knew. Ewen should never have doubted him...

'Yes, of course. I can well understand why you should have felt so.'

Keith in his arms was not yet familiar, though Ewen hoped he would soon become so. But he was, nonetheless, a reassurance, and Ewen tucked his face into Keith's neck and felt them both begin, by degrees, to relax. Finally Ewen sighed and leant back.

Feeling that he should take nothing for granted, Ewen murmured, 'May I kiss you?'

The corners of Keith's mouth turned up. 'Yes.'

And so Ewen kissed him, and it was another reassurance.

When they had parted, Ewen recalled what he had meant to say when he came home. 'I almost forgot—Lochiel is having Archie and Jean over for supper tonight, and invited us to join them, if we like. Nothing formal, just a family meal.'

'Of course you should go,' said Keith.

'You're welcome to come as well,' said Ewen, with a touch of stubborn solicitude. 'I made sure to ask.'

Keith smiled, and Ewen could see, with warm satisfaction, that this had pleased him.

'Well, we had better prepare, then,' said Alison, who was tying one of her garters. She glanced at Keith and smiled a little, but said nothing; Ewen wondered what she was thinking.

'Indeed,' said Keith, putting on his waistcoat. 'Thank you for the invitation.'

Meals at the Lochiel household were often gregarious, as Lochiel was clan chief and often entertained the exiled gentry of the clan, and also did his best to foster connections with the French nobility. But tonight was a very small affair, and Ewen was both glad of it and wary: glad, because he was not sure he had the wherewithal for a social occasion with strangers and distant acquaintances, and wary, because he felt sure that his kinfolk, who knew him so well, would divine the changed nature of his relationship with Keith.

As a result, Ewen spoke less with Keith, but he could not help paying some attention to him, just to see that he was at his ease and did not lack for conversation. Keith was seated opposite Ewen, and next to Archie; Ewen recalled that Archie had been kind to Keith on the ship over from Scotland, and he was grateful for it. While they spoke about commonplaces at first, their speech seemed to grow more serious after a while.

'You might wonder why I hold no commission, perhaps,' said Archie.

'Yes—I suppose 'twould be quite possible for you to obtain one,' said Keith.

'My brother would certainly not grudge me a place in his regiment.' This with a smile towards Lochiel. 'But I would rather return to my true profession. 'Tis certainly my duty to serve in the clan regiment when my King commands me, but I'm not a military professional, and I would in general rather heal than wound.'

'Do you have a practice in Paris now, then?' asked Keith.

'An informal one, among the Jacobite community, and what Frenchmen they'll recommend me to. 'Tis not the sort of thing that brings any riches, but I spent many years ministering to my brother's clansmen, so I'm used to that.'

'I admit that I envy you,' said Keith, so low that Ewen almost could not hear it. 'You know my situation here, of course—having refused to enter French service, I'm at a loss as to how to occupy myself. I'm not made to be idle, nor, frankly, can I long afford it.' Ewen's heart clenched at the knowledge that it was he who had taken Keith from his previous occupation.

Archie regarded Keith keenly, and Ewen thought he must be wondering why Keith had stayed in France—God send he did not discern the true reason.

But Keith continued, 'And no, I'm not the sort of gentleman who would scorn taking up some reasonable trade—I couldn't afford to. But I have few connections here.'

'If I come across some way to aid you, I certainly will,' said Archie. 'For Ewen's sake,' he nodded across the table, 'we owe you a debt.'

Having been invited into the conversation, Ewen replied, smiling, 'No one is more aware of that debt than I.' Wishing to deflect attention from his relationship with Keith, Ewen continued, 'But Archie, how did you first come to study to be a doctor? Perhaps you told me once when I was a child, but I've forgotten.'

'I do have a tack of the Lochiel lands in Glen Kingie,' said Archie, 'but I was too curious and restless as a young man to be satisfied only with farming. And my mind did not run towards commerce, as Fassefern's did—though no doubt I could have provided better for my Jean and my children if it had.'

He smiled ruefully, but Jean, who had heard the remark, said gallantly that she would not have had him be otherwise. 'No, I wanted to study,' continued Archie. 'When I first went to the university in Glasgow, it was to study law—Sir Ewen had advised me that the family would be well served by having a lawyer of its own.'

'I wonder you did not consider the church,' remarked Lochiel, for the whole company were now listening to Dr Cameron's story. 'You have certainly spent enough time ministering to my flocks, though in another manner.'

'Yes, perhaps,' said Archie. 'Be that as it may, I toiled away at the law for half a year, until I visited a friend in Edinburgh and happened to go with him to hear a lecture by Alexander Monro. What a talent he had for inspiring students—far from the dry prosing of my law professors in Glasgow. To be able to save lives, instead of filing tedious writs with the Court of Session! Well, I never looked back.'

'I find it difficult to think of you as anything but a physician,' said Ewen, smiling.

'But, though I did study in Paris and Leiden as well, I believe I am something more—or less, some medical men might say—than a physician. Most physicians, you know, take only wealthy clients, and do quite well out of it. But I, having been so long in Lochaber, have had to get my hands dirty as most physicians have not, and so I've learnt some tricks of the surgeon's trade, as well. I was glad of it, during the Rising.'

'So are we all,' said Lochiel. There was silence round the table, for Dr Cameron had tended to the wounds of more than one of the party after the battle of Culloden.

After a moment, Lady Lochiel gently remarked on the Prince's rumoured interview with the Comte d'Argenson earlier in the day, to turn their thoughts from past tragedy to future hopes.

When they alighted from the coach that carried the three of them home, the August heat, which had been oppressive earlier in the day, had cooled to a pleasant warmth. Ewen tilted his head back to look at the sky, which was a darkening blue shading to a delicate pink in the glimpse of the west that he could see down the street. The stars were beginning to come out. Oh, how splendid such a night would be if one were on the hills of Ardroy, instead of among these narrow streets of Paris, spread out on ground that was flat as an oatcake! Ewen's heart ached to think of it.

But some of his heart dwelt here. Ewen looked at Alison, standing at the door of the old half-timbered building that housed their lodgings, looking expectantly at him, and looked, as well, at Keith by her side. He nodded at them and abandoned his contemplation of the sky.

At the door to their rooms, Ewen hesitated as Keith went to his own door. 'Wait,' he said in a low voice, while a threadbare young man, their next-door neighbour, passed by to reach his own room. 'I interrupted you both earlier in the day. Won't you let me make it up to you?'

Keith had not seemed offended then, but still, Ewen's heart thudded in his ears while he waited for the reply. 'Surely,' said Keith with a small smile, and came in by their door instead.

Alison rewarded Ewen with a smile of her own, and Ewen felt that he had done the right thing.

'I enjoyed the supper,' said Keith, as they were taking their coats and shoes off.

'I'm very glad to hear that,' replied Ewen, with a small glow in his heart.

By all the evidence, Keith had enjoyed last night, and he had also accepted the invitation into their room just now, so it was perhaps unnecessary for Ewen to wonder whether Keith would really want to kiss him again. But he soon found that Keith did, and Ewen's uncertainty melted in the face of Keith's responsiveness. How glad he was of it...

Some while later, as Keith was kissing Alison, Ewen examined and prodded at his own feelings: surely he was not jealous, as he had briefly been that afternoon? Perhaps a very tiny smidgeon of it, but if that was indeed so, he had to admit that it added to his desire.

Keith broke the kiss to look at Ewen in mute enquiry, and all Ewen's self-conscious examination vanished, to be replaced by a flood of warmth. 'Oh, Keith,' he said, smiling, and came to take them both in his arms, and kiss Keith's neck.

As they were undressing, Alison suddenly laughed and held up her garter. 'You should have seen Keith's expression when he saw this.'

Ewen laughed, as well. 'Has he seen your other ones?'

'I have not,' said Keith dryly, raising an eyebrow.

Alison held up another pair of garters for Keith to read. 'Our Prince is Brave and our Cause is Just,' he muttered, and shook his head, smiling. 'Well, I wouldn't change you for any Whig lady in Britain.'

Alison kissed him for that. And later, when Ewen was kissing him again, he murmured into Keith's ear, 'Is there anything in particular you desire?'

Keith leant back, so that he could look at Alison as well as at Ewen. He hesitated, then said, 'Before last night, I sometimes heard you through the wall. Not intentionally, you understand, but the walls are not thick.'

Ewen flushed. 'We were trying to be quiet.'

'Yes, I understand that. I think my imagination filled in the gaps between the faint sounds that I did hear—though believe me, I tried not to! So...if I could watch the two of you?'

Ewen wondered whether he were making this request because it seemed a safe one, which was not likely to provoke any jealousy from Ewen, and was ashamed again of his response that afternoon. But he had to admit that he liked the prospect of Keith's eyes on him and Alison.

'I would like that,' said Alison.

'And I, said Ewen. 'But you need not keep your distance, of course.'

Together, he and Keith got Alison to a high pitch of desire, such that presently she spread her legs and begged for him. Ewen lifted her knees up and pressed into her, intensely aware of Keith watching. As he lifted his gaze, he saw that Keith was touching himself, and their eyes met as Ewen slid the last inch inside. He was not sure which of the three of them had made that involuntary sound of pleasure, or whether several of them had.

And then he was moving, and Alison eager underneath him. She was touching herself, too. Ewen had not felt such urgency in their coupling since those heady days in Edinburgh, and he feared he would not last until she came. Keith's eyes on them urged him on; Ewen did not know how long they spent in this mutual building of desire.

But Alison, too, must have felt it, for presently she cried out in the breathless manner that meant she was about to come off, and Ewen gloried in the sensation of it when she did. And then he was spending inside her, too, endless moments that he could feel Keith watching, though his own eyes were closed with the intensity of it.

When he opened them, still panting, Keith was sitting with his back against the wall, as spent as they were. Ewen smiled at him, a wide and silly smile, and rolled his weight off Alison. She sighed happily and kissed him, then reached a hand out to Keith. He seemed a little dazed, but smiled weakly at them.

Keith was, indeed, dazed by the experience. He remembered his thoughts when he had lain in his own bed, only listening to what he had now seen...and those thoughts had returned now, twice as strong. To see Ewen thrusting into Alison, the strong working of his hips—yes, he had wanted to be in Ewen's place, but, God help him, he had not been able to shake the even stronger desire to lie there like Alison with his legs spread, and have Ewen thrust into him like that.

Keith had never thought of himself as unmanly, but this image, which had been enough to make him spend, now made him burn with shame.

He could not quite meet Ewen's eyes, and instead reached for his shirt to wipe himself off. Alison had sat up. 'Keith? Did you enjoy that?' she asked.

'I did,' he said honestly, but said nothing of his confusion. He reached out to kiss her, and then, somewhat self-consciously, Ewen as well.

It was late and, though Keith was invited to stay and share their bed, he retreated to his own room, where he lay, thinking over the day. It was such a mixture of joy and anxiety, of desire and of the instinctive repudiation of that desire, that he felt sure he would lie awake for hours. He felt somehow that they had bedded him just now and then left him to this whirl of thoughts—which was entirely irrational, because they had, in fact, invited him to stay! Keith wished he had not said no.

He lay for a while debating with himself, then abruptly threw aside his covers and sat up. Then he hesitated—perhaps they were already asleep? But surely it had not been long...

In the end, his longing won out. He padded in his night-shirt to the connecting door, knocked very quietly on it and opened, and stared in the dark towards the bed.

'Ewen?' he asked in a low voice.

'Yes?' replied Ewen sleepily; Keith wished he could see his expression.

'May I change my mind, and sleep with you?' His heart pounded.

'Of course you may.' Ewen sounded more alert now.

'Yes, do come,' added Alison.

Keith made his way carefully towards them in the dark; Ewen was holding up the covers for him. 'Come and lie between us.'

It took some doing to manage that without putting his knee in someone's belly, but he carried it off—and then he was surrounded by two warm bodies in night-shirts, and more limbs than seemed reasonable.

'Mmm. I'm glad you came back,' whispered Alison, manoeuvring him round so that she could lie on his arm, turn her face into his neck, and slip her arm about his waist.

Ewen, on his other side, curled round him and kissed him on the cheek. 'You are very welcome, Keith,' he whispered. His arm, coming to lie on Keith's chest, reached over to encompass Alison, too.

Oh, the sudden warmth and the wealth of their affection... Keith was glad of the darkness, for he could feel tears brimming in his eyes. 'Good night,' he whispered unsteadily.

Chapter Text

A few days passed, during which Keith began to adjust to the enormity of the change in his circumstances—for he had never imagined that he would go from consciously having rejected love, to having two lovers, one of each sex.

It was strange, he mused, how it was possible to grow so accustomed to deprivation that one might not even notice what one lacked...and how overwhelming it was to experience now those kisses and casual caresses which so affected him. Not that they were settled in their relationship yet; they were all three of them, he believed, still careful with each other, so as not to touch off some jealousy or assume too much.

Keith had not counted the days since he had sent the letters to his family, for it could scarcely be possible to predict the timing of a reply, and so he was surprised when one came. The Earl had even made use of his connections to have the diplomatic service carry the letter, which Ewen brought home one evening from Lochiel's house, where Keith had indicated that he could reached.

Ewen and Alison tactfully let Keith retreat to his own room to read it.

July 18, 1746,
London

My dear Windham,

Tho' I am reliev'd to hear that you are alive & well, still I must admit to some Surprise & Concern at your Actions, concerning which, however, I must take you at your Word and accept as not indicating any treasonous Preference for the Pretender—but 'tis not surprising that Others, who do not know you as I do, will construe them otherwise.

I have begun to make Inquiries into your Case, but can give you no definite Answer as of yet; His Royal Highness is still in Scotland and, with the Highlands of that Country still in Rebellion to some Extent, the Army Command must have Tasks of more Moment than to deliberate upon your Case. 'Tis fortunate that you return'd your Commission before you took sail to France, or you would undoubtedly be charg'd with Desertion, for which 'twould be more difficult to gain a Pardon.

I commend your Plans for taking a Commission in the Low Countries; with Time, you may perhaps be able to return to His Majesty's Service. Tho' your Case is serious, yet Men have recover'd from worse Disgrace, & I may assure you that my own Interest is secure enough to take no Harm from your Downfall. 'Tis also, we may hope, strong enough to eventually procure you the Return of the Price of your Commission; if not, I am prepar'd to lend you the Funds needed for the Purchase of another.

Lady Stowe sends you her maternal greetings, & from Aveling, I enclose a Letter. I remain,

Your affectionate Father,
Stowe

Keith let out a long breath. His worst fears, which were that his lordship would renounce all connection with him, had not been realised: instead, Lord Stowe had truly acted the part of a solicitous father for him, though he had not, it seemed, fully taken in the fact that Keith had no intention of returning to the British Army. His mother, on the other hand, had not even written a reply...

Keith thrust aside his tangled emotions on the subject of Lady Stowe, and turned to the second letter.

July 12, 1746,
London

My dear Keith,

Let me assure you first that I consider you still my dear Brother, regardless of what the Army, or the World, may think of your Actions. I am sure it must not be common for Men to follow the straight Course of their own Conscience and Honour, tho' it cost them their Position and their Income and drive them into Exile, & I, for one, admire you for it. I own that I had not myself question'd the Reports I've read of the Army's Pacification of the Rebellious Highlands, nor the Necessity of their Actions, but I shall think more carefully on the Matter, and not dismiss any News of Cruelty on the Part of the Army that I may hear.

With Time, I expect my Father will be able to procure the Return of the Price of your Commission, but I fear you may be in some Want meanwhile. I pray you will inquire at Archambeau & Ducasse on the Rue Saint Antoine for a Bill of Exchange I have issu'd for you out of my Allowance, which is, you know, more than enough for my Needs. I only fear that, out of Pride, you may perhaps not withdraw it—but I beg you to consider that you are my only Brother, & how much 'twill relieve my Mind to know you are not in Want.

I am reliev'd to hear that you are not alone in Paris, but nevertheless, I look forward to your obtaining a Commission in another Country, for then you may be able to visit England again. I hope, too, that your Exile will not last for ever.

Your loving Brother,
Francis

Sincerely moved, Keith put down the letter. Pride would indeed have prevented him from taking money from Francis, save that he was so much in need of it, and the letter had convinced him of his brother's earnest wish that he should have it. Keith resolved to view it in the nature of a loan, and repay it if ever he possibly could. As for his step-father's like kindness, Keith very much hoped the repayment of the price of his commission should make it unnecessary.

Keith read again his brother's letter, smiling when his gaze alighted on the words about men who followed the straight course of their own conscience and honour. He had followed such a man into exile, though he doubted if Francis had thought of his words applying to any Jacobites when he wrote them.

Ewen and Alison saw their lover emerge from his room again with curiosity and concern. He seemed, thought Ewen, at least not dejected. 'What news from England?' he asked. 'If you wish to share it, of course.'

'As good news as I could reasonably expect,' said Keith. 'My step-father might have washed his hands of me, for I cannot but be an embarrassment to him.' Keith relayed the principal content of Lord Stowe's letter.

'Oh, that's excellent news!' exclaimed Alison. 'And your mother?'

Keith shrugged, and his mouth set in a way which indicated unwillingness to speak of her. Ewen wondered what story was lurking there.

'But my young step-brother,' continued Keith, changing the subject, 'has sent me some money. Bless his warm heart! I wouldn't take it, if not for...' he shook his head. 'We'll be able to keep going snacks on the rent. I suggested to my family that if I got the price of my commission back, I would use it to purchase one in the Low Countries. But that was before...' He looked at them both.

Ewen caught his breath, then carefully spoke. ''Tis entirely your choice, of course, and perhaps I should not attempt to influence you in a matter where 'twould be so much to the advantage of your career to leave. But...I would miss you terribly, if you left.'

'As would I,' said Alison.

'Leaving is the furthest thing from what I want,' said Keith quietly, and Ewen could not help but close the distance between them and take Keith in his arms. They all three of them expressed themselves by means other than words for a while, until presently Keith leant back to say, with a sigh, 'But I do need to consider what other choices I have.'

'Forgive me,' said Ewen, 'but are you still absolutely set against French service?'

He almost regretted saying it, but to his relief, Keith did not take offence. 'Yes, I am. 'Twould be the easy road, after renouncing the service of King George and running into the open arms of the Jacobites—quite literally so. But I am not, it seems, an easy man.' His mouth twisted in that little crooked smile which Ewen loved so. 'A plague on both their houses, Hanover and Stuart.'

Alison gave a surprised laugh. 'Well, unlike the feuding Italians, I do hope none of us will die a tragic death!'

'God forbid,' said Ewen. He hesistated, but felt it must be said. 'You know that both Lochiel and the Prince are bending all their efforts on obtaining French assistance to continue the Rising?'

'I had assumed so,' said Keith.

'And if that happens, do you know how you will act?' asked Ewen.

Keith sighed and shook his head, but rather in resignation than as a negative reply to Ewen's question. 'I suppose I'd stand aside. But I hope you won't take it amiss when I say that I hope their attempts will fail—I may consider King George's government wrong in their conduct during this war, but the sufferings of a continued civil war would be worse still.'

'I respect your opinions,' said Ewen carefully, 'but I may say also that, during wartime, we will strive never to be the cause of any suffering of the common people, who, in my opinion, suffer worse in the long run from bad government. Ach, but I never meant to descend into political argument—do forgive me.' He shook his head.

'There's nothing to forgive,' said Keith quickly.

'We were speaking, I believe, of what employment Keith could find,' said Alison.

'Yes...' Ewen frowned in thought. 'Perhaps you could find work as a clerk, or something of the kind? Or as a tutor in English?'

Keith frowned likewise. 'But I suppose most people who employ English-speaking clerks are Jacobite merchants or the like, who would rather employ their own?'

'Yes, perhaps...' said Alison. 'Ewen tells me you're good with the sword—perhaps you might teach fencing?'

Keith smiled. 'That is a compliment, from one with his skill! Yes, perhaps, though I don't know how to teach it as a system. Well, I thank you for the ideas; tomorrow, I'll go and fetch that money from my brother. Do you know where the rue Saint Antoine is?'

'I'll go with you, if you like; it won't be much out of my way,' said Ewen.

And so, the next day they made their way to the merchant's agent that Keith's brother had employed. Ewen waited outside, idly watching the colourful clothes of the passersby and the poorer people hawking their wares to them; it was a prosperous part of the city. Down a crosswise street, he could see the Seine, where men were unloading bales of hay from boats for use in a nearby stable.

Presently Keith came out again and they began to walk down the street, Ewen supported on his cane. But they had not gone far, before one particular pedestrian caught Ewen's eye. Faith, but he had not expected to meet him in Paris—though perhaps he should have.

He had seen Ewen, as well. 'M. Cameron! What a pleasure to see you.'

Ewen bowed to his former lover. 'M. de Sainte-Hermine. Yes, 'tis a pleasure—it must be five or six years since I saw you last.'

The Vicomte's keen eyes were examining him. 'Ah, you must be one of the gentlemen come over with the Prince Edouard? All Paris is talking of him and his exploits.'

Ewen replied in the affirmative, and introduced Keith and the Vicomte to each other, for it would have been strange not to—but what a peculiar situation! He would much prefer to conceal his relationship with Keith from de Sainte-Hermine and, though there was no particular reason why the man should guess it, Ewen felt exposed.

After some further polite talk, M. de Sainte-Hermine said to Ewen, 'You would be very welcome to one of my salons, you know.'

It was said courteously, as any invitation might be given, but still Ewen sensed potential behind the words, which he must decline. 'I thank you. Would my wife be welcome as well? I am sure she might appreciate one of your salons, which were ever the finest in Paris.'

'Ah, you are married! Let me congratulate you—and your wife, I think, is to be congratulated also. Yes, of course you would both be welcome.'

Marriage, of course, was not always a bar to indulging in gallantries in Paris, but from what Ewen remembered of de Sainte-Hermine, he would not press his suit where he was not wanted. They exchanged a few further polite remarks, and then parted.

M. de Sainte-Hermine had been much as Ewen remembered him: handsome, well dressed, intelligent—but Ewen had felt none of the fascination, fondness, and desire which he once had felt for him. He glanced sidelong at Keith with his threadbare coat and slight frown, and with a rush of emotion knew the difference between love and infatuation.

'Who was that?' Keith murmured, apparently having sensed some undercurrent of the conversation.

Ewen hesitated, then said, 'I'll tell you later.'

Keith looked puzzled, but nodded; he went home, while Ewen went to despatch some business of the regiment. Returning home late in the afternoon, he found Keith at the table with pen and paper, perhaps for writing a reply to his family, but the pen lay idle while he listened to Alison, who was speaking animatedly.

When Ewen came in, she turned to him with radiant happiness. 'Ewen, guess who has come to Paris at last! Margaret Ogilvy!' she continued without leaving him any space to guess.

Ewen took her up in his arms, smiling. 'How glad I am for your sake—I know you are close.'

'Yes! Oh, I've wondered so how she fared, and now I hear that she escaped from Edinburgh Castle!'

'That sounds like quite an adventure.' Lord Ogilvy must be happy, too, thought Ewen; he knew theirs was a happy marriage, and he could only imagine how he himself would feel, had Alison's fate been unknown all this time...

'Yes—and I've been telling Keith about all our doings together during the Rising. But I must get ready; I had a note from her with an invitation to visit this evening.' Alison spun round and rifled through her gowns, coming out with one that was a little finer than the plain linen she presently wore. 'Ewen, come help me change,' she ordered.

Ewen complied, buoyed up by her mood, while Keith looked on, smiling. Alison kissed them both full on the mouth before leaving. 'You have my blessing to do whatever you like together while I'm gone.' Her mischievous smile was the last thing they saw before she closed the door.

Keith laughed. 'Well. I don't know this Lady Ogilvy, but I'm glad to see Alison so happy.'

'As am I,' said Ewen, reaching across the table to twine his fingers with Keith's. They had never yet bedded each other alone, and it seemed that Alison had no objection to it.

He then remembered his promise from earlier in the day, and considered that he would be betraying no confidences by telling Keith: his old lover's proclivities were an open secret. 'You asked about M. de Sainte-Hermine. He is...a former lover of mine.'

Keith's eyes went wide, and he said nothing for a moment. 'From my student days,' Ewen added.

'Oh,' said Keith. 'You did say you had previous experience with men.'

'Yes—but he is my only such experience.'

'Was it...a good one?' asked Keith, somewhat cautiously. 'You must have been younger than him, if you were a student.'

'Yes, but I was a grown man,' Ewen reassured him. 'It might have been seduction, but I was very willing, and we parted amicably and fondly, after a year or so, when he went travelling. But he, ah...' Ewen hesitated over whether to tell him also about Mme de Coligny, and then did so. Why conceal it, when they were on the subject?

Keith laughed, amused. 'I find that Paris lives up to all my preconceived notions of it!' he said. 'But I'm not surprised that so many people should want to bed you...and with all these nobles vying for you, still you choose a disgraced former Army captain to share your bed.'

He had spoken lightly, but Ewen's reply was soft and serious. 'Perhaps I was somewhat less discerning when I was younger, but I have high standards now: I only share my bed with those I love.'

Keith flushed and turned his gaze down, discomposed. Then he took a deep breath, looked up and said, with little eloquence but with raw honesty, 'I love you.'

Ewen caught his breath and felt joy bloom in his heart. 'Keith...' he whispered. Then he stood and, coming round the table, soon had Keith in his arms.

Kissing Keith was beginning to grow familiar, but Ewen could not get enough of it—and it was different now that they were only two, with Keith's full attention on him.

When he first understood that Keith had no experience with men, Ewen had feared that his desire was primarily for Alison, or that he had mistaken his desire for Ewen. But Ewen had since accepted that these fears were ungrounded, for Keith's response to him was strong and undeniable; still, his manner was on occasion guarded as well, for reasons Ewen did not quite understand.

'I want to take my time with you,' murmured Ewen, pulling Keith down to lie full length upon him on the bed, in order to feel the delicious pressure and weight of him, and the hardness of both of them grinding against each other. Keith took advantage of his position to untie Ewen's cravat, then unbutton his collar, and kiss the exposed skin. Then his buttonlinks were removed, and Keith dwelt upon the tender skin at his wrists.

Ewen was aware that he himself was considered not unattractive, judging by the glances and the manner of women (and occasionally of men) around him. This had somewhat turned his head upon first arriving in Paris as a student, but he had long become accustomed to ignoring it: he was promised, and then married, to Alison, and that bond was worth so much more than passing admiration. But Keith's admiration and desire...precisely because he had been in doubt of them, Ewen found them intoxicating.

Presently Ewen reversed their positions, and returned Keith's attentions until both their clothes were strewn over the bed and the floor beside it. He was about to take Keith in his mouth, which act he greatly enjoyed, when Keith stopped him. 'Will you let me do that to you?'

Ewen caught his breath. Keith had not done so before, and Ewen had not asked him for it—but he had to admit that he did very much want it, not least for the intimacy of the act. He lay back, offering himself to Keith.

Keith looked down at him, hesitating; his cheeks were flushed.

'You need not,' murmured Ewen. 'Not if you don't want to.'

'I did ask you for it! 'Tis no lack of desire,' said Keith huskily. 'I just—'

Then he lowered his head, with some determination. His first attempts were careful and a little clumsy, and Ewen held his breath and kept himself still; it was surely wrong of him to read so much into this act, and be ready to construe it as rejection if Keith should not like it...but Keith's mouth kept moving on him, and soon his tongue began to explore, as well.

Keith gave a little sound that Ewen knew, with a small shock of desire, to be a moan of pleasure; he had always been greatly affected by the evidence of his bedpartner's enjoyment, and he began now to feel his own pleasure, too. And so they went on, each spurring the other on, until Ewen was close and gently guided Keith's head away.

'Please—finish me with your hand,' he begged, and Keith did so.

When Ewen had caught his breath, he saw Keith looking down at him; he could not quite read Keith's expression, but his arousal, at least, was evident. Ewen drew his right hand through his own seed, then dried the rest of it off his chest and stomach with a convenient shirt, which he would no doubt later regret. But at the moment, he cared only about pulling Keith down to lie with his back against Ewen's front, and using his slick hand to give Keith what he needed.

He meant to play with Keith, to make him last, but he had misjudged the extent of Keith's arousal, and before he knew it, Keith was shuddering and moaning in his arms as he spent himself.

With a rush of fondness, Ewen kissed his neck and stroked him gently through the last of it. After a moment, he caught up that same soiled shirt and dried Keith off with it, then pulled the sheets up to cover them, nestling into Keith's arms with a sigh of satisfaction.

'Did you enjoy it, then?' he murmured to Keith.

Keith's face was too close for him properly to see, but Ewen could hear some amusement in his voice. 'Evidently so.'

Ewen hesitated for some time—perhaps Keith was disinclined to talk about it?—before finally saying, 'But you were not sure, perhaps, whether you'd like it?'

Keith tensed slightly, but close as they lay, Ewen could easily feel it. ''Tis an act which is...spoken of in a rather vulgar fashion among soldiers.'

In Ewen's limited experience, there were few things about which soldiers did not express vulgarity, but he held his tongue, waiting to see how Keith would continue.

'As I told you before, I've no moral qualms about what we do...but I think I am perhaps more affected by how the act is viewed by the public than I thought.'

'I hope I've shown you that there can be tenderness in it, as well as vulgarity,' murmured Ewen. He loosed himself from Keith's arms and made his way down his body, to gently kiss the body part in question, now warm and soft and nestled in the curls between Keith's legs.

Keith made a soft exclamation of surprise. When Ewen returned to his embrace, he was pleased to find that the tension was gone from Keith's shoulders, and that he was smiling.

'I think my experience was the opposite, I think,' said Ewen. 'I had not been exposed to much vulgar talk, except perhaps among the students in Paris—but I was concerned about the morality of the act.'

'That does not surprise me,' said Keith, who could not help thinking about Ewen reading the Sunday service at Ardroy with so much sincerity.

'M. de Sainte-Hermine was willing to take my concerns about sinfulness seriously, and enter into philosophical discussions on it—he is a creature of the salons, and loves a good debate. If he had dismissed it out of hand, I believe I would never have become his lover.'

'He convinced you 'tis no sin, then? I cannot help but think he had a strong motive—he had probably never seen such a magnificent specimen of young manhood before,' said Keith, sounding amused.

Ewen snorted. 'Flatterer. Jesting aside, I consider that men must have freedom of conscience as to what Church they worship God in—to say otherwise, and attempt to enforce it, invites a return to the savage wars of the previous centuries. Persecution only strengthens one's attachment to one's Church, which I can personally attest to. You may think I've gone off on quite a different subject, but I consider that freedom of conscience applies, in a similar way, to love. As long as I honour my vows to Alison—and I consider that I do, for I would do nothing behind her back or against her wishes—then my conscience tells me that I am free to love you, in whichever way best expresses that love.' Ewen punctuated this speech with a kiss.

'I honour you for having considered the matter so deeply,' murmured Keith. He was silent for a while, then continued on a different tack. 'M. de Sainte-Hermine was...experienced, I gather?'

'He was,' replied Ewen.

'Did you...' Ewen could feel the tension returning to Keith's shoulders. 'Did you practise...sodomy, then? In the sense of the law?'

'We did,' owned Ewen, and waited to see what Keith would make of it.

'Did you enjoy it?'

'I did, very much so—but it takes some getting used to, the first times, and one does not simply plunge ahead, without taking care. 'Tis rather like bedding a virgin—a virgin woman, I mean—in that sense.' Keith's face was in shadow, and Ewen could not read it; he added, to reassure him. 'But not every man likes it, I gather, and we need not ever do it, if you don't want to.'

Keith murmured something non-committal. Though it was Keith who had raised the question, Ewen sensed that it was a touchy one; he changed the subject, and they talked for a while on lighter topics, before growing drowsy and curling up together to sleep.

Alison, coming back late in the evening, was smiling to herself as she climbed the stairs. To some, a refugee's life on such small means might have seemed a poor one, but at that moment she felt herself rich in all that truly mattered: most immediate in her mind, the return of the friend with whom she had shared so much, but also her father and brother, and the husband and the lover whom she had left to their own devices with her blessing. Full of joy herself, she wished them a full measure of joy, as well.

She took pains to be quiet when she unlocked and opened the door, and winced as it creaked upon opening and closing, but no one stirred within. It was not wholly dark, for the light of a guttering candle, left carelessly and wastefully burning on the nightstand, illuminated the bed where lay those two men, fast asleep and naked, though halfway covered by the sheets. Keith lay nestled with his back against Ewen, who was curled round him as was his habit with Alison; about the bed lay strewn their clothes in great disarray. Alison stifled a snort of laughter at that—well, she would not pick them up; they could do that in the morning.

But how beautiful they looked, sleeping, and how vulnerable. Alison would not wake them; she undressed herself, contorting her arms behind her back to untie her stays and then twist them round to her front, where they could be more easily loosened and taken off.

In her nightshirt, she contemplated the bed and where she might fit into it. It was small for three, and the two men had easily filled it with their sprawling limbs. In the end, she made her entry from the foot end and insinuated herself between Ewen and the wall, then leant over him to blow the candle out.

Ewen made a sleepy, questioning noise. She kissed the back of his neck and pulled the sheets up.

During the next two weeks, Alison was to experience yet another happiness. Her monthly period was late, and as she had also experienced certain other symptoms which a new wife naturally watched for, she went to Dr Cameron, who confirmed her suspicions: she must be with child.

'Give you joy of it, my dear,' he said, smiling. 'And Ewen, too, the dear lad. As your mother is gone, I'm sure that my Jean is ready to answer any questions which you would perhaps rather ask a woman.'

Jean was indeed ready to do so, as were other ladies of Alison's acquaintance. Her own mother had died in childbirth, a fact which could not fail to give Alison cause for anxiety, but she felt well supported by all these women who had children already, and who had lived through it.

Alison came home that first day from Jean and Archie full of the news. Both Ewen and Keith were at home, and Alison hesitated—but Ewen ought to be the first to know.

'Ewen—may I speak to you alone?'

Ewen looked up in some concern, and Keith stood. 'Of course; I'll retire to my room.'

Before she could protest that they could go aside, he had done so.

'Alison. Is anything wrong?' Ewen asked, then added, 'Though, you don't look as if anything were wrong.'

'No, no, nothing is wrong.' Smiling, Alison took his hand and laid it on her belly.

Ewen caught his breath. 'Are you—?'

'Yes!'

'Oh,' he said, as though the news had overwhelmed him, and enfolded her in a very gentle embrace.

Alison laughed happily into his shoulder. 'I won't break, you know.'

'No—I suppose not—oh, how glad I am!' His arms tightened round her, and they stood so for a time.

Presently Alison knocked on Keith's door and, when he opened it, said, 'Forgive me, but Ewen had to know first: I'm with child!'

'My warmest congratulations,' said Keith, almost gravely, but he was smiling at Alison's joy.

It was not surprising news, or should not have been, but Keith could not fail to think of how it might change his relationship to his lovers. Would he still have a place with them, when the child came? Not that they would reject him, as such, but it would only be natural if they, as parents of a child, should grow closer as wife and husband, and leave no space for him...

But equally, the thought of Ewen and Alison's child was one that unexpectedly pricked at his heart. For many years, Keith had dismissed almost with thought the notion of having children of his own: he would have no wife, therefore no children, and even without any other considerations, an army officer who seldom had leave was scarcely fit to be a father. But Keith recalled how he had doted on Francis, when he was a child...which was, perhaps, part of the reason why Francis should think of him so fondly now that he would go to the trouble of sending him money. Perhaps Ewen and Alison would allow him to become a sort of uncle to their child.

Chapter Text

A week or so after Alison's happy news, Keith accompanied Ewen to the fencing salle. After their careful bout, Ewen seemed determinedly cheerful, but Keith wondered whether the anxiety over his limp, and whether it would ever truly heal, were affecting his spirits.

Other men round them were conversing freely, and one particular strand of it caught Keith's ear. '...met Sir Steuart Striepland the other day. He lost his estate in the '15, you know, and trained as a surgeon after that, to make ends meet.'

Keith grew suddently still. During his dinner-table conversation with Dr Archibald Cameron last week, he had envied the doctor his independence and his useful profession, but it had gone no further than that: he had never imagined that it was a profession to which he himself could ever attain. But if others, too, had changed to a medical or surgical career in mid-life...could he do it, as well? Earlier he had been thinking, vaguely, of Alison's suggestion that he teach fencing to young sprigs of the French gentry, but that thought had not inspired him like this one did.

Ewen, noticing his sudden abstraction, asked, 'What is it?

'Oh...I had an idea.' Keith was reluctant to tell Ewen as yet, in case it should prove impracticable. 'I'll share it later. But...I should like to consult Dr Cameron about something. Do you know where I could best seek him out?

Ewen raised his eyebrows, clearly curious and perhaps wondering whether Keith was ill in some way. 'He keeps irregular hours, because of his patient calls, but I should think you have the best chance to find him in the evening.'

That evening, Keith walked to Dr Cameron's lodgings, occasionally asking for directions along the way, since much of the warren of Paris streets, dusty or muddy as the weather dictated, were still unfamiliar to him. The more he considered it, the more attractive the idea became to him. A surgeon or physician could find work anywhere, and was not dependent on Government patronage (though it was true that the Army and Navy employed many surgeons). He was a useful member of society, and could help to save and improve the lives of his fellow countrymen.

To be a surgeon was a respectable trade, but not precisely a gentlemanly one, and Keith imagined that his mother might not wish to mention him to her society friends—but it was not likely that she did so now, either. If he had attained higher military rank, perhaps...but a man who remained a captain at thirty was nothing to boast of. A physician was more gentlemanly, but he was sure that required years of study at university, and he might not have the money or aptitude for that.

Keith scowled at his own thoughts, for he had thought himself beyond caring what his mother thought of him.

Happily, he found Dr Cameron at home. As his wife showed Keith in, he saw the doctor surrounded by his five children and apparently engaged in a reading lesson.

When he saw Keith, he asked Jean to take his place. 'May I do anything for you, Mr Windham?'

'Yes—I wish to consult you in your professional capacity.'

'Of course; just come through into the other room, so that we may be private.'

Keith followed him, but added, 'I beg your pardon; I've given you the wrong impression. 'Tis not about my health that I wished to consult you.'

Dr Cameron raised his eyebrows. 'What, then?'

Now that the moment had come, Keith felt presumptuous in putting himself forward as a candidate for Dr Cameron's profession. 'I—you recall our conversation at Mr Cameron of Lochiel's place a week ago.'

'Yes, certainly.'

'I've long thought on the question of what I am to do, now that I've retired from the Army. And I wondered...how does one become a surgeon? Or...possibly a physician?'

Archibald Cameron looked thoughtful and, Keith was relieved, not at all dismissive. 'What attracts you to those professions, then?'

Keith enumerated the virtues that had suggested themselves to him: independence, the prospect of improving the lives of patients, and, he added, a spontaneous curiosity and interest in the work which had arisen as soon as the thought had taken root in his mind.

Dr Cameron smiled. 'Well, you're in the right place, at least: Paris is the foremost centre for medical studies in the world, I would say. Let us take the education for a physician first. 'Tis nominally three years of study at university, though many, if not most, students take more time than that. You would have some difficulty studying in Paris, since you are not, I believe, a Catholic?'

Keith shook his head.

'It can be got round, but 'twould be easier for you in Montpellier, or Reims, and those universities charge less, as well. You speak French easily enough, but much of the books, and some of the lectures, are of course in Latin.'

'I studied Latin at school, of course,' said Keith, 'but 'tis not of any immediate utility for an officer, so I should need to brush it up.' He was infinitely grateful for Dr Cameron's matter-of-fact manner, with no hint of doubt or ridicule of Keith's ambitions.

'There is one further difficulty,' said Dr Cameron, 'which is that you could not get a licence to practice as a physician in France. But perhaps you plan to return to England.'

Keith's plans for the distant future were very far from settled, and in any case he had no desire to discuss them with Dr Cameron. Instead, he said, 'As for money, my step-father, who is a man of some interest, is doing his best to get any charges against me dropped, and to gain back the price of my commission. If that should prove impossible, he is prepared to lend me the money to get myself established in some new profession. But I confess I never studied at university and am somewhat daunted at the prospect of so many years of university study, both financially and intellectually, though I'll certainly think more on it. How does one become a surgeon, then?'

'The usual way is to be apprenticed to one as a boy, but that would of course not answer for you. To be honest, the seven years of an apprenticeship are not really required to learn the profession enough to practise it, but the young boys, you know, spend their first year sweeping their master's floor and running his errands.'

Seven years! Keith's heart sank, despite Dr Cameron's amelioration of that statement.

'Luckily for you,' continued Dr Cameron, 'but to the detriment, perhaps, of the profession, there is no licence required to become one. I've known quacks with no skill at all—and, what is worse, selling supposed miracle remedies which are entirely false—posing as surgeons, but, equally, some of the best surgeons don't come up through traditional apprenticeships at all, but learn their profession by other means. And there would be no bar to your practising in France, once you were done.'

'And what are those means?' asked Keith.

'They might take some university classes, do reading of their own, attend teaching hospitals, and go as private students with good surgeons or, occasionally, physicians. But I encourage you not to think of those studies lightly, for it takes years to become a good surgeon—especially as he should have the skills of an apothecary as well.'

Still, that sounded more achievable, and a practical education appealed to him more than the thought of years at university trying to study in Latin...but it would require connections, and the man before Keith was his only source of such. Would he be willing to help him?

Archibald Cameron looked thoughtful. 'I haven't taken a student in a long time, but for the sake of Ewen's great friendship with you, and to help repay the debt of saving my cousin's life, I'd be willing to consider it. What do you say to a month's trial of it, to help you decide? It may be that you find it does not suit you, after all.'

Or Dr Cameron might find him a dull student, but Keith did not voice that fear. 'That's exceedingly generous of you. How much do you charge? I'm afraid I might not be able to pay you immediately—I have no news yet as to when I can get money from my step-father.'

They entered into discussions on payment, and reached an agreement.

'I'm sorry to say I have none of my books here for you to borrow,' said Dr Cameron.

'I imagine 'twas not a priority when you left Scotland,' said Keith drily.

Dr Cameron laughed. 'Very true. But in any case, you ought first to get a textbook on anatomy, or lecture notes from the university; 'tis essential for a surgeon. I would also recommend a book on Boerhaave's system of medicine—to be sure, that's more in a physician's line, but you are studying with a physician now, after all.' He wrote down some titles and authors on a scrap of paper and handed it to Keith.

Under a deepening blue sky, where the stars were beginning to be visible, Keith walked home. He had been but an indifferent student in his boyhood days; knowing that he was destined for the army, perhaps he had not fully applied himself. Now he would be put to the test, indeed.

He slipped into his own room; the door to Ewen and Alison's room had earlier been left ajar, and Ewen stuck his head in to greet him. 'Did you find Dr Cameron in?'

'I did,' said Keith slowly. He came to stand in the doorway, so that he could see Alison as well. She was sitting close to a candle, mending one of her dresses.

'I didn't tell you beforehand, in case the scheme proved impracticable,' began Keith. 'Though I'm still not sure 'twill answer.'

'What will answer?' asked Alison impatiently.

'You know I've been considering how to make my living, now that I'm no longer in the army.' Keith found it difficult to come to the point, and took a deep breath. 'I asked Dr Cameron how one might become a surgeon.'

'Oh, what a capital notion!' exclaimed Ewen. 'Though of course you'd need training.'

'Yes, indeed. Dr Cameron has agreed to take me on as a student for a month to begin with, to see if it suits me.'

Alison added her congratulations to Ewen's. Later that night, when they had just gone to bed, Keith was lying against Ewen's broad back with his nose tucked in Ewen's hair. A thought struck him. 'Ewen?' he murmured.

'Mmm?'

'Perhaps, if I had known what to do with your leg in that sheiling, before Guthrie came back to capture you...you might not limp so much now.'

'Oh—is that how you got the idea to become a surgeon?' Ewen turned in his arms, the better to talk to him.

'No. Truthfully, I got it from something I overheard at the fencing salle, and from Dr Cameron telling us how he came to study medicine. But still, I can't help but think of it...'

'If you are blaming yourself,' said Ewen firmly, 'that is most unjust. From what I recall, Archie said you did well. And what more could you have done, after all? You brought fresh bandages, and you brought us food, and helped us to hide from Guthrie—you cannot know what that meant to me.'

'To us both,' added Alison quietly, and reached out to lay her hand on Keith's arm in the dark.

'Well. I hope you're right,' murmured Keith.

'I haven't thought of that night in a while,' said Ewen. ''Twas the first time I really took the prophecy seriously.'

'Oh!' exclaimed Alison, with a startled laugh. 'The prophecy! I haven't thought of it in a while, but it said we would be braided together...'

Keith contemplated his position, with limbs that were quite literally twined, if not braided, with Ewen's, and began to laugh. 'Well! It seems that each time we think 'tis fully come true, we are wrong.'

Ewen laughed, as well. 'I don't see how we could be more braided together than this, at any rate.' After a moment, he added, sounding pained, 'I do hope old Angus never fully saw what his words would come to mean. From what he said, I don't think so.'

'Well, I'm very glad this is what it came to mean,' said Alison. They lapsed into silence, but Keith fitted himself more securely round the curve of Ewen's back. If this was his destiny, he did not see how he had deserved it.

Keith was up early the next morning with a sense of purpose: it was his first day as a student. On his way to Dr Cameron, he stopped at a bookseller's and, with some of the money Francis had sent him, bought a blank book, the most cheaply bound he could find, in which to take notes.

Their first visit was to an old Jacobite gentleman, an Irish Catholic who had been a young lad when James II had first been driven out of Ireland by William of Orange, following him into exile as one of the original wild geese, a new generation of which were now in France.

'He has a pension from Rome,' said Dr Cameron as they walked towards this gentleman's lodgings, 'but 'tis small, and he cannot afford to pay much. I suppose this is your first lesson, then: tailor your price to your patient's means. I've doctored Lochaber tenants who paid me in kind with a pat of butter, and poor gentlemen who could pay me little, but who remembered the obligation and did me a good turn later—as well as men of means whom I charged in full.'

'That sounds eminently practical, as well as fair,' said Keith.

'Now, you know, I expect, that a medical man must never speak of his patients' ailments or their health to another party, except with their consent? One may of course speak of their symptoms in a general fashion where anonymity is preserved, in order to take counsel with other medical men, and in order to further knowledge by publication.'

'I give you my word to keep to that principle,' said Keith.

Mr Dunne was a gaunt elderly man in a threadbare coat. He thanked Dr Cameron repeatedly for his kindness in coming, while Keith stood silent.

'This is my student, Mr Windham. I hope you'll allow him to be present at the examination?'

Mr Dunne acquiesced, and Dr Cameron began his examination. He turned first to Keith. 'Mr Dunne has only told me, by message, that he suffers from pains in the stomach, from which no conclusion can be drawn without further examination. We shall see.' He proceeded to ask questions about Mr Dunne's diet, the nature of his pain, and his stool. At the news that the gentleman had difficulty passing stool, and that it was admixed with blood, he looked grave.

'Now, if you'll let me palpate your stomach?' he asked, and Mr Dunne lay down on his narrow bed and unbuttoned his waistcoat. After a few minutes, Dr Cameron sighed and said gently, ''Tis as I feared. Mr Dunne, I am sorry: you have a growth in your stomach, which is most likely cancerous. Do you feel it, here?'

The gentleman's face grew taut with what might have been fear, or the attempt to control it.

'Some such growths are harmless, but most are eventually fatal. There are surgeons who attempt to cut them out, though none but the most skilful have any success at it: most patients die in the attempt, or in the sequelae of the operation. I don't have the surgical skill for it myself, but if you prefer it, I'll direct you to a good surgeon. But I warn you that the operation is expensive and will more likely shorten your life than extend it.'

Mr Dunne shook his head, his lips tight. 'The thought of putting myself under the knife...no, I won't do that. Then there is nothing that can be done?' he said.

'Certainly you may alleviate the pain—you must take laudanum for it, and I'll write you a prescription. As I say, there is some chance that the growth may prove harmless...but 'tis a small chance only. I am sorry.'

'You are only the messenger,' said Mr Dunne, recovering his dignity. 'I must seek comfort in God.'

Dr Cameron beckoned to Keith, who put down his book, wherein he had taken note of Dr Cameron's questions and Mr Dunne's answers. 'Here, feel this,' said Dr Cameron. 'When you have progressed in your anatomy lessons, you may visualise what lies beneath the skin. But for now...' He guided Keith's hand to the small, hard growth that could be felt when one pressed on the skin.

With some further sympathising words Dr Cameron took his leave of Mr Dunne, and a few coins changed hands. In the street, Dr Cameron said to Keith, 'I'm glad to see you taking notes. Though I wish to God our first case had been one in which I was more able to help...but perhaps 'tis as well to have that lesson come early: in many cases, we are helpless. Cancers, at least, predominantly plague the old; 'tis even more heartbreaking to see a little child die, despite everything you do...'

Keith could not but agree.

'I did not say so in Mr Dunne's presence, but 'tis not always that one can feel the growth. But I have once seen an autopsy done on a woman with similar symptoms, where the growth was smaller and situated in a manner impossible to feel by palpation. Consider, also, that on a stout man, we might not have been able to feel the growth through the layers of fat. Mr Dunne had wasted away; but that is, in itself, often a symptom of the disease.'

Keith nodded; he was getting a full lecture as they made their way along the street.

'But, I was going to say,' continued Dr Cameron, 'I did not mention this before Mr Dunne. One ought never to mention autopsies in front of patients; 'twould distress them unnecessarily.' He continued in this vein, speaking of the necessity of autopsies for increasing medical knowledge, the horror in which they were generally held by the public, the great blessing of laudanum used as a relief for incurable pain, the curse of laudanum where it was used unnecessarily and led to addiction, et cetera.

As they waited outside the house of Dr Cameron's next patient, Keith took out his book and made fragmentary notes of what his teacher had imparted, to be expanded later.

That day they saw two further patients: a little girl with fever and ear-ache, and a French gentleman, from whom Dr Cameron charged rather more, who suffered from gout. Though Keith had tried to write closely, ten pages of his book were filled at the end of the day—when Dr Cameron questioned him on what he had learned.

His teacher was, it seemed, pleased with Keith's memory. 'If you'll allow me to observe it, Mr Windham, there is something to be said for teaching gentlemen who know their own minds and have already proved themselves capable in another profession—some young university students, I don't mind saying, are only there because their parents expect it of them, and pay more mind to wine and women than to their lessons.'

'I'm only grateful for your generous teaching, sir,' said Keith, smiling. 'I'll try to make the most of it.'

'I'm sure you will. As to that, tonight I'll see a colleague, who might have an anatomy text I could borrow for you.'

'Twould be most generous of you to ask,' said Keith, who could ill spare the money to buy books.

They had now arrived at Dr Cameron's lodgings. 'Would you like to stay and eat with us?' he asked.

'I thank you for the invitation, but I should be on my way home.' He thought longingly of Ewen and Alison's company, and knew, with a slight shock, that the cramped rooms at the lodging house were a home to him: not the place itself, but the man and woman who awaited him there.

They agreed on a time and place to meet on the morrow, and Keith walked home, full of new impressions and thoughts. Passing a market on the way, he impulsively bought some fresh grapes.

'What excellent timing!' said Alison, when Keith came in. 'We were just about to have supper.'

He presented the grapes, and she took them with a happy exclamation. 'Oh, you remembered! I was just saying this morning that I had such a craving for fresh fruit.' She came up to kiss his cheek, and Keith caught her up in his arms for a proper embrace. Then he passed from her arms to Ewen's, and lingered there for the sheer joy of such easy expressions of affection. For Keith was learning to give such, as well as receive them.

Presently they sat down to eat, and Ewen asked, 'How was your first day with Archie, then?'

'Well, he certainly gives me value for my money—my head is spinning with all the medical knowledge he imparted.'

Ewen laughed. 'Unlike some gentlemen I've met, he isn't one to go prosing on about his pet subject in company—but I can imagine that with a student, he feels no such restraint.'

'No, indeed—but I welcomed it.'

Over the following days, Keith fell to his studies with a will. He had in fact been chafing at the lack of occupation, for as a military officer he was accustomed to hard and purposeful work. Some days Archie recommended that he set aside for reading, and this proved more difficult, since the anatomy textbook which Archie had procured for him was in Latin, which tongue he had not studied since his school days. It had copious illustrations, which helped, but still he often had to guess at the meaning of a word, or dredge up verb conjugations by chanting them in his mind.

But here he found an unexpected helpmeet. The first such day, he and Alison were sitting side by side by the window to get the best light, he with the anatomy textbook and she mending a shirt. Keith groaned, stumbling over a word, and Alison looked over questioningly.

'I find that my Latin is somewhat lacking,' he said ruefully, and stabbed his index finger at the offending word.

Alison looked thoughtful, and suggested a meaning.

Keith's expression of surprise caused her to laugh. 'You forget, I have a scholar for a father, and one who loves teaching—when Hector proved to have no interest in book learning, he found me a more willing student.'

Keith showed her the list of other unknown words he had compiled, and found she knew about half of them, or could guess at them, for it was often not the medical words that proved difficult, since these were the words being explained in the text.

'My father will be sure to have a Latin dictionary we could borrow—he has little need of it, after all.'

'Oh! What a blessing you are! I could kiss you.'

She smiled so that her dimples showed. 'Please do.'

And so he did, to their mutual enjoyment, but then let her go again. 'I told Ewen I wouldn't do anything more with you alone until he gave his explicit permission—and he has not.'

Alison frowned in thought. 'You're right, I don't think he did. He was clearly jealous for a moment, before he got over it—but he never did give that explicit permission.' Then she smiled again, and her dimples were back. 'Besides, Archie wouldn't thank me for distracting you from your studies.'

Keith gave a mock sigh, as if put-upon, and returned to his book; they sat forthwith in companionable silence, punctuated by the occasional question about Latin vocabulary from Keith.

But despite her words, when Ewen came home they both conspired to distract Keith from his studies with a vengeance.

'Will you lie still for us?' asked Alison with a wicked smile, pushing Keith down on the bed.

'Since you ask so nicely, I will,' replied Keith, and shivered as two pairs of hands began working on his clothes.

'I'm sure 'tis not good for you to sit still and pore over a book the whole day,' said Ewen, shaking his head—but he was smiling.

'So I must lie still on a bed instead?' retorted Keith, and drew in a breath as Ewen's hand slipped underneath his shirt.

'Oh, I think we can get your pulse going,' said Ewen.

And so they could.

Keith was afraid he would be found wanting when Archie questioned him on the anatomy textbook, for he had certainly not absorbed it all. But Archie had not expected that; he remarked that it was a subject impossible to absorb entirely from a book, without the benefit of lectures, demonstrations, and experience. The book would give him a start, that was all, so that he had the vocabulary ready at hand.

At the end of his month, Dr Cameron asked, 'Well, Mr Windham? Are you interested in continuing your studies?'

'Yes,' said Keith; he had been ready for the question. 'If you think I have the making of a decent surgeon, I'd like to continue.'

'From what I've seen so far,' said Dr Cameron, 'you are certainly conscientious, hard-working, and have a good memory. I'd be happy to take you on for longer, though you should eventually study with a good surgeon, as well, who can teach you things I cannot. I'll ask among my colleagues.'

Keith had not expected the swell of joy and pride he felt at Dr Cameron's words of praise. 'Thank you, sir.'

'And I'll try to get you admittance to an anatomy demonstration; 'tis essential to see the organs in an actual body, and not just in drawings.'

Dr Cameron did indeed obtain such admittance for Keith, and it was with mixed feelings that Keith viewed his first autopsy, and saw the organs laid out for demonstration. He could well understand the abhorrence in which the practice was held by the common people; though Keith had seen bloody and dead bodies without number in wartime, there was something uncanny in the deliberate cutting of a body in cold blood, and he could not help shuddering when he first saw it. But, Keith told himself, only by knowledge of the body could one help it to heal. After a while, he grew tolerably inured to it, and was able to make the most of the opportunity—there was indeed a world of difference compared to the drawings in his textbook.

Autumn was approaching, and so far the Jacobites had had no success in convincing France to support another attempt. Keith could not but be relieved at it. Another letter from Lord Stowe arrived, where his step-father averred that '...since patriotic Feeling still runs high against the Jacobites, 'tis not a propitious Time to gain a Pardon for anything that smacks even the slightest of Treason. I cannot, therefore, have the Satisfaction yet of telling you that I have regain'd the Price of your Commission, but since I'm of the Opinion that 'twould be easier to gain your Pardon if you have establish'd yourself already in the Service of some neutral Country, I've sent you a Bill of Exchange for the Sum as a Loan, at the same Agent that Aveling employ'd. I pray you'll inform me of your new Address, when you have one.'

Keith read the letter with a knot in his stomach, and the sinking knowledge that the reply would be painful and difficult to write. He could not but be grateful for the loan, but he would be obliged to tell his step-father that he would put it to quite a different use from his original stated purpose...

But the task would not grow easier if he put it off, and Keith sat down that very evening to write it.

October 14, 1746
Paris

Dear Sir,

I am more grateful than I can say for your Efforts on my behalf, & for the Loan you've sent me; I intend to make the most of it in establishing a new Life for myself. Had it not been for your kind and generous Support, I should have been lost indeed, & for this Reason it pains me beyond Measure that my Course of Action, describ'd in this Letter, might be the Cause of some Disappointment for you, & might also make it more difficult for you to obtain my Pardon.

In Fine, I've decided against taking a Commission in the Low Countries, or indeed anywhere else, & am giving up my Career as an Officer. Instead, I've begun training as a Surgeon, which Profession I think will suit me.

As you see, I'm still in Paris—not on Account of any Affection for the French, but because of my Affection for the Friend whose Life I sav'd, who has us'd me as though I were his own dear Brother. My Actions may seem odd, I know, but I give you my solemn Word that I have not adopted my Friend's political Principles, & I pledge to you that I'll never enter the Service of the Pretender nor of France.

I pray you'll share the Letter with my Mother & Brother, & hope that you are all in good Health, as is,

Your affectionate & dutiful Son,
Keith Windham

Keith set down the pen and regarded the letter doubtfully; he almost discarded it, but determined first to show it to Ewen and Alison. 'I don't want to lie to them, but I can scarcely tell them the whole truth. Yet, I know that my protestations that I'm no Jacobite must begin to sound rather hollow, when I continue to keep such company.' He sighed.

'Surely his Lordship will trust your word as a gentleman,' said Ewen.

'I hope so, but others will be sure to find it suspicious...if he chooses to tell them, which he might not.' Keith shrugged helplessly, then smiled at Alison. 'I don't write of my affection for you, I'm afraid. 'Twould scarcely do.'

'Naturally not,' she said.

'Well, I don't see what else I can write.' And Keith sent the letter the next day, with the knowledge that his life and his choices were diverging ever further from what his family might wish.

Chapter Text

November rain lashed Ewen's face as he walked the last stretch of muddy street to their lodgings, but wrapped in his plaid as he was, he did not much mind it. It was a relief to get away from the constant plotting that had so far come to nothing, and a relief to walk and feel that his leg could begin to bear his weight again. Once on the stairs, he shook out the plaid, so the water would not puddle on their floor.

When Ewen entered their rooms he saw that Alison, too, had her plaid round her shoulders as she sat by the table, side by side with Keith and sharing the same candles; they were both reading, Keith going over what were no doubt his medical notes. When they saw him come in, Keith looked up, smiled, and stretched his arms above his head, no doubt to relieve his cramped posture, and Alison came up to greet Ewen with a kiss—though not, mindful of his wet clothing, an embrace.

Ewen was happy to see her in such good spirits: for weeks, she had been miserably queasy and, though often hungry, found it difficult to keep her food down. Both Ewen and Keith had done what they could in the way of showing her small attentions and making her condition lighter, but not much could be done.

Now, it seemed, Alison was past that unpleasant stage: she was in a glow of good health and welcomed again, to a surprising degree, attentions of another sort. Ewen had not known pregnancy could affect women's appetites so—Alison had had it from a midwife that conjugal relations would not harm the child, but Ewen had, for safety's sake, discreetly asked Archie as well. With that reassurance, Ewen had gladly given Alison the vigorous bout she had urged him to this morning, while Keith was on his rounds with Archie.

Afterwards they had lain curled together in bed, talking idly of this and that; much as Ewen loved Keith, he liked having time to himself with Alison, as well. Not that there had been any lack of such time, for Keith worked hard and was often out, while Ewen's duties at his regiment were light now that winter was approaching.

'Have you eaten?' he asked them. 'I supped with the other officers.'

'We have,' said Keith. 'By gad, but my eyes are getting tired.' He rubbed at them, yawned, and closed his book decisively.

Ewen hung up his damp plaid and coat, seated himself at the table, and soon had an armful of his wife, who gave him a more prolonged and thorough kiss in welcome. He laughed. 'How lucky that you have two men to satisfy your wanton appetites! You need not have waited for me, you know.'

Her brows drew together. 'But Keith and I wouldn't do anything without you.'

'No?'

'That first time when you walked in on us,' said Keith quietly, 'I said I wouldn't, until you gave your explicit permission.'

Ewen was silent, gazing at him. He remembered telling them, then, that despite his flare of jealousy, they had done nothing wrong...but he had not really given that explicit permission which Keith had asked for, and they had not discussed it since. Ewen had thrust the thought away, had touched on it sometimes in his mind with a small twinge of jealousy, but reasoned that as Alison had given him and Keith leave to bed each other alone, Keith and Alison had every right to do so as well, and he hoped he had come to think of it with acceptance. But why had he not given Keith that explicit permission? Had he forgotten about it—or had he somehow wanted to keep it back?

But Keith, of course, had abided scrupulously by his word, and Alison too. With a rush of warmth, Ewen said, 'Well, I give you that permission now, and gladly. I'm only sorry I haven't before.'

Keith smiled, and Ewen came round the table and took him in his arms, smoothing out with his thumb the frown lines in his forehead from too much studying. 'We should go to the fencing salle some day soon—you need the exercise.'

'I'd rather hoped you'd give me some other kind of exercise, too,' murmured Keith.

'Well, I'm sure that can be arranged,' said Alison, insinuating her arms round him from behind.

Things were progressing in their usual satisfactory fashion when Keith, still half dressed and in Ewen's arms, drew a deep breath and looked Ewen in the eye. 'Ewen, I think I'd like you to...to fuck me.' The colour mounted on his face and Ewen could feel the tension in Keith's hands gripping his arms, but he held Ewen's gaze. 'At least, I can't stop thinking about it,' he muttered.

To say that the idea appealed to Ewen would be an understatement—but he remembered their last tentative and somewhat fraught conversation on the topic, and felt some trepidation at the responsibility that would rest on him, the more experienced party.

Then Keith looked at Alison. 'Would you have any objection?'

She was watching them, wide-eyed. Shaking her head, she replied, 'No. How could I deny you something which I myself enjoy so much?'

Keith looked aside and drew in a breath; Ewen felt the tension in him, and wondered what in Alison's words had set it off—or was it simply desire? He cleared his throat to reply. 'I am more than willing. Alison, where do we keep the leather oil?'

As she was fetching it, he said to Keith, 'I hope you don't feel that, having raised the idea, we must follow through on it. We'll try it, that's all, and if you don't like it, that's no matter.' He drew the pad of his thumb over his fingernails to make sure they were trimmed closely enough.

'Understood,' said Keith.

Once they were naked, Ewen began by sucking Keith as he lay on his back, then let his fingers begin to explore, brushing lightly downwards between Keith's spread legs. Again Ewen could feel the tension in him, but at Keith's murmured encouragement, Ewen spread the oil on his fingers and began to stroke him there, though not yet to penetrate him.

Ewen pressed the tip of one finger inside, feeling the resistance; Keith drew in a breath. 'How does it feel?' asked Ewen.

'I—not quite like anything I've felt before. Not bad.'

Nothing was quite like the feeling of pressing a finger up a man's backside, either—he had forgotten how tightly it gripped, and how alive with muscle it was. Ewen glanced at Alison; she was watching them with interest from her position on the side of the bed, naked except for the plaid round her shoulders.

Keith was only half-hard now, he had tilted his head thoughtfully with an inward look on his face, as though chasing this new sensation. Perhaps if they gave him something more... 'Would you?' said Ewen to Alison, gesturing down at Keith.

She nodded, leaning down to take Keith in her mouth and hands. He sighed in pleasure, and thrust minutely upwards, tighening round Ewen's finger; as he did, Ewen pressed in and up a little further, his other fingers awkwardly splayed, and was rewarded with Keith's breathless moan. Well, that was more like it! Ewen smiled in satisfaction, and felt his own desire kindling at this evidence of Keith's pleasure.

They repeated and varied this manoeuvre until Keith was close, when he bit his lip and said, 'I thought you would—?'

But Ewen had no intention of fully consummating the act tonight. 'No, not now.'

'But—'

'Trust me, this is enough for now.' But Ewen looked down at Keith with his legs spread and wanted, if he could not have him that way, at least to take him over the edge himself. 'Will you let me?' he said to Alison. 'Please?'

She lifted her head; Ewen kissed her briefly, feeling the taste of Keith on her tongue, then took Keith in his mouth with purpose, aiming now with all tools at his disposal to make him spend. Ewen was hard and aching, and when Keith cried out and began to spurt in his mouth, Ewen pressed his finger in to the knuckle heedless of his cramping hand, and was rewarded with another cry as Keith tightened round him, again and again.

Finally Keith lay still, panting and looking rather dazed, and Ewen carefully drew his finger out and shook out his hand. He wiped it on a handkerchief lying by the bed, and put a hand on Keith's knee. 'Keith? Are you all right?'

Keith cleared his throat and nodded. 'Yes. Would you like me to...?' He gestured at Ewen, whose arousal was plainly visible. But Alison's was not; however, she made it clear in other ways.

'Oh Keith, let me!' She pushed Ewen down on his back, which required some rearrangement on the bed, and sank slowly and purposefully down on his hard length. Ewen wondered, amid a haze of pleasure, how he had deserved a wife who showed her desire for him so plainly.

Later, when they had both sated themselves, Ewen felt that he had perhaps neglected Keith. He rolled to his side to face him. 'Keith? Did it give you pleasure, then?'

'It did,' murmured Keith. He looked thoughtful and subdued, though perhaps that was only the natural lassitude that followed spending.

'There was no pain?'

'None—quite the opposite.'

'Good. Well, let me know whether you'd like to go further, another time.'

'Mmm. Shall we go to bed? For the night, I mean.'

The sweat was cooling on Ewen's skin, so that the November chill that crept into the building made itself felt as it had not before; he nodded, and they settled down for the night. Alison, who felt the cold the most, was in the middle, and Ewen's arm stretched across her so that his hand lay on the curve of Keith's hip. Ewen thought with sleepy satisfaction of where his finger had recently been; besides the pleasure it seemed to have given Keith, it must also have required trust for him to suggest it and, on the whole, Ewen felt the experiment had gone well.

'Do come in and have some hot chocolate,' said Margaret Ogilvy, alighting from the carriage.

Alison hesitated, then looked at the sky overhead, from which rain was falling steadily. 'Thank you, I will.' She came down, as well, and they both entered the Ogilvy's lodgings together: an altogether larger and much less dingy set of rooms than her own.

The hot chocolate was most welcome, and Alison, always hungry these days, sipped at it appreciately as she greedily ate the accompanying ginger biscuits. They had both lately returned from an afternoon gathering at the house of a French noblewoman sympathetic to the Cause, at which Alison, though in her second-best gown—not, of course, her treasured ball gown with its flowered brocade of blue and silver and its panniered skirts, which she had worn in Edinburgh, but a green one more suitable for daytime use—felt a sting of yearning at seeing the gowns on display, as well as the elegantly decorated rooms. The hostess wore a silk brocade of a rich brown, the colour of the autumn bracken above the hills at Ardroy, with a shawl of cream silk moiré faille embroidered with delicate flowery vines.

Well, but Alison's father had never been rich, and neither was her husband now; she could not afford new gowns. But, she reminded herself, who was to say whether that lady was rich in the ways in which Alison herself was rich—the ways of the heart, which were what really mattered. And yet, who knew whether they would ever see again the bracken on those hills...

'I invited you in for a reason,' said Margaret Ogilvy, smiling, 'that is, beyond my pleasure in your company.' And she proceeded to tell Alison that she had now joined her in that happy state which was the expectation of every new wife.

Alison was delighted to hear it, delighted also that it was now her turn to share advice, as Margaret had done for her before her wedding. She herself was now past four months gone, far enough to loosen her stays and pin her gown less closely, but not yet showing in a manner impossible to mistake.

'Have you thought of going to Britain for your confinement?' asked Margaret. 'I hope I can do it, for the heir should be born on native soil.'

Alison had as yet given little thought to this, though she had, of course, heard the stories of Jacobite women who braved the seas and went alone, without their exiled husbands, to give birth. ''Twould not be possible to reach Ardroy, I think—much as I'd want to. Even if I could find a ship, the snowmelt can make Lochaber almost impassable.'

'Aye, with those mountains, 'twould be much more difficult than for me to reach Airlie...and you would be due in the spring.'

'But you're an escaped prisoner and would risk recapture! There's no such risk for me.' exclaimed Alison. 'Surely you cannot go to Airlie.'

Margaret sighed. 'A year will have gone by, surely they'll not still be looking for a woman, even if she be a rebel. But perhaps you're right that I should not risk going to Airlie, or to Scotland at all...England is much easier to reach, of course.'

Alison stubbornly felt that she would much rather her child were born in Scotland than in England, for she had no very warm feeling towards the English—Keith Windham, of course, excepted. But England, after all, was also part of King James' realm. 'I should consider that also, if I can't get to Scotland.'

'I'll ask Jean Gordon how she contrived—I know she went to England for the birth of her eldest,' said Margaret. 'Though the English Jacobites didn't rise, still there must be some who would shelter a woman for the sake of the Cause.'

They spoke a while further on this subject, and then others: the sympathies of the French ladies at the afternoon's gathering, the prices of goods in Paris compared to Edinburgh, the prospects of their husbands in the French army, and other, more intimate details of their lives.

But Alison could not, of course, be entirely forthcoming about the latter. The necessity of keeping silent about their relationship to Keith pained her, for she would dearly have loved to pour her heart out to Margaret. For a brief moment, she contemplated doing so, and binding Margaret to secrecy—but the secret was not hers alone to tell, and she could not imagine that Ewen and Keith would want their relationship to be known. Quite apart from any other considerations, what they did was illegal, though not often prosecuted.

And so Alison said nothing; to Margaret's inquiry about 'that Englishman who lodges with you', she told only the story which was generally known—true as far as it went—and nothing of what she and Ewen felt for that Englishman.

There was another matter in her recent experience about which Alison had to admit curiosity: did men generally like to have fingers (or other things) up their backsides? Or did Keith like it on account of his attraction to men? Of course, Margaret was not likely to be able to answer her question in a more general sense, but she would dearly have liked to know.

She wondered whether Ewen might like it—he had, after all, bedded men before—and further, whether he would enjoy her fingers there. Something about the notion appealed to Alison: he was such a strong man, and to have all that strength laid out before her, legs parted, making himself open and vulnerable to her...

'Alison? Did you hear about the French privateer that has come in at Havre-de-Grâce? I wonder whether 'tis carrying any fugitives.'

Alison blushed, banished her thoughts, and resumed the conversation with Margaret.

Paris in winter was a miserable place, Keith decided, where the mud on the streets alternately froze or thawed, and the poor folk seemed to live lives of drudgery, cold, and hunger. Though if he were honest, the latter was true in London, too—but London had, at least, the advantage of mostly cobbled streets.

He was on his way home from a lecture at the Sorbonne, part of a course by a professor which Dr Cameron had especially commended to Keith's notice and to which he had managed to gain his student admittance, for a fee. The subject was anatomy, with copious illustration not just by occasional autopsies, but by organs preserved in spirits, with much discourse in French about the latest theories and surgical experiments. Keith's previous work with the anatomy textbook had laid the ground and he found himself able, with hard work and Dr Cameron's help, to absorb the lectures.

A week ago, he had received a reply to his last letter to England; Lord Stowe had expressed regret at his step-son's abandoning a career in which he had already the skill gainfully to find employment in an allied country, but said that he would scarcely attempt to withdraw a loan already given; he wished Keith luck in his chosen path. There were no news yet of any pardon for him. Keith had read the letter over again, attempting in vain to discern the tone which voice and manner would have supplied had they spoken in person. Was it sympathetic, judgemental, dismissive? He had, at least, Francis's unequivocally supportive note to console him.

Keith turned the last corner in the warren of narrow streets and reached their lodgings, opening the front door to relative warmth, the smells of cooking, and the shouts of quarrelling children somewhere on the ground floor. As he ascended the stairs to their rooms, his thoughts went to the night before last, when he and Ewen had been alone together: Ewen had, at Keith's urging, not exactly fucked him, but gone further along that road than before. Keith had spent himself with several fingers of Ewen's inside him, memories of which had distracted him at odd moments since, causing him to flush. The intensity of that spending...no wonder men desired such things—or some men did, at least.

Keith had struggled to reconcile the knowledge that he was one of those men, had fought against it, but then had at last confessed to it. He was not a coward. If he was to be a man who bedded men, as manifestly he was, then why not embrace the act, since he could not get it out of his mind? No matter how shameful and unmanly in the eyes of the world...

He had felt vulnerable suggesting it that first time in front of Alison, but equally he felt she ought to know of it, and let them know whether she would object—if nothing else, the act was a capital crime. She had not objected, and she had certainly joined them in the endeavour with no indication of disgust or that she saw him as less of a man. But Keith felt less self-conscious in the act when he was alone with Ewen and, since that first time, they had experimented on their own.

Keith reached his door and entered it. His small room, without room for much more than his bed and his few possessions, was dark except for where light filtered through the half-open door from the larger room.

'Keith?' called out Alison.

He joined them in the main room and was greeted with affection. Ewen and Alison seemed both in good spirits, and they all three spoke for a while about their respective doings for the day and their plans for tomorrow, an easy domestic conversation where Keith was included as a matter of course: a part of the family. It warmed his heart.

'And what shall we do now?' asked Alison, lying down on the bed suggestively. 'These December evenings are too dark to read or sew.'

Ewen smirked. 'Are you perhaps trying to suggest anything?'

Keith felt his breath coming short: this mutual play of desire between them, how strong it was! Perhaps it was because they had come here from war, from deprivation, from danger...and once safe, a fire had blazed up between them which burned the fiercer for having known what it was to expect death. And in Keith's own case, known to expect nothing...

His philosophical musings were cut short when Ewen came up to whisper in his ear. 'I cannot get the night before last out of my head. Keith, should you like me to fuck you?' Ewen's hand curled round his waist and pulled him close.

Heat surged through Keith. Ewen had been very willing to give Keith what he had asked for, but he had not so far expressed his own desire so clearly. The knowledge that Ewen wanted him so was a powerful spur to Keith, and the thought of Alison watching them, about which he had felt ambivalent, now reversed with a shiver and served rather to arouse him.

Keith cleared his throat. 'Yes,' he said, and moved Ewen's hand down to feel his strong response. 'If Alison doesn't mind?'

'Mind what?' said Alison, sitting up with interest.

Ewen explained, and she nodded.

The curve of her belly was now showing clear, though it did not limit her movements yet. Since Ewen had given them permission to bed each other without him, they had done so once, spending a slow, leisurely Saturday afternoon together when Ewen had been called to accompany the Prince to Versailles. It had struck Keith that as Alison was now with child, he might perhaps now bed her in the usual way of a man with a woman—or could he? Perhaps another man's seed could affect the child? It was scarcely something he could ask Dr Cameron! Keith could not deny that he wanted it...but he would not ask. Ewen was her husband; it was for him to allow that—and her, of course.

But they were about something quite different now. Keith knew what to expect, knew what Ewen's finger felt like sliding into him; despite Ewen's obvious arousal, he did not hurry the process, but lingered with his fingers deep inside Keith, until he had relaxed enough to accomodate them without strain; meanwhile, Alison paid him other attentions.

'Are you ready, do you think?' murmured Ewen at last.

Keith's heart thudded, and his breath came short. 'Yes,' he replied.

'Lie on your side, like so. And I'll lie behind you.'

He would not, then, lie on his back with his legs spread, nor on hands and knees, like he had often imagined. Ewen fitted round Keith's back almost as though they were settling down for the night to sleep, except that Keith could feel him pressing hard against his backside. Alison lay facing Keith, her hand resting on his side.

He heard the quiet noise of Ewen uncorking the bottle of oil, and spreading it on himself. Then Ewen was in position, a blunt pressure thicker than any finger; Keith shivered in expectation, but Ewen did nothing, only kept himself there, with a hand on Keith's hip.

Keith swallowed, his mouth dry. 'Ewen...?'

Ewen kissed his shoulder, saying in his deep voice, 'When you're ready. Bear down.'

Oh. Keith experimentally bore down, first gently, then more firmly, feeling himself give way as Ewen braced to meet him.

'Does it hurt?' said Ewen, and Keith shook his head. And then, slowly but firmly, Ewen pressed inside him until he had fully sheathed himself there.

Alison moved to caress Keith's shoulder, and he became aware that he was gripping her upper arm hard; he consciously relaxed his grip. 'Sorry,' he said.

'Ewen was so gentle with me, my first time,' murmured Alison, 'I had been anxious, a little, but there was no need, at all...'

But this comparison, which Alison had no doubt intended as reassurance, cut too close to the bone. Keith had, in his secret heart, been aroused by such imaginings, but hearing it said in the open, he could not help but tense in shame, clenching round Ewen, and closed his eyes to avoid Alison's gaze.

'Did I hurt you? asked Ewen quickly.

But Keith shook his head. 'No,' he got out. Indeed the sudden tension, and the shift in their positions, had given him a slight twinge of pain—but it had also sent a shock of pleasure through him.

He had asked for this himself, damn it! Ewen had not pressed him for it. He had asked for it because he could not get the thought out of his head, and Ewen had obliged him, had been as solicitous and kind as anyone could ask...as solicitous as with a virgin bride on her wedding night.

Keith took a deep, slow breath. 'Go on.'

Ewen stroked his flank, almost like a man calming a skittish horse. Then he made a gentle thrust, not much more than a nudge of his hips. Keith caught his breath. 'More.'

Ewen did give him more, and at the next thrust, still gentle, Keith gasped at the jolt of pleasure. Alison trailed her hand down to grasp his hard length, and it required no more than that simple touch to wring from Keith a helpless, breathless moan.

Ewen was thrusting steadily now, was fucking him, gently but firmly, and Keith found all his previously imagined pleasure in the act to be more than realised, was in fact almost too much for him. He shamelessly thrust his hips backwards for more, offering himself to Ewen, even begging for more. With Alison's hand on him, he was caught between pleasure and pleasure, before and behind.

Before he was quite ready for it, Keith came, convulsing helplessly, with a new peak of sensation at Ewen's every thrust as though it would never end, almost sobbing with the sensation.

Then abruptly it was too much: the clenching was painful, Ewen's eager thrust inside him alien and invasive. 'Stop!' he cried, gasping.

'Sorry,' Ewen managed. He immediately withdrew, but he was too close to stop himself from spending, and Keith could feel the spurts of seed between his legs and then against his back, and Ewen's harsh breathing through it.

All Keith's arousal, now that the act was done, turned to shame at his own behaviour: like a bitch in heat, eager to be taken, with a man's sticky seed dribbling down his thighs. And never, jeered some malicious voice inside him, to take a man's part himself.

'Keith?' said Ewen's solicitous voice behind him, stroking his arm. 'Did I hurt you?'

Even that solicitousness seemed to Keith, in his present state of mind, oppressive. With a contradictory confusion, he thought: Did I not ask for this? Does he think I cannot take a little pain?

Keith swallowed. 'I need to clean up,' he said tightly, and got up and out of the bed on shaking legs. He found a towel and wiped off the sticky remains of Ewen's spending and his own.

'Keith?' Alison was sitting up in bed, and so was Ewen.

But Keith could not bear to meet their eyes. He burned with shame: he had asked for this, and now he acted like some ravaged virgin? 'I—I need to be alone,' he mumbled, and fled to his room, there to lie on his bed in misery.

Chapter Text

Ewen stared at the door that Keith had closed behind him, and turned to Alison in dismay.

'What happened?' exclaimed Alison.

'I'm not sure,' said Ewen. 'But we can't leave him there.' This had not ended well, despite all the care he had taken, and Ewen felt wretched.

'Should you talk to him, or should I? Or both?'

'I caused the harm, and it might be easier to talk man to man,' said Ewen, hesitating.

'Perhaps you're right. Go, then!'

And Ewen went, snatching up Alison's plaid and wrapping it round his shoulders. Taking one of the candles, he knocked gently on Keith's door to warn him, then pushed open the unlocked door. 'Keith?' he called softly. 'I know you said you wanted to be alone, but I can't leave you like this, not when I was the cause of your distress.'

There was no reply. Keith was lying curled on the bed under the covers with his face to the wall, but he sat up as Ewen pushed the door shut. Ewen tried to read his expression: reluctance, chagrin, and a general misery which Ewen could not further decipher. 'I'm sorry,' said Keith tightly.

'Keith, you have no need to apologize. May I sit?' he asked, indicating the bed.

Keith's lips tightened, and he said nothing for so long that Ewen thought he might refuse. Finally he gave a short nod. Ewen set the candlestick down on a chair and sat on the foot end of the bed, wrapped in his plaid. He hesitated, trying carefully to marshal his words, but his own distress broke through. 'It breaks my heart to see you like this, and know that I—that I caused it! I know you sometimes seemed...well, as though this was a touchy matter, and perhaps I shouldn't have...but you asked for it, and—'

Ewen fell helplessly silent, dismayed at his disjointed words. 'Keith, please.' He reached out a hand for Keith's, which was lying on the covers.

Slowly, and to Ewen's immense relief, Keith took it, and twined their fingers together.

'I did ask for it,' said Keith. 'You're not to blame. As Alison said, you were as gentle as—' He broke off and flushed, his mouth twisting.

'If you didn't like it, that's no matter,' said Ewen, watching him closely. 'We don't have to do it again.'

'I think 'twas clear to all three of us that I did enjoy it,' muttered Keith, not meeting his gaze. 'That's what..'

Oh. Keith's behaviour was more clear to Ewen now—or so, at least, he surmised. 'Do you feel that 'tis shameful, then?'

After a moment, Keith replied, 'We spoke about the vulgarity of soldiers once. I don't give a damn about vulgarity, as such—'tis more the implication of—' he swallowed, looked away, and finally got the word out, though it looked to be difficult, '—of being unmanly.'

Ewen considered this, then said carefully, 'Keith, you are more of a man than most men I've ever met. I know I'm not impartial in the matter, but your sense of honour, your willingness to do what is right despite the cost to yourself, your drive to better yourself and find a new occupation...all these things signify, to me, much more about a man's worth than what he prefers in bed.'

'That may be, but...' Keith's mouth twisted.

'But I do see what you mean. 'Twas brave of you to ask for it, then.'

Keith shrugged. 'I would still have desired it, regardless of whether I'd asked for it. And it's the desire, of course...' His hand, which had slipped away from Ewen's, fisted in the bedcovers instead, and he added, almost too low for Ewen to hear, 'But only to do that, and never to take a man's part...'

Ewen was silent. He saw it suddenly—how blind he had been. He had not considered Keith's point of view, how it might affect him never fully to lie with Alison...but had not Ewen's own reason for prohibiting that act the same root cause as Keith's unhappiness now? There was, it was true, a more practical reason for it, namely concern for the paternity of Alison's children. But Ewen had to own that this was not the only reason: much as he loved Keith, there was a tinge of jealousy still in his heart, a manly and husbandly pride that urged him to keep this act for himself alone. And it must be the same manly pride, of course, which was the cause of Keith's present unhappiness—no wonder that Keith, even if he genuinely wanted Ewen to fuck him, should feel himself less than a man...

He wondered how Alison felt about the matter: did she want to have Keith that way, and was Ewen keeping her from it? And now that Alison was pregnant, perhaps they could allow it? But regardless of any other feelings on the matter, Ewen was not quite sure whether another man's seed might not affect the child...and it was scarcely the sort of thing he might ask Archie, or Alison her midwife!

Ewen said nothing to Keith of these thoughts, since he could not resolve them in his own mind—but there was, after all, another way by which he might redress the balance.

'You can fuck me, if you want,' Ewen offered.

He had been silent long enough that Keith looked up at him, startled, at the words. Perhaps he thought that Ewen had been hesitating over the offer, for he looked suspicious. 'There's no need for you to sacrifice yourself to save my pride,' he said stiffly.

''Twould be no sacrifice,' said Ewen. 'I do enjoy it, I assure you. I don't know why I never brought it up—I suppose because it seemed a touchy subject for you, and then you asked for it the other way round...'

He did, perhaps, have a preference for the active role, but it was certainly not a lie to say that he enjoyed the other, too. A vivid memory came before Ewen of Sainte-Hermine's mirrored room—for he had a penchant for watching both himself and his partner that way—and how he had gradually and with much enjoyment on both sides introduced Ewen to these pleasures...

But he was not with Sainte-Hermine now. The candlelight fell on the curves and lines of Keith's slim, strong body, with his soldier's scars like ghostly shadows on his skin, showing how he had cheated death; it fell on the still uncertain set of his mouth, and his eyes which now met Ewen's without flinching away, at least.

With a swell of love in his heart, as of a ship at sea buoyed up by a wave with the depth of the ocean underneath it, Ewen said softly, 'Keith, I wouldn't let just any man do that to me, but I would trust you to do it—I would want to give myself up to you.'

Ewen saw, with great relief, that he had got through to Keith, for his mouth gentled and there was a hint of a smile in his eyes. He reached for Ewen's hand, and Ewen took it.

'I should like to honour that trust, another time,' murmured Keith.

'May I embrace you?' asked Ewen rather formally—he very much wanted to, but he also wanted to make sure of his welcome.

The smile was not just a hint now. 'You may,' said Keith, and they lay down together under the covers.

They fit together, face to face, chest to chest, and groin to groin; where they had earlier been hard, they nestled softly against each other. Perhaps it was more difficult for two men together...with a man and a woman, there was an expected way for them to fit together.

Ewen attempted to put this thought into words, and Keith hummed thoughtfully. 'Perhaps,' he replied presently, 'but there's more to men and women than that one aspect of them—I've known many couples who were mis-matched in some fashion.'

'Yes, of course...one can't reduce men and women to the bare fact of their sex, and what they do in bed. But then again, if you look at the shape of their lives in the main, 'tis easier for a man and woman to wed, and fit their lives together, than for two men to spend their lives together in that sense...'

Keith could not deny it. Ewen kissed him softly, determined that, if he possibly could, he would make a place for Keith in his life, where he might fit.

Presently Keith sighed. 'Alison must be wondering what we're doing,' he said.

'Aye,' said Ewen. 'Will you return? Or sleep here tonight? I'll make excuses for you, if you want.'

Keith hesitated, and Ewen surmised that he did not relish the thought of another difficult conversation tonight. 'I'll return—I don't want her to think she did anything wrong, or that I'm avoiding her.'

They rose, and as they came back into the main room, Alison sat up with a questioning look. But she said nothing, waiting for them to speak.

Keith took a deep breath. 'I beg your pardon for leaving, and for the concern I caused. You've done nothing wrong, at any rate. I...well, may I explain tomorrow?

'Yes, of course,' said Alison. 'Do come back to bed, and I'm sorry about...well, about whatever caused you to leave.'

'You must have had little enough pleasure tonight, and for that, too, I apologise. I'm not in general in the habit of leaving my bedpartners unsatisfied.'

Now Alison smiled. 'I know very well that you're not. But Keith, in this instance I was far more concerned about your well-being than my own pleasure.'

Ewen's keen eye could not help but detect some embarrassment in Keith at this, but he said no more, and they settled down for the night.

Keith plunged back the next day into the work of his apprenticeship, grateful for the distraction it afforded. Dr Cameron had let him bleed a patient today, and had discussed with him the symptoms which indicated, or contra-indicated, such treatment—for he by no means thought it warranted in all situations, as it was used by some. The bleeding itself Keith had not found difficult: it was only a small cut, and he knew it would promote balance in the body.

But as he walked home, Keith's domestic concerns thrust themselves again, inevitably, upon his mind. It had been a fine midwinter day, sunny and cold, and the sky was now fading from the most exquisite pink and violet in the west to a deep velvet blue above, with the stars, though their brilliancy was dimmed by the smoke of the city, coming out like jewels stitched on the velvet. But the weather failed to cheer him.

The débacle of the night before sat like an aching, undigested lump of emotions in his stomach. He had talked to Ewen last night, it was true—or rather, Ewen had insisted on talking with him—and he did feel better for it, but still, he was not easy in his mind. And he had not explained himself to Alison yet...

In his low mood, he found himself oppressed by the French spoken by the passersby, the different shops and buildings that told him that this was the foreign country of France, not his native Britain. How long would they stay in France? If he had the right still to use the word 'they'...if their difficulties last night did not spell the eventual end of whatever it was they had together. Keith shivered in the cold wind.

He felt, when he ascended the stairs in their building, that his tense mood had settled itself at his temples as a headache. Perhaps nobody would be home, and he could simply go to bed.

But no: Alison was home, though Ewen was not. Well, Keith could scarcely hide away in his room, and he squared his shoulders and joined her.

Alison looked up and smiled at him, laying aside her mending. She yawned. 'My eyes are getting tired and I want a change from sewing—you're a welcome sight.'

She was sitting on the bed, propped up by a few pillows; her belly was gently swelling now, though not yet ungainly. Keith felt his mood softening at the sight of her, though he was still apprehensive of the conversation which he had now no excuse to postpone.

'Come,' she said, patting the bedcovers beside him. 'You look tired.'

Keith nodded and sat down on the bed with his back against the wall. 'I suppose I am,' he said, and then, since there was no use delaying it, continued, 'I'm sorry about last night.' He looked down at his hands in his lap.

'There's no need to apologise!' said Alison, and he forced himself to look at her. 'Keith, I love you,' she said softly. 'If you were distressed, that is no fault of yours. Perhaps it was a fault of ours, in which case the apology should be mine, if I did anything that caused it.'

'No—no, of course not,' said Keith reflexively, though it was not quite true. 'Has Ewen told you anything? About our conversation last night, I mean?'

She shook her head. 'You don't have to tell me, if you'd rather not—but I shouldn't want you to be hurt again, if I can help it.'

It would not be fair to tell her nothing, and Keith gave, in plain terms, the explanation which he had put together. 'Well. I asked for something that I...that I wanted, or thought I did, but when I got it, I...found it to be too much. I was too much affected by...well, by the way in which such acts are often condemned.'

'I'm sorry,' replied Alison. 'But that is very understandable.'

'Perhaps.' Keith fell silent; he rubbed at his temple. It was a relief to have said his piece, but he still felt out of sorts.

'Do you have a headache?'

He nodded. 'A little.'

'Come and lie down,' she murmured. 'I'll rub your head, if you like.'

Keith hesitated, but then removed his wig and lay down with his head in her lap; she proceeded to press and rub his temples much more effectually than he himself had done. Her fingers were warm, and Keith closed his eyes, feeling his breathing slow.

He thought of her recent words—that she loved him—and how he, caught up in his confession, had not given her a similar assurance. Keith opened his eyes, feeling vulnerable before her gaze.

'I love you, too,' he murmured, and felt how true it was. He caught one of her hands and kissed it.

'I'm glad.' She stroked her fingers up through his short-cropped hair, and he closed his eyes again.

Keith had, after all, been able to make his confession without much distress, and taken comfort in her words and her touch. But when he thought further on Alison's words—that she hoped she had done nothing to cause his discomfort last night—he knew he could not be entirely honest with her.

Why had the comparison with Alison's wedding night shamed him? Because Keith was not a woman, and had not a woman's enjoyment of being taken by a man in such a way...but rather was one of the men who gave way to an unnatural desire for it. But Keith could not help but feel that saying so to Alison would lay blame on her innocent remark, for it had not, after all, been a strange comparison. And to tell her that he could bear no comparison with her, whom after all he loved and respected...Keith shied from such a thing.

But why, after all, should he care if it was unnatural, thought Keith defiantly? He was no Puritan, to fear God's retribution and the flames of hell for every infraction against strict morality. Men did many things that might be seen as unnatural, and should not one use rational inquiry, with which men were created, to determine which were right and wrong?

Perhaps he would benefit from some of Ewen's philosophy, after all. But Keith was tired, and his headache made it difficult to sustain this train of thought.

Alison shifted to lie down beside him, spreading her plaid over them both. 'I'm a little tired, too,' she said. 'Jean told me I was likely to become so, when my belly grows.'

It was a relief to Keith to be able to offer some comfort in his turn, and he gathered her in his arms, curling round her back with his hand resting on her belly, and kissed her neck. He matched his breathing to hers and they lay so drowsing for a while.

Then Alison caught her breath, tensing and giving a low cry.

'What is it?' asked Keith, coming awake in alarm. Fears of miscarriage came into his mind, and he racked his brain for anything Dr Cameron might have said about whether it could be prevented. He did not think it could.

'The baby, I can feel it! Oh, its little legs must be kicking,' said Alison in wonder, and Keith breathed a sigh of relief.

'Here, feel this.' Alison's hand guided his to settle on another part of her belly. They were silent, waiting, and then Keith felt it: small but unmistakeable movements.

'Your child is full of life and looking forward to emerging into the world, I find,' said Keith, smiling, and did not mention his momentary fears.

'So it seems,' she agreed happily.

They lay there, both in their different ways feeling every little kick, until the baby subsided, perhaps falling asleep again, and so did they.

Presently they woke, at the sound of the door opening. 'Oh, did I wake you?' said Ewen. 'I'm sorry.'

'No, no, we were only resting,' said Alison, though the latter part of the sentence was smothered by a yawn.

Keith sat up, and Ewen came to kiss them both, his lips and nose cold from the winter weather, which must be even colder now that it was night. Ewen's quick, solicitous glance at Keith betrayed his concern over the events of last night, though he said nothing; Keith wondered all at once whether Ewen had stayed out in part to allow Keith and Alison to talk alone.

Alison proceeded to tell Ewen of the baby's movements with all evidence of pride and joy in the occasion, while Keith leant back against the wall and watched them as they talked. He recalled Ewen's offer of last night. With the remains of his headache and his general weariness Keith felt, at the moment, in no mood for anything of the sort, but he would certainly consider that offer in future...

'I bought bread and ham on the way home, are you hungry?' asked Ewen.

'I certainly am,' said Alison promptly. 'This little one is claiming all my nourishment, it seems.' She patted her belly.

Keith got up, as well, and they ate the simple meal round the small, rickety table. Ewen was relating to Alison some message from her father, and Keith himself was mostly silent. He recalled his dejection while walking through the Paris streets earlier in the day, and how he had wondered about how long they would stay in France...however, he was not in a state to bring up the subject now.

But as they readied themselves for bed after the meal, Keith reminded himself that Ewen, despite their talk last night, might be uncertain of Keith's feelings. He drew Ewen aside in one corner of the room—not true privacy, but after all it was nothing he wished to conceal from Alison.

'Ewen, I wanted to tell you that I feel no resentment, in the least, about last night. On the contrary, I know that you did everything you could to please me. And I—I love you.' He felt that the last declaration was said somewhat abruptly, but then Keith always felt self-conscious about such declarations.

But Ewen seemed to see nothing amiss in it; he enfolded Keith in a fierce embrace and murmured, 'I'm relieved to hear it—Keith, dear heart, I love you, too, more than I can say.'

Keith closed his eyes and turned his face into Ewen's neck, breathing in the scent of him. It struck him that Ewen, too, could sometimes be in doubt about whether their unconventional relationship would last, or whether Keith would leave them, and be sore at heart at the thought. To Keith, who knew the constancy of his own heart, this seemed strange—but then, Ewen could not read his thoughts. Keith was glad that he had spoken them.

The next evening, when Keith felt himself to be on more of an even keel, he did cautiously ask over supper what were Ewen's and Alison's thoughts on how long they might need to remain in France.

Ewen sighed and set down his wine glass. 'I think of it often. Faith, but how I long for Ardroy! Even now in the wintertime—if I could only see the white, untrodden snow of the hills, instead of the muddy slush of Paris...and I wonder how Aunt Marget is, and whether she has enough corn to get the tenants through the winter. We've had no letter from her since the beginning of October.'

Keith was humbled. He himself had no roots that went so deep; he had longed to be elsewhere than France, but aimlessly so, and his impulse was now rather to give comfort, than to receive it. 'I'm sure there must be an amnesty from Government soon, as there was after the '15,' he said, laying his hand on Ewen's.

'We must hope so,' said Ewen, looking troubled. 'But I must follow Lochiel—he cannot be included in the amnesty, and if he bids me stay, I must do so.'

'But surely he wouldn't—surely he would bid you return to Ardroy!' exclaimed Alison. 'There is no lack of officers for his regiment in France, and he would not keep you from home.'

'Perhaps not,' said Ewen with a sigh.

'But Keith,' said Alison, turning to him, 'we haven't told you yet that I, at any rate, must return for the birth of my child.'

'What, alone?' said Keith in alarm. He had heard of the custom, but had not connected it to Alison.

'If I must,' said she, her head held high.

'But—and where would you go?'

'I've been conferring with Lady Ogilvy, who also intends to go—though I'm months ahead of her. And Ewen has been making inquiries, as well.'

Ewen nodded. 'Scotland is too far, and the weather too uncertain so early in the season. It must be England, then, and there are many Jacobite smugglers who would be more than happy to take her over the Channel.'

Keith was not in the King's service any more, but felt himself faintly appalled at this casual endorsement of smuggling. It was but the ghost of his old sensibilities, however, and he only betrayed it by a twitch of his mouth. 'And then?'

'We have sent out some enquiries as to where she may go—but we're not sure yet.'

Keith returned to his first objection. 'But surely you cannot go alone.'

'Not entirely alone, I hope—Angus or Duncan could go with me. But Ewen cannot go, at any rate: you know what the penalty for treason is, if they catch him!'

Ewen looked deeply unhappy, but made no objection. 'Well, but Angus and Duncan won't be much help in England.'

'Perhaps I could go,' said Keith cautiously.

'But you've had no assurance yet that any charges against you are dropped!' exclaimed Alison. 'Is it out of the question that you, too, could be tried for treason, for helping us?'

Keith could not deny it.

'I'll put neither of you at risk. I am not in danger—at least, not from that—' And now her voice did falter, minding perhaps of her own mother's fate.

Ewen gave a low noise almost like a sob. 'And I not there with you!'

But Alison had composed herself again. ''Tis no more than any woman must face.'

That night Ewen and Keith both took Alison in their arms with tenderness, aware of what they might lose. None of them referred to the experiment that had gone awry, and perhaps they all needed to find pleasure together in their accustomed ways.

January came. They had passed the darkest days of the year, turning now from midwinter towards light, though it would be months still until the days had lengthened enough that one might do one's needlework by a window in the evening. Half a year in France had passed, and none of them knew how many more years they would remain there.

A few weeks passed, with no news from Ardroy nor from Stowe House. Alison received an answer to their inquiry to English Jacobites, while Keith applied himself to his studies with all the discipline that was in him, and Ewen tried to find hope despite the intrigues among the Jacobite party.

The notion that Ewen had planted in Keith's mind grew and found purchase, and one evening in Ewen's arms he finally spoke of it. 'That offer you made me...before Christmas,' he murmured.

Ewen drew in a breath. He had not forgotten it, but had waited for Keith to raise the subject. 'Yes?'

'I don't ask whether the offer is still open—I ask whether you desire it. You made it perhaps on the spur of the moment, and have reconsidered; if so, I don't mind.' Keith's voice was quiet and measured.

'I do desire it,' whispered Ewen.

'Well, then,' said Keith, the corner of his mouth coming up in a small smile. 'Shall we try it?'

Ewen gave Alison to understand what they would do, and she nodded. He had already told her of the offer, as much as he could without betraying any of Keith's confidences, and she had not opposed it—indeed, Ewen thought she was intrigued by it.

'You've already demonstrated to me how to approach the matter,' said Keith. 'See, I've trimmed my nails.'

Ewen kissed the fingertips in question. 'I know you're a quick study.'

'As long as you don't report on the progress of my learning of your anatomy to Dr Cameron,' said Keith drily.

Ewen laughed. 'You may depend on it that I do not.'

He pulled Keith close; they kissed, presently tumbling to the bed, and Ewen felt his blood quicken: he was now to know Keith in this new fashion, within his very body.

Some while later, Ewen rolled over, presenting himself to Keith on hands and knees, firmly planted on the bed. He had not done this for many years and felt the anticipation of it now run tingling through him, like the challenge of the cold water of the loch, which might require some resolve to plunge into, but which would render him exhilarated and alive, with his blood running hotter than ever. And he would share it with Keith, whom he loved and trusted...

He drew in a breath as he felt Keith's oiled finger slowly penetrate him, and met it with a steady push. Ewen looked aside to meet Alison's gaze; she was flushed and intent, but then reached out to cover his hand briefly with her own, in reassurance.

Having seen by example how to proceed, Keith did a thorough job of preparing him.

Alison cleared her throat. 'May I try it? With my fingers?'

Ewen was taken by surprise—but, however, he could not deny his wife anything, certainly not putting her fingers up his backside if that was her desire.

'Yes—please do,' he said.

Her fingers were smaller than Keith's, and two of them slipped inside him easily. Such unexpected intimacy...he shivered as she carefully extended them.

'I'm not hurting you?' she asked.

'No—no, not at all. Quite the opposite,' Ewen assured her.

He saw suddenly, in a flash, how much their relationship with Keith must have changed their marriage: surely they would not be doing such things now, if not for Keith. And that was the least of it...

A movement of her fingers brought him back to the present with a jolt of pleasure; she gave a little satisfied noise when he showed it. But presently she surrendered her place back to Keith, and declared herself happy to watch.

'I'm ready, I think,' said Ewen.

Keith came round to the side of the bed to meet his eyes. 'I know you'd tell me if it hurts, but I should like to see your face, and be reassured of it. Could we try some other position?'

Ewen rather liked the one he was in, where he was able to brace himself and move, but seeing why Keith preferred something else, he said, 'Yes, of course.'

He turned over on his back. 'Like this, perhaps?'

Keith nodded. But instead of proceeding directly, he came to lie down beside Ewen, seeking his mouth and his body against his own in their accustomed way. Ewen could see why; he himself had felt the weight of the responsibility on his shoulders. And after the way in which it had gone awry last time...though that, to be sure, had been the other way round.

'I want you,' whispered Ewen in Keith's ear. 'I want you inside me.'

He could feel Keith's response in his indrawn breath, the eager press of his hard length against him.

Ewen looked round for a pillow which he stuck beneath his hips, to raise them up. When Keith first breached him it was slow, but felt momentarily impossible. Held still as he was, Ewen almost told him to stop, but then remembered to push, to bear into it, and with chest heaving, he found that his body remembered how to do this, after all.

'Give me a moment,' said Ewen, and Keith nodded. Ewen knew that the momentary discomfort would soon enough give way and, for distraction, he stroked himself.

With Keith holding his knees up, and flat on his back, Ewen felt some of the vulnerability that Keith had shied away from. To give himself up so, as a man...Ewen had hesitated the first time, as well, but when there was a give and take in it, from both sides, he felt it to be no shame. And he would gladly give himself up to Keith.

These philosophical thoughts were disrupted when Keith shifted and the new position pressed at some point of pleasure inside him; Ewen gasped and clenched round Keith.

'Good,' Ewen reassured Keith, before he could ask. 'Very good. You can move, a little.'

And Keith did; by gradual increments they worked themselves up, with time, to full thrusts, each one a rolling wave of pleasure. Ewen had to admit that one virtue of this position was that he had a good view of Keith, of the working of his hips, of the muscles of his arms as they held Ewen's knees up; briefly he wished for some of those mirrors, to give him an even fuller view...but his gaze was drawn also to Keith's face and to meet his eyes, which no mirror could have shown him more truly.

Ewen had a delicious sense of the inevitable approach of his climax and, urging Keith on, was presently brought over that edge by Keith's efforts and his own—and Keith soon followed after, thrusting hard into him.

Ewen felt now, after the crest of pleasure had receded, the slight soreness which no doubt he would feel tomorrow as well, but that counted for nothing. Keith had let go of his legs and was now on hands and knees above him, breathing in gulps of air, his chest heaving. Their eyes met, and Ewen felt again, besides his own considerable pleasure in the act, the satisfaction of having given Keith something that he needed.

Reaching up to pull Keith down into a kiss, Ewen murmured, 'Thank you—that was glorious.'

The corners of Keith's mouth turned upwards, but he looked too dazed and happy to truly manage his usual ironic smile. 'Flatterer. But—yes. I—I truly enjoyed that. I'm very glad you did, as well.'

Now that the intensity of the moment was over, Ewen looked to Alison. She was sitting with her back against the wall with her legs spread, one of them folded in front of her below her burgeoning belly; her face was flushed and her fingers were lingering between her legs.

'Is it your turn now, m'eudail?' he asked her.

'I—well, I took care of that myself,' she said, looking a little abashed.

'Well, I don't blame you,' said Ewen. 'Keith was a lovely sight, wasn't he?'

'He was—as were you, m'eudail,' she said with an impish smile.

Well. His wife had just seen him flat on his back, being fucked by another man, but Ewen found he did not mind—it was not as though he had failed to satisfy her, before Keith came to them. Or after, for that matter.

So he only smiled back at her, and took her hand to kiss it.

After they had cleaned themselves up and settled down for the night, Keith whispered in Ewen's ear, 'Thank you.'

Ewen turned towards him and murmured, 'Oh, mo chridhe. I did that for my own pleasure as well as yours.'

'Nevertheless: thank you.'

And Ewen kissed him. They had found a new way to fit themselves together, to complement all the other ways which they already knew, and their bond was the stronger for it.

Chapter Text

February brought a letter from Lord Stowe, who had succeeded in obtaining an assurance that no charges would be brought against his step-son if he should return to England. He had also, by hinting at a lawsuit which would thankfully not be needed, managed to get the price of Keith's commission repaid, since he had after all resigned it.

Keith was considerably relieved at this news. He was no longer in his step-father's debt for a sum that, in his present circumstances, he would have struggled to repay for many years to come, though he did still consider himself to be in Francis's debt. More immediately, he would be able to accompany Alison to England.

He shared both pieces of news with Alison and Ewen that evening, when the rain was making its way in runnels down their small window.

'Oh, thank God!' exclaimed Alison. 'I've never even been in England, and it would be an immense relief to have you with me. If Archie can spare you, of course?'

'Of course he can—I pay him to teach me, you know, and he has taken me on out of kindness. But at any rate, I won't mind missing my lessons for a month or so. You are more important to me.'

Keith glanced at Ewen. Someone who knew him less well might not have seen it, but Keith thought he detected some unhappiness in his expression. 'Ewen? Do you mind it, if I go?'

'I am happy that you can,' declared Ewen, and then with a sigh, 'but I must confess that I—that I wish I could go, too. I'm not jealous, Keith, I swear it. 'Tis only the thought of not being there, when....' He shook his head.

'I do understand that,' said Keith quietly.

'But Alison—I'm glad you'll have Keith there, since I cannot go. There's no one I would rather have with you.'

And so it was settled, and arrangements were made; they would leave in March, to have a few weeks to spare in case the child decided to come early into the world.

A few days later on the Sunday, they were walking together in the Jardin Roial des Plantes, having attended divine service at Lochiel's lodgings. There were naturally no Protestant churches in France; the religion of the Episcopalian Jacobite refugees had to be observed in private and without advertisement—much like in their native Scotland, in fact, reflected Alison.

The day was fine; her spirits lifted at the sight of the blue sky and the sunshine, the neat rectangles of grass, the exotic plants and pruned shrubs of the park, though they were bare still, and the snowdrops that had sprung from the ground. A thrush hopped restlessly on the grass, no doubt seeking worms. Ewen, whose arm supported her, must think this regulated park poor compared to the Highlands, but Alison had grown up in Paris and had not the same yearning for the sight of the wild hills.

Her midwife had advised her to get some light exercise and a change of air, if she could, and Alison felt the wisdom of her words—she was not yet so large that she had any difficulty taking walks. She smiled at Keith, who walked at her other side, though he did not hold her arm, and he smiled back. How his expression was always transformed by that small smile!

They both shifted their gazes outward again, and both saw at the same time a man who had stopped in his tracks, standing a few yards away staring at them. Alison did not recognise him—but Keith did, it seemed, for he drew in a breath.

The man was pale and thin, with hair a brighter shade of red than Ewen's, and when he moved, Alison saw that he walked with a limp. He accompanied someone Alison did know: Cameron of Torcastle.

The unknown man approached Keith hesitantly. 'Forgive me, sir,' he said in Gaelic-accented English, 'but I believe we...have met.'

'I believe so, as well,' said Keith slowly. 'I...took you prisoner, at Inverness.'

'Yes,' said the man. His brow furrowed, evidently puzzled to account for his captor's presence in Paris.

Alison saw restrained emotion on Keith's face. 'I beg you will believe that, at the time, I had no notion of how poorly you would be used.'

The man nodded slowly. 'You treated me with kindness, and gave me bread when I was starving—I'll never forget that, sir. But you were an officer, sir, and now...'

'I've left the army,' said Keith briefly.

Alison saw the man draw the obvious conclusion from this information and from Keith's presence in Paris in the company of Camerons—but equally she saw that Keith was too private to relate the true story to a stranger.

Cameron of Torcastle came forward. 'Greetings, Ardroy. It seems your English friend has met my clansman before. He is the son of one of my tacksmen and was a corporal in the Rising, but was captured, and only a month ago made his way to France.'

That explained why he was so pale and thin—he must have been in prison. He was still regarding Keith with both wariness and wonder, but both he and Keith were silent, while Ewen and Torcastle conversed. It struck Alison how much Keith was here under Ewen's protection and was accepted because Ewen so clearly valued him—but still, he was neither fish nor fowl, neither Jacobite nor Hanoverian. It must be difficult for him, at times.

She longed to take his hand, or slip her arm round his waist, but that, of course, she could not do in public.

Presently they parted from Torcastle and his clansman, and Alison asked to sit for a while, for standing had made her back ache. They found a seat in a nook among some squared boxwood shrubs, and Alison sat with her men on either side. Concealed by her skirts, she found Keith's hand and pressed it.

'You never told us this story,' said Ewen to Keith.

'I suppose I didn't,' said Keith. He was silent for a space, then continued in a low voice, 'When I first saw the man, with his red hair...he doesn't really look like you, of course. But for a brief moment, I thought...'

They could both guess what he had thought, and a look passed between Ewen and Keith.

'It was just after Culloden,' said Keith.

'But you gave him bread, he said?' asked Alison.

'That was later. I saw him and some other prisoners I had taken mistreated and starved, and could do very little about it.' Keith's mouth twisted.

'But you did what you could—I had expected no less of you,' said Ewen.

Keith was silent for a long while, then said, 'Do you know, this is actually why I encountered Alison when I did, and came upon you later. My lieutenant colonel very kindly sent me out of harm's way, so I wouldn't get in trouble over interceding with the prisoners. Not that he approved of what I'd done, but I was an officer in his regiment, after all. He sent me off with a despatch to Perth...'

And Alison could recall her feelings when she had lain hidden among the heather, afraid at any moment of being flushed out by the redcoats, and first heard Keith Windham's voice...

'It seems like the hand of fate—perhaps the heron had a hand in this, too...' she said.

'I'd chide you for superstition, except that I might seem ungrateful for the situation to which the heron led me,' said Keith, and pressed her hand.

Only two weeks remained before Alison and Keith were to leave for England, and early one evening Alison raised a subject they had not yet discussed.

'Ewen,' she said, from her position on the bed, propped up by pillows, 'what shall we call our child? We'll have to christen him, or her, in England, you know.'

Ewen had looked up from his copy of La Gazette, which he was reading at the window, where the light, in late February, now extended some way into the evening. Keith was sitting beside him, taking notes from a book.

'Aye, I've thought of it, too,' said Ewen. 'My father's name was John, but I never knew him...and there is a kinsman of mine who has acted like a true father to me.'

'Lochiel, you mean,' said Alison, smiling. 'I would have no objection to naming him Donald. And if it is a little girl?'

'I never knew my mother, either, of course, and Aunt Margaret is closer to a mother for me. I would gladly name a daughter for her—but what about your mother?'

'Her name was Isobel Grant, and she, too...' Alison broke off, choosing not to name the death that had taken both her mother and Ewen's. 'But I do remember her, and fondly; I would love the child to have her name. Father, too, would be pleased.'

'So perhaps I'll have the naming of the child if it is a son,' said Ewen, 'and you of a daughter. What do you think of that?'

Alison agreed.

Keith had said nothing during this exchange, but only looked up and given them a smile; she wondered what he was thinking. From this, her thoughts drifted to wondering what a child of Keith's would look like: dark, curling hair, and perhaps with those lovely eyes of his... Hers and Ewen's child might have dark hair, as well, if her own colouring came through—but Alison was rather hoping for Ewen's auburn hair, for she loved it so.

Time slipped by, and only a week remained until their departure. Storms had racked the coast, disrupting the shipping, and Keith, observing Ewen, could see that he had been quietly anxious that the bad weather would not abate—and perhaps not looking forward to the departure, for all that he hoped it would take place.

Alison had taken a coach in the afternoon to spend the rest of the day with her father, and Keith now approached Ewen. 'Can I offer you any diversion, my dear?'

He used the endearment deliberately, to see Ewen's face soften into a smile. Ewen nodded in reply and enfolded Keith in his arms, where they both silently gave reassurance and received it.

Presently Ewen murmured, 'You offered me diversion, you said?' and kissed him.

Keith replied in kind, feeling a surge of desire. There were times, even after half a year of living with them, when he still felt a dizzying sense of unreality that he was allowed this: that this achingly handsome and desirable man should want him so. But it was only a passing fancy, and Ewen's hands on him were soon those of his own dear and familiar lover again.

'Since I'll be leaving for a while,' he murmured into Ewen's mouth, 'I'd like to have another try at what I...failed at the last time.'

Ewen drew back, with a look of concern. 'You didn't fail.'

'Well. What I couldn't do without rushing off into my own room in distress, then.' Keith attempted to keep his voice light, but did not entirely manage it.

And yet, he felt it was necessary to speak of it, lest the episode should remain forever buried and unspoken. There had been a time when, in his shame, that was exactly what he had wanted, but lately, especially since that memorable time when Ewen had demonstrated his own willingness to lie back and take what Keith could not...well. They had not repeated the act since then, but Keith had continually turned the thought over in his mind, with emotions which had led him finally to take this step.

''Tis not a competition, where you have to prove yourself,' said Ewen. 'I only want to bring you pleasure, not distress.'

'But it would bring me pleasure,' protested Keith. 'I don't want to—to abstain from it just because...because of some needless sense of shame.'

Ewen looked thoughtful, but not yet convinced, and Keith added. ''Twould be easier, I think, to do it without Alison here. I promise I'll let you know how I feel, and tell you if I need to stop.'

After a few moments' further thought, Ewen nodded. 'We'll try it, then—but I'll hold you to that promise.'

Keith nodded, and drew him into a kiss with a renewed surge of desire. They made short work of their clothing and were soon on the bed, with Ewen making those preparations which were now familiar to Keith, despite the interval that had passed. He welcomed them eagerly, his heart pounding with excitement as he felt Ewen's fingers so intimately sliding into him.

But when he was ready, they did not progress as they had the last time: Ewen laid himself down flat on his back, saying, 'I intend to let you ride me this time, and do the work yourself.'

Keith felt obscurely disappointed. He had wanted to be taken: that was where his desire and his shame twined together and secretly met, in the darkness of his own heart.

Ewen must have seen the objection in his expression. 'Keith, please. Do you know how it felt for me, the last time? You encouraged me, and gave me to understand that it was nothing but pleasurable for you, and then...' He paused, then continued gently, 'I don't blame you for that, mo chridhe, but neither do I wish to repeat the experience, if we can possibly avoid it.'

Put that way, Keith could see the sense in his words, though he could not help but flush with embarrassment at the memory. He nodded.

'If this goes well, I am yours to command, some other time,' said Ewen, 'but for now, I should like you to control the pace.'

Somewhat later, Keith was attempting to lower himself while, with his hand, reaching behind himself to hold still the point on which he was attempting to impale himself. He felt awkward and faintly ridiculous, and said so.

Ewen laughed. 'No doubt we both look ridiculous.'

Keith laughed, too, but then glared at him in mock irritation. 'Might you stretch your policy of non-interference so far as to help me with the aim?'

Ewen acquiesced in this, and soon Keith was not laughing any longer: all his attention was on the thick, blunt point that he had just, by his own efforts, taken inside himself. Ewen had been right—it did help him to be in control, and he felt less overwhelmed by the experience. Keith knew, as well, what the physical sensations would be like, and that, too, helped him.

Keith sat for a while on Ewen's hips while he adjusted to the stretch, breathing deeply. Ewen had put his hands above his head and lay prone underneath him, though by his breathing, his expression, and by the very fact of how hard he was, he was certainly not unmoved. Keith regarded Ewen's muscled chest and arms as he lay there, leashed and restrained, and shivered at the thought of Ewen without that restraint.

Keith began to move, experimenting with angles and finding one which surprised a noise of pleasure from him.

'I'd like to touch you,' murmured Ewen. 'May I?'

Keith nodded, and Ewen's hands immediately came down to stroke him. They found a rhythm together, which Keith could feel would soon bring him off. Ewen's hips were no longer held in such strict discipline; he raised them to meet Keith's, with tiny thrusts that brought Keith all the closer to the brink.

'Go on,' Ewen urged him, 'please,' and Keith was soon brought to spend, a few endless moments of Ewen's hands on him and grinding down greedily again and again.

Keith came back to himself, breathing hard. He was all right—this was all right, he could have this. The words in his mind were half genuine feeling and half reassurance, as though saying it would make it true. He was aware of Ewen still hard inside him, but lying now entirely still again, watching Keith warily. He had raised his arms again above his head, and his chest was streaked with Keith's seed.

'How do you feel?' murmured Ewen.

How did he feel? Keith breathed out a shaky sigh. 'Not about to rush off into the next room, at any rate' he muttered, then added, 'Good.'

'I'm glad,' said Ewen. 'Perhaps you should get off me?'

Keith had been vaguely wondering whether he ought to let Ewen finish inside him, but at the suggestion, he did carefully get off, feeling the unaccustomed strain in his thighs and the soreness as Ewen slipped out of him.

'Come,' said Keith. He pulled Ewen to face him, took him in hand, and applied all the experience he had gained during the past half year in giving Ewen pleasure. It did not take long.

A little while later, Keith lay wrapped in the affectionate and close embrace which was Ewen's usual response to spending.

'How did it feel, then?' murmured Ewen, and Keith could hear that it was not just a casual question.

For a moment, Keith felt resentful of this careful treatment, as though he were a china figurine that could break with rough handling. But he could hardly blame Ewen for it, when he had proved himself so prone to breaking.

He had been silent too long, for Ewen added, 'Keith—please. Let me know how you feel.'

And with a rush of sympathetic feeling, Keith remembered Ewen's words before they began: Keith was not the only one to suffer from the difficulties they had had. His tongue was loosed, and he said, with honesty. 'Good. It was good. I'd felt some...apprehension, which I suppose is only natural.'

'Yes, of course,' said Ewen.

Keith was silent, thinking on his chagrin at Ewen's careful treatment of him, despite the clear necessity for that treatment, and decided he did not need to voice that feeling. It was only pride and shame that spurred him to it, and surely with Ewen he should be able to waive his pride.

Instead, he said softly, 'I don't know what I did to deserve such a thoughtful and considerate lover.' He kissed said lover, to illustrate the point. Ewen returned the kiss with what might have been relief.

'Did you enjoy it, then?' asked Keith.

'I did,' said Ewen, 'though, as you say, I couldn't quite relax and simply enjoy it.'

'Well,' said Keith, emboldened by their success, 'eventually we shall reach that point, perhaps.'

'I do hope so,' murmured Ewen, and pulled him closer again.

A week later, they travelled by easy stages on the Seine out towards the coast, going by boat to spare Alison's back the jolts and discomfort of a carriage. Ewen had not, strictly speaking, needed to come along, but Alison had not been surprised when he insisted; she suspected that he felt rather more dispirited than he showed at the thought of remaining behind.

Secure in the knowledge that she would have Keith to support her, Alison herself did not truly feel the gravity of leaving Ewen behind until she stood on the quay looking up into his blue eyes, with the cold and blustery wind plucking at her skirts and cloak.

It struck her that this morning might conceivably be the last time she ever saw him, if she did not survive the birth of their child. She pressed her face into his chest and felt the tears come into her eyes, freezing cold in the wind as she blinked them away. 'My heart's dearest...' she whispered.

Ewen made a small exclamation of distress. 'I'll pray for you,' he said. Then he composed himself, gave her one last, almost reverent kiss, and opened his arms to release her.

One of the sailors was calling to them; Keith helped her carefully up the gangplank, and then they were on the deck. She and Ewen were separated by the water of the cold salt sea: only a few yards of it, it was true, but as the ship cast off, the distance gradually widened until she could see him only as a speck on the far-off quay.

Only then did she turn to Keith, who was looking at her, not the shore. The wind was bitterly cold, and he held out her plaid. 'Here. Let's find some place to sit.'

Alison gratefully wrapped herself in the plaid. 'I'm very glad you're with me,' she said, pressing his hand.

Alison had little knowledge of ships. This one was not large, but there was a bewildering profusion of rigging, ropes running everywhere among the sails, burgeoning in the stiff breeze. Gulls flew overhead, white against the grey sky as they trailed the ship, and in her nose was the briny smell of the sea which was almost fresh, save for the undertone of rotting seaweed and fish. Alison's belly turned, and she swallowed against it.

One of the sailors came up to them, a man with wispy grey hair and features deeply seamed by squinting against the wind and sun. 'Welcome aboard, ma'am,' he said in an English accent strange to her, but mostly comprehensible. 'There's not much comfort to be had aboard a ship such as ours, but seeing as you're of the honest cause and we're free traders, we'll gladly take you. You're free to go below if you like, but if I were you, I'd stay on the deck for now. I'll show you a corner where you can sit, out of the way.'

Alison caught an ironic quirk of Keith's lips at the mention of the hold, which, she suspected, was crammed as full as could be of liquor, wine, or French silks. When she had settled down on some neatly coiled ropes with her back against the railing, Alison pulled the plaid closer round her ungainly belly.

She looked sidelong at Keith and smirked. 'You're not planning on turning us in to the customs officers, are you?'

Keith snorted. 'I'd have some explaining to do, no doubt to both the customs officers and the smugglers, if I arrived with this ship and then reported it. But I'm glad you're feeling comfortable enough to tease me.'

Alison's smile broadened, and she wished she could lean into Keith's arms. But even here, they dared not betray their true relationship, in case word should get back to Paris, where a word in the wrong ear would quickly spread. The sailors had all seen her kiss her husband farewell.

They had decided to say, in England, that they were cousins, for with their different accents, nobody would believe them brother and sister. It would be no stretch of the imagination to believe them kin, with their similar colouring, and if they told the truth—that she was travelling with a gentleman neither her husband nor her kinsman—it would hardly be proper.

Alison shifted on the pile of rope, trying to find a more comfortable position, and shivered in the cold wind. Her back ached. Keith solicitously offered her his plaid, as well, which she refused, but she did let him wrap one end of it round her shoulders and gain some warmth from sitting at his side.

Evening fell, and they ate the supper they had brought. With the falling dusk came a rain so light it felt like drifting spray, and Keith helped her to rise, both holding on to the railing against the roll of the ship.

'Yes, do go below,' said the old sailor to them. 'The wind is holding, and we should get to England in the dark of night. Better that way, you know.' He winked at them.

Alison looked out over the desolate grey sea that merged into the grey sky at the horizon, and wondered how on earth they could know when they would get to England.

They spent a miserable night in the cramped hold. On deck, Alison had not suffered much from the rolling of the ship, but in the darkness when she had no way of telling direction, she was wretchedly queasy, though never quite enough to throw up the contents of her stomach. It was a relief when she could feel a change in the movement in the ship, and then suddenly she was squinting against the light of a lantern lit in the hold, and sailors beginning to bustle about and shift the smuggled goods.

On deck there were no lanterns, but crates were nevertheless being conveyed down into boats that lay alongside; Alison was conveyed down as well, one more smuggled item from France into England.

Disoriented and weary, she sat with Keith's arm round her and wondered where they would go, in the dead of night. But she need not have feared, for word had been conveyed about her state: the sailors solicitously ran the boat up the sandy beach, so that she need not wet her feet in stepping out.

'My wife'll take you in for the night, ma'am,' said a soft voice beside her. 'Just come along.'

And, stumbling in the dark, but held up by Keith's arm, she was brought to a cart already piled with crates, and was hoisted up to sit on one of them. She was saved from being jolted about by the slowness of the horse, which was led by hand along the track in the dark, and passed along this unknown road on the coast of Sussex surrounded by the rustle of half-seen moving branches, dark against the dark sky, as the wind from the sea buffeted the shore. Somewhere far away, an owl called, a drawn-out, uncanny cry.

Alison was made much of by the smuggler's wife, and was very grateful to lie down and rest her aching back. The truckle bed rolled like the sea when she closed her eyes.

Keith suggested, the next day, that they rest at an inn at Newhaven before continuing on, which proposal Alison gratefully accepted. Even better, they got a room to themselves and Alison spent the afternoon, evening, and night resting, much of it in Keith's arms. She had endured worse travails than this during the Rising—but she had not, then, been advanced in pregnancy.

Keith went out the next morning to arrange their further travels; later in the day he and Alison were on the post carriage going inland. They were in no hurry, for there were several weeks yet until Alison was due, and by slow stages and two more overnight stops, they arrived presently at the town of Godalming and the house of Westbrook: a fine estate, or at least it had been so in the past—now it bore the unmistakeable signs of neglect, with weeds sprouting in the lawn and the formerly pruned shrubs shrugging out of their mold and growing free. Few of the windows were lighted when they arrived in the evening, but it was still an imposing building, backed by a steep wooded hill and flanked by two square towers surmounted by cornices in a lighter stone.

It belonged, nominally, to Major-General James Oglethorpe in His Majesty King George's army, but that officer had been court-martialled for his failure to pursue the Pretender's forces in the skirmish at Clifton and, though he had been acquitted, it was still said that he perhaps favoured the other party. He was indeed no Jacobite, having been raised by his Protestant father, a supporter of William of Orange and the Glorious Revolution, to share his father's opinions; but it was not strange if James was suspected, for his four sisters had been raised by their mother to be Catholic and to be Jacobites in word and deed.

The door was answered by a male servant, who led them inside and up a flight of stairs, dark except for his candle. The drawing room into which he led them was more warm and cheery, with a fire burning on the hearth, in front of which sat a woman.

'You are Alison Grant, I presume?' she asked. Her gaze was keen, under silver hair neatly tied back from a face that, in her youth, had turned many a head.

'Yes, madam,' replied Alison. 'And you are Miss Oglethorpe?' At the woman's nod, Alison continued. 'This is my cousin, Mr Keith Grant.'

Keith bowed.

'Welcome to Westbrook, both of you. I'm afraid I can't offer you the amenities the house once afforded,' said Miss Oglethorpe, 'but you may have peace and quiet and a good midwife, when the time comes.'

'I am very grateful for it, I assure you,' said Alison.

She stood somewhat in awe of Anne Oglethorpe, of whom she had heard much: brother to James Oglethorpe; rumoured to have been the lover of Robert Harley, Earl of Oxford and minister to Queen Anne, during his flirtation with Jacobitism; conveyor of letters and of intelligence between England and the Jacobite court; recruiter, peacemaker and manager among the often fractious English Jacobites.

'Come, sit down by the fire, and I'll send for some hot chocolate.'

And so they sat, having safely reached the harbour that would shelter Alison until the birth of her child.

Chapter Text

How strange it was to be in England, thought Keith, only twenty miles from London, and yet be so disconnected from his previous situation: his family did not know of his presence, and neither did the Army...

Not that he had nothing to do—his primary occupation was to ensure Alison's safety and comfort. Keith was relieved when the experienced midwife examined Alison and declared nothing to be out of the ordinary; he had a horror of having to use his own half-learned knowledge on behalf of anyone he loved, especially when the risk was so great. He would gladly leave the birthing chamber to the midwife, and no doubt fret interminably until it was over.

But the days passed without a sign yet of Alison's labour coming on. Whenever the sun deigned to show itself, Alison took short walks in the garden on Keith's arm, looking at the winter aconite and the purple crocuses poking up from the soil, and frequently sitting on a bench to rest from the burden of her huge belly. The chaffinch sang its cheerful song in a tree nearby, as if wishing to impart its optimism to them.

Their hostess, Miss Oglethorpe, was an imposing woman, sharp-witted in conversation, and Keith was somewhat wary of her. She and Alison would often sit and talk of an evening, while Keith excused himself to attend to his studies, doggedly making his way through Boerhaave's system of medicine. He longed to return to the more practical aspects of his apprenticeship, finding it easier to learn from sickbed visits and Dr Cameron's erudite commentary—but Keith had so much to learn that he could not neglect books.

Their presence at Westbrook had not gone unnoticed by the local community, and the matrons of Godalming paid visits to satisfy themselves that here was no child begotten out of wedlock, born to a mother who had left her home to bear it in shame and perhaps then abandon it. Alison Grant was a stranger, indeed, but she had the lady of the house to vouch for her, and so suspicion turned to friendly interest and questions as to whether she needed any help in supplementing her store of linens and clothes for the child.

On occasion, there would be visits from people whom Keith was fairly sure must be Jacobite agents, or who had, at any rate, Jacobite sympathies. He was sorely troubled over how to handle this situation, which would have caused him no difficulty in Paris, where his true identity was known. How should he act, in case one of them let slip some piece of intelligence which would never have been told to Keith in his true character?

But luckily, Miss Oglethorpe and her visitors were too prudent to reveal any secrets. Although Keith spent a few uncomfortable meals with visitors who assumed, in their small talk, that all at the table were Jacobites, it went no further than that.

He and Alison had been given two small chambers adjacent to each other and dared not share a bed overnight, but there was nothing to prevent them from sharing that bed for a while in the evening. Keith could take Alison in his arms and make drowsy small talk with her, or, on occasion, they could find other diversion together. Tired by the weight she was carrying, Alison was not always in the mood for that, but Keith treasured the times when she was.

Planted between Alison's bent and upraised knees, Keith applied himself to giving her pleasure with lips and tongue and fingers; her belly rose smooth and round and obscured his view of the rest of her, but he could hear her well enough, and read her response in the way she moved. He had never used his mouth on a woman like this, before seeing Ewen do it to Alison—none of his lovers had ever asked for it, and he had never ventured do to it on his own initiative. But then, Ewen had after all been taught by a Parisian Comtesse.

Keith had preferred not to tell either Alison or Ewen of his inexperience in this regard, but had lessoned himself after what Ewen did, and what seemed to give Alison pleasure. He now prided himself on the use of his tongue, and moreover enjoyed it more than he could have imagined. In this moment, at least, he did not miss what he could not have.

He could tell, now, from the timbre of Alison's voice, that she was close, and slipped two of his fingers inside of her.

When Keith at last took his tongue from her, having plied it with an ever-lighter touch to wring out the last vestiges of her pleasure, she gave a contented sigh. 'Come here.'

He needed no further encouragement, but came up on the bed to let her curl up on her side and return the favour.

As they lay drowsing afterwards, with her back against his front and his arm curving round her belly, she murmured, 'Keith?'

'Yes?'

'Don't you want to visit your family, now that we're so close to London?'

Keith sighed. 'I've thought of it, yes, but I don't want to go before the child comes. Not that I'll be able to do much, but I want to be here.'

'Perhaps 'tis selfish of me, but I want you to be here, too. But you might go afterwards, during my lying-in.'

'Perhaps I will, yes.'

Some of his uncertainty might have communicated itself to Alison, for after some apparent hesitation, she asked, 'Would you tell me more about your family? If you want to, of course.'

Had he been so reticent?—yes, perhaps he had been. 'I will, if you like.' After a pause, he went on. 'I idolised my dead father when I grew up, I think, and resented my mother for her re-marriage. 'Tis understandable for a child to do so, but as an adult, I can't deny the very good reasons she had to re-marry. And I certainly can't complain of her choice, for my step-father has been nothing but kind and generous to me, as you know. He could not take from me...' He fell silent.

She did not prompt him, and after a moment, Keith slowly went on. 'He could not take from me something I never really had. I've never been close with my mother, although...' He sighed, unable to put more of his feelings into words.

'I'm very sorry.' Alison shifted position with a grunt, attempting to ease her back, so that her belly rose as a small mountain under the covers. 'I dearly hope my child won't have cause to say such things of me, in future.'

'I can't imagine he, or she, would have cause for that.' He kissed her temple. 'I know how welcome this child is.'

'Yes, indeed. But since you're making confessions, will you tell me something else?'

Keith smiled. 'I'm not really very mysterious—what do you want to know?'

'Did you love any women before me? I must assume you did, but you've never mentioned any of them.'

Keith thought back upon that scene in the rain, as it dashed itself in fury against the windows of Lydia Shelmardine's boudoir. Strange, how the memory had so entirely lost its sting! When had it done so?

'I never loved any woman like I love you,' he said, entirely truthfully. 'Yes, I mean it—of course there were other women before you. Some were more passing connections...but the last one, her name was Lydia.' He told her something of how they had parted.

'She was entirely unworthy of you,' pronounced Alison.

And yet, the hurt had been real enough...but not any longer.

'You know, I have never loved any other man quite the way I love you, either,' she said.

In that moment, Keith did not care that he was unmoored from his previous life: there was nowhere he would rather be than in this clandestinely Jacobite house in Surrey, with this woman to whom he was not wed.

The days passed, one much like the other, until one day at dinner-time Alison's expression changed, as of one recognising an unmistakable sign.

'Has your labour begun, do you think?' asked Miss Oglethorpe, with the reassuringly calm expression of a woman who, though she had never given birth herself, had nevertheless much experience of the world.

'Yes, I think so,' said Alison, and then caught her breath again.

Miss Oglethorpe reached for the bell-pull. ''Tis high time. I'll send for the midwife.'

The midwife duly came and, after an examination, declared that everything seemed in order, but that it might take some time. Keith would have offered to keep her company, but, though there would be no birth for hours yet, he was not welcome in the birthing chamber.

He was entirely unable to study, and went instead for a walk outside in the windy April weather, where the trees were budding, lending a green haze to the distant treetops. But Keith was too preoccupied to enjoy the coming spring.

Making enquiries in the early evening, he was assured that all was progressing as usual. He knew, from his studies, that first-time births often took time, and, after asking one last time, was obliged to go to bed with little news. But as his room was next-door to that of Alison's, Keith could not help but strain his ears after the least sound he heard, and slept poorly.

When the faint grey light of dawn came, Keith heard screams. He fisted his hands helplessly in the covers, and tears came to his eyes. But no, he should not go to her, he should not: there would be nothing he could do, and he would only disturb the midwife, who certainly knew her business.

So he lay there wakeful for half an hour, after which he rose and dressed, since there was at any rate no sleep to be had. Looking out of the window, through which he could hear a blackbird placidly and melodiously singing in the garden, he thought of Ewen. How must he feel, who could get no news for weeks, and knew not whether his wife was dead or alive...

There were no screams any longer. What did that mean?

Abruptly, Keith left the room, unable to bear the suspense any longer. He would not knock, no, for fear of disturbing them, but he could stand here and wait until someone came out. And so he stood, unconsciously straightening as though he were a sentry on guard, until at last a maid came out of the room with a pail, probably intending to fetch fresh water.

'How is she?' Keith asked.

She jumped, not having seen him. 'Oh, sir, you startled me. I think she's all right, but ask the midwife, not me.'

The midwife, hearing them speak, stuck her head out of the door. 'I might've known. Sir, you couldn't be more impatient if you were the father. All is well. Your kinswoman has a fine infant son, but we're still waiting for the afterbirth.'

Keith let out a long breath, slumping against the wall. 'Thank you. Thank you.'

'I'm just doing my job,' she said tiredly, and closed the door again.

Keith took himself out into the spring morning, taking deep breaths of the chilly air. The sky was blue above the trees, the blackbird still singing on its branch. Surely the worst was over now, and Alison out of danger...but he knew it was not so. Yes, some women bled to death during the actual birth, but far more were claimed by childbed fever afterwards.

He took a brisk walk, then returned to a breakfast which he shared with Miss Oglethorpe, who was her usual upright and regal self, as though the Jacobites had never been defeated. Towards the end of the meal, the maidservant came to tell them diffidently that the midwife sent to say that they could come and see the child, if they wished, before Mrs Cameron should be left to rest.

Keith rose at once, leaving his unfinished cup of coffee, and Miss Oglethorpe joined him.

Entering Alison's chamber, Keith's eyes went first to her. She looked exhausted, but she smiled when she saw him, a small, private smile. Then the midwife was approaching with a bundle in her arms.

'May I hold him?' asked Keith of Alison. She nodded, and the bundle was laid carefully in Keith's arms. He felt that he was experiencing the moment in Ewen's stead, as though he could store up the memory and later convey it to him. The infant—Donald, as he would be—was inordinately tiny.

His little face was scrunched up, and the thin wisps of hair were a red-gold much brighter than Ewen's. When his eyes opened, they were blue. Keith met those eyes for a long moment, then looked up at Alison. 'He has Ewen's hair—and his eyes.'

She nodded happily. 'He does.'

Donald's little hand came free of the linens, with impossibly tiny dimples over the knuckles. Keith stared in fascination, holding his breath, and then the midwife came to take the child again, and place him in the cradle by the bed. Keith, along with Miss Oglethorpe, was hustled out again with no more than a glance exchanged with Alison—but perhaps that was for the best. They were not alone, after all.

The next few days passed with Keith dreading every morning to hear that Alison had come down with fever—but she never did. He was not the praying sort of man, but still, he found himself offering up a few heartfelt words of thanks for that. That Ewen might likewise be able to offer up prayers of thanks, instead of supplication, they were anxious to send him word of the safety of his wife and son, but this was not a trivial matter. A Jacobite who came to consult with Miss Oglethorpe a week after the birth agreed to take a letter for them, but he could not say for sure when his correspondence would arrive in France.

The matrons of Godalming seemed to feel that no woman lying in should be without attendance, and so, though Alison was still a relative stranger, they came offering such gifts and such food as a newly delivered woman should have. Keith, though he had shied from the medical details of the birth itself, found his developing professional instincts awakened by considering the regimen which would act restoratively on a woman lying in. According to the book he was currently studying, she should have easily digestible foods that promoted warmth, properties which the caudle that Alison was given certainly had.

Fortunately, she was not attended by women at all times, and Keith contrived to have again those evening visits with her which he had so missed. But they were not now alone: there was a third participant, sometimes screaming out his utter frustration with the world, and sometimes settled in contentment on Alison's chest—or on Keith's. Such a helpless tiny creature was Ewen's son and heir, the future laird of Ardroy! He could not even hold his head up, or turn himself over on his own—but oh, those blue eyes! Keith liked having his little warm body on his chest, and did not even mind when he belched and deposited a measure of half-digested milk on Keith's shirt.

Alison laughed when she saw it, and wiped off the milk with a linen clout. 'Oh, Donald.'

''Tis only milk,' said Keith indulgently, and pulled her close to settle on his arm. 'We are only lacking Ewen now—you must miss him.'

'Oh, I do...and he doesn't even know yet that he has a son!'

'Or that you are alive,' said Keith in a low voice, and his arm tightened round her. It was the first time either of them had openly alluded to the danger she had faced.

'Keith, I am alive, and out of danger—the midwife says so.' She kissed him, and presently said, 'Will you go to your family soon?'

'Yes, soon, but I'm not in a hurry. We'll stay here for several weeks, after all.'

In fact Keith was in a fair way to be putting the trip off: his family did not know that he was in England and were not expecting him, and he rather dreaded facing his lordship and Lady Stowe—but it would be cowardice not to go.

In a few days, he was riding a hired horse towards London in the morning, taking at least some enjoyment at being on horseback again. England was in the most pleasant bloom of spring, with verdant prospects at every turn: copses of trees, fields and pastures with neat hedgerows, and small villages with flowering gardens.

Keith reached London in the evening, his horse's hooves ringing on cobblestones instead of dirt roads; and then, almost too soon, reached the doors of Stowe House. He almost took the horse into the stable himself, but hesitated at the thought of facing yet another person who might be disappointed and concerned by his abandoned Army career, and handed the horse to a groom instead. He would talk with Masters, his father's old servant, yes...but not today.

Keith squared his shoulders and entered the house. His lordship received him with great astonishment in his study. 'Keith! I am all amazement to see you—I thought you were in France? But you are welcome; of course you are.'

He might as well tell the truth. 'I'm only here for a short period of time, sir. My friend Cameron of Ardroy, with whom I am lodging in Paris, asked me to accompany his wife to England to be delivered of her child, since he could not go himself.'

Stowe raised his eyebrows, and Keith could see that he caught the implications of a birth in Britain. He hesitated, then seemed to put off whatever it was he meant to say. 'Perhaps you are weary from your journey; let me call for some refreshments. I sent word with the footman to ready your room for you.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'Your mother is at a rout, and Francis at his club, so you may meet them tomorrow.'

Keith enquired after their health and his lordship's, making further small talk until the promised refreshments arrived, after which Stowe seemed to judge the time right to speak his mind. 'You are a grown man, and I am not your father, so I hesitate to offer you any unsolicited advice.'

'No step-father could have been kinder, sir. I am fully sensible of all you have done for me and how ungrateful 'twould be to take any offense whatsoever at advice that is kindly meant. You may be sure that I won't do so.'

Stowe sighed. 'It is kindly meant, I can promise you that. Keith, you have assured me that you are no Jacobite, and since I know that you are a man of your word, I cannot doubt this. But you must be aware of how it appears, in the eyes of the world, when you choose to live in Paris and choose, as your most intimate friend, a man who is in exile for his involvement in the late rebellion. I won't shun you for it, but if you continue in this vein, neither can I promise you that my interest will suffice to aid you in future, if you should, for example, wish to regain your former position or one like it.'

Keith met his step-father's concerned gaze and began slowly to reply. 'What you have already done for me, in regaining the price of my commission and assuring that any charges against me are dropped, is already more than generous, and in truth I hesitated to ask it of you. I am fully aware of the consequences of my actions, and will take responsibility for my own life. You will perhaps wonder that, given those consequences, I consider them worth the cost, especially considering the importance that I earlier attached to my military career. I can only tell you that I do so consider them. You speak of my choice of an intimate friend: I did not choose Ewen Cameron as my friend because he is a Jacobite, but rather in spite of it.'

Keith hesitated, then offered his step-father a piece of the truth, if not all of it. 'I was...rather a lonely man, before I met him. I am not lonely any more.'

'Well! You know your own mind best, I am sure,' said the Earl, 'and I will not foist any more advice on you. If you are happy in Paris, I'm sure I would not wish you to sacrifice that happiness.'

'Thank you, sir,' said Keith. 'I am grateful to you, for welcoming me in this house despite the choices I've made.'

They spoke for a while further, with the Earl enquiring after the progress of his surgeon's training, before they both retired to bed.

Francis's astonishment, next morning, at walking in to breakfast to see his brother sitting at the table was everything his brother could have wished. Lady Stowe was not yet up, preferring late mornings, and only Stowe and Keith were at the table.

'Keith!' said Francis with great surprise. 'I thought you were in France? How glad I am to see you!' Despite his evening at his club, he was looking fresh; perhaps he had not indulged overmuch.

Keith was smiling. 'And I to see you! I'm only in London for a few days, but I could not come to England without a visit.'

'Of course not. And now tell me: why are you in England?'

Keith told him, with many questions from Francis; he was obliged to distract him from the one about where he was staying, not wishing to betray his and Alison's host. What a tangle his loyalties were in now!

After breakfast, they found time to talk alone, and Francis drew from his brother more details of the events surrounding his departure for France than had been imparted by letter. How glad he was, Keith thought, that he had gone to London after all...though he had still his mother to talk to, which was likely to be more of a trial.

Alison, for her part, was also engaged in tête-à-tête conversation that day, for she had come down to dine with Miss Oglethorpe, beginning to find confinement to her room to chafe somewhat.

She was not in the least ready when that astute lady said, as off-hand as though it were casual conversation, 'By his colouring, your son truly is the child of your husband, then, and not of your...cousin?'

A stab of fear was Alison's first emotion at this query, and a wave of hot anger her second; but though her face had no doubt betrayed these feelings, she could at least control her mouth. When she had gathered her wits, she said, 'Such an accusation is unworthy of you, and an insult to me.'

'I did not accuse you of anything,' she said mildly. 'You have borne your husband's child.'

'Perhaps not, but you implied,' replied Alison, more hotly now.

'I certainly did, that's true,' said Miss Oglethorpe, who had watched her closely throughout this exchange; Alison wondered uneasily what her conclusions were. 'I fear that my occupation as an intelligence agent has left me unable to lay down the tools of my trade, even in situations where they are not needed. Forgive me, Lady Ardroy, for alarming you; your secret, should I be right, is safe with me.'

'And what leads you to believe that Mr Grant is my lover, then?' asked Alison uneasily, making no admissions.

'I doubt, in the first place, that his name is Grant—he is too thoroughly English for that. But I see why you made the pretence. To answer your question: much of personal interaction lies in tone of voice, glances, gestures; in short, things which do not admit of rational explication. But to be sure I do have more tangible evidence—I saw you kiss him in the garden once, when I was watching through a window; only a brief kiss, but it seemed that of a lover rather than of a cousin. Secondly, I saw the expression on his face when he first held your child in his arms, and thirdly, the servants report of your always sharing a room in the evenings. I do hope you are more careful in Paris.'

Alison flushed. It seemed pointless to deny it any longer, and she said, 'We don't need to be; at least, not on my husband's account. Keith is his dear friend, and he is my lover with my husband's full permission.' She very much hoped she could keep the nature of Keith's relationship with Ewen out of it.

Miss Oglethorpe raised her eyebrows. 'Oh? I congratulate you, then, on a successful arrangement.'

'Not that I don't also love my husband with all my heart,' said Alison, feeling the need to clarify this point.

'Even better, then. Ah, the days of youth...I was never married, but I've enjoyed my share of gallantries. Your secret is safe with me, Lady Ardroy.'

And indeed Alison had noticed that she had sent the servants away and made sure that the doors were closed before raising the subject. 'I shall hold you to that promise.'

Miss Oglethorpe narrowed her keen eyes. 'Will you indulge my curiosity a little further? Who is this English Keith, if he is not a Grant?'

She could easily find that out by enquiring among Jacobites in Paris, if she had a mind to, so Alison saw no reason to withhold the information. When she had told Miss Oglethorpe what was common knowledge, that lady sighed and said, 'Remarkable. One should never doubt the capacity of men and women to surpass our every expectation, either in the direction of the honourable and admirable, or in the base and vile. I'm glad he proved to be one of the former.'

'I should not now be alive if he hadn't been, nor would my husband.'

'Quite. Has he changed his allegiance, then?'

Alison flushed. 'He has not. Or rather, he has left the Elector's service, but he does not serve the King. 'Tis an awkward position for him, especially in Paris, but I shouldn't want to persuade him against his own conscience for the world. But you needn't be concerned—he would never repay your hospitality by betraying you or anyone else here.'

'Well. I trust I haven't let slip any intelligence to him, beyond the fact of my presence here, and that of my occasional visitors.'

'But, Miss Oglethorpe,' continued Alison, 'I think you owe me something after this intrusion into my private life—won't you tell me some story of your own life? I hear 'tis a most interesting one.'

Anne Oglethorpe laughed. 'You've heard that, have you? Well, I suppose I do owe you something for forcing that confidence.' She tapped her lips for a moment, considering. 'Have you ever heard that the current Duke of Argyll, in his youth, was not as staunch a Hanoverian as he now is?'

'No, really?' said Alison. 'That is news to me. To be sure, there are Jacobite Campbells, but I never heard that he ever had any such leanings.'

'Well, unlike you, I did my very best to recruit him. But such progress as I made was entirely due to his own self-interest, after having fallen out of favour with the Elector—the previous one, that is—and not to any stirrings of loyalty to the true King.'

And Miss Oglethorpe shared with her a few stories of long-ago espionage and intrigue, until Alison heard, from the next room, Donald beginning to cry, and went to see whether he needed his clouts changed for clean ones, or was hungry—or, most probably, both.

Chapter Text

For many weeks, the number of which Ewen had helplessly counted over as he calculated the likely date of Alison's confinement and the length of her lying-in, he had gone alone to bed every evening. This was no more than he had done every night before his marriage, but he seemed to have lost the trick of it, and missed both Alison and Keith with a bone-deep ache.

Not that he was alone during the days, even when his work as an officer did not take up his time: his friends and family knew of his predicament and treated him with great kindness, inviting him to dinners, strolls in the parks, and to the fencing salle, ensuring that his thoughts need never dwell for long on the terrible possibilities of his wife's absence.

It was because of one of those invitations that he arrived home late one evening after supper at Lochiel's place, to hear unexpectedly the cry of an infant as he neared his door. His heart seemed to stutter: could it be?

It was: he opened the door to see Keith on his feet, with the babe in arms, walking as though to calm the child, while Alison lay clothed on the bed. She gave a cry as Ewen came in, was soon on her feet, and then they were all three embracing in an awkward tangle of arms and talking over each other.

'Tell me you're well?'

'Oh, Ewen, you have a son!'

'How I've missed you!'

Keith stepped back and handed Ewen his son, who had stopped crying in sheer surprise and looked up wonderingly at his father. As both Ewen's arms were now occupied, he could do nothing about the tears which brimmed in his eyes, so that his first sight of little Donald was blurred and indistinct. He blinked the tears away and thought he saw red hair in the light from the single candle. Reverently, he bent his head to kiss his child's forehead.

That night, Ewen knelt and thanked God in prayer for the safe birth of his son and the health of his wife, before he went to bed with Alison and Keith on either side of him, greedy for the warmth of their bodies against his own. Donald lay in the little crib Ewen had obtained during their absence, which had stood empty so many nights before. He was even glad to be woken in the night by Donald's cries, when Alison got up to feed him.

Ewen's gladness at cries in the night was not to last, but fortunately his son was not a difficult child. Their life settled into a new pattern, where the needs of one tiny individual must be met: he must sleep, eat, his linens be changed—most of which responsibility fell on Alison. But she felt, too, that she had entered a new stage of life, a change as profound as becoming a married woman; many other women, who now freely offered her their advice and support, had entered it before her. Margaret Ogilvy, who was soon to have her own first child, was eager to hear Alison's stories of her confinement.

Alison could not but feel, too, what an advantage it was to have two men to rely on. She had wondered, sometimes, whether Keith would really stay with them through the quotidian life of caring for an infant in their small lodgings: it had not the romance of their first months together, nor was she herself currently an attentive lover—her attention being necessarily given in quite another direction.

She voiced this thought to Keith one evening as she lay on the bed resting with a slight headache, having given the crying Donald over to him to walk the length of the room, rocking and lightly bouncing him with the instinctual movement of one who comforts a small child. Ewen was currently away on regimental duties.

'How strange,' said Keith. 'I had a similar fear, when I first learnt that you were with child. I thought that, once you and Ewen had a child, you would be a proper family, and might cast away this business of having a lover.'

'I don't feel like much of a lover at present,' confessed Alison. 'But if you'll still have me like this, Keith...if you'll still have us...'

'I will,' said Keith quietly.

She thought of what he had told her in England, of the lover who had betrayed him, and of the mother who, though Keith had not given Alison many details of his reception by her in London, did not seem properly to appreciate her extraordinary son. Well, Alison did so appreciate him, and would not throw his love away.

Not that their life was entire harmony and sweetness, for lack of sleep will make anybody cranky at times, and one or the other of them frequently slept in the small room, where Donald's waking in the night would not disturb them.

Keith had not had much opportunity to be alone with Ewen, for Ewen's regimental duties increased with the approach of spring. But one evening, perhaps ten days after Keith and Alison's return to Paris, Keith came home to their lodgings to find Ewen there before him.

'Is Alison away?' asked Keith, as he hung up his cloak by the door.

'Yes, she's with Lady Ogilvy,' replied Ewen, and stood up.

'I see. Are you hungry?'

'I am,' said Ewen, and advanced towards him with intent.

Keith had not intended any double entendre, but he entirely welcomed Ewen's embrace and his urgent kisses—they had not had much opportunity for such things lately.

Only a quarter of an hour later, Keith lay spent underneath the bulk of Ewen's body, his heart racing and his body awash in pleasure.

'Oh, I needed that,' mumbled Ewen and rolled off him. Keith made an indistinct noise of satiety and approval.

'I haven't wanted to ask Alison—she's just given birth, and needs her rest.' Ewen pulled him close.

They lay there for a while in mutual lassitude, before Keith remembered what he had wanted to say to Ewen. 'If there's anything you want to ask me, about our time in England, mine and Alison's, I'll be happy to tell you. I felt, at times, that I was there in your stead—I was not the father, but I was the first man to hold Donald in my arms...'

Ewen sighed. 'I won't conceal from you that I felt a little jealous over that, but I know 'tis unworthy of me. My inability to go to England is not your fault, and if I could not be the first man to hold him, I'd want it to be you.'

'Thank you,' said Keith. 'I know how difficult it must have been for you, not to know...we did send a letter, but as it only got here last week, well...'

'But yes, do tell me more of your time there,' said Ewen wistfully, and Keith did.

After he had done, Ewen said, 'And you went to London, too, to visit your family? They didn't talk sense into you, then, and convince you to leave Paris?'

'My step-father did make an attempt at it, but evidently did not succeed,' said Keith dryly. ''Twould take more than that to twine me from you.'

At that, Ewen's arm tightened possessively round Keith's waist. But after a while, he sighed again.

'What?' asked Keith, stroking his hair. 'Do you foresee any other attempts to inveigle me away from your side?'

'No, 'twill be the other way round,' said Ewen glumly. 'I'm the one who'll be obliged to leave, and I can't say no, either.'

Keith had rather foreseen this. 'Because you'll be under orders from the French army?'

'Aye.' Ewen shook his head ruefully. 'I was about to ask how you knew, but to a former military man, I suppose 'tis obvious.'

'It is. I was surprised that you hadn't been called up already—from what I've heard, the French assaults on the borders of the Low Countries have been going on for some time.'

'Our regiment has been held in reserve, but we'll be marching in a week's time now. I confess, you'd do a much better job of it—what do I know of siege warfare?'

Keith silently thought that sieges were certainly not the strong point of Highlanders in general, but did not voice the thought. And he could not think purely professionally on the topic of Ewen going into danger! It was his turn to hold Ewen closer. 'I'm sure you'll do well, and there will be engineers and artillery for the sieges. But—can your leg bear it?'

'I think it can. It could not stand long marches, but that won't be necessary. I'll be on horseback, and once we're in the Low Countries, I expect that the sieges will mostly be slow work for the foot.'

'Your men might have digging to do, but it shouldn't be hard on you,' said Keith, feigning an equanimity he did not quite feel. 'Well, you must go...but the post will be regular, I expect, so you must write to us often. Does Alison know?'

'No,' said Ewen miserably. 'I haven't told her yet. I couldn't go with her to England, and now when she's only just come back, I am leaving! I'm a poor husband to her, I fear.'

'You are a husband who provides for her,' said Keith firmly. 'Without your army pay, where would you both be?'

'That's true, but...' Ewen shook his head. 'However, I certainly must tell her.'

'Yes, you must.' Keith pulled the blankets over them both, and they lay for some while contemplating their inevitable parting.

However, they were not parted yet, and presently Ewen minded himself that they should make the most of the time they did have. He brought Keith's hand down to where their proximity had begun to make him grow hard again, and murmured, 'I would have you again.'

Keith's hand tightened on him, feeling the renewed curl of desire in his own groin. 'Have me, then.'

Strengthened by the conversation with Keith, Ewen addressed Alison the next morning, after Keith had gone to his rounds with Archie. 'M'eudail, I fear I have unwelcome news.'

'You're going to war?' burst out Alison, and Ewen regretted having waited to speak.

'Aye,' he said, and took her in his arms. 'I would have gone gladly, had it been to fight for the Prince, but I own that I don't feel the same eagerness to fight for France, especially with Donald so newly born.'

'But you must go, I know it,' said Alison, calm again now after that first burst of feeling.

Ewen nodded. 'And we must speak of how you are manage here.'

'Oh—but I'll have Keith. And my father, as well as your kin...you needn't be concerned for me, surely.'

'Yes...I only wonder whether you and Keith lodging here alone, when I am gone, will give rise to any rumours?'

Alison frowned. 'He's already gone with me to England.'

'Exactly. And he isn't a kinsman of yours.'

'But I'm a married woman,' protested Alison. 'Everybody knows how close friends you and Keith are, and nobody, looking at Donald, could think him anything but your son.'

Ewen sighed. 'Perhaps my concern is unnecessary. Let's talk with Keith tonight—certainly I would be much easier in my mind if he could be here to support you.'

Keith, when consulted that evening, said carefully, 'The last thing I want is to give rise to any rumours—but neither should I want to leave Alison without the support I could provide her. I'll leave it to you both to decide.'

'I've always told people that Keith has a separate room of his own,' said Alison. 'I really think 'twould be unnecessary for us to move apart—and you two are known to be so close that nobody could wonder that my husband trusts his friend to support his wife.'

Ewen gave way with some relief. 'I hope you're right—we'll do it that way, then.'

A week later, he rode off to the Low Countries with the greatest reluctance, a part of the vast machinery of the French Army. But his heart remained behind.

That same evening, Alison whispered into Keith's chest, as they lay together in bed, 'What if he doesn't return? What if he dies out there?'

Keith bleakly contemplated such a possible future: they would close ranks then, and Alison, widowed, might accept his own hand in marriage. They might return to Ardroy, now legally Donald's, where Keith would strive to fill Ewen's shoes: an impossible task, since he was neither a farmer nor a Cameron—though since he would, after all, be bringing up Ewen's son, he would perhaps be accepted for that reason.... But through the years, there would be an empty space in Alison's heart and in his.

Keith he did not voice these thoughts; instead, he said firmly, 'I was an army officer for...twelve years, I think? And fought in my share of battles. If I survived that, Ewen can certainly survive one season of it.'

They both knew, of course, that it was not certain, but nevertheless Keith's words did comfort them both.

Having detailed to Dr Cameron his reading during his sojourn in England, Keith had expected to return to the by now familiar rounds of his apprenticeship. But his master was of the opinion that Keith, since he did not after all aim to become a physician, ought now to find a surgeon-apothecary to teach him the specifics of that trade.

'You're probably right,' said Keith, 'though I confess, I feel I have so much to learn from you still, and you've been a most generous and helpful teacher.'

'That is kind of you to say,' said Dr Cameron, smiling. 'But I've made some preliminary enquiries for you: there is a French army surgeon, M. Garnier, who might be willing to take you. Another possibility is Mr Calhoun, another Jacobite like myself, but Irish. Perhaps you might meet with them both and see whether either of them suits you?'

Keith hestitated, then said, 'I recognise that practice in the army would give me valuable experience, but in light of my history, I should prefer not to apprentice myself to an army surgeon. And my French is adequate, no more—if I could have a master who speaks English, that would be my preference. I do intend, eventually, to return to Britain and practise there.'

Mr Calhoun proved to be a man ten years Keith's senior, who had perhaps never set foot in Ireland. The youngest son of a father who had, in his youth, followed James II from his Irish defeat, he was round-faced and ruddy, and his English accented by French more than Irish. His eldest brother owned a share in a successful merchant house, while the middle brother was a captain in the Irish Brigades, whom Keith might have faced at Fontenoy.

'Well!' said Mr Calhoun with energy, 'you've been taught by a physician, have you, Mr Windham? No doubt Dr Cameron is a learned fellow, but I expect you have not had much experience with the knife, aye?'

'That is so,' said Keith, 'though I've taken a course on anatomy at the university. So far I have little experience with the apothecary's art, as well.'

'Yes, you must learn the latter—I've a young apprentice who is experienced enough to do much of the grinding and mixing, and he can get you started in it. Meanwhile, I've got a treatise on the topic that you must study, and I'll let you attend any operations of mine for a good while, before you first apply the knife on your own. How does that sound, Mr Windham?'

'Very well,' said Keith. 'You'll find me a diligent student, I promise you.'

And so, Mr Calhoun became his new master.

Spring passed into summer, and Ewen's regular letters spoke of little more danger than the tedium of waiting, of his longing for them, and of the inordinate heat of the sun to one used to the wind and rain of the Highlands.

They learnt of the battle of Lauffeld in early July, but this victory for France gave them only anxiety until Ewen's letter, arriving a few days later, relieved them: he was unharmed. By that time, Paris had begun to feel the price of de Saxe's victories, for the British navy blockade kept French merchant shipping in the ports. The price of bread rose.

Ewen's next letter reported that his regiment had been ordered to another siege.

'Bergen-op-Zoom...that's ambitious,' opined Keith. The window of their room stood wide open, though it was not enough to relieve the stifling heat that had built up during the day.

'You don't think they will take it, then?' asked Alison. Donald, in her lap, turned his head—which he could hold up on his own now—and followed her gaze to look at Keith.

Keith could not help but smile at the boy, before he replied. 'Hmm. Not unless the defenders are incompetent or undermanned, I would say—that fort is massive and well designed, and has withstood two sieges before this one. Though, to be sure, if any general could take it, von Löwendal is the man.'

Distracted by Donald's returning smile, Keith reached out for him. He kissed the top of the boy's head, drawing in the smell of him, 'And your father is there...God keep him safe.'

How strange, that his own military knowledge and experience would never find use again...and Ewen, who had no genuine interest in siegecraft or the modern military—though he was skilled in swordplay and at leading his men—was the one pitting himself against those massive walls. Keith felt a brief flare of regret, then looked at Alison and at Donald, and did not repent of his choice.

The defenders were neither incompetent or undermanned, but nevertheless Bergen-op-Zoom did fall to the French in September. Highlander fought Highlander in the streets of the town as Loudoun's 64th met Lochiel's Régiment d'Albanie among the ranks of Frenchmen, Dutch, English, and other nationalities—and Ewen Cameron survived it, though he took a bayonet slash to the arm.

Keith's urgent enquiries by letter as to whether he were getting proper care were dismissed by Ewen's replies that the wound was not serious. This did not much relieve the minds of his wife and lover, since they were sure he would say that regardless of whether it were, in fact, the case. And even small wounds could fester, especially in summer...

Ewen was allowed to return home in October, when the rains and oncoming autumn were beginning to make further warfare impracticable. The relief and joy felt on all sides at his reunion with his family, including Keith, will be easily imagined.

'He's grown so much!' exclaimed Ewen at first sight of his son, then bit his lip and tried not to show his hurt and disappointment when his son turned his face into her mother's breast at the sight of this giant of a stranger.

'Oh, Ewen—he'll soon come to know you again,' said Alison.

Later that evening, Keith examined Ewen's arm and declared that the wound was, indeed, not serious and was healing well; Ewen scoffed at this. 'Didn't I tell you so?'

Keith narrowed his eyes at him. 'You did, but I didn't quite trust you on that point.'

There was much to say that night, and much, as well, to convey by means other than words.

They spent their second winter in France, with no intimation of how many further such winters there would be. Of the three of them, Keith was kept the most occupied, since Mr Calhoun's practice was a busy and long-established one: but this was all to the good, since it allowed him to progress in his chosen career. As Donald was learning to crawl, and displaying an intrepid spirit of discovery, he also kept his mother more and more occupied—and his father, too, since Ewen was determined that his son should not forget him, when (or if) he should have to go to war again, in the spring.

This indeed came to pass, though they had hoped it would not be necessary. Marshal de Saxe now directed his energies on beseiging Maastricht, while peace talks proceeded at nearby Breda to the sound of the firing guns. In truth, all Europe was weary of war and could ill afford a further year of it—least of all France, whose coffers were almost empty.

This time, Ewen never even saw action, which would perhaps have frustrated a professional officer with hopes of advancing his career, but was a relief to a husband and father who in truth wanted nothing more than to return to his estates...which seemed now nothing but a far-off dream, impossible of realisation. He returned to Paris in mid-summer, concerned that, with the peace, the regiment would be disbanded and his income dry up.

But in August came the news, more welcome than a drink of cool water in the heat, of the Act of Indemnity. It was Alison who first heard the news, coming as she did from an evening visit to the Ogilvy household, and with Donald in her arms she burst through the door. 'Ewen! We're free to return to Britain!'

'What?' exclaimed Ewen, engaged in eating supper with Keith.

She sat down and related the news: how she had carefully gone through the small print in the Act, all the long lists of those who were exempted from the pardon. 'But your name was not on the list, I am positive of it!'

'But Lochiel, I am sure, was on the list,' said Ewen slowly.

'Aye—and Archie and Lord Ogilvy, too,' she replied.

'I'll consult Lochiel tomorrow,' said Ewen, 'and be guided by him.'

They both looked to Keith. 'If we go,' said Alison, 'you must come with us to Ardroy—please say you'll come.'

'I certainly won't stay behind alone in France,' said Keith with emphasis. 'And I've been looking forward to returning, as well. Of course I'll come with you to Ardroy to begin with—but I can't complete my surgeon's training there.'

'Yes, of course,' said Alison. She would have been happy just to have him by their side—it was not as though there was any lack of occupation at an estate such as theirs—but, understanding that he had his pride and sense of purpose, she said nothing more.

Ewen's interview with Lochiel, which had begun with an asseveration of Ewen's loyalty and determination never to leave Lochiel's side while he was attainted, ended with Ewen's reluctant acceptance that he was to go: as Lochiel had persuaded him, he was of more use in helping to defend the Cameron lands from those who would infringe upon the rights of the clan, and in taking charge of his tenants and bettering his estate. And Ewen's own longing for home might perhaps have helped to persuade him, too.

Though Keith was eager to leave France, he was sorry to leave his place with Mr Calhoun, and consulted with Dr Cameron as to how he might best continue his education in Britain.

'You mean to live in Scotland, then?' asked Dr Cameron, with what Keith feared was a speculative gaze. He wondered whether the doctor was aware of Ewen and Alison's invitation that he settle at Ardroy.

'I have heard you say that medical education in Edinburgh is superior to that in England,' said Keith carefully.

''Tis very true,' said Dr Cameron. 'I certainly recommend that you attend the lectures and demonstrations of Professor Monro, and I'll give you the names of a few surgeons of note. With my recommendation, I'm sure you'll be able to find a good practice in which to apprentice further.'

'That would be most generous,' said Keith. And Mr Calhoun would, hopefully, also give him a recommendation.

Alison, for her part, took a tearful farewell of Margaret Ogilvy and her newborn daughter, of Jean Cameron and her other female friends, and of her brother and father. The latter was invited to join them at Ardroy, but elected to stay in France and visit them later. Mr Grant, as Alison knew, had an extensive social circle in Paris, and Alison was not surprised that he did not wish to make Ardroy his permanent home, at least not yet.

How few were their possessions, and how easy it was to pack up and leave! And yet, thought Alison, these humble lodgings had seen many happy moments: the blossoming of their relationship with Keith, the day when she had first told Ewen she was with child, Donald's first smile...but they would make more memories, and Ardroy held so many of them already, especially for Ewen.

And so it was that the Highlands welcomed again their exiled son, returned after a long and wearisome journey from the land of their Auld Alliance. As the little party travelled at long last up towards Ardroy, Keith looked not so much at the landscape as at Ewen's expression, which showed the inner landscape of his emotions bright and clear, as an echo of the hills and the sky. When they came into sight of the house and the loch, those emotions filled him to the brim and over, and unashamed tears glistened on his cheeks.

As for Keith, his emotions were more mixed: he had, not without difficulty, made his place in Paris with Ewen and Alison, but what now? Miss Cameron would certainly wonder at his returning with them, as though the party of three, which had been thrown together by chance (or fate) and left Ardroy for the coast together, had never been parted. Which they had, in fact, scarcely been.

Keith stood back during the family reunion, feeling himself to be out of place. But Ewen noticed him doing so, and drew him forward for his Aunt Margaret's notice with the warmest expressions of regard, with Alison adding to them. Keith felt his cheeks flushing: he was not used to having so much of their private bond on display, but after all, such deep friendship was enough of a reason for his invitation to return with them to Ardroy.

He was installed that night in the guest room where he had slept on his previous visits to the house: his own room, with no connecting door to Ewen and Alison's. Keith gazed at his bed, where he would lie alone: he had not thought before of what they had lost, with those cramped shabby lodgings in Paris where neverthess they could share a bed every night, in fact share every aspect of their lives, in a comfortable ménage a trois. Here, where there were servants and tenants to notice, not to speak of Miss Cameron, they could certainly not live like that!

He was still standing there, looking disconsolately at his bed, when he heard a low knock.

'Yes?' he replied, and Ewen came in quietly and closed the door behind him.

'Oh, m'eudail,' he exclaimed, and Keith was wrapped in his arms.

'You are laird and lady of Ardroy again, now...and where does that leave me?' he mumbled into Ewen's shoulder, and in the next moment repented of it. He drew back and looked into Ewen's face. 'No, ignore that—what a wretch I am, to complain of us all being able to return to Britain, you especially. This is where you belong.'

But Ewen had not taken offense. With a sigh, he said, 'I belong by your side, as well.' He looked at the bed, as Keith had done before Ewen came in, and his hands tightened on Keith's arms. 'Keith, it pains me beyond anything that we can't share a bed any more! I wish we could.'

'Can we never...' Keith trailed off painfully, not knowing how to continue.

'You can come in to our room for a while, after the household is abed. Aunt Marget goes early to bed—she has already done so—and the servants don't come up here after that. Come.'

Keith followed him to their room, where Donald lay asleep in an old cradle which had been Ewen's as a babe. Alison came into Keith's arms dressed only in her shift, and he felt her soft familiar body under the thin linen. 'Oh, Keith,' she murmured. 'Come into bed for a while.'

He made to lie on it with his clothes on, but she shook her head. 'No, take them off.'

And they lay down all three, naked under the covers of Ewen's sturdy oak bed. Keith, in the middle, felt himself held close; he turned to curl round Alison, slinging his arm round her to cup one of her breasts in the casual license taken by an established lover. She sighed in contentment, and he felt Ewen fitting himself round him in turn and kissing his neck. To hold and be held: he felt himself relaxing and his eyes closing. It had been weeks since they had been able to lie so together, weeks of travelling on ship and staying at inns with no privacy. And how tired he was, too, after that long journey...

Keith had almost fallen asleep, rejecting the knowledge that he could not stay here, when Ewen stirred. 'Keith,' he murmured regretfully.

Keith roused himself with reluctance. 'Yes. I know.'

He extricated himself and dressed completely, because it would never do to be seen emerging half-dressed from Ewen and Alison's room. He hesitated over Donald's cradle, then leant down to brush a kiss over the brow of this sleeping child who was not his own.

'May I take the candle?' he asked, and Ewen answered in the affirmative.

'Sleep well,' said Keith, keeping his voice light, though he felt a lump in his throat.

'You too,' echoed from the bed, and Keith slipped out of the door and went on tip-toe to his own room.

In his lonely bed, Keith pondered the nature of marriage. There had been times, in Paris, when he had felt himself an equal partner in this...this relationship, whatever one might call it. But now, at Ardroy, the unmistakable legitimacy of Ewen and Alison's marriage asserted itself, and the illegitimacy of his own bond with them was thrust upon him.

Regardless of what his feelings about their new domestic arrangements were, he could not stay here. Ewen and Alison had both made it clear that they would welcome him, but Keith had his self-respect: he would not be a dependent. And to make his own living, it was not enough with two years' apprenticeship and study: he would have to complete his education, which he could not do in the Highlands. He must go to Edinburgh, there to live alone while Donald learnt to walk without him there to see it, and Ewen and Alison lived their life as man and wife...

It was not fair to blame them—no, he did not blame them, nor doubt their love for that matter, thought Keith, remembering their recent close embrace. But neither could he deny his own feelings.

He would go to Edinburgh. He would study. And then, perhaps, in the future...

Chapter Text

When the first autumn storm swept down on the Highlands, tearing the yellow leaves from the birches and drenching anybody who was obliged to venture out of doors, Keith had been gone from Ardroy for a week.

Ewen looked out of the window at the driving rain, replying with one part of his mind to Aunt Marget's remarks about the last of the corn which they had not managed to bring in before the storm came, and wondering with another part whether Keith had reached Edinburgh yet. He was the one who had insisted on leaving, and yet, though he had put a good face on the matter, Ewen could tell that his heart had not been light.

Strange, how everything at Ardroy was in many respects just the way Ewen had left it, and yet, his experience of it was so different...but perhaps he was the one who had changed.

October 8, 1748
Edinburgh

Dear Ewen,

Having found myself a Place to live, I can now provide you with an Address where you may write to me: it is Burnet's Close, off the Cowgate, in Mrs Armstrong's Establishment. The Room is small enough, but I don't need much Space—more importantly, 'tis not up in the Rafters which will be cold in Winter, and the Landlady is an excellent Cook. Tho' I have not yet found a new Master under whom to study, Dr Cameron's Recommendation has ensured me a few promising Interviews with Surgeons who might take me on, and I have enroll'd in one of Professor Munro's classes at the University, to further my Knowledge of Anatomy and Surgery.

Did you get the last of the Harvest in? I do hope so, and I hope, as well, that you and all the Family are well—as am I, aside from...no, I won't say it, for what's the Use? I am well, regardless of how I may long to be elsewhere than this City, where I am compell'd to stay for Reasons of Necessity.

'Tis unnecessary for me to dwell at Length on my Feelings, for you know them already. My Love and good Wishes to you, your Wife, and your Son, from,

Your affectionate Friend,
Keith

October 29, 1748
Ardroy,

Dear Keith,

It pains my Heart to detect in your Letter such Signs of Despondency, though you do your best not to dwell on them; I won't dwell on mine, either, nor on the Frustration which this Form of Communication entails when we are us'd to lodge together.

Let me, instead, convey to you such Matters as may cheer you: after the last Storm, we have had a few clear, chilly Days with the Sky above such a Shade of blue as could scarcely be believ'd. The Vegetation has not yet turn'd the dull, sodden brown of Winter; instead, the Bracken is still a deep Bronze, as tho' burnish'd by the Sun, and the bright red Rowan Berries are plentyful this Year, to the Delight of the Thrushes. If you were here to see it, the Joy that I already feel at the Sight of my Home would be doubl'd. I took a cold Draught of Water from the Loch this Morning, and the Taste of it was more to me than all the fine Wines of France.

Donald, too, is a Delight to his Parents and to his Great-Aunt, and is beginning to walk well enough that we, and the Servants, must be vigilant to keep him away from Fireplaces and other Dangers. I believe he learns new Words every Day! You'll be pleas'd to know that he has ask'd after you several Times, or at least he says your Name in a questioning or demanding Tone, as well he might, since you have been so much a Part of his Life—and will be still, I hope, in Future. In the Meantime, I intend to write to you often to let you know how he does: 'tis a Subject upon which the fond Heart of a Father cannot speak too long, and I know that you, who cannot be here to see him yourself, will want to hear of him.

Alison, with whom I shar'd your Letter, sends her warmest Greetings. She is having some Trouble adjusting to the Damp and Cold of Autumn and Winter in the Highlands, compared to the relative Warmth of France—but, however, she is now reading this over my Shoulder and wishes to lodge her Objection to this Description, and assure you that she by no Means suffers or wishes to complain. I shall instead say, then, with her full Blessing and Encouragement, that she misses you as much as I do, and longs as I do for the Day when you may return.

Surely you'll be able to visit us? Winter and early Spring are not, I allow, good Seasons for Travel, but after the Snow Melt has subsided, I must firmly insist that you lay your Studies aside long enough for a Visit. Until then, and indeed until the End of my Life and after, I remain,

Your affectionate and constant Friend,
Ewen

PS You ask'd about the Harvest, and I forgot to reply—yes, we got almost all of it in before the first Storm, and will not, I believe, suffer in the Winter.

It is possible that Keith, upon receiving this epistle—such a warm and generous reply to his own poor and truncated effort—lay upon his bed and shed a few tears into his pillow. Donald's asking for him smote Keith's heart with the knowledge that the little boy, young as he was, might well forget him soon. But no wonder that he had asked for Keith, who had so far been more present in his life than his own father, serving in the war.

He could see, in his mind's eye, Alison leaning over Ewen's shoulder as he wrote and, with her impish smile, dictating what he should write—for of course it might look odd for her to correspond with him directly, while the combined affection of man and wife for a common friend would raise no eyebrows.

Keith resolved to make an effort and replied with a fuller letter, describing how he had now found a place to apprentice with one of the surgeon-apothecaries whom Dr Cameron had recommended, sketching the man's personality along with that of his wife and apprentice, and detailing as well a few incidents that had arisen in the surgery—though not, of course, any bloody or tragic ones, or ones that revealed the confidential circumstances of patients. He replied, as well, to the personal notes in Ewen's letter, and added his own questions, hopes, and professions of friendship.

And so the winter went, with each letter from Ardroy a small bloom of love and encouragement in a life which, aside from that, was one spent almost entirely in studies and apprenticeship. It was perhaps fortunate that Keith was, by nature or by training, a man well able to set aside his own personal wants in favour of discipline and duty, though in this case it was a duty he had set himself.

Though Alison had disclaimed any complaints about the Highland winter, she was nevertheless greatly cheered by the arrival of spring: the longer days, the budding leaves, the singing laverock, and most of all the increased warmth of the sun. And even better: spring would bring the arrival of Keith, who had let them know by letter a few weeks ago that he would soon make the journey from Edinburgh and stay for two weeks.

It was on this subject that Ewen and Alison were conversing one April evening, lying in bed with the remains of the sunset fading outside in the dusk.

'There is a matter I've been thinking on,' said Alison. But having said it, she hesitated, aware that the matter might be a difficult one.

'What is it?' asked Ewen.

'I think I should like—some time in the future, not necessarily now—and only if you give your consent to it—'

'Enough qualifications,' said Ewen, smiling. 'Out with it.'

Alison took a deep breath. 'I should like a child by Keith.'

She saw, with a pounding heart, that Ewen's smile had disappeared, but not necessarily from displeasure—more as though their conversation, light as it had been so far, had now taken a serious turn. Which indeed it had.

He had said nothing, so she went on. 'I know you might not want it, and in that case I would never insist on it.'

'I—I can't give you an immediate answer,' said Ewen slowly. 'I need to think about it.'

'Yes, of course. I shouldn't need to say this, but of course I don't want Keith's children instead of yours! You see that, don't you? I love Donald almost more than life itself...'

Ewen gathered her closer and kissed her. 'I didn't think that was what you meant—and since you love him, I do see why you would want a child of his.'

Alison let out a breath, and returned the kiss. 'Thank you.'

She felt some measure of relief, as she had had some doubts whether the request itself would hurt him. He was her husband, and no matter how much they both loved Keith, there were differences between a husband and a lover. Out of a sense of tact, she did not further expound upon the reasons she had for wanting to bear Keith's child—to speak of his loving care for Donald, which could not have been more tender if the lad had been his own, might remind Ewen of his own absence during that time, which she knew had been difficult for him. And she wanted, of course, to know Keith in that intimate way...

For now, she only said, 'Think on it, then, and we'll talk more another time. You are my husband, Ewen, and I'll abide by your wishes in this.'

Over the following days, Ewen struggled with conflicting emotions. On one side was his love of Keith and his understanding of why Alison would wish for such a thing, and on the other was his sense of what was due to him as a husband and his pride of lineage, which was itself an attitude that had been passed down from chieftain to chieftain. He already had a son, it was true, and one who was as sturdy and healthy a lad as anyone could wish, but children died all the time...and he might be left with no heir of his own to inherit Ardroy.

But would he not himself cherish a child of Keith's, as Keith had done with his son? Yes, he would: his attachment to Keith was no temporary thing, and how fitting it would be if he could hold Keith's child in his arms, as Keith had held his...

Keith had given up so much, for his and Alison's sake. He had risked his life, had given up his commission, had risked permanent exile from Britain, had followed them to France...and with his love for them he had given up, as well, all other possibility of having children of his own—for Keith would not ask a wife to accommodate a husband with such other attachments, nor could Ewen imagine that he would sire a child on some temporary lover.

And what had Ewen given up for him? Nothing: his own life had only ever been enriched by Keith's presence. He had given up much, it was true, for the Cause, but not for Keith. And yet, his clan pride would not quite give way...

After several days of turning these thoughts over in his own mind, he turned to Alison, asking her to come with him to the lochside, feeling that in this place which was the very heart of Ardroy, he would be able to think clearly.

The April sun glittered on the water, as they sat leaning against one of the old pines that crowned the crag jutting into the loch. Falling on all the leavings of winter, the sunshine was almost too revealing, showing the old brown leaves and stems which had died under the snow; but falling too on the shoots of vivid new green that would soon replace them.

He opened his mind to his wife, who listened with attention to his various thoughts. When he had done, she pressed his hand. 'I knew you would consider it seriously—thank you for that.'

'Of course I must consider it seriously.' Ewen shifted his position against the tree, pulling her closer. The question of what his conclusion would be, which he had not yet given, hung in the air between them.

Then he saw the deepening dimple on her cheek, and knew she was about to say something irreverent. 'Are you so sure, Ewen, that you are the descendant of that first Cameron chieftain to hold Ardroy? Perhaps some wife before me didn't ask before taking a lover—or perhaps one of those chieftains had difficulty getting a child, and asked some friend to help. If no one ever knew, then in the eyes of society, it never happened.'

Ewen laughed, half shocked, half amused. 'I certainly can't deny the possibility.' More seriously, he continued, 'Keith is very like you, in colouring—except for those striking eyes, but hazel and brown are not so far apart. I suppose no one would raise an eyebrow if he sired a child on you.'

At that moment, a movement in the corner of his eye caught Ewen's attention, and he raised his head to see one of the herons that lived on the islet in the loch come winging its way slowly but purposely to its nest. It landed elegantly in a tree and settled down with its head nestled among its grey feathers, turned to them as though keeping watch.

Ewen caught his breath. He had seen the birds since his return, of course, but to do so now...

After a moment of silence, during which his conflicted emotions found some resolution, he said slowly, 'I won't resist this further braiding together of our lives. No, more than that: I'll welcome it.'

Alison, who had been watching the heron likewise, looked up at him. 'Are you sure? I don't want you to feel any resentment or regret, later on.'

'I'm sure.' In fact, Ewen found some relief at giving the matter up to some arbiter of fate, even if it be his own interpretation—for the heron might, after all, be merely an ordinary bird. And he kissed his wife, slow and lingering. 'And I'm sure you'll enjoy being able to lie with Keith in that way?'

'Well—yes,' Alison owned. 'Will you mind it?'

Ewen shook his head. He remembered his conversation with Keith on that topic, in Paris, and hoped that Keith had not felt any lingering resentment over it. Ewen found that the idea did not, now that their relationship was so established, provoke any further jealousy.

He and Alison sat for a while further, looking out over the loch. Presently the heron was joined by its mate; Ewen wondered whether they would have any nestlings this year.

The sun similarly shone on the day of Keith's arrival, a few days later. Ewen was up in the high pastures to see what damage the winter had done to the sheilings, and it was only when he entered the house that he saw, with a jolt to his heart, that Keith must be here: for there were his boots, his sword, and his cloak by the entrance.

He looked round the corner and saw Keith on the floor with Donald, playing with pinecones that were being arranged in flocks by childish hands; Alison sat in one of the armchairs nearby, looking fondly at them.

'This my cattle!' said Donald firmly.

Keith glanced up at the new arrival. 'Your son has the instincts of a laird already, I find,' he said, with the lurking smile Ewen loved so much.

'Yes, you had better not try to lift any of his cattle,' replied Ewen, smiling helplessly back.

Then Keith was standing and was in his arms; as they were currently alone in the room, Ewen could hold him a little longer before he reluctantly let him go, holding him at arm's length. 'You look well.'

'The journey did me good, I think, after spending so much time indoors this winter.' Then Keith glanced down at Donald. 'He remembers my name,' he said in wonder.

'Of course he does; we talk about you often, and tell him what you are doing in Edinburgh.'

'Oh.' Keith looked gratified, thought Ewen—but after all, it was only a natural expression of their attachment.

At this moment Aunt Marget came down the stairs, and all private conversation must cease; they soon sat down to supper. A lively conversation ensued, for despite their correspondence, there was much to say on both sides after such a long separation.

After they had all withdrawn for the night, Keith let a prudent interval pass, then knocked softly on their door, entered, and was made most thoroughly welcome.

'Donald sleeps elsewhere now, I see,' Keith noted when he had the attention to spare for such things.

'Yes, he has a nurse now,' said Alison, at work on the buttons of Keith's coat. 'We would scarcely be able to do this, if he still slept in here! He's old enough now to see things, and to talk about what he sees.'

Keith, shrugging his coat off, was struck by a thought. 'When we first came here, I mourned the loss of what we had in Paris, living as closely as we did...but I didn't consider, though perhaps I should have, that we would soon have lost it regardless, when Donald grew old enough.'

'Aye,' said Ewen. 'That's true. And I know you're only here for a short while now, so I'd rather consider what we can have.' He stepped close, and Keith, tilting his head up for a kiss, found his breath coming short—how he had longed for this, all those lonely nights in Edinburgh!

At the end of that kiss, Keith was quite ready to proceed to bed as soon as possible. But his impatience was checked when Ewen, withdrawing a little, showed a serious expression. 'There's something we've been meaning to say.'

Keith groaned. 'You kiss me like that, and then you want to talk?' Then his mind caught up, and his expression must have shown his apprehension.

'No, no—'tis nothing bad, I promise you,' said Alison hastily. She stepped close as well, glanced up at Ewen, then said softly, 'Keith, I'd like to have your child.'

Keith's heart gave a great thump, and he stood there, speechless. He looked at Ewen in mute enquiry; they had talked about this in Paris, and Keith had accepted that, since he had not the rights of a husband, he had best put aside any longings for such things as impossible of realisation. What he had was still so much more than he had ever expected.

But now—Keith swallowed and tried to find his voice. 'I...'

'We have talked about this, of course,' said Ewen, his hand warm on Keith's shoulder. 'Alison wouldn't offer anything that I would grudge you.'

'That is...exceedingly generous of you,' Keith got out. He knew what it would mean to Ewen, to give up such a thing. A child of his, at Ardroy...

'Is it something you would like?' asked Alison.

It seemed incredible to him that she could have any doubts about it. 'Yes,' he said, and leant down to take her in his arms. As he kissed her, he considered that it would mean another thing, as well, one for which he had long repressed his desire...

Ewen watched them both: his two dearest loves in each other's arms. They would have something tonight which they had not shared before, and he, perhaps, should keep somewhat out of the way.

But when Keith asked him to unlace Alison's stays, he did, and when, later, Keith had planted his face between Alison's parted legs, Ewen kissed her breasts and nipples in the way that most inflamed her desire.

Presently Alison said, in a breathless voice, 'Don't—Keith, stop. I don't want to spend yet—I want to do it with you inside me.'

Keith raised his head. 'I've missed the way you taste,' he murmured. 'Do you know, I think bedding you for so long in other ways has been good for me—I think it has made me a better lover.'

She laughed. 'Well, I certainly have no complaints on that score, but I won't deny myself this any longer. Keith, come here; I want you.'

Ewen could see Keith's face at those words, and his own heart (and other parts of him) ached in sympathy. He could remember what it had been like, that first time in Edinburgh which was such a treasured memory to him...but this, similar as it was in that one respect, was very different in others, since Keith and Alison were already established lovers.

Keith looked to Ewen; their eyes met in one long moment and Ewen nodded.

But Keith, when he had settled on hands and knees above Alison, hesitated, then finally said with a groan, 'This has been forbidden me for so long—I can't help but feel that I'm trespassing.'

'You are not,' Ewen assured him.

But Keith had already turned to sit up instead. 'Will you do it?' he asked Alison. Whatever his hesitation, it was certainly not on account of any lack of desire. His hard length jutted from between his legs in a way which, when on hands and knees, suggested virility; as he sat with his arms behind him on the bed for support, it somehow suggested vulnerability instead.

'I will,' murmured Alison, sitting up in her turn.

She turned to Ewen, kissing him gently and wordlessly, and then—Ewen held his breath—went to Keith and straddled his lap, slowly taking him in. Keith made a soft, breathless sound; his arms came round her back and they were kissing, wholly caught up in each other now.

Ewen watched them, his chest swelled with emotions he could not have fully named or sorted through. The line of Alison's hips and thighs as she straddled Keith, her hands in his dark hair, her little sounds of contentment and pleasure...he ached with it, and dropped his hand to take a hard grip on himself, holding still as Alison and Keith were holding still.

And they were not, after all, ignoring him, for Keith turned his head to look enquiringly at him, and Alison did, too. None of them spoke, but Ewen, sensing what they needed, gave it to them with a nod.

Alison moved, and Ewen glimpsed how they were joined together before she came down again.

'Touch yourself,' murmured Keith. Then he lay back, the better to splay his hands over her breasts, working at her nipples.

They were golden curves and shadows in the candlelight as they moved—Ewen's own hand was moving now, too—and he could see that inward expression on Alison's face as she chased her own pleasure. She had been close before, and was close again now; Ewen could tell by the hitch in her voice as surely as though he had been the one inside her.

And then she began to spend, with Keith's name on her lips in among the wordless sounds she always made. Keith was looking up at her as though in wonder as she moved, the rhythm growing slow and languid now, and she bent down to kiss him, her hair sliding down to hide them both in a private space.

Ewen could not quite tell whether, in his tangle of emotion, he felt any jealousy—perhaps that was the feeling giving an edge to his arousal—but he knew he could not regret this: it would have been wrong to keep it from Keith and from Alison both.

She looked up to meet Ewen's eyes, as though to seek confirmation again; then leant down to whisper something in Keith's ear and, Ewen thought, bite his earlobe. He caught the tail end of her mischivous expression.

Ewen knew well how he himself would have responded to such enticement, and Keith, it seemed, was no less able to resist it; with a groan, he rolled them both over and hitched Alison's knees up. Then he was driving into her, losing finally that restraint which had kept him back.

The sight of his thrusting hips, in that motion which Ewen's own body knew so well, acted as a powerful spur to Ewen, and he could no more have averted his own spending than Keith, a few moments later, could have stopped his.

With a noise of sated pleasure, Alison held Keith close, and they lay there still joined together, with Keith's face turned into Alison's neck. Ewen sat still as well, his heart pounding. He wondered what the world would think—what the clan would think—if they knew that he had willingly let another man lie with his wife in his own bed, and that his second child might not be his own...

Well, they would never—please God—know of it, and it was no affair of anyone but themselves.

'Ewen?' said Alison softly. Keith rolled off her, and they both turned towards him. Alison did not ask him how he was feeling, but the question was clear in her eyes.

Ewen smiled at them both, for he was all right, and wished to show it. He took a handkerchief from the bedside table to wipe himself off.

'Come,' murmured Keith, and widened the distance between him and Alison, patting the bed between them. Ewen might not have admitted it to himself in his determination to let Keith and Alison have this moment to themselves, but nevertheless he did perhaps need this gesture.

'Thank you,' murmured Keith in his ear as they lay close together under the covers.

What was he to say to that? Yes, he had given something up...but who was to say whether he had not also gained something? In the end, he merely kissed Keith, with a murmured endearment.

At length, before they were all in danger of falling asleep, Keith got up and left—but not without such a look as convinced Ewen that he was far more contented at heart than when he had left them the previous time, before his departure from Edinburgh.

Yes, thought Ewen sleepily: surely this was a final braiding together, and the heron would be well content, too.

Chapter Text

With that scene, we shall leave our three strands for a time and let the years pass lightly, as lightly as they pass for the heron, who keeps no record of the time that passes, but thinks only of the constant now—and, perhaps, of the mysteries of fate. But, as its eye is caught by the shiny gleam of a fish in the loch, so our thoughts, too, may be caught by a particular instant in time and place, and dwell there for a moment.

The time, the instant, is on the second of June, 1752, and the place is Fort Augustus in the Great Glen: more precisely, a small house some little distance from the fort in the nearby clachan of Kiliwhimen, which had had its name for far longer than the fortification.

Two years previous, the house had been purchased by an Englishman to set up an apothecary's shop and surgery; a business which thrived owing partly to the proximity of the soldiers in the fort, which had no surgeon of its own, and partly because Keith Windham's was the only such establishment between Dr Kincaid in Maryburgh and Dr Gordon in Inverness. Both of these worthy gentlemen had welcomed the newcomer, for they had business enough already, and much preferred not to take the calls from farther into the glen, which, especially as the inhabitants were most of them poor and could hardly afford a doctor, cost them almost more time and trouble than they were paid for.

At the end of Keith's studies in Edinburgh, he had run down the whole stock of money which he had got from the sale of his commission, as well as all his savings; after some hesitation he had applied to his step-father for a loan to get started in his new business. This Lord Stowe, favourably impressed by his step-son's diligence and success in his studies, had been pleased to grant him on good terms, so that he had been able, besides purchasing the small house, to lay in a stock of the standard remedies of an apothecary's shop.

Kiliwhimen was a MacDonald village, but any natural suspicion towards a foreigner had been allayed by Keith Windham's close ties with Cameron of Ardroy, whose patronage he enjoyed and at whose house he often dwelt for two days out of every sennight.

That morning Windham had had three patients: the first was an old man from Invergarry, coming in with a sore tooth which evidently he had had the greatest reluctance to treat, judging from its advanced state of decay. Dentistry was below the dignity of fine surgeons in the city; Keith did not scorn it, but pulled the tooth as neatly and quickly as he was able, the man having downed several drams of whiskey first. He had no English, but Keith had picked up enough Erse by now to communicate such matters as he needed. The second patient was a child from the village, whose father came in begging Keith to cure his fever; the lad was evidently his first-born, and Keith bled him, gave him a draught of febrifuge, and promised to look in on him again this evening to see if there was more he could do.

Such patients as these brought him no money, but that did not mean they brought him nothing, for he had to eat. The old man had brought him a cheese and the father a pat of butter, carefully sifted to remove the hairs, wrapped in a rhubarb leaf and still cold from the well where it had been stored. Keith knew, as well, that he would be invited in to share their meal when he came by this evening, and no doubt would be again at other times in the future.

His third patient had been a soldier, wounded in the arm by a clumsy recruit with a bayonet; Keith chatted with him as he treated the wound, to get the latest gossip from the fort, as well as put the man at his ease. He paid in ready money, which was welcome.

Of necessity, Keith suited his fees to his patients' purses, and his most lucrative cases were those of the officers from the fort and the nearby lairds' families. The elderly Major Cavendish, in command at Fort Augustus, was something of a hypochondriac in Keith's opinion; he did not scorn the man's money, but neither did he try to sell him quack remedies as some might have done.

After his early dinner Keith was sitting in the sun outside his little house, using his pestle and mortar to grind two ounces of Peruvian bark. This done, he added to it half an ounce each of dried orange peel and cinnamon and set the whole to infuse for a sennight in a pint of brandy, for future use against fever. He thought with satisfaction on the letter that he had received a few days ago from Dr Cameron, with whom he kept up a correspondence, though by necessity letters could only seldom be exchanged. Keith's former master had expressed how gratified he was that Keith was now ministering to the clansmen who had been in his care before the Rising, and intimated that if he ever had the chance to return to Lochaber, he would be glad to go into business with him.

Presently Keith saw an officer approaching on the track that led along the Tarff from the fort. Keith disliked Captain Greening for his insulting remarks about the local population; the dislike was mutual, for information about the circumstances of Keith's leaving the army had inevitably spread to the officers of the fort. These officers might otherwise have been a natural society with whom Keith could have visited and kept company, but as it was, his connection with Ardroy ensured that he was instead invited on occasion to the nearby lairds' houses. Only one of the officers would have called Windham his friend, and that was, perhaps strangely, Captain Paton, who had been Major Guthrie's subordinate. The two men had, after an initially wary discussion of their previous meeting, found themselves in agreement on many topics and now often enjoyed each other's company.

'You wish to consult me, Captain Greening?' said Keith briskly.

The captain indicating that he did, they retreated into the small building. Notwithstanding the contempt in which Keith had no doubt most of the officers held him, Keith had a certain advantage in being the only surgeon for miles, and in receiving them in his professional capacity and on his own terms. Greening now, with some embarrassment that he tried to conceal, intimated that one of the common women had left him with an unwanted token; Keith after determining the truth of this prescribed him calomel, the standard remedy for the clap.

It was with a certain self-satisfaction that Keith reflected on the fact that, while Greening apparently could do no better than to pay for prostitutes, Keith himself had every expectation tomorrow night of bedding the finest man and woman in Lochaber—indeed, in all of Scotland.

He set off the next morning for Ardroy, riding one of the spare horses of the regiment, for the use of which he had an agreement with Major Cavendish. The way was familiar enough now: in fact it was the same way that he, Ewen, and Alison had taken together, making their escape to Ardroy after the death of Major Guthrie. But Keith rarely thought of this now, as he rode along the River Oich, crossed it, then followed the north side of Loch Oich and forded the Garry, after which he gained the heights that would allow him to approach Ardroy from the north—it was merely the usual path home, for so he thought of it, despite spending more time at Kiliwhimen.

A summer shower came upon him at Invergarry, but a glance at the clouds showed that it would be but a brief one, and when the sun came out again, it only exhibited with yet more freshness the bounteous green of mid-summer. As he came round the side of Loch na h-Iolaire, a voice shouted, 'Uncle Keith!' and running towards him came Donald, with the sun gleaming in his red hair, and behind him on younger and slower legs little Jamie, his brother.

Keith dismounted, smiling, and ruffled Donald's hair as the lad told him everything of importance that had passed in his absence. '...and then I disarmed Father when we were sparring yesterday!'

Sturdy as the lad was for his age, Keith suppressed a smile at the thought of Ewen disarmed by a child at single-sticks. 'Oh? I would have liked to see it.'

Jamie had now caught up with his brother. Handing the reins of the gelding, who was a placid enough animal, to Donald, Keith caught Jamie up in his arms, for he was not old enough yet to find that below his dignity. Jamie shrieked in delight as Keith swung him round.

Settling the child on his hip, Keith continued towards the house. Upon first seeing him, Aunt Margaret had declared that Jamie took after his mother, with the same dark hair and eyes, and the same dimples and chin. It was impossible to know who the father was, and they felt, the three of them, that this meant he was the son of them all. He had been named for Mr Grant, Alison's father.

Ewen, coming round the corner of the house, saw them and waved. Keith gave Jamie a kiss on the cheek, then handed him over to Ewen and let Donald, with some supervision, lead the horse into the stable. This done, Ewen said, 'Run along and tell your mother that Keith has come.'

When the children had gone, Ewen stole a quick kiss from Keith in the empty stable. 'Welcome home, mo ghraidh.' The laird of Ardroy had evidently been working round the farm, for wayward strands of hay stuck to his auburn hair, and he smelled of clean sweat.

Keith whispered into his ear, 'Will you take me tonight?'

Ewen's smile broadened. 'With pleasure,' he murmured.

Though the moment was broken when Ardroy's groom entered the stable, Keith felt a frisson of anticipation, which he was to experience again at odd moments for the rest of the day.

Alison was neither in the garden nor in the main room of the house, and Keith found her presently in the stillroom, which smelt pleasantly of herbs. As nobody else was there, Keith gave her a brief kiss. They talked for a while of the benefits of Aunt Marget's traditional remedy for colic, which Alison was in the process of preparing for one of the tenants, compared to what Keith could have offered her from his apothecary's supplies. Then, while there was still time before supper, Keith went round to one of the tenants' dwellings, to take a look at a broken arm he had tended to on his previous visit.

Supper was an ordinary affair, with Keith received not as a guest, but as an expected member of the household: they chatted comfortably of what had passed during his five days' absence, and of the pieces of news of the wider world that Keith had picked up from the fort. And though his position was not that of a spouse, still he belonged unquestionably at Ardroy and with the family.

The room he had slept in as a guest was his own now, with his own clothes and his books on the shelf. But he did not prepare himself for bed yet, only waited, with his door half-ajar, for the sounds of Miss Cameron retiring to bed. On occasion, he wondered whether Miss Cameron suspected anything of what went on after dark in her nephew's room; if so, she had never let on.

Having let a sufficient interval pass, Keith, with his pulse beginning to speed up, made his way to his lovers' room. He might have made excuses for what he had asked for, but Keith had by now accepted his desires sufficiently that he could admit that sometimes he simply wanted what he wanted. He could ask for such things, and allow Ewen and Alison to indulge him in them, without suffering more shame than would lend a little spice to the proceedings.

After a low, careful knock, Keith entered, and soon found his arms captured and secured behind his back by Alison. Ewen looked him over with a proprietary air, then stepped close without a word and took his mouth in a kiss, using both hands to angle Keith's head to his satisfaction.

Keith moaned, far too breathless and needy a sound than was warranted simply by a kiss, but he could not help it. Ewen made a satisfied noise; he broke the kiss and began leisurely to unbutton Keith's coat, then his waistcoat. Alison helped Ewen to ease them off, then firmly retrieved Keith's arm from where it had begun to wander.

Keith's heart pounded, and his arousal was surely visible now that his waistcoat was gone. Ewen regarded him thoughtfully and removed his neckcloth next, leaning in to give a possessive little bite to the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Keith shivered.

The breeches went next, with Ewen's knuckles only brushing against the part of Keith's body which ached for his touch, and then his shirt was pulled off.

'Lovely,' murmured Ewen, his hand brushing appreciatively down along Keith's chest and stomach. Then his mouth twitched, perhaps at the no doubt humorous sight of a man naked except for his stockings; Keith could not help an answering smile at this, and the mood of their little scene threatened to break.

However, Ewen composed himself again, narrowing his eyes at Keith. 'Take them off,' he ordered, no doubt considering that kneeling down to do it himself might not fit the imperious role he had undertaken. Keith went down on one knee and did so.

He was fully naked now, and looked speculatively at Ewen's groin, which was at just the right level, but Ewen shook his head. 'Up.'

Keith stood, and Ewen backed him up against the bed, pushing him down. 'I'm going to enjoy this,' he murmured, and Keith looked up at his tall figure and wanted.

But Ewen moved to the head of the bed and said to Alison, 'Will you prepare him for me?' He took hold of Keith's arms and fixed them above his head.

'Gladly,' said Alison, with a wicked smile.

She went to the bedside table for a jar of grease, which Keith thought he recognised as the sort she made in the stillroom, to ease cracked lips in the winter. But all thoughts of that vanished as one of her greased fingers slid into him with no further ado; Keith tensed, tightening round it, and tensed, too, against the strength of Ewen's arms holding him down.

Alison held her other hand on his thigh, her thumb moving maddeningly close to the juncture with his groin; then she added another finger. Keith shamelessly moved his hips up to meet it.

'Eager, are you?' murmured Alison, and Keith nodded, looking up at him.

'Perhaps we'll make you wait for it,' she suggested, looking at Ewen and slowing the motion of her fingers.

Keith licked his dry lips. 'Please.'

The notion of a woman having him at her mercy in such circumstances, which might once have shamed him, did not repel him when the woman was Alison, whom he trusted implicitly—though it did still lend a certain forbidden flavour to the proceedings.

But it seemed they had decided not to let him suffer, after all, for now she and Ewen were changing positions, and Keith was treated to the sight of Ewen impatiently stripping his clothes off. He knelt in front of Keith, greased himself up and, before Keith could think to resist—even had he wanted to—parted Keith's legs and hitched him up, so that he lay open.

His vulnerable position, and the visible evidence of both Ewen's and his own desire for it, made Keith shiver with anticipation; he had not long to wait, for Ewen pressed into him, slow and firm and with a groan of pleasure that Keith unconsciously echoed.

'Look at him take you,' murmured Alison. 'Oh, you are both lovely.'

She stroked a hand down Keith's chest, only keeping one hand on Keith's crossed wrists, to remind him to keep still. But indeed he was hardly aware of the opportunity to free himself: his whole attention was on Ewen, fully sheathed inside him and everything that he wanted—no, perhaps not everything, for he ached to be touched, to be stroked—and at the same time wanted it to last.

'Please,' he got out, and Ewen rewarded him with a thrust. The shock of pleasure had Keith clenching round him, and Ewen got properly to work, giving him what he wanted.

When Keith had first known his desire to be taken in such a fashion, he had been neither physically nor mentally in a position to fulfil that desire—but, over the years, both his body and his mind had by degrees adjusted, until he could now bear, and indeed welcome, Ewen's unbridled strength.

Oh, but such pleasure could not last! Keith strained towards release, but though he could come achingly close, he had never been able to spend just from this. Words spilled from his mouth, begging to let him come, and Alison laughed.

'Keep your hands still,' she admonished him; Keith nodded with alacrity and obeyed.

Then her hand was sliding down and taking hold of him: it was impossibly good, and there was no chance of holding out, not that he wanted to—Keith surrendered to it helplessly. And then Ewen drove into him, setting him off again, and again...

Keith gasped, feeling it almost too much now that he had spent himself and Ewen was still going; but that, too, was its own bright-edged pleasure. Soon Ewen was spending with a few last, hard thrusts.

He stayed on hands and knees above Keith for a few moments, breathing hard, then settled down beside him, pulling him close. This was by his own inclination as well as by habit, for Keith had, in the past, on occasion required such reassurance and distraction after this act. It was left to Alison, regarding her spent men with a fond smile, to wipe them both off with a damp towel.

'Thank you,' mumbled Keith. 'I'm not sure I can move yet.'

Ewen snorted. 'What, are you worn out? You were just lying there—I was doing all the work.' He sounded somewhat self-satisfied at the state to which he had reduced Keith.

Keith, his mind still too addled to come up with a witty rejoinder, only snorted in return. Alison took off the last of her clothing and came to join them on Keith's other side.

'Do forgive me,' he murmured, 'I fear we haven't paid much attention to you.'

She yawned and arranged his arm underneath her head to please her. 'This was for you, Keith. You can both make it up to me some other day.'

'How you indulge me,' he said, kissing her, and then turned to Ewen and did the same. Keith sighed in contentment.

Outside of the window, the June evening dimmed towards its brief spell of night; and here, with the three of them drowsing together in one bed, we will leave them. Their story was not ended, for the strands of their life would cross and re-cross, twining always about each other—but a story, unlike the world, must have an end.