Free Prince Across the Water by Jane Yolen and Robert J. Harris Page B

with blood on it, but it all spends the same.” He embraced us both, as did his wife, which made me blush.
    Then the cart moved off down the road, its wheels splashing up puddles. Granda and I were left to contemplate the long and lonely way home.
    Now the rain came down slantwise, churning the loch behind us into a lumpy grey mass. I hunched my shoulders against the wet, knowing it would be little help. Soon I would be soaked clear through.
    Granda limped by my side, as soaked as I. To loft our spirits, he started a conversation. “I expect the prince will be marching on Fort William soon enough. Our tinker friends might even sell him a pot or two.”
    I couldn’t help laughing out loud at the thought.
    Granda gave me a steely look. “If the English garrison at Fort William have a dram of sense among them, they’ll be long gone by now.”
    I bent to pick up a rain-slicked stone and flung it from me, listening for the sound of it landing in the yellow gorse along the roadside. “It’s a grand army the prince has,” I said. “Surely our men will easily rout the English.”
    â€œAye, surely,” Granda replied slowly, “though it’s no a patch on the one we had in ’15.”
    â€œOh?” The army at Glenfinnan had looked big enough to me. And we had already captured redcoats. “Bigger than all that?”
    Granda said, “Much bigger.” Then he saw my face, creased with worry, and quickly added, “But more and more clans will flock to the prince’s banner once they see which way the wind is blowing.” He grinned.
    â€œOther Jacobite gentlemen?” I said, grinning back.
    â€œAye, though some will come for other reasons.”
    â€œWhat ‘other’ reasons? Not just for the prince? Not just to get back the throne?” We were walking slowly now, but the hardest of the rain had passed by and if we were lucky, there’d be sunshine soon. Scotland was like that, rain and then rainbows.
    â€œThat’s enough for some,” Granda said, nodding. “And for others the possibility that Scotland could be free of England forever brings them out. Some hate only the English government and want us to have our own parliament in Scotland again, as we did before the traitors in Edinburgh sold it for English gold. They want to get back what was so wickedly taken.”
    I remembered stories Granda had told about the Lowlanders. He had never a good word for any Edinburgh folk. “Weasels and vermin,” he called them.
    â€œWell, Granda, I hope we get our share of that stolen gold,” I said. “Ma would like it.”
    â€œIf we do, it will be honestly won,” replied Granda. “And there’s nae doubt many a poor man will follow the prince in the hopes of getting such gold. But there’s others that will come along just for the love of a good fight.”
    â€œLike Jock,” I said.
    Granda gave me a sidelong smirk. “Just like Jock. Especially if we MacDonalds have a chance to crack a few Campbell skulls along the way.”
    â€œCrack! Crack!” I agreed, my fist in the air.
    And suddenly we were striding up the road again, a road lined on both sides with bracken thick enough to hide a dozen men, if not an army of Campbells. The thought of the two of us fighting the Campbells seemed to shorten the road. Indeed, we fairly flew the rest of the way home.

12 THE FARM
    By the time we got back, we were ready to be there. And we were full of stories—about the march, about the Keppoch, about the capture of the redcoats, and especially about the prince. I had rehearsed in my mind how I would tell it all.
    Each step through the glen was a homecoming. The rocky ledges, the gurgling River Roy, even the banks of prickly gorse along the roadway cried a welcome.
    As we made the last turning into the village, Ewan’s sister, redheaded Maggie, saw us as she was out scattering corn for the