Free Clandara by Evelyn Anthony

serious.
    â€œThere are rumours that there’ll be a landing soon from France,” Macdonald of Keppoch said. “One of my sons has just come back from Paris and he said the Prince, God bless him, was ready to muster an army and set sail weeks ago. He hoped for support from the King of France, but so far the King has not received him. But he’ll come one day; he’ll come whether the French help him or not.”
    â€œI hope not,” Robert said. “I hope nobody tempts the Prince into doing anything rash like his father in ’15 and thereby ruining us and the Stuart cause for ever. If he comes, then he must bring an army with him and a proper plan of action. We wouldn’t be dealing with each other in a new Rebellion. The English are a people to be taken seriously when it comes to war.”
    â€œI’d match one of my men against ten of their wretched redcoats any day,” James snapped. “They’ve run from the Highland charge again and again. Personally, I’d rather put our king back on his throne without the help of France or any other foreigners. Scotsmen alone should do it, and Scotsmen can.”
    The son of Lord Lovat lifted his wineglass and immediately Robert and James and Keppoch raised theirs. There was a large pitcher of water standing on the table near them, and James moved it into the centre and then slowly passed his glass above it.
    â€œTo the King, gentlemen!”
    â€œTo the King over the Water! God Save King James!”
    â€œAnd now, if we do have to fight for the Prince,” the young Fraser said, “I hope we’ll all meet together on the field. But it’s only a hope for the future I’m afraid. If he comes without French aid my father won’t support him. And he must know that others won’t. In the meantime, we’ll drink to him! Gentlemen, I give you the Prince!”
    As they moved away, Macdonald of Keppoch turned to James. He was an old man of nearly seventy, chief of a powerful branch of the great Clan Donald which spread through glen and island, bound by many chieftains under the supreme Lordship of the Macdonald of the Isles. He loved to tell how he discomfited a guest who boasted in his fortress home of the fine silver candelabra that graced the tables of the English nobility. That evening when he came to dine with Keppoch the table was ringed with his tallest clansmen, each holding aloft a resin torch to light the meal. And Keppoch remarked to the astonished guest that he doubted if in England there were candelabra to match his. He had not seen James for nearly five years and he was surprised and intrigued to learn of the betrothal of Dundrenan’s heir with the daughter of the Fraser of Clandara; he had not shared in the feud himself, but he knew about it and in early times some of his men had joined their cousins on a raid or two against the Fraser cattle-herds.
    â€œSoft words from the Frasers,” he said under his breath. “They’re not overburdened with fighting spirit. Did ye hear that young whelp of Lovat’s saying his father wouldn’t come out without a French army? And your brother-in-law-to-be wasn’t much bolder. My sons will go with the Prince and I’ll ride out myself if I have to be held up on my horse. If the day comes, James, if the day comes!”
    â€œWho knows,” James answered. “Rumours come and go on the wind and the time goes with them and nothing happens. It’s the wish being father to the thought, Keppoch. As for me, I’m a month off my wedding and the last thing I have thought about is a rising.”
    â€œYou’ve a fine bride,” the old man said. “And it’s always wise to marry the enemy, for you never know when you might need to have them at your back. My greetings to your father, James. I saw him a while past in the Great Hall but he was drunk and in none too good a humour. But my greetings just the same. I’ll see