“You know lass,” he said as we lay in each other’s arms in our bed in the house in York for the last time, “London is a magical place and I know you will love it.”
I sighed deeply, knowing in my heart that he could not be more wrong. What I loved more than anything in the world was our little family and home here in York.
******
CHAPTER 14
February 1697
Simon spooned a large mouthful of lamb stew hungrily into his mouth. Swallowing hard, he rested his elbows on the table, his chin cupped in the palms of his hands, his eyes surveying me quizzically. I put the cloth I was folding down and looked back at him. “Why do you stare at me so?” I asked.
“I was just thinking that you don’t look yourself somehow. You look... very sad,” he said, a frown across his brow.
I forced a smile, knowing it would not reach my eyes. “No Simon, I am not sad, just thinking over our travel plans and making sure in my mind that I have not forgotten anything,” I lied, hoping he would accept my explanation.
The truth was that I felt overwhelmed by a paralyzing fear. My mouth was dry, my heart raced, the palms of my hands were damp and in the pit of my stomach I just knew that the road ahead was not the right one for us.
I looked around the front room of our house. It felt cold, I thought dimly, but then I remembered that was because we had no fire burning. Why would we need a fire? We were leaving today. The bags and chests we had neatly packed lay against the wall, waiting to be piled onto the carriage. The rickety old stairs stood as though nothing had changed, but in my mind I could see the room above them. Cold as the day we arrived, bare and empty as the fireplaces. The treasures we had found in the chest returned to storage and the lid firmly closed on this chapter of our lives.
I watched as Duncan climbed awkwardly onto his daddy’s lap and as Simon lovingly put his arm around his son to help him; how he scooped some meat onto a spoon and then fed it to the little boy. Their movements were slowed to my eyes. I felt as though I were in a dream, watching my life through a hazy fog of detachment. I could hear Simon and Duncan but their voices carried an echo of distance. The knot of fear in my stomach tightened, my fists clenched and I realized I was holding my breath. Something was very wrong.
My eyes darted frantically around the room, searching for the source of my fear, but everything looked as it should. Instinct took my eyes to the door, seconds before a loud thunderous bang came from behind it. There was a scraping and clanging of metal as I watched the door fall in before me. I stared in horror as the march of Red Coats trampled over the oak door and into our front room.
“Dear God!” I screamed. “Dear God, no!”
Simon was on his feet, pistol in hand, Duncan beside him crying. He pushed the little boy away but Duncan clung to his father’s trousers. Simon was shouting, but I could not hear the words, he raised his pistol and held it steady at the mob. I ran to my little boy and grabbed him, pulling him away from his father. He fought wildly, kicking desperately for his daddy as I closed my arms around his little body, holding him tightly against me. I backed under the stairs and into the far corner of the room as more Red Coats with their rifles and bayonets stormed the room. They had their pistols fixed on Simon. They were shouting orders, he was shouting back and then I heard the shot, saw the smoke from the pistol and watched him fall. The room went quiet as Simon’s body hit the floor. I opened my mouth to scream but nothing came out. The room was spinning, my legs felt weak and I could not breathe. The men in the Red Coats turned to me; I pulled Duncan tight against my chest, my eyes darting like a cornered mouse across the faces around me. Then I saw him, the man with the copper hair from the glen. I met his eyes. Defiantly I held his stare, daring him to meet my eyes. I burrowed into his soul, willing him to take the shot, encouraging him to finish what he had started. He raised his pistol to my chest and in that instant of unflinching deadlock I did not care if he pulled the trigger or not. Suddenly, like a demonic troubled dog, he shook his head ferociously, shuddered and dropped the pistol to his side, waving an order to his men. “We are done here,” he shouted, spitting onto the floor in front of him, before turning to lead the mob out of the house. I stood stock still in the corner of the room as the last Red Coat marched purposefully over the oak door. And then I listened to the rhythmic march, the step of each boot as it trampled its way along the narrow cobbled alley. I cowered with the child in my arms, frozen, listening, even after the last faint tap of the march had gone from my ear.
And then I saw the crumpled, lifeless body of my husband as it lay in a pool of blood. Attempting to force myself from the sickening haze of fear I became dimly aware that our son was still frantically struggling to escape my hold. “Dadda, dadda.... I want dadda,” he sobbed hysterically, pointing toward his father’s body. Shaking violently I lowered Duncan to the floor. He toddled unsteadily toward his father’s body, throwing his chubby tear-stained little face onto Simon’s bloody chest. I fell to the floor beside my precious husband and child and gently ran my hand over Simon’s pale face. Slowly, I ran my fingers through the soft curls of his bloody hair and thought how peaceful and rested he looked, as though he were in a deep sleep. I turned the palm of my hand over and stared at the sticky red blood that covered it. I wished silently to die with him, to lie down here and now to sleep in peace with him forever.
“Dear God why have you taken him from me?” I wailed mournfully as grief tore mercilessly at my soul. I lay my head next to Duncan’s, on Simon’s chest. The room swayed and darkness swam around me. As I closed my eyes a bubble of warmth encircled us and like a breeze on a summer’s evening, it swam gently around us. I reached across and found Duncan’s soft, plump little hand and as I did I felt the gentle rise of Simon’s chest, the first breath of new life. He choked, coughed and then his chest rose again and I knew he had lived. The darkness faded and I slowly opened my eyes to the sight of the silver antlers of the mountain stag. It turned its head and met my eyes and in that moment we were one. I felt its power; understood its purpose and knew the secret of what it had made us.
******
CHAPTER 15
As mysteriously as it had arrived, the stag disappeared before my eyes in a cloud of silver smoke. I looked down at my husband and met his eyes. His beautiful dark eyes were clouded with confusion and fear. He stared at me, unblinking, and raised his arm around our son. I bent down to kiss Simon’s forehead and whispered, “It’s alright, don’t be scared, I can explain it to you... I understand it now.”
“I saw it, Corran... The mountain stag,” he stuttered in a whisper.
I nodded, calmly. “I know you did.”
“What is it?” he demanded, sitting up unsteadily and reaching cautiously for his son. He hugged him hard. The little boy threw his arms around his daddy’s neck and clung fiercely to him.
“It’s what saved your life,” I answered.
He scowled and I knew he did not understand. I sighed and settled myself next to him on the floor, reaching across to hold his hand.
“Simon, there is something I need to tell you.” His face was blank, his mind concealed from me and I knew that what I had to tell him would be difficult, if not impossible for him to understand.
“It is the stag that saved... both of us,” I said, stumbling slightly over my words in my race to get the explanation over. “For me, it came the first time when I was on the mountain in Glen Coe,” I continued, “It came and it saved me. I thought for sure I had died, but then I understood that I had not died and I didn’t know what had happened.” I paused, not sure how to carry on. He just sat there, watching me, wordlessly staring at me and I feared he believed that I had gone mad.
Breathing deeply and deciding that the direct approach was the only one realistically available, I tried again. “It came for you today Simon and it has saved you and you will live now, as I have, safe from death,” I paused again, meeting his eyes I held his stare. “But Simon, you must know. When you die it will
be from a bullet, for the stag can’t save you twice from the manner of your first death,” I concluded, still staring intently into his eyes. There was an awkward silence as I wondered if he would believe me; wondered if he would accept my words. He lifted Duncan off his knee and placed him firmly on the floor and brushing his trousers, he pushed himself up. Standing above me, he reached down and pulled me to my feet.
“Right then Corran!” he said with an air of authority. “If I am to avoid taking another bullet, I think it’s time we fixed that there door and made a plan to get out of York.”
I sighed gratefully, realizing that even if Simon had not totally bought into my explanation of events, he did not seem to believe me mad and certainly appeared happy enough to avoid being shot again. He began to move toward the broken door, realizing as he did that Duncan had attached himself to his leg. The tension was broken as we both laughed at the little boy dangling alongside his father, hanging for dear life onto the cloth of his trousers.
“We will get this door back on its hinges and then when the city sleeps and the moon rises we will head north,” he said, lifting the boy gently off his trousers and passing him to me. “We won’t be able to take everything with us,” he paused thoughtfully. “Corran, will you repack the saddlebags with nothing but the essentials. Once I have fixed this door I will see if I can find us a horse.”
I stared in horror at the thought of Simon leaving the house. “You cannot! You can’t leave the house Simon. What about the Red Coats?” I demanded, thinking he did not seem to be doing much to avoid meeting with another bullet.
“We have no choice Corran. What do you expect me to do?” I considered his question for a moment and then realized the wisdom of his thinking.
“We can’t leave on foot, not with Duncan, he won’t manage the trip,” I nodded, he was right and I knew it.
“Simon, I can get the horse,” I suggested, expecting him to argue at the idea, but he did not. Rubbing his hand across his chin, he furrowed his brow thoughtfully. “You know, Corran, I think that idea just might work,” he replied.
“Do you want me to go now?” I asked, reaching for my cloak, but he shook his head.
“No lass, wait until it is dark outside and then I will tell you who to look for and where you will find a horse. It doesn’t matter too much if the Red Coats see you, they will not be expecting you to stay in York now, but you will be safer in the dark of night rather than in the broad light of day.”
I nodded, seeing the sense of his words. “Why do you think they let me live?” I asked, recalling that moment when I stared into their eyes and willed the man with the copper hair to pull his trigger.
“I would say so, because it was me he was after,” Simon replied simply.
“Do you mean the man with the copper hair? He was the same man I saw in Dundee. I thought he had been killed in Dundee?” I paused, watching Simon who shifted uneasily. “What is going on Simon? Who is he and why is he still alive?” I continued accusingly.
Simon nodded his head slowly. “I thought he had died Corran. His throat was cut. I don’t know how he survived or how he found me.” We were silent for a few minutes, both considering the past and how events had brought us to this day.
“Why does this man hate you so much?” I asked.
Simon’s face was grave, his brow furrowed in a frown. “Because he is my cousin and a Campbell.”
I stared unbelievingly into his eyes, wondered how it could be possible to kill your own flesh and blood and then recalled that Simon had shown a similar indifference to family loyalty when we had thought the man dead in Dundee.
“Simon do you hate him too?” I asked.
“Aye, Corran, that I do,” he replied bluntly.
I pursed my lips and shook my head in disapproval. “How can you hate your own flesh and blood?” He did not reply immediately and I watched him as he stared mindlessly past me. “How, Simon?” I accused. “How can you wish your family dead?”
“It is a long story,” he said, pausing as if considering what to say next, “and it’s one I don’t want to go into today,” he finished, turning his attention back to the heavy oak door on the floor. “I am going to mend this door and I would be much obliged if you would re-pack our travel bags into something suitable for travel on a horse,” he paused, bending toward the door. He slipped his hands underneath it and with a degree of customary grunting and groaning I watched as it rose slowly from the ground. Heaving it upright, he leant it against the wall beside the empty door frame before turning his attention back to our conversation. “I was thinking,” he started, pausing briefly as if to allow time to format his sentence correctly. “If we are lucky, you may be able to get us a rough cart. That would make travel with our wee lad much easier and we would be able to take much more with us.”
I nodded, feeling a momentary burst of enthusiasm at the idea of having a cart to travel with instead of having to rely on just a horse. “Where can I find a cart?” I asked.
“It won’t be easy for you but I have a cart at the warehouse and it would do very nicely.”
“But I thought you had sold everything from the warehouse?” I asked, surprised.
“It is true that there is not much left in there but the cart was a bit too rough to sell so I didn’t bother.”
He met my eyes with a look of worry. “It won’t be easy for you to get the cart and a horse through the city without being seen. I am not sure you will be able to do that on your own Corran.”
I could see the dangers in what he was suggesting but after considering the benefits I decided its retrieval was worth the risk. “I will do it,” I said defiantly, raising my hands to my hips in a show of determination.
“Be careful, this won’t be a simple task,” he said, his worry clearly evident in the dark shadows of his eyes.
“I will be careful Simon, I promise,” I said, forcing a smile into my words.
I noticed that Duncan had settled himself under the stairs and was playing contently with some wooden blocks Simon had made him the previous week. It never failed to amaze me how quickly a child could recover from trauma and this occasion was no exception. My thoughts returned to the practical issues of our safe escape and I passed a calculating eye over the bags and chests we had packed for our trip to London.
“Simon, if I can get this cart from the warehouse, we should be able to take most of the things we had planned to take to London,” I paused, hopeful that he would agree with my suggestion.
Much to my relief, he nodded. “I would suggest that we still exercise some degree of sense in what we take. A heavily loaded cart will tire a horse more easily and slow our journey significantly. We take only what we need and leave what we don’t have use for.”
“Shall I put the portrait in the chest?” I asked sadly.
“Aye, Corran. We can’t take it but perhaps we can come back for it one day.”
There was nothing I minded leaving as much as the portrait of us all together. But Simon was right; there was no place in our future for sentiment.
******
CHAPTER 16
That afternoon I watched as the sun set in the evening sky over York and the dim light from the street lanterns cast a gentle orange glow over the city. Simon had repaired the broken door and it now stood firmly closed, although I knew that very soon I would have to leave the house through that door.
We had spent the afternoon sorting through the chests and bags that we had previously packed in readiness for our journey to London and removed many items to lighten the load. Our provisions were kept to a basic minimum with an emphasis on the needs of warmth and food for Duncan. As I glanced at the packed chest by the front door and the saddlebags piled neatly beside it, I prayed that I would return safely with the cart and a horse so that we could escape the city before the Red Coats realized that Simon was still alive.
He cradled a sleeping Duncan in his arms as he gently touched my hand one last time. I closed the door and made my way do
wn the alley and out onto Stonegate. I fumbled clumsily with the key to the warehouse in my pocket as I cast a nervous glance across the street at the post house where Simon had said I would find a man called Taylor, from whom I could buy a good horse. My lungs stung as I gasped and gulped heavy breaths of the freezing air. A rowdy noise came from inside the post house. I lifted my head, glancing up toward the windows and looked longingly at the orange glow from the fire within. After one final deep breath for courage I headed toward the back of the courtyard in the direction of the stables and well. It didn’t take me long to locate the man Taylor. He was sitting, ale jug balanced on his wide girth, on a bale of hay staring mindlessly into the dark night. His eyes scanned me as he heard me approach and I smiled nervously. “Good evening to you Sir,” I said. He did not move, but regained his earlier pose of blank boredom. “I was wondering if you could tell me where I might find a Mr. Taylor,” I continued, unperturbed by his obvious attempts to ignore my existence.
His head moved slightly to the right, affording him the chance to stare directly at me. “And who wants to know?” he slurred, obviously very drunk. I watched him, trying to decide if he could be trusted. He swayed helplessly and I resisted the urge to put my hands out and steady him. Concluding that I had little option but to trust him, I straightened my shoulders and met his eyes squarely.