Still, the thought of ever parting from him, of having to one day say goodbye, even goodbye from the men in this party, made her heart ache.
Fiona studied the motley group surrounding her, realizing they were her family in a way. She cared for them all like brothers, save for Brogan. He brought out feelings in her that were much deeper, more terrifying. Still, it was a comfort to know that she was not all alone in the world, that they had her back. She’d not felt that way in a very long time. Not with Ian off to war and Gus and Leanna gone to America. She’d been very alone, partly by choice and partly by necessity.
By noon the following day, they finally stopped for an extended break to rest the horses and themselves. They’d ridden through the night and most of the next morning, fearing the retaliation of the men at the tavern. There was no telling what they’d do for revenge, and no doubt the dragoons had a bounty on Fiona and Brogan’s heads that the thieving bastards would be happy to collect.
Fiona headed toward the brush for some privacy, calling over her shoulder, “I promise no’ to be attacked again.”
Milla leapt up from the place where she lounged in the field to follow.
“Ah, good, protect your lass,” Brogan said.
“Nay, stay,” Fiona said with a frown and a wave of her hand at the hound. “Dinna come with me, Milla. I’ll take my chances. Last time ye took a boot to the head.”
But Milla didn’t seem to care and ignored Brogan’s whistles to return.
“Fine, come along, but stay out of trouble.”
After returning to the fire and warming her hands, Fiona was grateful that the rain had finally let up. The blanket had kept her mostly dry for a time until it had started to soak through.
She wondered how the prince was faring. Did he have a warm, dry bed? Hearty meals? Probably not. Those were the old days. Now he was on the run, his army dwindled, and his coin purse nearly empty. No such luck now, she was certain. The prince would have to rely on the hospitality of his allies, and she prayed they provided him well, keeping him safe and alive. With the dragoons chasing them, and nearly everyone in the country paranoid they were going to be next in Cumberland’s slaughter, the danger seemed double what it had been a few weeks before.
There had been some clues along the way that the prince was still out there and that the people were still rallying behind him, but there were signs, too, that the people were starting to lose hope for a future with Prince Charlie as king.
In the end, how were they going to rebuild the army? It’d taken Jenny Mackintosh years to amass hers, as it had everyone else. Years to gather up the coin that didn’t end up being enough. They needed the backing of the French if they were going to win this war. They needed the coin, the weapons, and the manpower. Those were the things the prince was supposed to bring with him across the Channel, and yet he’d arrived nearly empty-handed.
With a dawning understanding, Fiona had a feeling that the only way the prince was going to be able to rebuild, to renew this effort, was if he presented himself before the French king and begged for help once more. That required him leaving the country.
If he left, there was no way to predict who would be loyal when he returned. How many Jacobites would be left alive if they were to remain here with the Butcher and his men? Going back to a normal life, without living in fear, seemed a distant dream. She shuddered, and Milla wiggled closer to her feet, sensing her distress. Fiona reached down and stroked her hand over the hound’s head, finding comfort in the softness of her fur, the warmth of her body.
Wherever the prince was right then, he must have come to the same conclusion, or at least his advisors would have. Perhaps he’d already sailed for France and they were chasing a ghost. The irony of the Phantom chasing a ghost was not lost on her.
Fiona’s thoughts trailed for a moment to her siblings. Ian would not leave the prince’s side, of that she was certain. And she could only pray that Gus and Leanna were still far away, across the ocean in America, ignorant of the battles, the wins and the final crushing loss. For if they’d heard, they too would come rushing back to Scotland in hope of helping.
Fortunately, news would take weeks and weeks to arrive across the sea and then to find its way to her siblings’ ears. It’d be months before they knew. Still, she prayed they found out before their mission was complete and they landed back on Scottish soil to witness the horror of what had happened to their beloved country. Fiona couldn’t imagine what it would be like to come home to a life that was no longer her own. Not the one she’d left behind… After all, she’d been watching every part of her life be ripped away.
Where was Jenny in all of this? She had survived the battle at Culloden, and she and her husband should be in hiding. But knowing Jenny, she’d resumed her midnight rides to gather support for the prince. And Annie… Fiona prayed her friend had made it safely to her family in the east. What Fiona wouldn’t give right now to go back and make sure her friend had followed her advice and escaped. There was no telling what could happen to any of them with so much violence that they’d already witnessed and endured.
“What are ye thinking about?”
Brogan’s voice broke through her heavy thoughts, and Fiona cocked her head, trying to figure out just how to say what she was thinking.
“Your face is drawn. I can tell ’tis something serious.”
He was not wrong.
“I’m thinking of my brothers and my sister, my friends. Thinking about Scotland and what’s to become of all of us.”
Brogan let out a sympathetic grunt. “I know what that’s like.” He handed her a flask of whisky. “Here. This will help with the thoughts.”
Fiona gently pushed it back. “It might make my mind calm for now, but it will no’ answer the questions I seek. For once the whisky clears, we will still be in danger and we will still need to find the prince and figure out a way out of this.”
“That is true, lass, but we will rise up against Cumberland. His men will no’ defeat us again. Our country has fought too long, too hard for freedom. Did ye stop believing that?” Brogan’s brow was furrowed as he studied her, the passion he held for the cause and their country evident in his voice.
“Aye, I do wholeheartedly. I want nothing more than for Scotland to be free, for this war to be over. To no’ worry every time I step outside or every time I wake up in a warm bed that something is going be ripped away from me.”
Brogan put his arm around her shoulder and tucked her against him. She wanted to resist, but she was weak. The comfort he offered her, though little, seemed to help in a big way.
“We’ve all lost much, lass. Dinna give up hope. Everyone here is counting on ye. Ye’re the reason that we’re still fighting. We believe in ye and ye believe in the prince. Ye believe in freedom, just like we do. We’ll get through this—together.”