But rather than feel relaxed, Fiona was starting to grow irritated. They’d been running for far too long. Why didn’t the people of Scotland try harder to protect their prince? The more time that passed, the more it felt like the few in their party were the only ones.
Almost as if the rest of Scotland did not value the man who should be their rightful king.
What was it about the prince that did not endear him enough to those who would turn their backs on him?
She found him to be charming, witty, intelligent. Perhaps the people just didn’t know him well enough. There had hardly been a chance to do so, given he’d been running and fighting from the moment he set foot in Scotland.
For the briefest of moments it made her question if he would be a good leader after all. The people had not rallied for him. And for all his traipsing about the country, when it came down to a crisis they had not joined him. In the beginning, even, it had been hard for rebels to be recruited. And they were always seen as that—rebels. Not true freedom fighters.
When the battles began to be won and it looked as though the prince might have a victory, more had started to come to his side. But since the cataclysmic loss at Culloden, those supporters had scattered.
When his life was at stake, when the country was in turmoil, they would rather hand Prince Charles over to the enemy. It made no sense. For Cumberland and his father, King George, were a brutal lot. The country would not be better off with them.
What was the issue with Charles as the rightful heir in place of the alternative? Though she racked her brain for an answer, she came up profoundly lacking.
Two days of lounging brought Sorley, Fin, and the prince’s man back to the camp. When everyone’s eyes were on the prince, Fin and Sorley caught Fiona and Brogan’s attention. The expression on the two men’s faces was one of caution.
Brogan leapt to his feet and Fiona followed, drawing closer to speak with them about why they should look so worried. But Sorley stopped them with a shake of his head and spread out his arms wide in the prince’s direction, a smile splitting his face that looked forced.
“We’ve brought good news,” Sorley said. “We have found your ship, Your Highness.”
As Sorley spoke to the prince, making the announcements, Fin quietly walked behind Brogan and Fiona and whispered, “There’s a traitor in our midst. The prince’s ship had no’ gone from Poolewe when we were told it had days ago. He could have made it. Been gone already. Someone lied. Now the ship is sailing about and plans to return to try again at some point, but every time it gets close to shore, Cumberland’s ships come in to attack.”
“Who do ye think it is?” Brogan asked quietly.
“I’m no’ certain, but one of the wharf rats on the dock at Poolewe said he was given a message to give to a man he could trust, and he gave it to me. He said that the ship’s captain would be at Borrodale in a month’s time if they were no’ able to make it back to Poolewe. After we trap the traitor, I think we ought to attempt to make our way back to the western coast, given Poolewe has already been compromised.”
“Aye, ’tis a good plan,” Brogan said. “But we need to find out who the traitor is first, else we’ll be caught at every stop.”
“Aye.”
“And ye’re certain ’twas no’ the man ye had with ye?”
“I’m no’ thinking ’tis him, but who’s to say? I canna be certain.”
Fiona watched the few men the prince had with him. Their own party made up more than those who traveled with the prince. There was a man from the boat when they’d found him in Skye, and then a couple more they’d gathered along the way. It could be any of them. If they were going to take that route, it could be any of the seven of those who were with her, too, but she doubted that very seriously. Her men had done and risked too much. And so had the man from the boat.
If she were to hazard a guess, it would be one of the other two men, and one of them had gone with Fin and Sorley.
“We really only have to try and decide between those two,” Fiona said.
“I was thinking the same thing,” Brogan replied.
The prince lounged on a tartan blanket surrounded by pillows, and for once during this dreaded year of rain and cold, the sun had chosen to shine. It did so now in all its end-of-July glory, through the trees surrounding the cave, alighting on the prince’s light hair, his tender-looking skin. Even spending months in hiding had not ruined the bonniness of him, though it had made his cheekbones more pronounced, his body a bit gaunt.
He looked untouchable just now, as though he were a gift from the heavens. Nearly all of her life, Fiona had worshiped him as her prince, her future king. A god. She was old enough now to see that he was just a man, but that didn’t make the way the sun shone on him any less ethereal.
Her gaze scanned the two men they’d gathered along the way. A MacDonald and a Cameron. They looked harmless enough. Both dressed in Highland dress like the prince, showing their solidarity, while the rest of them wore plain clothes. That was a nice touch. But if they were traitors, they’d want to blend in, wouldn’t they?
MacDonald laughed at something the prince was saying and sipped from a flask that she’d assumed all this time to be whisky. But it could be water in there, keeping his mind fresh to pass on any and all messages to the enemy. A sharp mind was necessary when memorizing messages and facts; she ought to know.
Cameron was lounging, too, eating an apple down to the core and spitting out the seeds. She almost had a mind not to trust him for eating so far into the fruit, but these were hungry times and she’d likely do the same, probably had and not thought a thing of it.
MacDonald and Cameron spoke so easily to the prince, to the rest of them, causing Fiona to question why they would turn their backs now. Why would they lie? They weren’t only betraying their country and those in the camp, but risking their own lives and their families’. And for what? The Butcher and his horde weren’t going to protect them.
Feeling her gaze, Cameron looked at her as he tossed the remainder of his apple to the ground and Milla pounced on it. He raised a brow as if to ask why the hell Fiona was looking at him. There was no smile.
It was Cameron.
He was suspicious, perhaps suspected that she knew, or else he would have smiled, would he not? The challenging look he tossed her was not a friendly one, and it sent a chill racing up her spine as she tried to remember every interaction, every syllable uttered in his presence. Tried to recall when he’d come and gone and what advice he’d given the prince.
MacDonald had gone with Fin and Sorley, which meant somehow Cameron had been able to get his messages out without anyone knowing. Was their camp compromised?
Fiona smiled and said, “Now that ye’ve given Milla one treat, she’ll be back for more.” Trying to play off that she’d been studying him.