The Winter Sea (Slains, #1)(142)

She felt at sea again. ‘The king has sent you here?’

‘Oh aye.’ He settled back at that, although he did not raise his voice. ‘By his own order.’

‘To what purpose?’

‘I am here to guard a spy.’

‘A spy.’ She did not like the word. ‘Like Captain Ogilvie?’

‘No, lass. This man does risk himself for our own cause and has a right to my protection, and a need of it besides, for even though the Presbyterians do claim to take King Jamie’s part, they would not think so kindly of a fellow Presbyterian who now has turned a Jacobite and seeks to move among them as a spy.’

Sophia thought of the expression in the elder Mrs Kerr’s eyes when she’d spoken of King James, and knew that many others here were of a like mind. ‘So you are sent to keep him safe?’

‘Aye, for the time that he is here, afore he goes across to Ireland, to Ulster, for ’tis there King Jamie wishes to have eyes and ears and voices that can turn men to his cause. I’ll not be needed there. But we must wait awhile afore he makes the crossing, for the sickness that did strike me on the ship from France did strike him harder, and he’s not yet well enough to travel.’

Something made a faint connection in Sophia’s memory— something Mr Kerr had said this very day while they’d been sitting at the midday meal, about a man who had but lately come to live here in Kirkcudbright, and who was not well. ‘This spy of yours,’ she asked the colonel, curious, ‘would his name be McClelland?’

She could tell from his reaction that it was. ‘And how the devil would ye come to think of that?’

‘The people of this house do take an interest in their neighbors. And your Mr McClelland, by choosing to stay with his sister-in-law, has been giving them much to discuss. I am told he defended her honor most ably, in spite of his illness.’

The colonel half smiled. ‘Aye, he would. She’s a sweet lass, and was good enough to take him in despite the fact they had not met afore this and she barely has the means to keep her own self and her wee son fed and clothed. Who was it attacking her honor?’

‘An elderly woman of rigid opinions.’

‘Aye well, he’d have measured his words, then. But illness or no, I don’t doubt he’d cross swords with a man who spoke ill of the lassie.’ He glanced at her sideways, assessing. ‘You’ll not yet have met him.’

‘No.’

‘Then let me tell ye a bit about David McClelland. He came from Kirkcudbright, or near to it anyway, he and his brother, but when they were wee lads their father took ill and died, and they were sent into Ireland, where they had kin. David’s brother, being older, was apprenticed to a cooper and became one in his own right, and returned here several years ago. But David,’ said the colonel, ‘had a different sort of soul, and had a yearning for adventure, so he took up with the Royal Irish Regiment and went to fight in Flanders. That’s the other side from us, ye ken. I likely faced him once or twice myself across a battlefield.’

Sophia had gone silent, looking down at her linked fingers while she thought. She asked him quietly, ‘Was he at Malplaquet?’

‘He was.’ She felt his eyes upon her face. ‘But no man who did fight at Malplaquet came out the same as he went in, and David McClelland was changed by that day more than most men.’

She gave a small nod. She had heard many tales of that battle these past months, and many accounts had been printed and widely discussed in the drawing rooms here, so she knew it had been an unthinkably bloody and brutal encounter beyond even what the most hardened old soldier could bring to his mind. While she might bear resentment that David McClelland had fought on the opposite side, against Moray, she knew any man who had lived through that day was deserving of sympathy.

Colonel Graeme carried on, ‘He was too badly wounded in the battle to continue with his regiment, and after that he came to serve King Jamie, and has served him with a loyalty that none would dare to question.’

She was mindful of the earlier betrayals that had touched both him and Moray. ‘You are certain that he does deserve your trust?’

‘Aye, lass. As certain as my life.’ He was still watching her. ‘I’d like for ye to meet him. Will ye come with me?’

‘What, now?’ She glanced instinctively toward the open doorway to the entry hall. ‘It would not be so wise for me to leave the house when everyone believes I have a headache.’

With a crinkle at the corners of his eyes he said, ‘Ye’ve done things in the past that were not wise, and have survived them. Come, ’twill be two hours yet till your good hosts are home from kirk, and ye can tell the servants that ye have a mind to go out walking with your uncle, which is no more than the truth.’ She knew that look, the one that dared her to accept his challenge, knowing that she would. ‘My mother always said a walk in open air was the best way to cure the headache. Tell them that.’

‘All right. I will.’ Her chin went up with something of her old defiance, and he gave a nod.

‘Good lass.’

Outside, she drew the loose hood of her cloak up so it all but hid her face, though there was no one in the High Street to observe them. There was nothing but the quiet of a Sunday afternoon with everybody gone to kirk, including, most likely, the widow McClelland. She asked, ‘Does David McClelland have no other kin in Kirkcudbright?’