CHAPTER ONE
Glen Coe Scottish Highlands, Invergarry Castle, Early 1691
“King James has givenus leave to ignore William of Orange and his absurd request.” Glengarry’s hooded eyes shifted back-and-forth amongst the men gathered in the hall.
“What does that mean for us?” Alexander MacIain MacDonald, the Glen Coe Laird asked, his pale green eyes flashing with an ire that ran deep for every man in the room.
His brother, Alastair MacDonell MacDonald of Glengarry was the powerful Laird of all the Lochaber MacDonalds — a clan so large and influential that they challenged the power of the King himself in the Highlands. He rubbed his hands through his hair, which was starting to thin even more over the MacDonalds’ rising complications between King William of Orange, the Campbells, and this oath of loyalty that meant swift retribution if left unsigned.
“We shall wait until the last possible moment to sign the loathsome oath of loyalty to Orange,” Glengarry explained as he dropped his hands to his lap and folded them. He behaved as if they had all the time in the world, which was untrue. Time was slipping away far too quickly than any of the MacDonald Lairds cared to admit. “If I must wait until the very last day of the year, so be it. I shall not sign any oath of alliance if James holds out hope for reclaiming his throne.”
“’Tis well and good,” Alexander MacDonald responded, “but the Campbells, they will no’ like having to wait on that oath. They already nip at our heels, raiding and reiving.”
“And what of the other clans that follow our lead?” Seamus MacDonald inquired. Several other Lairds nodded. “What are they to do in the meantime? Most of those clans are not large enough to take on the full brunt of the Campbells and their alliances on their own. They are more exposed than any MacDonald.”
“They can elect whether or not to sign the other fealty before we do,” Glengarry intoned. We are not our enemy’s men. We will not hold what they must do for their own people against them. And if they nip at our heels, we shall return the favor.”
The men gathered around the hearth nodded and agreed with the comment. Many of them came from smaller clans or had family in those clans, and they were not prepared for retribution from either the pompous Campbells or the impostor king himself.
“The king’s foppish lackey, the Earl of Stair, will no’ like this. And neither will the Campbells,” Seamus MacDonald, Laird of the Glenachulish MacDonalds, commented in a low voice. As the son of Laird Alexander MacDonald, his words carried weight.
The room was silent for a few moments as the men digested this information. A few crossed themselves, as if Seamus had spoken the name of the devil himself. The Campbells were not only another large clans in the Glen Coe Highlands, but they also held the power of the impostor King William of Orange behind them and wielded it without mercy. Seamus shared similar concerns with his father as they ruled the Glen Coe MacDonalds lands which bordered the Campbells. This far south, they were an island unto themselves in Campbell land. ‘Twas like having the hand of the foreign king himself knocking at their door.
“And they have recently caught a bee in their bonnet,” Alexander added as he looked around at the tight faces illuminated by the fire in the hearth. “I’m sure ye’ve heard of the supposed letter that’s been rumored to have been written, the one that describes exactly how William of Orange’s legitimacy as the King of England, Scotland, and Wales could be contested.”
The men grumbled amongst themselves. Rumors of this letter had increased and grown more wild with each retelling, so much so that Alexander and his son Seamus had come to doubt if such a letter even existed. The power of such a letter, however, of that possibility, remained too great for most to deny. Something that could dethrone William of Orange? Something that could declare his illegitimacy and restore the rightful King James? Oh, but of course the Campbell’s would fight tooth and nail against the discovery of that letter and slay anyone who might come into contact with it.
“We must get our hands on this letter,” Glengarry proclaimed, his voice carrying over the din of the men’s rumblings. The room quieted. “Do ye know where it might be?”
His question was directed at his brother Angus, who flicked his gaze to the rafters before answering. “Nay. I’ve heard of a lad who somehow snuck into Orange’s court and absconded with it.”
“A lad?” Seamus asked, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. “That’s the only description ye have? What lad?”
Alexander shook his head. “’Tis all I’ve heard. A lad. I dinna know his clan, his alliances, or his interests. I dinna even know his hair color. I heard he found the letter on a desk at Kensington during its construction, and, seeing what was written upon it, he slipped it into his pocket and departed with nary a God-be-wi’ye to anyone. One day he was there, the next he was gone.”
“We must find him, anyone who might know him,” the Laird of the Lochaber MacDonalds commanded. “We have to find this letter before the Campbells or any of their toadies do. Do what ye must to learn the whereabouts of this missive. Keep your ears open, ask discrete questions when ye might, and if anyone hints at knowing, bring them before me. They will answer to the MacDonalds until we learn what might challenge the pretender king.”
