Lord Portland set his foot down and leaned toward John’s desk, resting his arm along the edge. “We cannot have that. As a result, the king has made a decision.”
John narrowed his eyes under the edge of his wig. “The clans know there will be reprisals if they dinna sign. The king had made that clear from the outset.”
“Yes, but the vague threat of reprisal does not seem to be creating any sense of urgency. How many oaths have you received in the past few months?” Bentinck asked, acting as though he did not know the answer.
John tried not to react. “None as of late,” he admitted.
“Yes.” The earl’s head bobbed. “And that is the problem. So the king has decided to make an example of these errant clans. Show them they cannot think themselves above the authority of the king.”
The sweat under John’s wig dried immediately, turning to ice at the veiled threat that hung in the air. There had already been so much war and bloodshed – certainly the king was not going to call for more of it, not after the bloody battle at Killiecrankie and the religious and political Irish fiasco of a battle at the River Boyne. Surely the foreign king had learned his lesson?
Yet King William’s most devout diplomat presently sat in his office. Evidently, the king was going to call for more blood to be spilled. John swallowed back the bile collecting in his throat. He swallowed hard.
“What sort of example?” he asked.
Portland sat back in his chair and folded his hand over his taut belly. “The king would prefer diplomacy first. He started soliciting rewards and amnesty for the larger Highland chiefs if they signed the Oath. Breadalbane and his Campbells, and a few other clans have signed. Now he feels that it would behoove the Crown to trickle those rewards down to the rest of the clans. The more, the better, eh? Divide and conquer.”
His Dutch accent slipped out more as he spoke, and if Lord Portland knew it, John believed it would bring the composed man dismay.
An imperfection in a man who sought out perfection was John’s estimation.
Dalrymple, relieved that the solution was one of money and not blood, grasped his quill and dipped the sharpened tip into his inkwell. With deft movements of his fingertips, he listed out some of the Chieftains who might benefit from this change in circumstance. The sound of the tip scratching along the parchment was the only sound in John’s study.
“Yes, ‘tis a fine solution,” Lord Portland murmured as John wrote, his voice tinged with an odd tone that made John’s skin crawl and revealed that there was more to Bentinck’s news than those chieftains who might be bribed.
John stopped writing and lifted his gaze to Portland. The man had not moved, and that alone sent another chill through John.
Maniacal. That was the word that described the Hanoverian patsy. The man was maniacal.
“If there’s nothing else . . .” John hoped that Portland was finished and would take his leave.
But hopes were like bubbles under King William, weak and easily burst.
“But we must have more incentive. Some chiefs just cannot be enticed, yes?”
John’s cheek twitched, but he did not respond.
“So, the king would like for you to make another list with your fine hand. The clan chiefs who are adamant about not signing, those Jacobites who are most in support of a fake pretender.”
“For levies or . . .” John trailed off again, sweeping the feathered end of his quill over a blank paper.
“We know from your Earl of Breadalbane that none of the Highland chiefs, especially those in the Lochaber region, intend to keep any vow of fealty. They are waiting on the pretender. So more dire consequences are required. Write a letter to let your colleague know that we intend to completely oust those clans.”
John set down his quill. “Oust?”
Portland dipped his chin. “Your reports and others we have read suggest the MacDonalds of the Lochaber region, Glen Coe, Glengarry, Keppoch, and Lochiel, are leaders of the Jacobites, and in close contact with the deposed James.”
John’s lips were suddenly very dry. Was this Hanoverian patsy actually suggesting declaring war on one of the largest clans in the Highlands, on Scottish soil? Nothing good could come of that.Nothing.
“If the MacDonalds fall, then the Dundees and Camerons and all of their lot will swear their loyalty to the king without issue.”
Portland stood quickly, and John scrambled to stand respectfully with him. In truth, he was in far too much shock to move as rapidly as the earl. His mind could not make sense of what he had just heard.
“You will see it done. Share the information with the earl whom you’ve entrusted with the letter and other Crown duties in this wasteland of a country. Have him see what the MacDonalds know and encourage them harder to sign. If this goes as planned, then no more bloodshed will be necessary and the clans, all of them, even those Highland barbarians, will come to heel.”
With a final condescending look at John, the Earl of Portland spun on his narrow heel and exited the study.
Only then could John breathe again, albeit with shaky, nervous breaths.
