And she was going to be there.
****
Having sent Simon off with most of the Beauly men to find food for them, Niall and his uncle approached the tent that served as a makeshift headquarters for the prince. He’d persuaded his uncle—after last night’s debacle of marching over ten miles only to have to turn back the same ten miles—that making a final attempt to change the prince’s mind about standing his ground here was worth the effort.
Unfortunately, a full-scale argument was in progress.
“Clan Donald has always had the right flank!” the laird, Alex MacDonald, nearly shouted.
General Murray glared at him. “My men are better trained and ye ken it.”
“Much as I hate to agree, Murray is correct,” General Dummond said to Alex. “Ye can join my forces on the left. “’Twill be important for the left to keep the redcoats from spreading out.”
MacDonald shook his head. “’Tis my clan whose lands were ravaged and destroyed by Cumberland—”
“Enough.” Prince Charlie held up his hand. “I concur with Murray. And Clan Chattan…” He looked at Alex MacGillivray. “Clan Chattan will be in charge of the first center line, followed by Colonel Stuart’s brigade.”
If the situation hadn’t been so dire, Niall would have been impressed by the amount of power and authority that was gathered inside the tent. Given that he had no rank and his uncle was a mere lord, he wondered if they’d even listen. On the other hand, they all had wiser heads than the prince, so maybe, if they saw reason, they could persuade Prince Charlie. He needed to try.
“Permission to speak,” he said when the other men had quieted down.
The prince looked at his tartan. “Lovat, is it?” He waved a hand. “Permission granted.”
“My uncle and I have just come in from surveying the troops,” Niall said. “They are tired from nae sleep, exhausted from hiking twenty miles, and they’re hungry. Half of them have gone in search of food or of shelter from the snow moving in.” He paused and looked around, hoping he wouldn’t see disdain on the officers’ faces since such hardships were nothing new for soldiers. Their expressions were neutral, though. He took a deep breath. “I think our chances of defeating the English would be better if we continued it on another day.”
“You expect us to retreat?” the prince asked.
“Temporarily,” he replied carefully, “until the men have time to recuperate.”
Murray tilted his head. “’Tis something to consider. We could go back to Dalcross—”
“Ye’ve always wanted to fight on that ridge,” Colonel O’Sullivan interrupted. “We had this conversation before.”
“It makes sense to take the higher ground,” Murray argued, “and have them come to us.”
O’Sullivan shook his head stubbornly. “On the moor, we have room for the Highland Charge.”
“Aye, there is an advantage to going on offense rather than defense,” Drummond put in.
Niall gave his uncle a desperate look. They were getting entangled in war strategy, which was totally missing his point. His uncle cleared his throat loudly.
“Gentlemen. Your Highness. Perhaps if ye allowed the troops to disperse for today, ye will have time to come to an agreement for tomorrow.”
“Cumberland will make camp if he doesna see the Jacobite army on the moor.” Niall looked at the prince, hating to faun, but desperate to prevent this battle from happening today. “Ye could then put into play your idea of surprising them at dawn.”
The prince eyed him with more acumen than Niall had given him credit for. Slowly, he nodded. “I rather like the idea—”
“Your Highness!” A soldier burst through the tent’s fold. “The English are on the edge of the moor!”
****
Charlotte stopped the buggy a good quarter mile from the battlefield. The last thing she needed was to be seen and sent back to the castle. She’d had a dickens of a time trying to persuade the stable lad that she had an important errand in Inverness that couldn’t wait. When she’d finally gotten him to hitch up the horse, he’d gallantly offered to drive her in himself. She’d spent more precious time—she had more than just the five miles to Inverness to cover—convincing him that she would be fine, there were no brigands on the road this early in the morning and she was used to handling the buggy. That was partially true since Niall had let her handle the reins on occasion and the horse was not temperamental. In any event, it didn’t matter. She had to get to Culloden.
She pulled her cloak closer as she started to walk. The wind had picked up, blowing drifts of snow from yesterday. The cold drizzle that had been falling this morning was turning to sleet. Miserable conditions for soldiers on foot, but maybe not ideal for cavalry either.
The sound of cannon made her jump. When the second one went off, she started running. She rushed past some boulders and then skidded to a stop at the edge of the moor.
The English formed a solid line on the far edge, their infantry in the middle and the dragoons along each edge. A solid sea of red was packed behind the front line, stretching back as far as she could see. They were not moving, but they were firing their guns.
