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“I should think so too,” Ambrose’s Aunt Jewel exclaimed. “The very idea of Spanish marines capturing Eilean Donan castle is offensive. Now, it’s a ruin after the bombardment.”
“Then let’s hope this latest Jacobite uprising is the last,” Ambrose replied. “Our country willna prosper if Scots are constantly embroiled in rebellion.”
Eala’s gaze locked with her husband’s. Both knew only too well the heartache, despair and death that resulted from such revolts that seemed destined to fail. Twenty thousand Jacobites had turned up to fight at Sheriffmuir, yet…
“I agree with ye,” Munro said. “However, I dinna think we’ve seen the last of the Stuarts. When the Old Pretender and his wife produce a son, the Jacobite cause will reignite.”
A shiver stole up Eala’s spine. Sitting among her adopted family in an opulent gallery furnished with comfortable chairs, it was easy to forget that turmoil often lurked just beyond the floor to ceiling windows. To her immense relief, the recent attempt to restore the Stuarts had taken place far from Ayrshire. Ambrose’s skills hadn’t been required, although they never knew when Dr. Giles Raincourt might turn up on the doorstep and ask for help. Despite his advancing years, Giles always stood ready to travel wherever the need was greatest.
“Let me take Meagan,” Ambrose whispered close to her ear, bringing her thoughts back to the gallery. “She’s fallen asleep.”
He’d proven to be a patient, caring father, so she let him take the sleeping bairn who’d finally settled.
The ordeal she and Ambrose had undergone in Perth had brought them together and made them stronger. However, she prayed her bairns would never have to experience the kind of turmoil that resulted from rebellion.
* * *
