Page 44 of The Wild Rose of Kilgannon (Kilgannon #2)

There was a pause during which all on the dais looked at something hidden from us, then a ripple from those in the crowd far to the left, where they could see between the dais and the benches into the doors that still stood open. The clamor grew as Alex was led in.

His hair was pulled neatly back, and he was clean shaven but pale.

He wore his green velvet doublet and the plaid I’d seen him in last, fixed at his shoulder with the old brooch.

And he’d been correct; not a mark of abuse showed.

He looked devastatingly handsome as he towered over the men who stood on either side of him, and seemed not the least intimidated by his surroundings.

He looked, I realized, like a Gaelic laird, and I knew many would consider him the picture of the barbarian they’d like to believe him to be.

Dear God , I prayed, protect my love . Alex’s expression was carefully blank as he stood next to the raised benches, and he looked straight ahead until a voice rose from behind us, shouting a Gaelic phrase I did not know.

Alex turned then and grinned, raising a hand in salute.

I had recognized the voice and craned my neck to find him. Next to me Angus did the same. “Is it Gilbey?” I asked and Angus nodded. “What did he say?”

“The MacIntyre war cry, lass,” Angus whispered.

“I’d say Alex kens Gilbey’s here.” He nodded then to the courtroom floor where two men led Alex to stand in front of the judges, then stepped back.

One of the lawyers, a man I’d never seen before, came to his left, and I regretted anew that Kenneth was not allowed to represent Alex in England.

I had no idea who this lawyer was or what he intended to do, for I had been barred from talking with him.

The judges motioned for silence and I watched Alex’s stiff back.

As the crowd settled, the center judge, a thin man with a dissatisfied expression, leaned forward, speaking in a demanding tone.

“Sir, I am Lord Webster, your high judge. Are you Ian Alexander James Fraser MacKenzie MacGannon, the Earl of Kilgannon?”

No , I thought, he is not Ian Alexander , and said as much to Kenneth, leaning across Angus to do so. I supposed it made no difference, but Kenneth Ogilvie wrote it down.

Alex’s answer was clear and calm. “I am Alexander Ian James Keith Fraser MacGannon, the Earl of Kilgannon.”

The judged nodded. “The charges against you are most serious, Kilgannon. There will be no further outbursts from the audience. Do you understand?”

“I am no’ in control of the audience, your honor,” Alex said, “but I understand English quite well.” The crowd shifted in their seats and some laughed. The judges exchanged glances.

Lord Webster frowned. “Kilgannon, you will be read two charges and then asked how you plead. Answer clearly.”

Alex lifted his chin. “I do no’ plead, sir.”

The crowd snickered and Webster leaned forward, his frown deepening. “Sir, you are accused of two charges. Do you understand that?”

“I understand yer trumping up charges against me, aye.”

“These are not trumped-up charges, Kilgannon.”

“One is, your honor, but at least yer saving the Crown the expense of two trials. I admire yer economy.” The laughter that rippled through the stands was excited. They used to enjoy bearbaiting, too, I thought. The judge waited as the crowd settled.

“Kilgannon, do you understand the seriousness of the charges?”

“I understand the accusations, sir. Do ye understand that I dinna agree with them?” The crowd rustled again and some clapped.

“You are not asked to agree with them, sir.” Webster straightened his back and began to read in a stentorian voice.

“To the charge of high treason, by your willful rebellion in Scotland, in September 1715, against His Majesty King George, King of all Britain, and by your willful participation with the Jacobite troops at the battle of Sherrifmuir against the forces of His Majesty King George, King of all Britain, in November 1715, how do you, Ian Alexander James Fraser MacKenzie MacGannon, the Earl of Kilgannon, plead?”

“I told ye, sir. I dinna plead. And I am no’ guilty of treason against George of Hanover, for I am no’ his subject.”

Alex’s lawyer stepped forward, bowing. “The Earl of Kilgannon pleads not guilty, your honor,” he said in an obsequious tone.

Alex watched the lawyer with a sideways glance and then nodded again. “Aye,” he said to the judge. “That’s what I said.”

Lord Webster spoke again. “To the charge of willful murder of Douglas Campbell, a British citizen, in Brenmargon Pass, Scotland, in February 1716, how do you, Ian Alexander James Fraser MacKenzie MacGannon, the Earl of Kilgannon, plead?”

“That was no murder and ye ken it well, sir,” Alex said harshly.

“It was war and if that’s murder, then ye should include the men I killed at Sherrifmuir as well, aye?

” Alex frowned while his lawyer stood before him, talking intently.

Alex nodded and stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest, his anger evident.

Lord Webster glared at Alex. “Kilgannon, I will not tolerate this behavior. This is a court of law, not some Highland gathering. You will refrain from outbursts or I will have you removed. Do you understand?”

Alex glared back at him and nodded curtly .

“Do you understand, sir?” the judge repeated.

“Aye, your honor, I understand entirely.”

“How do you plead?”

“Not guilty,” the lawyer said before Alex could answer, and the judge sat back and placed both hands on the table before him.

Lord Webster explained the procedure at great length and then a clerk stood and read the additional charge against Alex.

I was outraged. Apparently the charge of treason was not sufficient.

They had added this second, absurd charge.

Either was enough to sentence him to death, and the picture they presented together was of a dangerous and violent man.

A wave of conversation filled the time it took Alex to be led to the dock, where he stood facing us, searching the audience. He found us at last and nodded. Hundreds of eyes followed his gaze and when I forced a smile Alex winked at me.

“Kilgannon,” Judge Webster said in a menacing tone, “I expect you to behave in a proper fashion as befits this courtroom. If you cannot, I will try you in absentia. When the witnesses come forward you will be silent and you will speak only when spoken to, or I will have you removed. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly,” said Alex, raising his chin, and for a moment he looked so like Jamie that I caught my breath. “If I defend myself you’ll find me guilty with me gone rather than with me here.”

“The choice is yours, sir. I will not have my court turned into a circus.”

“Then bring reasonable charges against me. If yer goal is to hang me, ye don’t need more than the charge of treason. I will answer for what I’ve done, but no’ more. Ye have the wrong charges, sir, and the wrong name. Yer court canna even get my name correct.”

“The choice is yours, Kilgannon.”

“Can ye hang me in absentia, your honor?”

“I think not.”

“Then I will be here to see this through.”

“As you wish, Kilgannon. But remember my terms.”

Alex nodded grimly. “I’m no’ likely to forget them.”

The morning was spent hearing several witnesses, all English or Campbells, who swore that Alex was at Sherifmuir and had been in the company of the rebels.

Alex had watched the witnesses in stony silence, leaning gracefully against the back railing of the dock, his arms crossed over his chest. The witnesses continued into the afternoon, and by day’s end it had been determined that Alex had been with the rebels, with the added information that he had been said to attend the war councils of the Earl of Mar and that he kept company with such known rebels as Sir Donald MacDonald and the Macleans.

The crowd had grown bored with the proceedings, and there had been fewer of them in the afternoon.

The testimony continued, officer after officer claiming to have seen Alex at Sherrifmuir, in the Jacobite troops led by General Gordon.

As the last officer stepped down, Alex leaned forward and caught the judge’s eye.

“Sir, I have admitted that I was at the battle of Sherrifmuir, leading my men. Can we no’ have done with this part of it? We’ve wasted a whole day proving what I’ve never denied. I took arms against yer king. No’ mine, but yers.”

“Sir, you have been warned. ”

“Aye, but, your honor, let’s get on with it. I took arms against yer Geordie. But I will never agree that it is treason.”

“You claim James Stewart as your king?”

“No.”

Lord Webster’s voice was harsh. “You do not claim James Stewart as king of England and Ireland and Scotland?”

“I do no’ claim James Stewart as my king. I have no king.”

“You must have a king. You must declare yourself for one or the other. You have chosen James Stewart.”

“I did once declare myself for the Stewart, sir, but no more.”

“Then who is king of your country?”

Alex leaned forward as he and the judge stared at each other.

They might have been alone in the room. “I have no king, nor need o’ one.

I wish only to be left alone to live my life without interference.

Leave me and mine alone and I willna bother ye.

I’ve no desire to fight your army, nor do most Scots.

Take yer armies home and leave us be. Get out of my country and I will stay out of yers.

But if ye come to dominate us, we’ll resist. As ye would.

I was only defending my homeland.” The crowd muttered and the judges exchanged glances. DeBroun watched Alex.

Lord Webster spoke slowly. “You admit that you took arms against King George, King of all Britain.”

Alex shook his head. “No. I took arms against King George, King of England. Not King of all Britain. Just England. I do no’ deny that George of Hanover is King of England, and that I fought his troops.

I fought men who would dominate my country against its will.

I fought troops occupying my homeland. And I would do so again.

But I do no longer seek to restore James Stewart. ”

“Why?”

“Because he is unfit to rule. But”—Alex smiled—“at least he can speak English.” The crowd laughed and the judge frowned. He pounded on the desk and declared the day over.