The Blood of Roses by Marsha Canham Read Free Book Online Page A

the prince’s field general. “He knows he holds the advantage of ground and knows he can sit there until the heavens rain solid gold sovereigns if he chooses. He is in no hurry to bring the battle to us, not with reinforcements on the way from London. On the contrary. The longer he sits the stronger, his position becomes and the more confidence his men gain—another factor weighing heavily on his mind, I’m sure, for most of his troops are drawn from militias and have never seen battle before.”
    Lord George Murray was a tall, elegant man in his early fifties, one to whom soldiering came by instinct. He had joined the prince’s army at Perth and, like many of his peers, had staked everything on this venture, but was quite prepared to lose it for the sake of his king and country. He was not prepared to lose it through incompetence, however, or overeagerness—two qualities he had been much dismayed to find in his prince. Charles, being a much younger man, was prepared to acknowledge and follow sound military logic when it was presented to him. But finding himself on Scottish soil, at the command of an army of volatile Highlanders, proved too great a temptation for his sensibilities. He was all for charging straight ahead, taking himself onto the battlefield on his tall white gelding and leading the men to triumph and glory. It had come as a great shock when the clan chiefs had insisted on the appointment of commanding generals, more so when they had specified the need for military experience over zeal.
    Lord George Murray had been enlisted in the government army in the days of Queen Anne’s rule. Even though he had not seen active duty since the ill-fated rebellion of 1715, the chiefs trusted him implicitly because he was one of them, and because he quickly proved to be a brilliant tactician and canny strategist. The prince, no fool when it came to pleasing his chiefs, appointed Lord George to command the army on the field, and Lord John Drummond, the deposed Duke of Perth as his lieutenant general. The Duke of Perth was openly candid about his lack of real experience and acknowledged his appointment had been more for political reasons rather than for any burning military genius he could bring to the field. Lord George, however, took his job seriously and, being a blunt and outspoken man, was not adverse to ruffling anyone’s feathers, even if they happened to be princely. He spoke to the prince sometimes as he would a child, explaining why it was not to the army’s advantage to stage a frontal attack, or why they had to be extremely wary of artillery placements.
    “Cope knows we will eventually have to carry the battle to him,” Lord George said evenly, disregarding the faint lines of rebellion etched around the prince’s lips. “And when we do, his cannon will cut us to pieces before we have covered half the distance across that wide, flat plain.”
    “Your trust in our gallant men is inspiring,” came the moist, nasal twang of William O’Sullivan. He was an Irishman, one of the prince’s friends and advisors, and, because he thought the post of commander should have been his, he attempted to discredit and embarrass Lord George at every turn. He had wasted no time in pointing out to the prince that Lord George’s brother was a prominent Whig and that Lord George himself had been approached by the government and offered a high commission in the Hanover army. He even went so far as to suggest Lord George had secretly accepted and was serving the prince only in order to betray their cause from within.
    “Your faith in our ability,” he continued blithely, “leaves me … quite frankly … breathless.”
    “I have the utmost faith and trust in the courage and ability of our Highlanders,” Lord George retorted. “As it happens, however, I place a higher premium on their lives.”
    “Battles have been fought on plains before.” The Irishman sighed. “I fail to see the dilemma now.”
    “The dilemma,