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Reviews"Thirteen tales to please buffs and fans of military sf and history alike." -- Booklist |
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ExcerptFrom James Boswell's Journal of a Tour of the Kingdom of Scotland with Samuel Johnson: Kingsburgh, Isle of Skye, September 12, 1773 We arrived late in the afternoon at the house of Allan MacDonald of Kingsburgh. He himself received us most courteously, and after shaking hands supported Mr. Johnson into the house. Kingsburgh was quite the figure of a gallant Highlander. He wore his tartan plaid thrown about him, a vest with gold buttons and gold buttonholes, and tartan hose. He had jet-black hair tied behind, covered by a large blue bonnet with a knot of black ribbon like a cockade. He conducted us into a comfortable parlor with a good fire, and a dram of admirable Holland's gin went round. By and by supper came, and there appeared his spouse, the celebrated Miss Flora. She was a little woman, of a mild and genteel appearance. To see Mr. Samuel Johnson salute Miss Flora MacDonald was a wonderful romantic scene to me. Indeed, as indicated by Kingsburgh's garb, which was quite a la mode, time has healed the enmities between the kingdoms of Britain. In time I imagine the infant Prince of Wales will assume both thrones, as did his ancestor James VI of Scotland when he became also James I of England. Mr. Johnson spoke to Mrs. MacDonald of the Duke of Cumberland's visit to Skye in 1746. "Who was with the Duke? We were told in England there was one Miss Flora MacDonald with him." Said she with a secret smile, "They were very right." # Armadale, Isle of Skye, April 18, 1746 Hearing the slow approach of hoofbeats to her stepfather's house, Flora threw her shawl around her shoulders and went out. Donald, the ghillie, was already waiting outside the stable door. Sea birds called raucously above the Sound of Sleat. To the east the mountainous mainland faded into a pale spring twilight. The horse and man who appeared from the gloaming seemed so worn and weary they might have served as figments of nightmare. It was Allan, Flora saw. She stepped forward and held the bridle as he slid from the saddle with a groan. There had been talk between their families, distant relations, that they should marry. As yet Flora evaded this notion, thinking Allan a man of great charm but little judgment. Now, though, she took note of the grave sobriety lining his features and raised her hand to his shoulder. "What of the rebellion, Allan? Is it over?" "Aye," he said, "'tis over. Six days ago we made the crossing of the River Spey just beyond Ruthven, intending to catch Prince Charles before he gained the sanctuary of Inverness. But he turned, and the Highlanders came down upon us from the heights beyond the river before we'd had the opportunity to form up, let alone bring our artillery to bear." Flora could see the scene: The flood of screaming men, unbreeked, unwashed, undeterred, armed with swords as tall as themselves. |
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