Jean Genie
Copyright© 2026 by Rachael Jane
Chapter 61: The Call to Arms
Glen Loy, Scottish Highlands, July 1745
The rumours in late 1743 of the Prince’s pending arrival prove premature. The preparations for war quietly continue, but 1744 passes without incident. The delay saps morale and the enthusiasm for the Jacobite cause. Government spies proliferate like lice, and the momentum for rebellion waivers.
The summer of 1745 arrives in the Highlands with deceptive gentleness. The hills glow green under long days of sunlight. The river runs full and bright. Children chase one another through the heather. Elizabeth helps Mairead hang linens to dry, her hands now move with practised ease. She has grown stronger ... her shoulders firmer, her steps surer, her voice carrying a quiet confidence that was not there when she first arrived.
But beneath the warmth of the season, something else stirs. A renewed tension. The hum of fresh rumour. Elizabeth feels it before she hears it. The clan men speak in shorter sentences. Hamish walks with a heavier silence. Messengers arrive more frequently, their horses lathered, their faces drawn. The longhouse meetings stretch late into the night.
And then, one morning, everything changes.
Elizabeth is kneeling by the riverbank, washing a basket of early summer berries. The water is cold, but the sun warms her back. She hums softly, a tune she learned from the clan children. Her hands move rhythmically, dipping, rinsing, sorting.
A rider appears on the ridge. He is moving fast ... too fast for ordinary news. His horse kicks up dust as he descends the slope, hooves striking the earth with urgency. Elizabeth stands, wiping her hands on her apron, heart quickening.
“Hamish!” she calls.
Hamish emerges from the longhouse, followed by Donnan and Fergus. The rider dismounts before the horse fully stops, stumbling forward with breathless intensity.
“The Prince!” he gasps. “The Prince has landed!”
The words strike the air like lightning. Elizabeth feels her pulse leap. Hamish goes still, every muscle tightening. Donnan mutters a prayer under his breath. Fergus’s eyes widen with a mixture of awe and fear.
“Where?” Hamish demands.
“Eriskay,” the rider says. “He came by sea. With a handful of men. No army ... just a small band. But he’s here. In Scotland.”
Elizabeth’s breath catches. She’s heard mention of Eriskay before ... an island in the Outer Hebrides, to the north-west of the mainland. It’s about as remote from any Scottish city as you can get and still be in Scotland.
“He came alone?”
“Near enough,” the rider says. “But he claims more will follow. French support. Highland loyalty. He says he will raise the clans.”
Hamish’s jaw clenches. “And the clans?”
“They’re gathering,” the rider says. “Some already march to meet him. Others wait for word. But the Prince is calling for all who hold loyalty to the Stuarts.”
The wind shifts, carrying the scent of pine and distant rain. Elizabeth feels her world tilt.
Hamish turns to the rider. “You’ve done well. Rest. Eat. Then carry word to the next glen.”
The rider nods gratefully and heads toward the longhouse.
Hamish stands very still. Elizabeth steps closer. “Hamish...”
He looks at her, eyes shadowed with the weight of history. “It begins.”
The clan gathers in the longhouse. The air is thick with tension, bodies pressed close, voices low. Elizabeth stands near the back, her shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. She listens, heart pounding.
Donnan speaks first. “The Prince calls for us. For all clans loyal to the Stuarts.”
Fergus nods. “He’s young, but determined. He says he’ll reclaim the throne in the name of his father.”
Another elder, Ewan, shakes his head. “But he has no army. No French ships. No guarantee of support.”
“But he has courage,” Donnan counters. “And the blood of kings.”
Hamish raises a hand, silencing the room. “We must think clearly. The Prince’s arrival is bold, but dangerous. If we rise, we rise against the full strength of the government ... not just the English but the Scottish lairds who side with those in London.”
Ewan mutters, “And if we do nothing, we betray our oath.”
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