Winifred walked to and fro in her tower house of the village of Terregles, tensed and worried about the destinies of her husband and of the many supporters of the exiled James VII. She was one of the most ardent of Jacobite ladies and her husband a devout Catholic and as passionate about the values she too rejoiced. But for these beliefs that they cradled, came in the unlucky bearer of deaths and defeats.

In the wintry weather of December, gloom was dominating every house.

"A woman always knows."

Her heart raced against time, as if, such was the heat she felt rise up in her body, almost numbing her. She felt the ominous could happen yet no reason could her rationale present.

The doubts of her heart crept up to warn her about the Battle of Preston failing.

She prayed to the Almighty that everything be well. Yet, a woman knows, and her heart knew the tragedy was to happen. A fall couldn't be so severe as to take away my Lord.

"My Lady."

The maid's whisper could be hardly heard above the cacophony of the chilly breeze of winter. Drawing the shawl closer to herself Winifred studied the trembling form of her maid.

"My Lady," the petite girl repeated, not looking into the pale blue eyes of her master. The wan, skinny arms of the girl held on to her tattered gown, her eyelashes fluttering excessively.

"Speak. I am ready to face any storm but not a lie and not this excruciating pain that your silence gives me."

"It's a storm that can take away your happiness, my Lady. And I am afraid that I will be the unholy woman who should be announcing it to your presence."

Winifred couldn't take it anymore. She hoped that her Lord was alive and well.

That would be enough for now.

"My Lady, Lord Maxwell has been imprisoned in the Tower of London, and marked for treason along with many rebels. The Earl of Derwentwater, the earls of Scotland and many more have been arrested."

The slender stature of Winifred went frail in dejection, and the maid had to support the now dizzy figure. She set her master to rest on the chair and brought a glass of milk, sobbing as she went down and came up in the blink of an eye.

"My Lady, be strong."

It made her even weaker.

Winifred had been too staunch and proud to show her emotions naked to the world. Her eyes were reddened yet the tears didn't flow. Her gaze bore into nothingness, demanding an answer to the sudden arrival of doom.

"I am in no state to eat and drink, Portia." She refused the glass. How in the world can I warm myself with a glass of milk now? He is rotting in the cell and I shall never be comfortable in his disgrace!

She gritted her teeth. The headache threatened to burst her forehead into a million chunks of flesh and kill her soul. What sin had we committed?

They had vowed to be together since the day their ambitions and dreams had revealed to be one and the same. They had walked together so many days and they had decided to walk thousands of days more.

"There is no chance for forgiveness, is there any?"

"You and me know the outcome well, my Lady."

Quivering lips murmured the name of the Almighty as she finally broke down. Her head now held low and hands covered the shamefaced sight. The blue eyes now flooded like the tides had drowned the lands.

He is at the brink of death. He is, indeed.

He shall not see me anymore. He shall not delight me with his speeches and kisses.

The night had fallen mercilessly over the virescence of Scotland.

He shall not be.

"There must be hope."

There must be a way.

"Let us get ready for the inevitable, my Lady. It's better that you accept it now than regret later."

Both just stared at one another. The mutual silence paved way for the two woman to hug each other and express companionship in the time of distress.

But it did little good to her. No, her heart screamed at such a shock being thrown at her. She knew he was hurt. He was a soldier but still every cut on his body made her bleed. Every failure of his a burden of her own shoulders. And if he died, she would too.

But what about our son?

Can he live without us?

At times so dark and dreary, often the angel came down with a candle of hope. She wished like a child for some miracle to happen.

"But do I not have the right to hope and pray?"

"It's indeed now under the mercy of Him, this state of yours and Lord."

Winifred steadied herself. She knew being broken would not do any good. She would not mourn, no. She would see him outlive her.

Pessimism can't go a long way. . 

She would rescue him.

But how?

"I wish to talk to my brother-in-law, he might be able to help me."

I need more money.

Winifred clenched her fists. She didn't know the taste of failure, and even if she had now drunk its tyranny she wished to turn the coal into gold.

The ocean blue gaze now hid the tears of melancholy. With fierceness in them, Winifred promised to be the miracle herself.

If none were to initiate the good, she would be the fire to light up the world herself.

"I shall not rest until I give my all."

**

Winifred got newfound hopes after conversing with her brother-in-law. It was a ruinous news– the land and titles of William Maxwell had been forfeited. Hapless Jacobites were now being tortured in the Tower of London.

I will kiss his death and snatch his soul from the Devil if necessary.

He was a steel man, not ready to cry in fear alongside his comrades. Though when in the arms of his wife, he had no compulsion to hide his emotions.

She smiled. The warmth that soothed her soul upon recalling their little moments of love kindled the fire of hope.

They had shared every fear and every pride, entwining their soul's deepest desires.

But fear is natural, and the wait for death worse.

Looking at the setting sun, she pledged to free her husband. And if not, flung herself to the very end of it all.

She had accepted the fact that her husband had no chance for mercy. The Earl of Derwentwater, her own Lord and the head of the Galloway Gordons, Lord Kenmure were surely to be sent to the scaffold. The Earl of Derwentwater had pure royal blood in him being the grandson of Charles II himself. He had to be removed for George I to be safe. And William and Lord Kenmure had massive power in the Lowlands and were devout Catholics; thus in a court constituted of solely Protestants, they were like two ants at the foot of an elephant.

Hope was bleak. But hope had the longest life.

She had made certain plans in her mind. It was evident that she would be presenting a petition but required the aid of other important Ladies and Lords, like the Lady of Derwentwater herself.

Poor Lady Derwentwater, she too must be as downhearted as me. There's no hope for her Lord to be pardoned.

It was then by Almighty's grace, a faithful friend came to Winifred.

"Evans?"

A woman had entered, quickly shutting the door behind her. She remembered to bow before embracing Winifred.

"We can't stay here, miss. We must leave at once for London."