Kings of the Boyne by Nicola Pierce Page B

move could be slow and cumbersome. Then, she finds William – here, Daniel struggled to imagine her actually meeting the king but that had nothing to do with the question — so, she meets William and gets the horses and makes her way home. Of course, by now, she’s on horseback which would speed up her return. Yet, that still meant …
    â€˜I think that she’ll be gone two weeks. It shouldn’t be much more than that.’
    He did his best to sound confident but poor Marian looked utterly distraught. The others, Daniel sensed, knew as much about the length of ‘weeks’ as they did about thestars in the sky. Marian bit her lip and did her best not to cry.
    It was a desperate situation for the widow who was caught between leaving her young family alone but having to do so if she wanted to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. Daniel was filled with sympathy. What a horrible decision to have to make.
    A loud explosion broke the silence in the room. Daniel then felt a fierce rumble in his lap followed by the sensation that someone was pouring something warm down his leg. A moment or two passed before the smell was suffocating. Daniel stared at the placid baby who was busying gnawing on his spoon and looking the picture of innocence.
    â€˜Phew!’ gasped Daniel. ‘Perhaps King William should have taken Georgie instead of the horses. He’d send any army running for cover!’
    Marian smiled through her tears.

Chapter Eleven
Location! Location! June 1690
    J ames heaved a heavy sigh, ignoring his French and Irish commanders who waited to discuss locations for the battle.
    The last few weeks had dragged by, and it had recently occurred to him that he was far from happy. Apart from everything else that was going on and the fact that he hadn’t seen his wife and baby son for the best part of a year, he was homesick. The city of London had just about framed every major event in his life, from the death of his father, King Charles I, at the hands of a Cromwellian mob, to the reign of his brother, King Charles II.
    His brother had shared his love for the grimy, dirty city. Perhaps one of the most exhilarating experiences of James’slife was accompanying his brother out into the middle of the street during the great fire of 1666. He and Charles had rolled up their silk sleeves and carried umpteen buckets of water, directing the line of helpers back and forth, the smoke blinding them and giving them a hacking cough that produced phlegm as black as tar.
    Of course he still loved England as much as he ever did. It was not England he had declared war on, only William, his nephew and son-in-law and, therefore, most unnatural enemy.
    In his last letter to France he had shared a little of his predicament with his wife, Queen Mary Beatrice:
    I sense I am losing my popularity amongst the Irish. However, my dear, you know me well enough to appreciate that I will not do something just because others think I should. For example, a printer that I hired to print the pamphlets about the new rules for Protestants says he has lost the original copy and cannot do the job. Of course he has lost nothing. He is merely looking out for his fellow parishioners and I rather admire the plucky fellow. The Irish wanted me to imprison him but I refuse to. They only want him punished because he is a Protestant.
    Oh, how I wish we were all together again and back home in London where we should be!
    His mood of the last few days was so different from the night before he left France.
    King Louis had embraced him and said, ‘I hope, sir, never to see you again. Nevertheless, if Fortune decides that we are to meet, you will always have my support.’
    James had bowed his head graciously, feeling most honoured, if still somewhat dubious, about what lay ahead. A tiny part of him felt he was being wrapped in a spider’s silk web and that he was not moving entirely of his own free will.
    For the onlookers,