The Fate of the Jacobite Grenadiers
The Third of Three Books Telling the Story of Captain Patrick Lindesay and the Jacobite Grenadiers
Fiction & Literature, Historical
| Author: | Gavin Wood | ISBN: | 9781467882583 |
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse UK | Publication: | January 23, 2014 |
| Imprint: | AuthorHouse UK | Language: | English |
| Author: | Gavin Wood |
| ISBN: | 9781467882583 |
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse UK |
| Publication: | January 23, 2014 |
| Imprint: | AuthorHouse UK |
| Language: | English |
February 1746. The rebel army of Prince Charles Edward Stuart has retreated to the north-east of Scotland. Here they are surrounded by three enemy armies loyal to King George. Lacking money, equipment and food, only a decisive victory on the battlefield can turn the tide of the war. Lord Kilmarnock's Horse Grenadiers have earned a reputation for loyalty, sculduggery and fortitude. Now Prince Charles rewards the regiment by promoting them to become his elite guards. It is a dangerous honour. As the war reaches its climax the Grenadiers must fight their deadliest battle yet. If the regiment does not stand fast, the Jacobite army will be destroyed and the rebellion will be over. . . .'You behave as a filching freebooter Captain Lindesay ... one caught in the very act of brigancy!' 'Brigancy!' 'Your Highness,' The Irish nobleman turned to address the Prince. 'We cannot have our officers behave in such an ungentlemanly fashion, and in your own regiment of guards to boot! Such unworthy behaviour will be the ruin of our reputation. I must counsel that you dismiss Mr Lindesay from his post.' Before the Prince could answer, Patrick stepped closer to the Quartermaster-General. His face was thunderous. The two officers stood toe-to-toe, eye-to-eye. Patrick curled his lip, bared his teeth, fingered his pistol. The conceited inanity of the fellow was insufferable. For a moment the Irishman was certain the Captain of the Grenadiers would offer a challenge, propose a duel. Then, to the astonishment of all the bystanders, Patrick smiled. Just the smallest upturn of the lips, but a veritable and carefree smile nonetheless. O'Sullivan frowned in confusion, unsure why the Grenadier's anger had turned cold. Patrick's smile broadened; the canniest of ploys had just entered his conscious . . .
February 1746. The rebel army of Prince Charles Edward Stuart has retreated to the north-east of Scotland. Here they are surrounded by three enemy armies loyal to King George. Lacking money, equipment and food, only a decisive victory on the battlefield can turn the tide of the war. Lord Kilmarnock's Horse Grenadiers have earned a reputation for loyalty, sculduggery and fortitude. Now Prince Charles rewards the regiment by promoting them to become his elite guards. It is a dangerous honour. As the war reaches its climax the Grenadiers must fight their deadliest battle yet. If the regiment does not stand fast, the Jacobite army will be destroyed and the rebellion will be over. . . .'You behave as a filching freebooter Captain Lindesay ... one caught in the very act of brigancy!' 'Brigancy!' 'Your Highness,' The Irish nobleman turned to address the Prince. 'We cannot have our officers behave in such an ungentlemanly fashion, and in your own regiment of guards to boot! Such unworthy behaviour will be the ruin of our reputation. I must counsel that you dismiss Mr Lindesay from his post.' Before the Prince could answer, Patrick stepped closer to the Quartermaster-General. His face was thunderous. The two officers stood toe-to-toe, eye-to-eye. Patrick curled his lip, bared his teeth, fingered his pistol. The conceited inanity of the fellow was insufferable. For a moment the Irishman was certain the Captain of the Grenadiers would offer a challenge, propose a duel. Then, to the astonishment of all the bystanders, Patrick smiled. Just the smallest upturn of the lips, but a veritable and carefree smile nonetheless. O'Sullivan frowned in confusion, unsure why the Grenadier's anger had turned cold. Patrick's smile broadened; the canniest of ploys had just entered his conscious . . .
