I deliver perfection...|and don't brag about it! :D
How long?
A day, maybe two.
They're gone, Rob, and the beasts sold.
There's a wee glen|on the other side of Ben Duh.
If I were tinkers|with a two-day start,
I'd lie there and kill me some meat.
We'd not get there before dark.
Not stood here, we won't.
You can smell them through the meat.
Aye, if they fought|as strong as they smelled,
we'd be in trouble.
They're there right enough,|just like you said, Rob.
We can rush them when they're asleep.
Nine. One of them's a woman.
Half of them would be dead|before they were awake.
How will we take them, Rob?
I'll talk to them in the morning.
I'm getting too old for this...|lying wet arsed in the heather,
chasing other men's cattle.
Come away|to the Americas with me.
They say there's fine acres|for the clearing in Virginia.
Aye, and they'll likely be|as hard as these to sleep on.
Why are you going in|to talk to them?
I know one of them.
Up!
Get up, you bunch of ragged-arsed|tinker cow thieves!
This is Robert Roy McGregor|come to reclaim the 32 beasts
stolen from His Lordship James Graham,
...Marquis of Montrose.
Tam Sibbald.
Still at your thieving.
Throw down now,|and I'll spare you, all but one.
There's a price to being|a leader of men, Tam.
By God, McGregor,|if there's any killing to be done,
you're the first.
Who do you think you are,|acting the great chief?
And I know you're a bigger thief|than any of us.
Aye, but if I had stolen|His Lordship's cattle,
you would not have|walked into my dreams so easy.
I can call the Gregorach|and kill the half of ya,
or it can be between us|and nothing more.
- Ha!|- Think on it, man.
Would you not rather|be dead after a good hump
And a belly full of stolen beef
or have me march you|back to Montrose
to shit yourself|on the gallows a month hence?
Throw down! Now!
And you have my word|no-one else will die!
Come, lads.
Any man with a blade in his hands,
cut him down.
Are ye men,
or what are ye?
He killed Tam,|and you stand and live!
And him as much an outlaw|as any of you!
No man among ya!|Your mothers curse you!
You're spittle!
You're leavings!
Listen to me well,|and remember this:
Or I'm going to remember you,|every last one.
When next you think to steal cattle,
have a care they're not|under my protection.
But if they are,|you're not stealing from their owners.
You're stealing from me,|Robert Roy McGregor.
No man who steals my beasts|makes a profit.
If you doubt me, ask Tam Sibbald.
What will you do with her?
Be on your way and tell no man|you fared ill at our hands.
Go on.
Cut him down!
Go on.
Yeah!
Ladies and gentlemen,|the winner of the contest is Guthrie!
Montrose, come hotfoot|from the court to the cockpit.
May I present Archibald Cunningham.
His Grace, the Duke of Argyll.
I am Your Grace's humble servant.
Another of your likely lads?
Archibald is sent me by his mother
in the hope that our climate|might cool the fever in his blood.
So, Mr Cunningham,
what are these principal sins|that distress your mother?
Dice? Drink?
Or are you a buggerer of boys?
It is years, Your Grace,|since I buggered a boy.
And in my own defence,|I thought him a girl
at the moment of entry.
What say you, Guthrie,
that Archie|could not tell arse from quim?
Many Englishmen|have that same difficulty.
Oh, spoken as well as you fought.
Did you see Guthrie here at work,|Mr Cunningham?
He has a fair hand with the cleaver.
You do not think much|of our highland tools, then?
If I had to kill an ox, a claymore|would be my first choice, Your Grace.
You best use a musket
and save the beast a slow dying.
I would not need|a musket for "you", Guthrie.
Oh, splendid!
I'll wager 100 of what you like
on Guthrie and his cleaver.
At odds?
Now, come, James,|you're a fox. What odds?
- Three?|- Two.
English pounds.
There's more of a jingle to guineas.
- Ah, guineas it is.|- Excellent, excellent.
A bumper of rhenish|for my Lord Montrose
And show Mr Cunningham|what blades we have.
You honour me, sir,|to serve me with your own hand.
I tell you, James,
I forget how much you dislike me|until I'm in your presence.
So, what news at Court?
What else but the succession?
Our poor Queen cannot find|the time to die in peace.
I fear she may pass over|and leave the matter unresolved.
Would that she had seen a child live|to comfort the kingdom.
One might have hoped that|a field so often ploughed
Might have yielded one good crop.
In truth, I have seen|healthier graveyards
Than that woman's womb.
Come on!
I am asked on what side|Your Grace will declare himself.
Where Argyll goes,|the path must be firm and broad.
And now all watch|to see which way to jump.
One cannot go to the closet
but what some adherent to James|is praising your pish.
I confess to a certain|weariness in this whole issue
and look to Your Grace|to give some lead.
All I could answer in honesty
was that it would be the one|most inclined to his own benefit.
Damn it, man. You talk too much.
Can you not tend to your wager?
Argyll, my wager is well won.
Damn it, Guthrie!
Is it not enough that you're beaten|but you must turn backstabber?
My factor will call upon|Your Grace's factor.
Welcome back.
Well done, Rob, man.
Cut out another of the cattle.
If the tinkers ate one,|they could have eaten two.
Montrose will charge you, nonetheless.
I'm weary of seeing|children hungry and old folk cold.
It'll take more than a cow to fix that.
You'll be in the Americas,|living off the fat,
so it won't worry ya.
- Have some broth, Rob.|- No, Coll. I'm for home.
God bless you, Rob.
Rob just walks in among them,|his sword still in its sheath
and says,|"Get up, you bunch of ragged-arsed..."
Hello, Rob.
"Get up, you bunch|of ragged-arsed cow thieves."
Rob up to him and says,
"Tell your crew to lay down|and I'll only cut your throat,
else I'll call my men."
And we're all there. We are ready.
Get up, boy. Come on.
Go on. Get.
I dreamed a silkie came.
And what did he do|to you, your silkie?
You wakened me|before the best of it,
but he would have|ravished me for certain.
How do you know you're awake, wife?
Mr Killearn.
I'm on my way.
Aye. Well on the way, I'd venture.
Let me be, Mr Killearn. You'll wake him.
Don't, Mr Killearn!
I'm sure the young master|has you nicely greased, does he not?
Oh, Betty, you'd hardly|feel me going in.
A wee whiff of quim in the morning,
Mr Cunningham, sir.
Just the thing to clear your head.
Mr Cunningham,|I hope I'm not disturbing you.
Of course|you're bloody well disturbing me.
Do you think I want to wake up
and find some great smelly|Scotch man staring down at me?
What are you doing here?
I came to tell you|that some local trades people
are pressing|for payment on your debt.
You woke me for that?
A thousand apologies, Mr Cunningham,
but they've also writ to His Lordship.
Damn it, man.
I but recently|earned His Lordship 200 guineas.
What are the complaints|of a few tradesmen for such services?
This country does not agree with me.
I cannot wait to be|out of the damnable place.
The sentiments of|a great many of us, sir.
Would you like me|to take away your chamber pot?
I know many a Scotsman would be|glad of this on a cold morning.
It's almost pure spirit,
and I'm no judge of a pint of pish.
Come back.
Come here!
I killed Tam Sibbald|yesterday morning.
We played ball once at Creiff market.
I remember shouting,|"Well done, Tam",
when he made a run.
And there he was,|hung on the end of my dirk like meat.
Aye.
Well, likely it was necessary.
Aye, it was.|Necessary enough to save worse.
But those tinkers|weren't all born broken men, Mary.
Some of them had kin and clan.
They made me fear|I might have come across
one of our own among them.
McGregors are not tinkers.
But a hard winter or two away,|some of us...
What's gnawing on you, Robert?
I've made up my mind|to borrow money from Montrose
to buy cattle at Creiff market|and sell at Carlisle.
How much money?
1,000.
Believe me, Mary, it will turn profit.
6 in Creiff is 12 in Carlisle.
And I know cattle.
I can drive them faster|and deliver them fatter
than any man in the kingdom.
Why would the Marquis of Montrose|lend a McGregor 1,000?
For profit, what else?
It's an investment as much as a loan.
So it's business partners you are now,|you and the Marquis.
Keep that tongue for your boys, woman.
I didn't tell you my mind|to be flayed for it.
You know I love the bones of you,|Robert McGregor.
But you take too much to heart|that cannot be helped.
It must be helped.
All right,
but not today.
I got yous.
I got the two of yous!
Got the two of yous!
Move on.
Father,
will McGregors ever be kings again?
All men with honour are kings,
but not all kings have honour.
What is honour?
Honour is
what no man can give you
and none can take away.
Honour is a man's gift to himself.
Do women have it?
Women are the heart of honour,
and we cherish|and protect it in them.
You must never mistreat|a woman or malign a man,
nor stand by and see another do so.
How do you know if you have it?
Never worry on the getting of it.
It grows in you and speaks to you.
All you need do is listen.
All right, lads,|enough of the finer things.
You've animals to tend to|and water to haul.
Your mother and me|will be down directly.
Take the basket.
Come on!|I'll race you down the hill.
Do you know how fine|you are to me, Mary McGregor?
So fine.
Is that why you sent them away?
To tell me how fine I am?
Or did you want to make a silk purse
out of my sow's ear again?
Tsk, tsk, tsk.
What a wanton I'm wed to.
You know what the old wives say
about these standing stones?
No. What do the old wives say... old wife?
Ow!
Ow. Come here.
What do they say?
So, what do they say?
They say the stones make men hard
and women fertile.
We've no need of them, you and me.
You know how fine you are to me,|Robert McGregor?
This tailor in Glasgow|to whom you owe 87
extended this credit|because you were my guest?
Or as you prefer to frame it,
a member of my household.
I can assure Your Lordship
I have in no manner indebted him.
And now Killearn tells me
that you are saddling|one of my serving wenches.
Damn it, sir! Your mother|did not send you to me
to debauch innocent girls.
I regret that I have|so offended Your Lordship.
By your leave, I will remove myself.
And to where,
might I ask?
You are penniless. You have no mount.
You know no-one.
To where would you remove yourself?
Have you some notion
of presenting yourself|at the Duke of Argyll's door
and soliciting his patronage|as his new champion?
I am Your Lordship's to command.
Remember your place, sir!
That's all I ask of any man.
What is next?
McGregor, My Lord.
You may go, Archibald.
You bear no arms?
I hadn't planned|on demanding terms at sword point.
Robert McGregor of Craigrostan,|My Lord.
So, McGregor...
I knew your father,|an able man, if not a wise one.
Have you taken on his mantle?
As best I may, My Lord.
So, how many men are you master of?
Master of none, My Lord,
but some 200 souls|live close by Craigrostan,
and they're in my care.
You are a profit and provider to them,
is that not so?
What I can, I do.
It is no great matter|compared to Your Lordship's work.
To know one's place, McGregor,
in the order of things|is a great blessing.
What terms, Killearn?
A fifth, My Lord.
A fifth, you say?
What, is this man kin|that you offer such kindly terms?
Am I not accustomed|to a quarter on unsecured loans?
McGregor has 300 acres|at Craigrostan, My Lord.
Ah. A man of property|intent on growing richer.
Well, we have more in common|than I would have suspected, McGregor.
1,000 for 3 months, you say,
and these acres of yours as security?
And my oath.
Ah, yes.
Tell me, is there something|in what Killearn says
that you might have driven off my cattle
and returned them with stories of tinkers|caught and summarily executed?
I have, in my day, thieved cattle,
but none that were under my watch.
Is that what passes for honour
with a McGregor?
What passes for honour with me
is likely enough|the same as with Your Lordship.
When my word is given,
it is good.
Well, you are to be congratulated
on such cheaply bought nobility.
Killearn will draw papers.
I will expect the terms to be met.
My thanks to Your Lordship.
Aye, but it's a fine,|bold signature you have,
worthy of a chieftain himself.
Are you Rob Roy McGregor?
I am. And what's your name?
Davey Anderson.
Hello, Davey Anderson.
Hello.
Even the servant boys|know who you are.
You've become a famous reiver|and retriever in your own lifetime.
Business and profit.
And a soft winter.
Are you Rob Roy McGregor?
I am.
I'm Will Guthrie.
You heard of me?
No, I have not.
Well, I've heard of you.
Indeed.
And what have you heard, Mr Guthrie?
I heard you backstabbed Tam Sibbald.
Were you and Tam kin?
Near enough.
I shagged his sister.
Likely so did Tam.
You want the wind|let out of your bladder?
What's your business with me, Guthrie?
Business best done outside.
We have no quarrel.
That can be remedied.
The first cut?
Aye.
Well done.
Some other time
when we're both sober.
Tam Sibbald has a longer reach dead|than he ever did living.
I'm away home.
Keep the pony|and stick to Killearn till you have the note.
I'll see you back in Craigrostan.
I'm to wait here till the note is signed.
Aye. We are the obedient one.
Fetch and carry at command.
Why has a smart young lad like you
attached himself to a bunch of tinkers?
I would have thought you more fit
To serve a man like my master,|the Marquis of Montrose.
I do not serve Robert McGregor.
I'm his friend
and count myself fortunate to claim it.
My God, what a crew|you Highlanders are.
With your airs and honours,
come begging 1,000 as if you|were doing the lender a favour.
Sheep shaggers, the lot of ya.
Baa!
My mother could come no nearer
than three candidates for my paternity.
The Earl of Rutland.
Now, there's a name for a whore master.
A secretary to the Spanish Ambassador
whose name she hazarded as Ferdinando
and some young buck she never saw
who raised her skirts|at the masked ball.
He ravished her?!
I would put it no higher|than surprised.
Archie, take me with you.
Wherever.
Whatever.
Take me away with you.
I am away, Betty,
and God help me,|this is where I've landed.
You think me a gentleman
because I have linen|and can manage a "lisp".
I am but a bastard abroad,
seeking my fortune|and the favours of great men,
as big a whore as my mother ever was.
I'm pregnant by you, Archie.
Well.
When it asks for its father's name,
at least you'll have it to give.
Mr Cunningham, it's me... Killearn.
A word with you.
Don't let him see me.
You are a carbuncle|on this arse of a country.
And if you ever inform against me|to His Lordship again,
I'll squeeze the pus out of you
with my bare hands.
My, Archie,
but you have a rare contempt in you.
I gave you no leave|to call me familiar.
Could I pay for the privilege?
At a fair price.
What are you gibbering about?
Money, Archie. Money. What else?
How much money?
Let's talk inside over a dram.
It's chill on the stairs.
Say what you have to say.
I am engaged within.
Ah, you've Betty on her back.
How much money?
1,000.
1,000.|What does 1,000 look like?
Will we have enough ponies to carry it?
Not coin. A note of credit
drawn on His Lordship.
- What interest, Rob?|- One fifth.
And he gets 200 profit for three months?
Aye. That's the price of cash,
and we must plan the matter|to the last penny.
When Alan returns,|he'll take three of you,
and you'll go to Creiff.
There you'll bargain with the drovers
and have the herd assembled|when I come with our kit for the drive.
How big a herd?
And whatever we can acquire|along the way.
No harm if a dozen or more stick.
We'll drive them into Carlisle like an army.
So, let's have all hands to it.
We'll stay warm this winter,|within and without.
To celebrate, we'll hold a gathering
and drink to our success!
Right, McKinness.
That's two shillings still owing.
- Next.|- Colqhoun.
Colqhoun, what have you got? A rabbit?
You're still a week behind, Colqhoun.
Must I wait all day|for my note, Killearn?
Patience, McGregor's man.
Your turn is marked.
Take you that goat to the pen.
Come, young Davey Wilson.
What have you got for me?|Another rabbit.
- Does nobody have any money?|- No, sir. Only a rabbit.
Dreaming of the New World, were we?
I hear tell in the New World
they have tribes of noble savages
with paint on their faces
and skins on their backs.
You'll be well at home among them.
Enough of this tripe.|Have you the note?
His Lordship is to Edinburgh|for the Assize,
then to London direct.
Great doings at the Court.
And he's away without signing the note.
The best I can do for you is coin.
This was not agreed.
Agreed or no, there's 1,000 here.
Take it or leave it,|it makes no difference to me,
nor to His Grace.
Aye, it's a terrible shock,
the sight of such a fortune|within reach, is it not?
It's just as well you have|the trust of the McGregor
or I'd be hard pressed|to sign it over to you.
Angus.
A great gathering, Rob.
Oh. That Alasdair Roy|is a fierce dancer.
The last time|I saw you in such a lather,
- You were flat on your back.|- Ooh!
Do not affront me afore these folk.
Rob, do you know why Calvinists|are against shagging standing up?
No, Coll. I do not.
They fear it might lead to dancing.
Stay back,
or by God, I'll shoot you dead.
For a moment there, I thought|you might take the road to Greenock
with your 1,000.
Killing is not so easy as it seems.
La.
He sat out there all day,|pondering on this.
- You gave him coin.|- He insisted upon it.
When I told him His Grace|hadn't signed the note,
he said you must have it,
or the beasts could not|be bought at the best price.
I'm hard put to see you|hand over such a sum
to one who couldn't bear the debt.
He was your man,
present at your signing of the terms,
ordered by you to wait.
For a note, not a bag of guineas!
It was not all guineas.
These farmers pay in small coin,|I assure you.
He signed for this bag of coin?
Indeed.
He did.
Almost as bold a hand as yourself.
There best be no skulduggery here,|Killearn.
Alan McDonald|stands under my protection.
Well, that's a great comfort|to us all, I must say,
what with 1,000 at risk.
Now, listen. We must search for Alan.
I fear he's come to mischief hereabouts.
I say we look in Greenock.
It comes quickly to your mind|that he has robbed us.
He spoke of the Americas often enough.
And he walked|to Greenock from Buchlyvie
and sent his pony home without him?
1,000 would be enough|to buy him 10 ponies.
Alan McDonald did not betray me.
Now to it and find his trace.
Come on! To it!
Go to Greenock, then
since you have that stink in your nose.
But, brother,
bad enough that it might be so|without you wishing it.
Rob.
Well, what news?
The ship sailed|the day before I got there,
and McDonald's name
was not on the harbourmaster's list.
But he wouldn't have|likely used his own name
and him run off with... 1,000...
Aye.
Your Lordship,
the Duke of Argyll this way comes.
John, you look like a man|who means to play hard.
Do not presume to speak|above your station, sir!
I will have my rank from you!
Your Grace.
I have word from Court|that you're saying I'm a Jacobite,
as one who would rise for the Stuart|should he land here to claim the throne.
Great men such as yourself
draw rumours as shite draws flies.
You are the shite, Montrose,
and the flies upon it!
For all the flowers|in your great gardens,
I know you in my nose.
Keep your stink off my name,
or by God, I will clip you|as close as one of your gelded trees,
and this carrion you keep|will not come between us!
What pride to use|a fellow peer in public so!
Damn his pride!
Forgive me.
Damn His Grace's pride.
Why is it so beyond your belief
that he might have yielded|to the sight of all that money?
Unguarded, unasked, but there
a lifetime's wages in a bag.
Because I know him.|I know him more than half his life.
But was he ever handed 1,000 before?
He was handed a hundred times more.
He was given trust, and he repaid in kind.
Why do you not believe me?
All right, Rob.
He did not steal from you.
But he has gone, the money's gone,
and Montrose will not care|if you believe one thing or the other.
- That's another matter.|- No. That's the only matter now.
For all our sakes, Robert,|you must take off your high hat,
and make what terms you can.
Else our home is lost|and ourselves His Lordship's tenants.
Ah, here comes the bold Highlander.
No arse in his breeks
but too proud to tug his forelock.
No doubt the rogue seeks|to blame his servant
for I hear there|is no word of the man.
I see you're back in favour|with your tailor, Archibald.
He must be a happy man.
So, McGregor, how is it with you?
As it was, My Lord.
There is still no word of McDonald|or Your Lordship's money.
What are we to do, then?
If Your Lordship would contract with me|for another sum,
I would turn over|all profit and so repay my debt.
I have but lost 1,000.|You ask me to risk another?
My Lord, the money was stolen from me|and from you.
I am no part of your incompetence.
You signed a paper.
And I will honour it.
Oh, ply me not with your honour, man.
Let us keep these matters simple.
You are indebted to me.|On that we are agreed?
We are, My Lord.
Know you the Duke of Argyll?
By his repute alone.
My report is that Argyll is a Jacobite
and would declare for James Stuart|should he seek to reclaim the throne.
These are intelligences|unknown to me, My Lord.
They are known to you now.
I'm uncertain of Your Lordship's meaning.
Oh, damn it, man!
You and your clan are Jacobites
bred to the bone.
Argyll is nothing to you.
I want your word against him.
Give it, and we will come|to some reckoning on what you owe me.
I can be of no assistance|to Your Lordship
in this matter of the Duke of Argyll.
You owe me.
I owe you money. Nothing more.
What you have asked is as below me|as it should be beneath Your Lordship.
You misspeak yourself, McGregor.
It is the Marquis of Montrose|who has misspoke himself
to ask my perjury against his enemies.
Leave the blade be, sir!
This is not your quarrel.
You do not hear me, McGregor.
I did not ask if or whether.
Your land is forfeit to me|against your debt.
Until that is settled,|I will have you lodged in the tolbooth.
Take him into custody, Archibald.
You have my commission on it!
My father spent two years in that jail
for no cause but the will|of great men like you.
- I will "not" go there, sir.|- Call out the watch!
Call nothing, or I'll cut his throat!
You are damned, McGregor.
Damned to hell.
Come, Your Lordship.
Leave the devil some work.
You've done enough for one day.
Call out the watch!
Yes, sir.
Call out the watch!|Call out the watch!
You have slept your last|peaceful night, McGregor.
You and yours.
What is John Campbell,|Duke of Argyll, to us
that you must defend him|against Montrose?
I did not defend him.
I refused to bear|false witness against him.
Gregor, send men to the passes|and set watches.
And the lochside?
They'll not likely come by|the shore, but watch all ways.
Listen, lads. I have to go|to the hills for a time.
You stay by your mother|and be her help, you hear?
Let Argyll know|that you are persecuted for his sake.
I'm persecuted|for no man's sake but my own, Mary.
What?
Would you have me lie|against my conscience to suit Montrose?
No! To suit me and Duncan and Ranald,
to stay home with your wife|and children
instead of taking to the hills like a fox.
Out!
Out! Out! Out! Out!
He'll be with you soon enough!
Take the boys and go to Morag's.
She'll make a place.
And let Montrose's|troopers foul my house.
No harm will come to you.|Montrose's quarrel is with me.
And you revel in it.
The great man against all.
And likely you'll slip|down in the night
when the mood takes you.
Or will you just|find yourself a sheep to comfort you?
If I do, it will be one|that doesn't bleat so bitter.
No trouble between them and you.
Give no cause.
This is between me and Montrose,
and likely when he's broke a few horses,|he'll quieten down.
Watch Alasdair.|Put him where he can do no harm.
Keep up the watch for McDonald.
Ach, Rob, he's long gone.
Aye, but is he over the seas|or under them?
And, Coll, ask Morag to go down to Mary.
She's sore at me for this business.
That Montrose is a stoat of a man.
Heaven protect us from his like.
When the King comes|across the water again,
we'll see him hung.
Your Lordship will not regret|leaving this matter in my hands.
I have some knowledge of how best|to bring such rogues to heel.
Broken but not dead, Archibald.|That is all I ask.
Broken but not dead.
It has a ring to it.
Your health.
Goodbye!
Instead of spying them out,|we should lay for them
and cut them down|as they come through the passes.
Aye, a wee war with Montrose|would suit us fine.
Listen, Alasdair Roy.
Keep your watch, give warning,|and stay your hand,
or you'll answer to me.
Damn that McDonald|has brought this on us.
I never trusted the man.
Always at Rob's arse like a collie dog.
Morag had a dream on him.|Saw him drowned.
Maybe his ship sank
and him loaded down with the theft.
Wheesht! "Wheesht!"
Give me your musket.
Boys, wake up! Wake up!|Quickly! Quickly!
Get out of bed!
Go, go! Bring the Gregorach!
I've come for the outlaw|Robert McGregor.
If you think he'd be lying|in his bed waiting for you,
you're more of a fool than you look.
Ohh!
Search the outsheds.
Burn them. Kill the stock.
You best stand aside,|Mistress McGregor.
You don't ask a whore. You make her.
Aah! No!
Aagh! No!
No! No!
Do you want yours now, Killearn?
Think of yourself as the scabbard
and me the sword, Mistress McGregor.
And a fine fit you were, too.
I will think of you dead
until my husband makes you so.
And then I will think on you no more.
Indeed.
Such a man as he|will need to see blood on his blade
before honour is satisfied.
Tell him Archibald Cunningham|is at his service.
What are you gawking at?
Have you never been to war before?
Oh, you're a warrior, Archie,|and no mistake.
If she doesn't come out, Archie,
there will be a reckoning.
Shagging her's one thing,|burning her's another.
She'll be out. She's a hater, that one.
Hmm.
There she is.
Back to the boat!
They say it's not a sin
if you don't take pleasure in it.
Come on! Come on!
Come on! Come on!
I am Alasdair Roy McGregor!
Come on! Come on!
Is that the best you can do?
Come on!
Come on! Come on! Come...
Mary, are you hurt?
Did they wound you?
Oh, Mary.
Oh... Mary.
What have they done?
We will avenge you.
Rob will kill every last one of them.
He will not know. Rob will not know.
Mary, Rob must know.
He will not! He will not!
No! He will not!
I will not tell him, and you will not.
Do you hear me, Alasdair McGregor?
It is what they want!
It is what the Englishman wants!
It is his plan!
You swear it to me.
Swear it!
I cannot! I cannot!
You can! If I can bear it to be done,
you can bear to be silent!
Now, you swear it! Swear it.
Swear it. Swear it.
Swear it!
I swear. I swear.
I swear.
And I will hold you to it.
Mark me.
But of McGregor himself, still no word?
We will have him soon enough.
I have set such an affront|to his highland honour
that he will come to redeem it.
Very well.
See to it that I am not mocked,
and in the meanwhile, make my claim|against these acres in Lomondside
for the debt he owes.
Still no word of this man of McGregor's?
He who took the coin?
No, My Lord, not a word.
Nor will there be.
This was McGregor's ploy,|to take the money and blame another.
His man is hid...|and Your Lordship's money spent.
I wager it.
You have a rare grasp|of the conspirator's mind, Archibald.
You are to be commended on it.
He sees through it, Archie.|I know him and his gibes.
You think it would count against us|if he knew?
He has another 300 acres|to plant and prune
and all for the price|of a paltry 1,000 Scotch pounds,
a fair price by any reckoning.
Archie, sir!
I must speak with you.
I am dismissed from service|on account of my state.
And what is your state, pretty Betty?
You know well. I'm with your child.
And he... this one...|has made report of it.
My report did nothing|your belly wouldn't announce on its own.
Archie, what am I to do?
Root it out.
If Killearn|does not know a crone with a twig,
I miss my guess.
It's gone too far for that.
Then it will not be|the first bastard born in Scotland.
Archie, I love you.
Love is a dunghill, Betty,
and I am but a cock|that climbs upon it to crow.
No!
It's a sore thing|they have done to us... Mary and me.
Far past any wrong I had expected,
even from such as Montrose.
He must pay for it, Rob!
Else what are we?
Oh, pay he will
till his teeth squeal.
Think on it, now.
Think on it.
Even if we raised all the McGregors,
we could not, must not,|fight Montrose in open battle.
He has 10, 20 times our numbers
and the strength of the Crown|to back him.
There is honour here.
You were wronged. Mary is wronged.
Honour will be satisfied.|You know me well enough.
But consider this.
One house burned,
cattle killed,
but none are dead, none injured.
Rob is right.
Rob is right!
It is not within our reach|to harm such as Montrose.
Wheesht! Wheesht! Wheesht!
Wheesht! Wheesht!
I will harm him. Never fear.
Aye! Aye!
The tenderest part of the Marquis|is his purse.
We'll hurt him there.
Thieve his cattle. Steal his rent.
Rent and cattle,|until his coffers are bled.
Aye! Aye!
Wait! Wait!
Wheesht! Wheesht! Morag.
We have not heard Mary on it,
and in truth,|she was the one most affronted.
Rob is right.
What cannot be helped must be endured.
It will look more like itself|when the sun shines.
Eh, lads?
When we have our bed in it|and us in our bed,
it will seem home enough.
All right,
play can wait, we have work to do.
Duncan.
I should have been with you, Mary.
It wasn't right that I was in the hills.
Then you would be dead now.
No. They would have taken me|to the tolbooth.
No. I think you would be dead.
I could not hear all of it,
but Killearn talked of money|that Archie might take.
This is Cunningham, this Archie?
He is wild... but it's not him.
It's that Killearn.
He has the devil in him.
Tell me about this money.
Did you hear a sum spoken?
Archie said it would be|the easiest 1,000 he'd ever earned.
The only pity that it would be|in Scots and not English pounds.
How did he mean to earn this 1,000?
I know not,
save that Killearn said|no trace must be left.
My husband will appreciate|that you came with this word.
Will you take some supper|and rest, Betty?
For you look ill-used.
Oh, I'm no worse used than I deserve,|Mistress McGregor.
For I have a bastard's bastard in me,
and no home for him when he comes out.
Then we better feed you,
or he won't have the strength to try it.
Oh, lass, lass, lass.
Bear up now.
Your bairn will have you,|and you will have it.
But I will not have Archie.
Mistress McGregor, I love him
even after all.
Oh, is that not a worse sin than any other?
No, Betty.
Love is never a sin,
only the lack of it.
I knew it.
I knew they plotted against us.
Damn them that they carried it through.
I will have them before the Assize,|Killearn and Cunningham.
Montrose, too, if he were part of it.
Such men will admit this
because Betty Sturrock,|with her belly under her chin, says so?
- What's her belly to do with it?|- She's carrying the Englishman's child.
They'll call her a whore come for revenge.
She'll speak the truth.
To these men,|the truth is but a lie undiscovered.
I will have justice!
Alan McDonald is dead, woman.
Then take your case to the Duke of Argyll.
He bears Montrose no favour.
You hold great store|by wolves of different shades.
- They're all alike at lambing.|- You will have nothing but your own way!
I tell you,|Killearn and Cunningham
will not be condemned|before any Assize on Betty's word.
Aye.
But I know one that will condemn them,
and I'll have them before it,
or I'm not Robert McGregor.
The Englishman will never find him.
McGregor knows|every rock and track
and can walk faster|than the troopers can ride.
Look, put me onto His Lordship
as a man who knows|the highways and byways.
I'll find him. I swear it.
On your feet, Killearn.
You and I have business.
Now is your moment, Guthrie.
It would stand well with His Lordship.
This is not your fight, Guthrie.
And if I make it my fight?
Then give Tam Sibbald my regards|when you see him.
Fight him well|and you'll win His Lordship's favour.
I warrant it.
Aaagh!
Please, please, please don't kill me.
Don't kill me. It wasn't me.
Outside.
It's him the lass wants revenge on...|Cunningham.
And I grant it, he treated her sore.
If you harm me,
His Lordship will hunt you down,
and you know it.
I'm past caring, Killearn.
The lantern.
Go back, get Betty,|and we'll try him before morning.
Now.
Inside.
- Mary! Mary!|- Who is it?
It's Alasdair.
Rob's holding Killearn,
and he wants to see Betty|straight away.
I'll wake her.
Treat her gentle.|She's near the end of her tether.
Where's my father?
Wheesht.
Are the soldiers coming?
You two should be sleeping.
Stay there!
Get my knife!
Mary.
Where's the girl?
Betty Sturrock|hanged herself in our shed.
She made me bring her.
I made him bring me
for I have dealings with this Killearn.
Me and Betty Sturrock|and Betty Sturrock's child,
the three of us will bring it out of him.
No. This is no matter for him.
This is between us.
As I am your wife, Robert,|I will have my way in this, I will.
Betty!
Is that you?
Betty is dead.
She killed herself this night
and her unborn with her.
Mistress McGregor.
So the poor girl is dead.
Spare me your hypocrisy, Killearn.
You are as much her murderer as she,
you and that Englishman.
I had no part in her child
any more than that matter|at Craigrostan.
You stood and gloated.
You did all with your eyes.
You have not told him.
You think me such a puppet
that I would put my husband's head|in a noose
fashioned from my own dishonour?
You have a proposal for me.
I can tell.
You will sign your name to a statement
telling how you slew Alan McDonald,
stole my husband's money,|burned our property.
Before a judge you will sign it.
And let them hang me|in the tolbooth for my trouble?
No great inducement,|Mistress McGregor.
When it is signed,
you may go where you will...|where you can.
I shall not soon forget,
Mary,
the last time I saw you.
How nobly you walked|from that burning,
like a queen.
You will sign it or else.
Or else what?
You'll tell Rob|how Cunningham used ya?
I have another picture
not so noble
of you stood in Lomond Water,
washing between your legs.
Hmm?
I wondered many a time|since that morning,
did you wash Archie out of you,
or is he still in there,|growing into his father?
He is.
He is!
Well, I have a proposal|for you, Mistress McGregor.
Persuade your man that|Cunningham alone killed his man
and kept the money entirely,
and I will not speak|of what you have
inside ya.
Rob would be hard pressed|to love such a bastard,
would he not?
But you know the saying, Mary.
'Tis a wise father|knows his own child.
And if you'll not say anything,|neither will I.
You have my word on it.
Aagh!
St...
Stop!
Stop!
Oh! Cut... me!
Ah! Stop!
She cut me.
The bitch cut me!
Mary, are you hurt? Hmm?
Are you hurt?
What have you done, woman?
Ow!
Am I cut bad?
Am I cut bad?!
Not bad enough for me.
I mean, my God,|what made you do such a thing?
I have as much cause|as you in this. More.
He must confess.
He will never confess.
Betty was right.|He has the devil in him.
He's my prisoner.|Don't you understand?
Oh, Robert,|there are things you must know,
things I have to tell you.
So?
Tell me.
There was...
Well?
He's dead, Rob.|I could do nothing.
Oh, Robert, listen to me now.
There's no time for talk now.
Alasdair, can you sink a man?
Aye.
Cut the wind out of him,|put a rock in his belly,
take him out where it's deep.
Montrose will scour us out.
We must make sure|you and the lads are safe.
Deep, mind you!
I am mocked by this rogue
who you took to deliver me broken.
'Tis myself who will be broken|if these raids go on.
Now my factor is abducted|in plain view.
Am I gone mad?
Your Lordship...
Do not,
do not, I say, speak in my stead.
There's something here|that I do not see.
Killearn and you have|some hand in matters
that is hid from sight.
This tells me that you are in cash,
yet I know you are without means.
Gaming, Your Lordship.
The cards favoured.
Do you take me entirely|for a Whig, sir?!
I care not what you|and that greasy capon have cooked up
but put an end to this impudence|against me.
I am James Graham,|Marquis of Montrose,
and I will not be mocked.
You hear me?
We can't let them burn,|loot, and ride away.
We should hit them, Rob.
Cunningham is there.|He's the one that...
I know who he is.
Have you no thought|to avenge Mary for that?
There's 30 or more men.|They'd ride us down like sheep.
Alasdair McGregor is no sheep.
Coll's right. We can do nothing.
Damn the wee fool!
Scatter! Find your own way home!
Heh heh heh!
There they are!
After him!
I want McGregor!
Fire, you fools! Fire!
I hit one of them.
And it will cost us, I'm thinking.
Yah!
Move!
I want McGregor!
God's curse on you|for a brother, Alasdair.
I want McGregor!
You're getting too old|for the wars, Rob, eh?
Agh!
Come on!
Fire! Fire, you fools! Fire!
Put me down.
Shut your mouth.
Run, Rob, run!
Go on, Rob! Run for yourself!
I want McGregor!
I want McGregor! After him!
Be quiet!
Hold still. Hold still.
Knocked the breath out of me.
Rob,
I can't feel my legs.
Are they there?
Aye, aye. Your legs are fine.
Forgive me, Rob,
for I can't forgive myself.
Save your breath, lad.
I couldn't have saved her, Rob.
They were done with Mary|before I reached her.
She made me swear not to tell you.
I'm sorry.
Done what with Mary?
Done what?
She said...
She said if she could bear it...
What of Mary, Alasdair?
Rob, I can't see.
I'm here, Alasdair.
What of Mary? What of it?
They...
They violated her.
Alasdair,
who did this?
The mist is clearing.
Be ready.
Be ready!
You men, search upwards!
Uh!
Follow!
Heeyah!
Where is he? Over there!
Get the horse!
Well, well...
The great McGregor|come to hand at last.
Well, how does it seem to you tonight,|McGregor?
Is God's great plan|for us all to your liking?
"Broken but not dead"|was His Lordship's request.
I will do my part|if you will do yours
and not die before|the bridge at Glen Orchy.
Tell me,
what did you do|with that bag of guts, Killearn?
Vex me not, McGregor,
or I shall have you dragged awhile.
I'm a man of my word.
You're a thief, a murderer
and a violator of women.
Ah, I had hoped you'd come to me|long since on that score.
If I had known earlier,
you would have been dead sooner.
I will tell you something|to take with you.
Your wife was far sweeter forced
than many are willing.
In truth, put to it,|I think not all of her objected.
I appreciate the honour you do me,|Mistress McGregor,
in bringing your case.
But from all|I'm acquainted with your husband,
he has earned the enmity|of the Marquis of Montrose
by borrowing money|that he cannot repay
and ever harrying|his stock as blackmail.
There is more to|the matter, your Grace.
I'm sure there is,
but it is not part of mine|to intrude myself,
sensible as I am to your condition.
It's a hard thought,
but men make the quarrels,
and women and weans bear them.
Your Grace, Robert finds himself|in this condition
for taking "your" part.
My part?
What cause had he to do that
and in what manner?
He refused to condemn you|by false witness
when the Marquis asked him|to say you were a Jacobite
to injure your name at Court.
Montrose asked this of him?
In remission of this debt.
But Robert refused.
I did not know|your husband bore me such good will.
Indeed, I think he favours you
no more than any great man.
"As wolves at lambing"
is his word for you all.
It was not done for Your Grace
but for his own honour,
which he holds dearer|than myself or his sons,
his clan or kin,
and for which I have oft chided him.
But it is him and his way,
and were he other,|he would not be Robert Roy McGregor.
He would not come here before you,
nor would he favour me|to do so in his stead,
but I have no choice
unless I give him up|entire to his enemies.
And though I love his honour,
it is but a moon-cast shadow|to the love I bear him.
For the grace of God,
I have his child inside me
and I would have a father for it.
You do your man no dishonour, Mary.
Faith, he is a man|much blessed by fortune.
They have McGregor, My Lord.
Cavalry, halt!
Broken but not dead, Your Lordship,
as you requested.
Ungag him.
So, McGregor,
what have you to say for yourself?
I have been wronged by Your Lordship
and by those who serve him.
"You" are wronged?
You?
If I am not much mistaken,
it is myself that is short 1,000,|whose cattle is reived,
and whose factor, Killearn, is abducted.
Then ask this thing here|where your money is
and where he sunk|Alan McDonald after he killed him.
Same accusations|he spat at me, Your Lordship.
Desperate words from a desperate man.
Do you have proofs of these matters?
You have my word on it.
Oh, I think it will take more than that.
Then you have the nature|of this man here.
If Your Lordship cannot|tell what is true
from what is not,
then I fear his judgement|is beyond repair.
Hang him from the bridge.
- McGregor!|- Cut him free!
Bring him back here!
I want him back!
Bring him back here!
I see him!
Right through that gap!
Just through there!
Oh, what a stench!
What a stink! Do you smell this?
Let's get downwind of this.
Is this where we may stay?
Aye, by His Grace's goodness,
under his protection.
- Will Father come here?|- If he can.
No!
Robert?
Robert!
Oh, my Robert!
What have they done with you?
You should have told me, Mary.
Robert, I should have,|but I could not.
Forgive me, my love.
I was wrong.
It was wrong.
No. It was me who was wrong.
You were right when you told me|I must have it my own way.
It's that which brought all this on us.
I should have packed my pride|and given Montrose his way.
No, Robert.
And all this has come on us,|all this you have endured.
Craigrostan would still be ours.
Alasdair and Coll would be alive.
And wrong would have been done you!
And what of the wrong done you,
wrong past bearing?
No, not past bearing.
Not past bearing.
Not if I have my Robert,
and he has himself.
And you would not,
not if you had done|a lesser man's bidding.
Honour is the gift a man gives himself.
You told our boys that.
Would you have stolen from yourself
that what makes you Robert McGregor?
Oh, my Mary.
How fine you are to me.
And you to me.
Oh, Robert, there is more.
What more?
I am carrying a child
and I do not know who is the father.
Ach, Mary.
Mary.
I could not kill it, husband.
It is not the child who needs killing.
This point of honour|might likely kill you, sir.
I have seen the man at work,
and he is no dunce with a blade.
If Your Grace could arrange this,
I would be more beholding to him|than I already am.
Very well.
I will see what I can make of it.
McGregor.
Sir?
He will kill you, McGregor.
I would lose money if I wagered other.
Your Lordship has my permission
to profit what way he may.
I have had a correspondence
from His Grace, the Duke of Argyll.
It would seem that our McGregor|is holed with him.
He offers us a match,
you and the Highlander.
Argyll would recoup his loss|from his last wager.
Bring him on.
You speak, Archibald?
One must never underestimate
the healing power of hatred.
How long must you go, Father?
Just for a while.
Is it business you have with the Duke?
Aye, business.
Boys, have you heard there's going|to be another addition to the family?
Show them where it's hid, Mary.
Is it... inside you?
How does it get out?
The same road it got in.
Robert...
- Robert, what if you don't...|- Wheesht.
No, I cannot.
What if...
Shh.
I cannot.
What if you do not return to us?
If it's a boy, call him Robert.
If a lass,
name her for my love... Mary McGregor.
My man Guthrie was like an ox|at the knacker's yard
under Cunningham's blade.
You will need to be twice as quick|as poor Will.
Tell me, McGregor,
is this matter of honour|concerning your wife?
It's concerning me, Your Grace.
Mr Cunningham and I|have matters outstanding.
She will not thank you|for making her a widow,
honour or no.
Perhaps you'd like|to wager a sum for her maintenance.
If it will help you die any easier,
I'll lay 20 guineas for her.
By God, but you have a style to you,|McGregor.
I like that.
Aye.
So, what are we to wager|on this outcome, Your Grace?
Guineas again?
I want no part of this.
There are more than champions here.
I think these men hate the other.
Aye.
They are none too fond.
You offered McGregor|amnesty from his debts
if he would lay charges against me.
So, that is how he cozened you
to give him shelter.
Oh, I know the truth when I hear it.
Oh, and here was me thinking that
that was God's gift alone.
Do not think that all sins|go unpunished in this life, Montrose.
Well,
I see one set soon to be paid for.
Will you not take my odds, Argyll?
I give you five on the fop.
I wager you but this:
If McGregor lives,
you will acquit him of all he owes you.
And if he loses?
I will pay his bill.
My factor|will call upon Your Grace's factor.
You are here on a matter of honour.
I am here|to assure you settle it honourably.
There will be no backstabbing.
You will not throw your blades,
nor will you use weapons|other than agreed.
If quarter is asked...
No quarter will be asked.
Or given.
Attend upon your weapons
and commence upon my mark.
Neither asked nor given.
I will hold you to our bargain.
Those wounds will need care.
By Your Grace's leave,
I'll go where it can best be found.
As you will.
I will know who to wager on the next time.
I hope Your Grace will live so long.
Mother! Look!