Rob Roy Page #5

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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.

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