The Jacobite Grenadier - Wood, Gavin
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August 1745. Charles Edward Stuart makes an audacious bid to win the throne of Scotland that is rightfully his. Thousands of noble Highland clansmen rally to his standard. A small number of Lowlanders loyal to the House of Stuart also risk everything and enlist in the rebel Jacobite army. Many of these volunteers serve in three grandly named cavalry regiments: the Scotch Hussars, the Prince's Lifeguards, and Lord Kilmarnock's Horse Grenadiers. Lacking experienced officers, the Prince grants an impoverished farmer a commission. This is the story of Patrick Lindesay of Wormiston: Keeper of the…mehr

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August 1745. Charles Edward Stuart makes an audacious bid to win the throne of Scotland that is rightfully his. Thousands of noble Highland clansmen rally to his standard. A small number of Lowlanders loyal to the House of Stuart also risk everything and enlist in the rebel Jacobite army. Many of these volunteers serve in three grandly named cavalry regiments: the Scotch Hussars, the Prince's Lifeguards, and Lord Kilmarnock's Horse Grenadiers. Lacking experienced officers, the Prince grants an impoverished farmer a commission. This is the story of Patrick Lindesay of Wormiston: Keeper of the Royal Wardrobe for Bonnie Prince Charlie and Captain of the Jacobite Horse Grenadiers ... perhaps the smallest and most peculiar regiment in British history. ..... In the grandeur of the long gallery, Lord Kilmarnock glared with misgiving at the man in front of him. Kilmarnock hid his surprise and his disappointment. He had not expected his new captain to be so coarse. Confounded, he scrutinised Patrick's dog-eared coat, his calloused hands and his cragged face. The handles of two pistols protruded from beneath the half-open greatcoat. He looked more like a villainous rogue than an officer. Patrick glowered back, holding the Earl's gaze and taking the measure of the man. Lord Kilmarnock wore a sky-blue coat richly embroidered in silver frippery. The splendid coat reached down almost to touch his matching court shoes. The Earl wore a powdered periwig that framed his high forehead, his fleshy cheeks and his slender nose. Patrick had never met a man who looked less like a soldier. He was suddenly very aware of his own home-sewn waistcoat and threadbare shirt. Patrick drew the ragged greatcoat across his chest, fumbling for the buttons. 'Pray Sir, there has been a mistake. Your son should be captain of your new regiment . . . not me.'
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