Halfway up the hill she paused, stared back at the long, low shieling hut, and then waved at the two old people standing there. Tears stung her eyelids for a moment, and impulsively she crooked her forefinger, calling down a blessing upon them.
Five minutes later she had shaken off her sadness. She lifted her head and breathed the air of new adventure. The hills had been calling this long while, calling through the spell of black depression that was on her. But the spell was broken now, and she was answering the call.
At the top of the hill she was seized by fresh exuberance. Curving her arms upward like a stag’s antlers, she broke into the light, wild leaps of a dance that the Highland men did around the campfire or at friendly gatherings, and then laughed aloud at her own impertinence—she, a lass, to be doing a man’s dance, and doing it well too. The dance took on a distinctly mocking and impudent quality.
From the top of the next hill she looked down on Montrose’sarmy, which had made camp by the loch. From the mouth of the glen, the MacNabs were arriving, great-kilts swinging about their bare, strong knees, and the top halves of the kilts wrapped round massive shoulders. Kelpie surveyed the scene for a moment before going down, counting tartans. MacDonalds were still most plentiful, with Gordons, MacPhersons, Stewarts—but she saw no Cameron tartans.
She also saw no children, and only a small scattering of women. Where were they all, then? Frowning a little, she went down, over the snowy hillside, to the camp.
“Whist, lass, and what is it you’re wanting?” It was a bearded Irish MacDonald. “The time for sweethearts’ farewells is past, and we off to raid and harry the Campbells in their lair.” The beard split in a grin of vengeful glee.
“It is I that am coming with you,” announced Kelpie cheekily. “Where are all the women and bairns?”
He stared. “Back at Blair Castle, the most of them, safe in Stewart country. It is only a few of the strongest, and they with no children, that we have brought. ’Tis no adventure for you, lassie. Be away back home.”
“I am strong, and with no bairns,” argued Kelpie. “And I’m frightened to travel alone.” She looked helpless and pleading. “I have no home, and I’d like well to raid the Campbells. Can I not be coming?”
He grinned sympathetically. “Och, well—we’ve abloody enough work to do, and might even use an extra nurse once or twice. Go find Morag Mhor, then, who is head of the women.”
Kelpie recognized Morag Mhor as soon as she saw her—the tall, gaunt woman she had noticed at Blair Atholl, who well deserved the title of “great” Morag. Ragged woolen skirts were kilted up over a bright red petticoat, showing ankles as sturdy as a man’s. The worn Gordon plaidie had fallen back from her head, and her face was more alive than it had been at Blair Atholl, but as fierce as ever. When Kelpie found her, she was berating a red-faced MacGregor at least two inches shorter than she, who clearly had no fight left in him.
“And don’t be crossing my path again until I feel forgiving, or I’ll box the other ear!” she finished briskly and then turned to look at Kelpie. “Gypsy!” she said, crossing brawny arms on her breast.
“Indeed and no!” protested Kelpie with great promptness. “Only a poor lost lass, and away from home—”
Morag Mhor laughed loudly. “Gypsy!” she repeated, pointing a long forefinger.
Kelpie regarded her warily and trimmed her tale. “The gypsies were stealing me when I was a bairn,” she conceded, not expecting to be believed.
“Aye, then,” agreed Morag Mhor surprisingly. “Because of the ringed eyes of you, I think. You’ll have the Second Sight. Are you a witch?”
“Are you?” countered Kelpie, remembering with a pang that she herself was not and never could be.
Morag shrugged wide shoulders. “I have a healing power. But I’m not belonging to any coven of daft folk who hold Black Mass and dance their silly feet off at midnights. My power is in what I’m doing, not what I’m saying.” Her lined face drew down fiercely. “I’ll be helping to put the curse of deeds on the Campbells this week. They passed my happy wee home in Gordon country and left behind a blackened stone—and I arriving back from over the hill to find the thatch still smoldering, and my man dead, and my son beside him, and the lad not yet ten! I have thirsted for Campbell blood ever since, and I shall drink deep.”
She stopped, staring into the white distance with eyes that were of burning stone. Kelpie reflected that she would not like to have this woman for an enemy. Best to go canny.
“I was prisoner of Mac Cailein Mor,” she volunteered. “He would have burned me, but I escaped.”
“Och, then, and you’re another who hates him!” Morag’s eyes returned from unpleasant places. “Stay along with me, then, gypsy lass. We’ll see revenge together, and no man nor devil will harm you whilst I am near.” And Kelpie believed her.
They had slept on the border of Campbell country, after feeding on Campbell cattle collected by some twenty or thirty Highlanders. Their tightly woven woolen plaids had helped to keep out the cold, and so had the fires scattered along the glen. But Kelpie was glad enough of the red wool hose that Alsoon had knitted for her, and of the warm bulk of Morag beside her.
Now they were heading up Strath Fuile, and the warm-hearted comradeship of the Highlanders became a savage expectation, for here at last was the great enemy ahead. Montrose might talk all he liked of getting to the border to aid the King in England—but a score or two must be settled first. Montrose had had to compromise; otherwise too many of his army would have just slipped away home, taking with them as many stolen cattle as possible.
Now an advance party had gone ahead of the mainarmy to find cattle before the owners could be warned and drive them off to hide in the hills. And Morag Mhor, with a dark and unpleasant grin, had attached herself and Kelpie to them. The men, knowing of her murdered husband and child, let her join them, with a grim jest or two about the fate of any Campbells unlucky enough to run into her.
They rounded a curve in the river, and there before them was a long, low shieling hut with two children playing out in front and a handful of cattle scattered up the hill behind. Morag saw the hut first and was off toward it with a flash of red petticoat. Kelpie wished suddenly that she had stayed with the rest of the women, but she hurtled after Morag simply because it didn’t occur to her to do anything else. Now the men had seen it too, and a menacing yell rose from thirty throats as some of them raced around after the cattle, and the rest—mostly Irish MacDonalds—followed Morag and Kelpie toward the hut.
Even as she was running, the thing inside Kelpie felt sick at what was to come. Campbells they were, certainly, but what fault had the bairns committed? Montrose would be angry, surely, with his scruples about making war on the innocent. Now the children had seen them and were running toward the house, screaming with terror. An ashen-faced woman gathered them to her and then paused in the doorway, uncertain whether to run inside or away into the hills. Kelpie could almost taste the fear in her.
Then Kelpie’s foot hit something soft and yielding. She tripped and flew head first into a patch of wet snow. There was a wail of pain and—the cry of a small child.
Kelpie raised her head from the snow in time to see Morag stop, whirl, and race back toward Kelpie and the child. Was she going to begin her revenge by killing the bairn?
“Is it hurt that you are?” roared Morag, but she was not speaking to Kelpie. She picked up the crying child and stood, her gaunt face twisted with the conflict of feelings going on in her. Then she turned to Kelpie, with the Irish MacDonalds only a few yards from them. “Come on!” she ordered and raced with the child toward the hut and the cowering woman.
Bewildered, Kelpie scrambled up and followed, just barely ahead of the men. Morag thrust the baby into its mother’s arms, whirled, and drew hersgian dhu.
“You’ll not be touching them, whatever!” she bellowed at the astonished giant who led the pack. “Back, or I’ll skewer you, Rab MacDonald! Am I not a woman and mother myself? A plague on men and war! Back, I say!”
She was terrifying; her avenging fury turned to defense of her prey. It was altogether too much for the Highlanders. They stood and stared, a full dozen of them in a semicircle before her.
“Fine brave soldiers ye are!” jeered Morag. “Are ye no afraid to be attacking such dangerous foes? Here’s the weebairn, now. Will one of you not challenge him to fair combat?”
They shuffled their feet, quite taken aback. The madness that Morag herself had kindled in them trickled out, to be replaced by the Highland sense of the ridiculous. One of them chuckled, and then several others began to roar with laughter. “And is this your own vengeance, Morag Mhor?” they hooted. “I will be remembering this the next time you are clouting me on the ear and send for a bairn to protect me,” added the giant called Rab.
Morag Mhor seemed not to care about the teasing. She stood guard over the grateful little family while the cattle were caught and while the rest of the army arrived on the scene. And, with the backing of Montrose, she defied those who wanted to burn the house.
“I can do no more for ye,” she told the Campbell woman when the army and its captured cattle had started on once again. “You have your bairns and your home—although your Campbell army left me neither, nor husband. I intended to do the same to you, but I could not, for I saw myself in you, and it came to me that a woman’s place is to give life, not to take it. It comes to me, too, that men are a senseless lot with all their useless killing, and perhaps we mothers should be raising our sons to different ideas.”
And then she turned abruptly and headed in long strides back to the Highland army, not waiting for the stammered words of thanks.
Kelpie trailed along at her heels, saying nothing but thinking a good deal.
And so it went, along to Tyndrum and up Glenorchy. Morag Mhor vehemently defended every woman and child they found, against the threats and wild arguments of the Highland soldiers. It didn’t take Kelpie long to discover that all this was a great act put on by the Highlanders for Morag’s benefit, and it was a surprise to her that a woman as shrewd as Morag didn’t know it too. But she never guessed.
“I know you for the braw liar you are,” remarked Kelpie saucily to Rab one morning over their beef-and-oatmeal breakfast. “You will be teasing her every time, and you as softhearted as herself.”
“As ever was,” agreed Rab, rolling a dark eye at her. “But do not be telling Morag, whatever, for it is not just teasing. With the grief of her, she is needing something to fight, but she is happier to be fighting us to save bairns than the other way around.”
Although the campaign through Campbell territory was less bloodthirsty than Kelpie had expected, still it was not pretty. Men of fighting age found little mercy, few cattle escaped the voracious appetite of the army, and more than a few barns and thatch roofs went up in smoke behind it.
Blazing fires and roasted meat were good at night, after long and cold marches. Since there were so few women to do the cooking, the men helped too, with good will andbantering. Kelpie poked at a haunch of beef one chill but clear evening, thinking to herself that they were going a long way round to Argyll at Inverary, in a huge triangle to north and west. Surely by now Argyll would have received word of this invasion! Kelpie wondered what he would be doing about it. The obvious thing would be to come away after them, and she looked apprehensively toward the purple-black hills that surrounded the orange firelight.
“Is there food for a starving—Why, ’tis the water witch!” Kelpie turned to face Archie MacDonald, whose black eyes were sparkling with curiosity. They stared at each other.
“And where did you vanish to that day?” he demanded. “A braw lot of trouble and grief you caused! If you’ve the power to vanish into thin air, you might have been doing it before Ian Cameron was cut down trying to save you.”
Kelpie winced. “Was he killed entirely?” she asked, her heart pounding for fear of the answer.
“Na, na, not entirely. But a nasty wound it was. Still, he survived it, although he had to go back to Glenfern, and no more fighting for the time.” Kelpie saw again in her mind the savage downward sweep of Alex’s broadsword and had to push aside the tumult of feelings that it brought. But—Ian was not dead! Alex had not killed him!
“And Alex MacDonald?” she demanded balefully.
“He’s—away,” said Archie, and it was clear that he wasgoing to say no more. But then, he was Alex’s cousin and not likely to want to speak of it. At least Kelpie knew now that Alex had not been hanged, and she thought again that she might be the one to avenge Ian some day. For she doubted that, even now, Ian himself would raise a hand against Alex. She looked right through Archie, and her slanted blue eyes held no very pleasant expression.
The meat was done now and being divided. Archie pulled hissgian dhufrom his stocking, vanished briefly into the crowd of hungry men, and emerged with a smoking hunk for Kelpie in one hand and one for himself in the other. She bit into the meat hungrily and then looked up to find the deep black eyes still fixed on her, and a question in them.
“That day,” he began, with an uncertain note in his voice, “were you sending a call in the mind to Alex before you gave the Cameron rant with your voice?”
Kelpie looked as blank as she felt. “I don’t understand you whatever!” she said warily.
“Why,” he began, and frowned a little, “there we were in the tavern, with Alex and Ian in a fury at each other, and none of us even hearing the sounds outside. It was a braw quarrel, with Ian gone white with the anger in him, and Alex the color of a rowan berry. And then Alex was stopping in mid-word, with an intent, listening look on the face of him, and looking round. And it was because of hissilence that an instant later we were hearing the Cameron rant, and Ian shouting ‘’Tis Kelpie in trouble!’”
Kelpie shook her head blankly. “And what then?” was all she said.
Archie shrugged. “Why, then, Ian forgot the quarrel and was away out the door, and Alex after him with drawn sword, and the rest of us collected our wits and followed, not knowing if Alex’s black fury was still for Ian, or for the witch-hunters. His face was a fearful thing to see, and I’m hoping I never meet the like in battle, for ’twould be the end of me. But you know the rest better than I. How was it, Kelpie, that Alex heard you even through the quarrel, and before the rest of us?”
“I don’t know,” said Kelpie absently, her mind on another question altogether. For the thing she had suspected was clear. It was herself had helped bring about the scene in the loch, and hatred of her had caused Alex to strike down his foster brother. It was the only possible explanation, and there was a sore hurt in the thought of it. How could Alex have hated her that much, who had never seemed to hate her at all, but only scorn her? Her short upper lip curled. Och, he would pay for it, just! Even though Kelpie could no longer hope for witchcraft to help her, he would pay for it.
Archie looked at her uneasily. There was a look about her not quite canny, and it was occurring to him that folkcalled after water witches, who could communicate without the voice, might not be a braw choice for companionship, so he brought her another hunk of meat—to avoid offending her—and melted hastily into the crowd of soldiers.
The army passed the very spot near Loch Awe where Kelpie had first seen Janet Campbell that June day six months ago. And then they were heading at last toward Inverary, through the steep wilds of Glen Aray where she and Janet had gone. And what had been happening to Janet all this time? she wondered. Not that she really cared, she tried to tell herself, except that Janet was a harmless soul and not deserving to be harmed by either Mac Cailein Mor or his enemies.
There was no detour to the top of the hill this time. Straight down the glen the army came, pipes shrieking in ominous triumph. It was a braw sound indeed, a wild song that set the blood running with joyful madness—or the blood of Montrose’s army, at any rate. Kelpie wondered briefly how it sounded to the ears in Inverary. Along the river they marched, half running now, and erupted into the valley, the town of Inverary seeming to cower ahead on its point of land, and the castle—so familiar to Kelpie—to the left.
Morag Mhor was with the men heading for the village, loudly daring them to lay a finger on woman or child, hervoice rising as they insisted, grinning, that this time every wee babe would be slaughtered, just. For once, this game had no interest for Kelpie, and she headed straight for the castle. If Mac Cailein Mor was captured, she wanted to be there to gloat.
Everywhere there was clear evidence of surprise and panic. The town and castle, unaware of the approaching invasion, had been celebrating the Christmas season—in their sober Puritan way, of course, with longer and more frequent sermons. Kelpie’s lip curled with scorn for a chief so feckless as not to know what was happening in his own country—or else so sure of his invulnerability that he took no precautions. Och, she could hardly wait to see him taken prisoner! Her small white teeth fairly glittered in her smile.
She had just reached the castle wall when a shout of dismay and fury broke out. Kelpie rushed to a high knoll where she could see. Men were pointing to the small bay. A fishing boat was hastily heading out into the loch.
“’Tis himself is running away!” And Kelpie hardly needed a second glance to confirm it. Her keen eyes picked out two red heads, the short bulk of Lady Argyll, the patch of Cameron tartan that was Ewen.
“Ssss!” said Kelpie in savage regret.
The pipes lifted a wild wail of derision. “Oh, the great Argyll!” someone yelled. “Brave General Campbell! What,will you be away off, Mac Cailein Mor, and us just come to visit?”
Montrose wasted no time fuming over what couldn’t be helped, although he must have been bitterly disappointed. The capture of Argyll this day might have changed history—although he had not the Second Sight to tell him how much. Even Kelpie did not know, for the crystal had not yet showed her the scene to come later, when Montrose himself calmly mounted the scaffold.
His face was calm now as he gave orders to set about taking the castle abandoned by its owner. It wasn’t as difficult as it might have been. One couldn’t expect inspired defense from the men who had been left behind while their leader fled. And once Montrose’s men were in full possession, Kelpie entered the castle through those massive gates she had passed through before—but this time with an arrogant sway to her slim body.
She wasted no time with the fine white bread and wine that had been discovered, nor even with the miserable figure of Mrs. MacKellar huddled on a chair in the hall. She knew where she was going, and she wanted to be the first one there.
Argyll’s apartments were deserted. She walked boldly through the massive oaken doors, on into the inner chamber. There was a fine large cairngorm brooch on the table, mounted in silver, bigger than her fist. Fine, that! She looked around. What else?
A thought struck her. The next chamber must be that of Lady Argyll. In she went, and in a moment was kneeling beside a chest of fine gowns. A pity there were none of bright colors. Kelpie had always wanted a gown of flame-red velvet, but of course such a thing would never be found in a Covenant household. Still, there was one of moss-green, and the softest, finest wool she had ever seen, and not soverymuch too big, provided she belted it tightly about the waist. And she laughed with joy. Here was the fine silver belt she had always wanted.
Next she pulled out a lovely cloak the color of juniper—and she must have it, although it was lined with Campbell tartan—and a silken purse, a linen kerchief, and several baubles. She tried on a pair of square-toed leather shoes with silver buckles, but they hurt her feet sorely, so she kicked them off and went back into Argyll’s room for a silver snuff box she had seen there.
And as she stood, green gown bunched about her waist under untidy thick braids (uncombed since leaving Alsoon), the cairngorm in one hand and the snuff box in the other, the outer door opened.
For an instant memory played tricks on her and she thought that it was Mac Cailein Mor finding her there with the hairs in her hand, and blind panic was on her. Then it cleared as a voice spoke.
“Dhé!” boomed Antrim. “And whom have we here?”
“’Tis the eavesdropping lass from last summer,”answered Montrose, standing still, taking in every detail.
Kelpie looked back at him fearlessly. He was amused, she could tell. And besides, did not his scruples prevent him from harming women or children, even enemy ones, and she no enemy?
“I see you’ve wasted no time,” he observed mildly. “How is it you’re here ahead even of your army commander?”
“I was knowing the way and wanting to be first,” explained Kelpie artlessly. She waved her loot at him with great pride in her cleverness.
He looked at it, and at her. The corners of his mouth moved slightly. “That would be Argyll’s cairngorm, I suppose?”
She nodded, regarding it happily. Then something occurred to her, and she glanced up at him dubiously from under her thick lashes. Perhaps it might be wise to sacrifice material gain—if necessary—for policy.
“Were you wanting it yourself?” she asked reluctantly. “I will give it to you, if you like. There’s another nearly as good in yon box,” she added, “and this a wee bit heavy for a lass to be wearing.”
Montrose laughed. “No, I don’t want Argyll’s brooch,” he assured her, to her relief. Then he looked at her seriously. “I don’t suppose it’s ever occurred to you,” he suggested, “that stealing could be a bad thing?”
“Och, aye!” exclaimed Kelpie earnestly, “You must bevery canny at it, my Lord, and lucky, too. For ’tis a bad thing indeed and indeed to be caught! But Mac Cailein Mor’s away in his wee boat, and no danger now.”
This time it was Antrim who boomed with laughter, and Kelpie looked at him resentfully. Clearly he had had no experience at getting caught, or he would never be laughing at such a serious matter.
“I didn’t mean quite that, although I’m sure it must be true,” explained Montrose gently, and the corners of his mouth were jiggling again. “I mean, did you never think that it might be wrong to steal, whether you were caught at it or no?”
“Och, no!” said Kelpie, wide-eyed. “But then, perhaps ’tis different for you,” she added kindly. “Being a chief and lord and all, you will be able to get things without stealing them, and I doubt you’re ever hungry, whatever.”
Montrose sighed. “Aye,” he agreed, seeming sad for some reason. “’Tis different for me. You’d best run along now, though.” And he turned to look after her as she left the room.
Kelpie went back to the other wing, picked up an item or two from Mrs. MacKellar’s room, and then stood still for a minute, frowning at nothing at all. Why did people persist in making her think about new and uncomfortable ideas? A few months ago she would have been genuinely puzzled by the notion that it might be wrong to steal, even though a body was not caught at it. But now, even thoughshe had pretended not to know what Montrose meant, the idea wasn’t really as startling as it would once have been. It was the sort of thing the folks at Glenfern might have said, or Ewen Cameron, or even Alsoon and Callum. It undoubtedly had to do with the integrity thing Alex and Ian talked of, and all of them wanting her to apply it to herself. Why should she? Mina and Bogle had taught her that anything was right if one got away with it—but then, Mina and Bogle were evil, and perhaps everything they said was wrong.
Kelpie sighed. On the other hand, Alex talked about those ideas, and he was evil too. So what was a lass to think, at all?
She wandered down into the main hall, which was still a chaos of triumphant men. But she was so engrossed in her problem of right and wrong that she quite forgot to taunt the dejected and weeping Mrs. MacKellar. In any case, it no longer seemed necessary. After all, the housekeeper had been loyal to her chief, and it the only safe thing to do—but would it not be safer now for her to side with the royalist victors?
Kelpie frowned at the red-eyed and unlovely figure of Mrs. MacKellar, for in it there was something undefeated and almost gallant. No, Mrs. MacKellar would never change sides, but would stay loyal to Mac Cailein Mor, even though he was not worthy of it. Why? Did she fear that he would come back? Or was this something like notstealing, that a body did even against his own interest? Was that what integrity was? But what good was it? As far as Kelpie could see, it was more likely to be a nuisance than an asset.
She wandered over to one of the deep-set windows and stared out, unseeing, her whole attention focused on her thoughts. The folk at Glenfern, like Mrs. MacKellar, would remain loyal for always to a person or ideal. This was part of the thing about them which she had sensed from the first—the daftness, the difference. True they would be, whether or not it was profitable or safe, aye, though it cost them their lives—all but Alex. And it was this, perhaps, that had shocked her so. For Alex, surely, would never change sides but would be true to an ideal—and how was it, then, that he could betray a friend?
She leaned her forehead against one of the thick diamond-shaped panes, dimming it even more with her breath, and remembered that Montrose had talked of such things back at Blair Atholl. But neither he nor anyone else had ever explained to Kelpie why this way of acting was desirable. Was it possible that there was some strange kind of happiness in it? Did they have things inside which would make them uncomfortable if they acted otherwise?
Kelpie stopped trying to understand, for she found that there was an argument going on within her. The thing inside her was saying that this was a fine and proud way to be, but her common sense told her that it was not at allpractical, and had she not vowed to think of herself first, last, and always? And surely if it was a choice between her own safety and any other thing (and she forced the thought of Wee Mairi from her mind), surely it would be only sensible to look out for herself, as ever was!
Kelpie awoke from a dream in which she was trudging along beside a loch against blinding rain. She blinked a little as she remembered that she was back at Inverlochy Castle—the same place she and Mina and Bogle had spent the first night after leaving Glenfern. She shivered a little, partly at the memory of Mina and Bogle, and partly from cold. Hugging the stolen cloak and her old plaidie about her, she hurried down the tower stairs and out to the central court, where Morag Mhor and the other women were preparing breakfast.
“Slugabed!” Morag greeted her, and Kelpie grinned cheekily, knowing all about Morag’s pretended fierceness by now. There were more men than ever to feed, since the Glencoe MacDonalds and the Stewarts of Appin had joined, and Kelpie was glad that they were in friendly Cameron country, where it was safe to build fires and theycould have hot porridge. She had got heartily tired of a diet of oatmeal mixed with cold water. She looked thoughtfully up at Ben Nevis, which looked larger and more lowering under its quilt of snow than in the green and tawny blanket of summer, and realized suddenly that she had had enough of army life.
Rab paused by the fire to sniff the oatmeal hungrily and announce that he thought he would just go out and lift some cattle for breakfast. He chucked Morag Mhor under the chin as he said it, and received a sound clout on the ear as a reward. “Ouch!” he exclaimed, making a great show of nursing his ear. “You will ever be bullying me, Moragavic, and I a poor helpless man at your mercy.”
Kelpie giggled, and Morag shook her fist at the other ear. “This is the day we go to ask Lochiel and the Camerons to join us, and you would be lifting their cattle!Amadan!”
Rab began explaining that they didn’t really need the Camerons at all, but Kelpie stopped listening, for she was thinking that this would be a good time indeed to leave the army. She had had enough of battles. Just a few miles up the Great Glen was the pass that led to Glenfern. Would she be welcome there? Surely Ian would remember that she had warned him against Alex, and so would forgive her for running away and leaving him struck down and half dead. Would he and his father join Montrose? she wondered. Or would Lochiel dare to raise his clan?
She turned to Morag Mhor, who had sent Rab, protesting, out to the river for more water, and was now vigorously stirring the porridge. “Lochiel would be daft to call out his clan,” she suggested. “With his grandson in Campbell hands, he could not dare.”
Morag thought about it for a while, her lean face still and expressionless. “There was a wise woman in our village long ago,” she said at last, “who used to say to me, ‘Always dare to do what is right,’ and I am thinking Lochiel will say the same. Would you understand that, Kelpie?”
“No!” said Kelpie forcefully and scowled. Ewen Cameron himself had used those same words. So here again were those ideas that she did not want to think about. She set her small face into a hard mask and dropped the subject. “I am thinking I have had my fill of armies and battles,” she announced. “I will stay behind when you go up the Great Glen, and perhaps go to stay with friends here in Lochaber.”
“Well, then, and a blessing on you,” said Morag. “May you find a home for your bones and your spirit—though I think you will never stay in one place for long. I’m thinking I’ll go back to Gordon country myself soon. No doubt there are orphans left by the Campbells who would be needing a mother.”
Kelpie followed the army as far as Lochiel’s home at Torcastle, curious to see whether or not Lochiel wouldraise his clan. He did. The traditional cross was made of two sturdy sticks bound firmly together. And according to the ancient ceremony the ends were set aflame, extinguished in goat’s blood, then lighted once more: one of Lochiel’s men held the cross proudly high and set off at a trot that carried him deeper into Cameron territory. The torch would be passed from runner to runner until the whole area had received the message of war.
The army stayed at Torcastle for two days while Camerons came flocking to the call of their chief. If any had misgivings about Argyll’s possible revenge on them, they did not show it; nor did Lochiel, that stern old man who held his head so high. Kelpie did not wait to see the Glenfern Camerons arrive, for she had sudden misgivings about seeing Ian again. Instead, she went back to the tower room at Inverlochy Castle in a very thoughtful frame of mind.
For several days she stayed at the castle, enjoying her solitude, and getting her food from homes nearby with surprising ease. For the very people who had once regarded her with deep suspicion were now delighted to give food and hospitality to the wistful lass who had been a prisoner of Argyll, who had been helped by Ewen Cameron himself, and who had even got away with Lady Argyll’s fine cloak. Food, scanty though it might be with the men away in the army, was shared, and there was not a home where she was not urged to bide awhile.
But she shook her black head. Och, no, she said. She was away up the Glen. But she would take her leave marveling at such openheartedness to a stranger—even one who had not yet stolen anything. After thinking about it, Kelpie decided not to take anything at all. Somehow the good will seemed more valuable than anything she might steal.
Then the mild weather turned into sudden bitter cold. The night wind hurled blasts of snow against the tower walls, crept up the winding stairs, and whined outside like the banshee. It was so cold that Kelpie thought she might put away misgivings and go to Glenfern after all. Surely Lady Glenfern would not refuse her shelter in this cold!
She was heading back to Inverlochy in the early dusk when she decided this. Her stomach was comfortably full of hot broth and scones from a generous young Cameron wife, she was a trifle sleepy, and it would be good indeed to sleep tomorrow night or the next in the comfort of Glenfern, under the same roof with Wee Mairi.
It was fortunate that Kelpie’s senses remained alert even when her mind was on other things. Even so, she had nearly walked up to the castle gate before she realized that something was wrong, and she never knew exactly what it was that warned her. But suddenly she stopped, alive to the sharp feel of danger, her small figure dark and taut against the faintly luminous patches of snow. An instant later she simply was not there, and the Campbellsoldier who came running out of the gate, under the impression that he had seen something, shook his head and cursed the weather.
Kelpie lay in the snow where she had thrown herself behind a small hillock, not daring to raise her head but listening as if her life depended on it—which it did. Soon there was no doubt. Inverlochy Castle was being occupied—by Mac Cailein Mor and his army!
With sick dismay she pieced things together. Someone called for Campbell of Auchinbreck. Then there was a harsh and authoritative Lowland voice. And by crouching behind a thick clump of juniper and twisting her head cautiously, Kelpie could just make out a galley with black sails silhouetted against the gray waters of the Loch.
Oh, there was no doubt whatever! The Campbell had gathered his courage and his army and had come after Montrose.
Kelpie spent the night at the shieling hut of Lorne Cameron, which was nestled at the foot of Ben Nevis. Lorne had urged Kelpie to stay, for she and her four bairns were alone since her husband had gone off with Montrose and his army. Now her ruddy young face paled at Kelpie’s news.
“Campbells!Dhé!and they will be murdering us all, then!”
“Perhaps not,” said Kelpie hopefully. “If Mac Cailein Mor is after Montrose, perhaps he’ll not be lingering in Lochaber.”
But she slept with one ear well out of the folds of her plaidie, cocked for any sounds of danger. The hut was only a mile or so from Inverlochy Castle, and if Lorne hadreason to fear Mac Cailein Mor, Kelpie had that much more.
She had planned to be off the first thing in the morning, out of danger. But somehow she found herself waiting, even after she had eaten the hot oatmeal Lorne cooked, and tucked some food into her pouch. There was Lorne here, and the wee ones, and none of Kelpie’s concern at all. But Lorne was frightened and uncertain what to do, and they so helpless and looking up to Kelpie—and after all, perhaps it would be wise just to take a wee peek at what Argyll was doing, and see the size of his army.
“You might just be getting food and blankets together in case you need to hide,” she suggested. “And I’ll go have a look around.”
“Och,’tis both good and brave you are!” said Lorne gratefully. Kelpie left the house hurriedly, feeling oddly embarrassed.
She moved cautiously around the flank of the ben, skulking behind masses of juniper and pine clumps, until she could see the castle.Mise-an-dhui!It was an army indeed and indeed! Highland Campbells and Lowlanders too, and well more than twice what Montrose could have, even with his new recruits. But Argyll seemed to be making no move to follow him up the Great Glen, even with this advantage.
Kelpie’s heart sank as she watched groups of men forming before the castle. It was what she had expected in theheart of her. Mac Cailein Mor had no heart for battle but would be about his usual practice of wiping out women and children. Even now one of the groups of soldiers was setting off toward the little cluster of homes on the edge of Loch Linnhe, and another was turning west along Loch Eil.
She watched no longer but headed back around the northern side of Ben Nevis. In a way this might be fortunate for her, giving her time to be up the Great Glen ahead of them. But suppose they penetrated as far as Glenfern? Perhaps she ought to be heading eastward, and out of the way altogether. In any case she would be passing Lorne’s home on the way, and it costing only a few minutes to warn the lass. Nor was this just profitless foolishness, she told herself, for who knew when she might be needing a friend under obligation to herself?
An hour later she was laboring up the side of the mountain with a bundle of food in one arm and the next-smallest bairn in the other; Lorne, with the baby, and the older children panting behind. “Mind ye stay clear of soft snow,” she warned over her shoulder. “It could be putting them on your trail.”
Another hour saw them settled in a well-hidden shepherd’s shelter, cold and uncomfortable and not daring to have a fire, but at least safer than at their home.
“Will you not be staying too?” begged Lorne, her dark eyes anxious for the safety of this generous new friend.But Kelpie shook her head. She wanted to be farther than this from Argyll. And besides, a new thought was beginning to hound the fringes of her mind. Montrose, all unknowing, was now between two armies, for was not Seaforth at Inverness with five thousand men? And if he should be caught in a trap and wiped out, it would put Argyll altogether in control of the Highlands as well as Lowlands—and what would happen to Kelpie then? For her own safety, it seemed, she must try to warn Montrose.
It was a sore uncomfortable thought, filled with hardship and danger. She tried to put it out of her mind as she picked her way down the gaunt wintry slope, but it wouldn’t leave. And with it were thoughts of Morag Mhor and Rab and Archie and Montrose himself lying slain in the snow, and all the comradeship and merry teasing silenced forever. A pity that would be. With a sigh she headed up the glen, a sharp eye out for any movement that might spell danger.
Och, then, but it was cold! Her feet were icy in their hide shoes, even with the woolen hose, and it was threatening to snow again. However could she catch up with the army at all? Perhaps it had already met Seaforth. But she kept on going.
She saw nothing but hares and deer and a lone eagle, until she reached the River Spean. Then a short, wiry figure came from the brush just ahead, and Kelpie sank swiftly to the ground for a tense moment before she sawhe was not a Campbell. He was alone and in a faded Cameron kilt. Kelpie followed him to a dilapidated hut on the bank of the river and watched him enter. A drift of smoke began to rise. Might not he help himself and his clan by taking the message for her? And then she would be free to seek safety. She walked up to the door boldly.
“Come away in,” came the expected lilt of Gaelic when she knocked, and the man’s face turned to her in surprise as she entered. “Dhia dhuit,” he greeted her politely. “And what is a wee lass doing alone in the cold? Will you no have a sup of hot food?”
“I will, then,” agreed Kelpie promptly. “And give an important word to you, and also a task if you will do it.”
The man listened while she talked and ate, his face growing graver and grimmer. “Aye so,” he agreed. “’Tis the hand of destiny that I live alone here and knew nothing of the clan rising, or I would be with them, and a bad time of it you would be having alone and in this weather. Eat your fill, then, whilst I fill my pouch, and I’ll be away before you’re done. You can be biding here whilst I am gone.”
“That I will not!” retorted Kelpie firmly. “For every house in Lochaber is a danger. I’ll be away east out of trouble.”
He frowned and shook his head. “There is no shelter to the east of here, lass, and it too cold to be sleeping out. And I have just come from hunting a wolf that has beenskulking upriver. You would be safer here, I am thinking, for my house is alone and well hidden. But if you’re feared to rest here, there is a bittie cave nearby, and you are welcome to my blankets and food. Follow the Spean along up for a mile or so, and where the Cour is entering it turn south for a bit and mark sharp the west bank. The cave is in a high bluff and well hid with juniper. But I’m thinking you’ll be safe enough the night here, whatever, and it nearly dark already. There’ll be no Campbells along this day, and ’tis no good for you to be freezing.”
“Aye, then,” agreed Kelpie, seeing the sense to this, and the man was off. Odd, she didn’t know the name of him, nor he hers, and yet he was away on a dangerous errand on her word. A purpose in common—or common danger—she decided, was like a spell, binding even strangers one to another.
The morning was heavy with clouds, the new snow a dead white beneath the gray of the sky. Kelpie put out the fire for fear of any betraying smoke and set out to locate the cave, wishing she dared stay in the warmth of the shieling. But as she trudged along the Cour River, watching the west bank, she stopped. Clear in the snow were footprints coming down the Cour—and stopping just ahead in a tumbled heap of snow. Kelpie stared, eyes narrowed. Footsteps didn’t just stop, unless someone had wings.
No, there were no wings. There the prints went, backthe way they came. In a moment Kelpie had read the story. A man it was, by the size of the prints, and coming north along the Cour in a great hurry, so that he did not notice the treacherous slab of granite by the river, with ice under the snow. And there he had slipped and fallen; the mark was plain. Then, it would seem, he had made back the way he had come, limping sorely.
Kelpie straightened and looked up the glen cautiously. Where was he, then? And who was he? Warily she began to follow the retreating footprints.
They angled up the hill to the right presently, through a thick patch of pine and juniper. Kelpie hesitated, peering through it, her right hand reaching for thesgian dhuin the front of her dress, feet ready to run. Nothing stirred. And then a tiny trickle of smoke floated up just a few feet away from behind the brush.Dhé!It must be that he had found the cave and taken shelter there. Probably he was not a Campbell, then, but more likely hiding from them—though he would not stay hidden long, with the smoke giving him away. Kelpie grinned sourly and shrugged. This was no place for her, then. She turned and prepared to slip quietly away, back to the shieling.
“And have I taken the home of the water witch?”
It was a low voice with a mocking note that Kelpie could never mistake. She whirled. Alex! She could see him now through the brush, nearly invisible against the low winter sun. He sat at the mouth of a small, shallow cave,regarding her quizzically—but with a drawn look about the mouth of him. One foot, badly swollen, was propped up before him.
Och, then, wasn’t it her curse on him that had come at last to bear fruit? Moving thru the juniper, but keeping a safe distance away, Kelpie told him so with considerable relish.
Alex grinned wryly. “It may be so,” he conceded. “Sure it is you’ve cursed me enough. But have I not told you that such things are likely to fly back in the face of the one who curses? And if this is your curse at work, then ’tis not just me you’ve harmed, but Montrose and his army, and yourself as well. For Argyll is about, and I was on my way up the Great Glen to warn Montrose when I fell; and what will you do if Argyll wins and puts his witch-hunters over the whole of the Highlands?”
His tone was still mocking, but Kelpie could hear bitterness and despair in his voice. It made her feel most peculiar, for Alex was usually so infuriatingly self-assured—and much easier to hate that way. His distress was not quite as satisfying as it should have been. For a moment she toyed with the idea of leaving him to his worry, but she could not resist bragging. She gave him a pointed grin.
“You will always be thinking yourself the only clever body in the world,” she observed smugly. “I myself have already sent a messenger to Montrose.”
Alex stared, frankly unbelieving. “You?”
“And why not, whatever? Wasn’t I crossing Campbell land myself with the army, and you away safe out of it? Haven’t I the wits to see I’m not wanting Mac Cailein Mor king in the Highlands? It is I should be doubting you, for if Ian and his father are with Montrose now, I’m thinking you’d not be going near whatever.”
Alex narrowed his hazel eyes at her, and Kelpie prudently moved a step farther away. “And why not?” he inquired lazily.
Kelpie laughed nastily. “I’ve eyes in my head!” she retorted. “Did you think I was not seeing? Aye, and I saw it before, as well, with the Second Sight, last spring.”
Alex’s eyes widened for an instant, then narrowed. He seemed about to say something, but changed his mind. Instead, the planes in his face became more angular than ever, and he gave Kelpie a long, hard, brooding stare that made her thankful for the hurt foot which kept him from moving. For surely he was thinking that he would like to silence her. He shrugged finally. “I wonder,” he said, “whether ’tis the truth you’re telling me about that messenger. If so, I could find it in my heart....”
He didn’t finish the thought, nor did Kelpie answer. Instead, she stared back at him, at the freckles and straight lines of his face, at the way the cheekbones stood out above the narrow strength of jaw, and at the tangled red hair which had not been trimmed or combed recently. He was thinner than he had been and pale under hisfreckles, and she could see a tiny pulse in his temple that was his life itself—so easy to stop, so small a thread of life. And was there not something she should be doing the now, to avenge Ian? But she could not think what. Alex was not asleep, nor by any means helpless, even with a sore foot; and she had no intention at all of risking her own life for Ian or anyone else. She pulled her thick brows together and regarded him darkly.
Alex laughed suddenly. “You cannot be planning to rob me, so it must be some other devilment you have in mind. Are you not satisfied yet, water witch? Is it another wee spell, or have you learned the Evil Eye by now?”
“Sssss!” said Kelpie earnestly.
“Well, and why will you not be going to Mac Cailein Mor to say that I am here?” he asked. “He would make short enough shrift of me, and would you not be liking that?”
“Aye so,” agreed Kelpie with enthusiasm. “But,” she pointed out regretfully, “he would be making even shorter shrift of me, and I’d not be liking that so well.” And then she bit her tongue in annoyance as Alex laughed again. It was a spell he had put on her, to be always telling him the truth she had never intended to say!
She scowled and lifted her lip in the old wolfish snarl, and then found herself grinning ruefully, though she had never intended that, either. It was not funny; it wasnot! She stamped her foot.
“Ou, aye!” said Alex. “Your sense of humor has slipped out again, and why will you be squashing it under? Laugh at yourself, Kelpie. ’Tis the cure for all ills, and it is in my mind that perhaps most evil is caused by folk who take themselves too seriously.”
“You’re daft,” said Kelpie and turned away uncertainly. She should be off about her business and leave Alex to his fate. But it seemed that the thing inside that had been pushing her for days against her will was pushing still. It was as if she were living a pattern, and it was yet unfinished, and the thing would not permit her to go off and leave it until it was complete. She paused, her back turned to Alex, who sat still and silent in the mouth of his refuge.
“What will you be doing now?” she asked against her will.
“Bide here,” he returned philosophically, “since I can do nothing else, and see what will happen.”
“They will be seeing your smoke,” she pointed out, still reluctantly.
“I will let my fire die during the day, and try to keep warm by moving about,” he returned, and the quizzical note was back in his voice. “And why do you warn me of that, water witch? Wouldn’t it please you just to see me captured?”
“It would that!” Kelpie’s eyes flashed. “I will be laughing that day, and not at myself either!” And this time she did leave, heading angrily back toward the Spean River.
Kelpie went back to the hut, since there was no other shelter and it was better to risk Campbells than to freeze to death. But she found a hiding place on the river bank, just in case, and for three days she alternately huddled over the tiny coals which were all she dared have during the daytime and watched the path for signs of the invaders.
There was plenty of time to think. She wondered whether the message had got through to Montrose, and what he could do even if it had. For he was trapped in the Great Glen between two armies, and no way out except over mountains impassable with snow. She wondered about Alex and that long, inscrutable look he had given her, and it came to her that she had been a fool to tell him that she knew what he had done. For if he could strike down his foster brother, it would be nothing forhim to silence her. She began to feel very trapped herself. Was no place in the world safe for her?
Lost in brooding, she failed to keep her sharp watch, and on the third afternoon she heard, too late, the crunch of heavy steps in the crusted snow. Before she could do more than turn, a heavy-set Campbell flung the door open, two or three others looming behind him.
“Here’ll be another cursed Cameron or two,” he shouted, and his broadsword bore grim stains from the last house he had visited. “And where is your husband hiding, lass?”
Kelpie’s wits, well trained in crisis, worked quickly. “Husband indeed!” she retorted, staring boldly into the ruddy face. “Where are your eyes, man, that you cannot recognize a Campbell when you see one?” She snatched up Lady Argyll’s cloak and waved it at him, thankful for that particular theft. “Och, but I am glad that you have come,” she went on with a trusting upward smile through her lashes. “It was my wicked Cameron uncle who came by my home on Loch Awe with that devil Montrose and all the army, and stole me away to keep house for him, since his wife died, and he saying I must be his daughter now and some day marry a Cameron; and have I not been biding my time and waiting for warm weather to run away back home?”
The Campbells blinked and believed her. She was utterly convincing, and in any case, what Cameron would have claimed to be a Campbell, even at the edge of death?And had she not the once fine Campbell cloak, clearly given her by a lady of that clan? The sword went back into its sheath.
“Och, well,” said its owner with a sigh. “Naught to do here but burn the place. But at least you can be coming back the now.”
This was the last thing Kelpie wanted! “To another army?” she jeered, hiding her panic. “No, now, I’ve enough of armies and battles. Leave me be, just, and when ’tis warmer I’ll be finding my own way. Will you not be fighting Montrose soon?” she demanded. “Or is it only women and bairns you are after?”
They shuffled their feet. “We’ll be taking care of Montrose,” promised the stout one. “But we cannot leave you here, lass. You must just come along back to Inverlochy, and perhaps himself will be seeing you’re sent back home.”
Kelpie’s heart threatened to choke her. He’d be sending her back, fine enough! “Dhé!” she sputtered, knowing her life might depend on her next words. “Will ye be bothering the likes of him with a nobody, and him with a war on his hands? He’d no be thanking ye for it! Besides,” she confided beseechingly, “it is myself am afraid of Mac Cailein Mor, and he so great and all. No, now, just leave me here, and then it’s away back I’ll be by myself.”
The stout one was not unsympathetic. “Well, women have daft fears,” he observed. “But ’tis true enough that himself is an awesome man. We cannot leave you here,but perhaps we can be tucking you into a wee bit place near Inverlochy where you’ll not be noticed until we move on. There is a burned shieling just near the loch, with one end left untouched. Come along now.”
To argue further would be hopeless and perhaps fatal. This was a stubborn man, already close enough to suspicion. Numb with apprehension, Kelpie wrapped the cloak firmly around herself and let them lead her outside while they fired the thatch.
And then, just as they were climbing up the bank, a tall man pointed to a faint wisp of smoke to the southeast. “Another shieling,” he announced happily.
It was no shieling at all, of course. It was Alex’s fire, and now Kelpie’s curse would be well and truly fulfilled. Why hadn’t she thought of telling them herself? And why was it that she felt more dismay than elation? Frowning, she probed at the feeling, trying to figure it out. Och, of course; It was not for Alex’s sake she did not want him caught, but for her own. For he would be sure to tell them that she was no Campbell at all but a gypsy lass, and then they would take her straight to Argyll. She bit her lip as she silently followed the Campbells up the Cour in the direction of the telltale smoke, hoping passionately that Alex would either get away or be killed before he could betray her.
He nearly did get away. The cave, when they finally found it, was empty, the fire quenched with snow. Thetangled footprints in the snow seemed to lead nowhere, and they might have given up but for the stubbornness of Hamish, the stout man. But at last someone saw Alex hiding high up amid the dark needles of a pine tree.
“A MacDonald!” Hamish peered upward. “Come away down, now, or we’ll shoot you there.”
“And what difference?” asked Alex mockingly from his high perch. “I’d as lief be shot here as on the ground.”
Kelpie set her teeth. She hoped they’d shoot him now, before he could see her and speak against her. Shedid! But again Hamish had other ideas. What was a MacDonald doing here at all, he wanted to know, and one, moreover, who was clearly well educated and therefore at least the son of a chieftain? It was a thing out of the ordinary and had better have the attention of his own chieftain, Campbell of Auchinbreck.
“We’re no for shooting you now,” he announced, “but will be taking you prisoner.”
Alex seemed to think it over for a moment. Then he laughed. “’Twill be a braw task for you, then,” he observed, “for I’ve a sore hurt ankle and can no longer set it to the ground—or else you’d not have found me here, whatever. Are you wanting to carry me all that way? For if not, you may as well shoot me here.”
This last clearly appealed to most of the Campbells, but Hamish stuck out his jaw. “Aye, then. Finlay andAngus will carry you,” he announced, to the displeasure of two of his men.
Alex shrugged and came down, leaning for an instant against the trunk of the tree as he reached the ground. His face was cool, although his ankle must be hurting him badly. But his lips tightened slightly when he saw Kelpie, and he stood for an instant, fixing her with another of those long, penetrating looks. There was more than mockery in it now. Kelpie flinched from it, and it came to her that Alex thought she had brought the Campbells to find him.
Of course he did! How could he suppose anything else? And he knew quite well that he held the power of vengeance in his own tongue. For although he could not know what was between Kelpie and Mac Cailein Mor, the mere word “witch” would be quite enough to destroy her.
She waited for it, head high, with the look of a trapped fox in her eyes, hoping they might kill her swiftly, for Argyll would do worse. But Alex did not say it. Looking into her eyes, he gave one short contemptuous laugh and turned away. And while he arranged himself in the hand-chair made by the reluctant Finlay and Angus, Kelpie stood quite still, hot and shaken by feelings she hadn’t known she possessed.
She tried to collect her thoughts during the long, slow trip back to Inverlochy Castle. Why had Alex notdenounced her? He must be waiting, knowing she would be tormented by uncertainty. He would do it, doubtless, when they reached the castle. Och, then, she must forget the searing pain of his laughter, and try to get away!
Dusk was lowering as they neared Inverlochy, and she sidled up to walk alongside Hamish. “I am frightened,” she whispered pathetically. “There are too many men, and I used to the lonely hills and cattle. Can I not just be slipping away down the loch and home? I know the way well enough.”
He looked at her kindly. “No, ’tis much too cold for you to be traveling alone,” he said with firmness.
Kelpie’s lip trembled—and for this she required no great dramatic ability, either. He looked alarmed. “Do not be crying, now,” he said hastily. “I tell you, I know a place where you can bide, and no need to be going among the army at all. Just wait now until I’m turning the prisoner over to Auchinbreck. Fergus, run ahead a bit and see can you find out where he is the now.”
He clasped Kelpie’s cold hand firmly in his, no doubt thinking he was comforting her; and Kelpie had to trudge along beside him, her heart thudding with fear. It thudded harder when Fergus returned to report that Auchinbreck was away down at the loch with Mac Cailein Mor, seeing about the two cannon.
“Fine, then,” said Hamish. “For the wee bit placie for you to hide is down there too, and we need not be goingnear the castle at all but just deliver the prisoner and ask can you stay there at the same time.” And he beamed heartily upon the quaking Kelpie, who saw no escape now from a witch’s death by fire.
Setting her teeth hard upon her lower lip, she tried to remember that she had faced death before. But this time she seemed to have no courage in reserve. The long strain had drained it from her. She could only remember Mac Cailein Mor’s cruel face and unbearable dungeon, and think that this could not really be happening, and wish that she could drop dead on the spot and be done with it.
They were just past the castle now, and Hamish turned to watch a scattered group of soldiers come running from the slopes of Ben Nevis, cutting behind his group, in a great hurry to reach the castle. There was an air of alarm in their gray shapes in the dusk, and Hamish stared after them curiously.
“A fine hurry they are in,” he said. “I wonder what news it is they are bringing from the ben, and what they could be finding at all on that wild place.”
“Perhaps the water-bull of Lundavra has been straying north a bit,” suggested Alex, breaking his long silence. His voice dropped to an eerie whisper, and only Kelpie could hear the hint of laughter in it. “You’ll have heard of it, no doubt, with its broad ears and black hoofs and wild demon eye?”
The soldiers shivered, and one made a gesture, quickly halted, of crossing himself. For though the Campbells were now all good members of the Kirk, old habits remained from many generations past and were likely to pop up in a crisis.
They went on, with occasional furtive glances over their shoulders at the brooding shape of that giant mountain Ben Nevis—the highest, it was said, in all of the British Isles, and therefore an apt place for uncanny and ungodly things. Kelpie too would have been glad to scurry from its menace, had there not been a greater one facing her. As it was, she would gladly have fled to Ben Nevis for protection, even if there were a dozen water-bulls there.
They had circled below the castle now, to the river, and were perhaps a mile from Loch Linnhe. If only Hamish would relax his hard, reassuring grip on her hand, she might be able to dive into the surrounding dusk and lose herself. But when she gently tested his grip, he merely tightened it.
Perhaps if she should suggest to him that she could walk better with both hands free? Or was it already too late? There was a group of dark shapes in the gloom just ahead now. If that was Argyll, this was her last chance! “Please,” she began in her softest voice, and got no further.
From behind came the pound of running footsteps, and an excited voice raised. “Mac Cailein Mor! Mac Cailein Mor!”
A soldier rushed past them to the figures a few yards ahead, and the cold voice of Argyll answered. “Here. What is it, then?”
“Montrose!” The soldier gasped. “Some of our scouts have just come back. They say Montrose is on Ben Nevis!”