There she climbed off her garron and flopped belly-down on the ground, scraping herself to the lip of the slope to peer down toward the fire—
—and scrambled back, flattened in panic, as bodies backlighted by flames tumbled over the slope. Her garron whinnied again.
“Cat!” The voice broke; it was Dougal throwing himself over the slope. “Cat—is that you ?”With him was Colin, big-eyed in the darkness as they came scrabbling over the scree, dragging ponies at the end of taut reins.
Her heart surely would burst as it hammered within her chest. Cat lifted her face from the ground. “Where’s Jamie?” It was little more than a wheeze. She spat grit. “Where’s Robbie?” She wanted Robbie. They needed Robbie. He would know what to do. He was always telling them so.
Dougal stuffed his reins into Colin’s rigid hand and motioned for the youngest boy to get the garrons down behind the slope. He jerked his head over his shoulder, indicating the fire. “Back there. He sent us away when the garrons whinnied—Cat, they’re MacDonalds . ”
Fear made her blurt of laughter harsh. “They should be, aye? We’re on MacDonald land!”
“No.” It was Colin, smallest of them all, hunkering down rigidly against the slope with two garrons pulling at reins. “No, Robbie said we’re not—”
Dougal took it over. “—We’re no’ to Glencoe yet, or even near it—we’re still on Rannoch. They’ve come here —”
Cat was outraged as the full meaning sank in. “They’ve come for our cows!” Fear dissipated abruptly into insulted pride. “Where are Robbie and Jamie?”
From below they heard a triumphant shout. Silhouettes converged; a body held between two others was escorted toward the fire. Struggles were futile.
Appalled, Dougal murmured a prayer. Colin dragged the ponies closer; Cat’s garron had wandered off a pace or two to forage.
She dug her nails into the earth as she watched the captive avidly, trying to identify him. —let it be Jamie . . . let Robbie be free . . . Robbie’ll ken what to do— And felt guilty for it, and shamed, that she should wish upon Jamie that which terrified her.
Dougal shut a hand around Cat’s upper arm. “Why have you come? What are you doing here? Robbie said naught of you coming!”
It was easier to be angry. “Would he? Not Robbie! He thinks I’m worthless.” Cat glared downslope, hoping they would not see her tears; was it Robbie they had caught?
Another thought snooved in. Is Alasdair Og with them?
It infuriated her that she should think of MacDonalds as anything but enemy, even for an instant. To dilute the guilt, Cat turned an accusing glare on Dougal. “You shouldna come away. You should have stayed wi’ Robbie and Jamie!”
Dougal scraped a forearm across his face. He was white with apprehension, eyes little more than black sockets in the shadows. After her, his hair was reddest, a yellowish, bloody tangle extruded beneath his bonnet. “Robbie sent us. When they heard the garrons.”
“You could have stayed —”
“He sent us—”
Moonlight and fear leached Colin’s face of angles, of hollows, of the spirit that made him human. “We’re to go home. He said so. He sent us back.”
“And leave Robbie and Jamie behind?” Cat doubled up a fist and smacked him on the shoulder. “You muckle-mouthed coward, we’re Campbells —” She looked beyond Dougal, beyond the scree, to the fire beyond, where she saw man-shaped shadows and the glint of a bared blade. “Campbells, ye ken—” She let loose the Campbell war cry in her deepest voice. “ Chruachan! ”
“Cat—Cat, no . . . dinna let them ken—” Dougal clutched her shoulder, pressing her toward her garron. “Go—”
“ Let them ken!” she spat, twisting away. “Let them think we’ve more men than they . . .” Cat frowned. “How many? How many are they?”
Colin sucked a scraped thumb. “Ten,” he said flatly, around the battered thumb.
“Four,” Dougal
—and scrambled back, flattened in panic, as bodies backlighted by flames tumbled over the slope. Her garron whinnied again.
“Cat!” The voice broke; it was Dougal throwing himself over the slope. “Cat—is that you ?”With him was Colin, big-eyed in the darkness as they came scrabbling over the scree, dragging ponies at the end of taut reins.
Her heart surely would burst as it hammered within her chest. Cat lifted her face from the ground. “Where’s Jamie?” It was little more than a wheeze. She spat grit. “Where’s Robbie?” She wanted Robbie. They needed Robbie. He would know what to do. He was always telling them so.
Dougal stuffed his reins into Colin’s rigid hand and motioned for the youngest boy to get the garrons down behind the slope. He jerked his head over his shoulder, indicating the fire. “Back there. He sent us away when the garrons whinnied—Cat, they’re MacDonalds . ”
Fear made her blurt of laughter harsh. “They should be, aye? We’re on MacDonald land!”
“No.” It was Colin, smallest of them all, hunkering down rigidly against the slope with two garrons pulling at reins. “No, Robbie said we’re not—”
Dougal took it over. “—We’re no’ to Glencoe yet, or even near it—we’re still on Rannoch. They’ve come here —”
Cat was outraged as the full meaning sank in. “They’ve come for our cows!” Fear dissipated abruptly into insulted pride. “Where are Robbie and Jamie?”
From below they heard a triumphant shout. Silhouettes converged; a body held between two others was escorted toward the fire. Struggles were futile.
Appalled, Dougal murmured a prayer. Colin dragged the ponies closer; Cat’s garron had wandered off a pace or two to forage.
She dug her nails into the earth as she watched the captive avidly, trying to identify him. —let it be Jamie . . . let Robbie be free . . . Robbie’ll ken what to do— And felt guilty for it, and shamed, that she should wish upon Jamie that which terrified her.
Dougal shut a hand around Cat’s upper arm. “Why have you come? What are you doing here? Robbie said naught of you coming!”
It was easier to be angry. “Would he? Not Robbie! He thinks I’m worthless.” Cat glared downslope, hoping they would not see her tears; was it Robbie they had caught?
Another thought snooved in. Is Alasdair Og with them?
It infuriated her that she should think of MacDonalds as anything but enemy, even for an instant. To dilute the guilt, Cat turned an accusing glare on Dougal. “You shouldna come away. You should have stayed wi’ Robbie and Jamie!”
Dougal scraped a forearm across his face. He was white with apprehension, eyes little more than black sockets in the shadows. After her, his hair was reddest, a yellowish, bloody tangle extruded beneath his bonnet. “Robbie sent us. When they heard the garrons.”
“You could have stayed —”
“He sent us—”
Moonlight and fear leached Colin’s face of angles, of hollows, of the spirit that made him human. “We’re to go home. He said so. He sent us back.”
“And leave Robbie and Jamie behind?” Cat doubled up a fist and smacked him on the shoulder. “You muckle-mouthed coward, we’re Campbells —” She looked beyond Dougal, beyond the scree, to the fire beyond, where she saw man-shaped shadows and the glint of a bared blade. “Campbells, ye ken—” She let loose the Campbell war cry in her deepest voice. “ Chruachan! ”
“Cat—Cat, no . . . dinna let them ken—” Dougal clutched her shoulder, pressing her toward her garron. “Go—”
“ Let them ken!” she spat, twisting away. “Let them think we’ve more men than they . . .” Cat frowned. “How many? How many are they?”
Colin sucked a scraped thumb. “Ten,” he said flatly, around the battered thumb.
“Four,” Dougal
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