It was not the frigid air easing in through the crack next to the window that covered her arms in gooseflesh, but the parade of foot soldiers that appeared at the edge of the loch that February afternoon. Most noticeable were the redcoats, the scarlet wool stark against the pewter water and thick copse of naked oaks behind them. But there were others, too. It was difficult to distinguish exactly who they were underneath the cloaks of their tartans, but it was clear that many were members of several Highland clans in the area. Caitriona hugged herself as she watched the men struggle to lean into the wind that slowed their progress.
“What has ye so taken, Cait?” her mother asked.
Caitriona didn’t turn to face her. “Have Sionn and Finnean been creating mischief again?”
Her mother joined her at the window, her hair now lightly streaked with silver above her ears. “Stealing cows? Nay. Even yer cousins would agree ‘tis too cold for that.”
“Then what do ye make of the men entering the glen?” Cait asked, her fingers closing over the scar on her left palm, a painful reminder of the last time soldiers arrived in their quiet village.
“Some are Englishmen.” Her mother continued to stare at the landscape. “This is nae about a few missing cows.”
With each passing moment, more soldiers inched their way into Glencoe from the west. As they got closer, their muskets and black pikes became visible. Nay. This had nothing to do with stolen cattle.
Ma’s brow crinkled. “Fetch yer da.”
# # #
Cait scrambled down the stairs and almost fell into the laird’s lug on the landing, its hatch open exposing the entrance to a tunnel. She grabbed the rope nailed to the wall to catch her balance. Torchlight bounced off the rough stone walls below.
“It doesn’t hurt to keep a bottle or two down here. It warms the wame on a cold day such as this.” MacIain’s voice. She’d know it anywhere. It was low and deep as if it arose from a vast cavern. “Slàinte!”
He let out a breathy “Ahhhh” as the torchlight moved closer to the lug’s opening. MacIain’s mane of white hair came into view, the crown of his head almost touching the ceiling. Cait pressed herself against the wall, but it was too late. The clan chieftain of Glencoe must’ve spotted the hem of her gown from below.
“Who’s that up there? Spying, are ye?” he boomed with a slight bit of humour in his voice.
Cait smiled. “Nae spying. I’m simply searching for my da. Is he too deep in his cups to climb that ladder?”
“What makes ye think he’s down here with me?”
“He’s wherever the whisky is and I’m guessing you’ve a pint or two in yer hand this very moment.”
MacIain’s head popped out of the hatch first, his great white beard and moustache covering the majority of his flushed face, his huge form emerging from the lug like a beast from the loch. Then Da appeared, a bottle tucked inside the tartan draped over his shoulder. He climbed out of the hole, then lowered the hatch carefully.
“’Tis one of my beauties!” He held the bottle up and said, “I hope you’ve come for something important. MacIain and I have three pints between us and two hours of daylight left to finish them.”
“You will be the one to tell me if it’s important or no. There’s a group of men coming into the glen. Some are English soldiers. Some clansmen.”
MacIain took a quick swig from his bottle. “A group? How many, lass?”
Cait shrugged. “A hundred. Maybe more. The line hadn’t ended when I last looked.”
Da turned to the chief. “Do ye think it has something to do with yer Oath of Allegiance to the king?”
MacIain seemed to consider Da’s question. “I don’t see how. I swore the Oath before Campbell himself. I’ve a letter from Hill to prove it.”
He was telling the truth. Cait had heard the story from the gillies who had traveled with MacIain to attend to his needs. According to them, MacIain had given his oath, albeit five days late, in January. He’d made the mistake of heading north to Inverlochy instead of south to Inveraray in a blizzard he’d said was sent by the devil himself. Colonel Hill had written him a letter that he was to present to Campbell of Ardkinglas when he finally arrived in Inveraray, explaining the delay and assuring him that MacIain had only the best intentions of swearing loyalty to King William and Queen Mary. At first, Campbell refused to listen, but then MacIain wept, begging for forgiveness, and Ardkinglas took his oath the next day. Cait knew the story to be true—all except for the weeping. She couldn’t imagine MacIain shedding a tear in front of a Campbell.
Da asked, “Then why do ye think there are English soldiers in Glencoe?”
MacIain swatted the air with indifference, then took another drink. “They’re likely headed to the garrison at Inverlochy. Or Fort William. Whichever ye wish to call it. Either way, I have a feeling we’ll soon find out.”
She had never heard the chief refer to the fort by its new name. Fort William. Could he truly, in his heart, be loyal to King William? MacIain turned to her. “Don’t look so glum, lass. Nothing is going to happen to the MacDonalds while I’m chief.”
She allowed her shoulders to loosen with his reassurance. She left the two men alone and went down to the kitchens to see if there might be a nice, warm bannock to eat.
Her mouth watered as the sweet smell of the bread reached her nose. Lilas, the cook, stood at a long table kneading dough, her brow furrowed in concentration. Caitriona leaned into the warmth of the hearth, her hands outstretched to capture some of its heat, and spied two round loaves next to the cook. “May I take a wee bit of bannock, Lilas?”
“Heavens no, lass. Don’t ye see that they’re broken apart? Ye don’t want to eat those.” Lilas swiped her cheek with her forearm, leaving a streak of flour behind.
“Is that what has yer brow crinkled?” A single broken bannock meant that a stranger would pay a visit. “We can manage to feed a mouth or two. Ye needn’t fash over it.”
Lilas stopped kneading, then yanked Cait over to the end of the table, where a large woven basket sat. The cook jabbed her finger at it twice. “Look at that! Now do ye think I’m simply worried about feeding a stranger or two?”
Inside the basket were at least a dozen bannocks broken into crumbly bits. Cait knew what that meant. Her stomach tightened.
Lilas pounded a lump of dough and a fine cloud of flour floated into the air. “’Tis a sure sign of misfortune, it is. Never saw a clearer one.”
“What has ye so taken, Cait?” her mother asked.
Caitriona didn’t turn to face her. “Have Sionn and Finnean been creating mischief again?”
Her mother joined her at the window, her hair now lightly streaked with silver above her ears. “Stealing cows? Nay. Even yer cousins would agree ‘tis too cold for that.”
“Then what do ye make of the men entering the glen?” Cait asked, her fingers closing over the scar on her left palm, a painful reminder of the last time soldiers arrived in their quiet village.
“Some are Englishmen.” Her mother continued to stare at the landscape. “This is nae about a few missing cows.”
With each passing moment, more soldiers inched their way into Glencoe from the west. As they got closer, their muskets and black pikes became visible. Nay. This had nothing to do with stolen cattle.
Ma’s brow crinkled. “Fetch yer da.”
# # #
Cait scrambled down the stairs and almost fell into the laird’s lug on the landing, its hatch open exposing the entrance to a tunnel. She grabbed the rope nailed to the wall to catch her balance. Torchlight bounced off the rough stone walls below.
“It doesn’t hurt to keep a bottle or two down here. It warms the wame on a cold day such as this.” MacIain’s voice. She’d know it anywhere. It was low and deep as if it arose from a vast cavern. “Slàinte!”
He let out a breathy “Ahhhh” as the torchlight moved closer to the lug’s opening. MacIain’s mane of white hair came into view, the crown of his head almost touching the ceiling. Cait pressed herself against the wall, but it was too late. The clan chieftain of Glencoe must’ve spotted the hem of her gown from below.
“Who’s that up there? Spying, are ye?” he boomed with a slight bit of humour in his voice.
Cait smiled. “Nae spying. I’m simply searching for my da. Is he too deep in his cups to climb that ladder?”
“What makes ye think he’s down here with me?”
“He’s wherever the whisky is and I’m guessing you’ve a pint or two in yer hand this very moment.”
MacIain’s head popped out of the hatch first, his great white beard and moustache covering the majority of his flushed face, his huge form emerging from the lug like a beast from the loch. Then Da appeared, a bottle tucked inside the tartan draped over his shoulder. He climbed out of the hole, then lowered the hatch carefully.
“’Tis one of my beauties!” He held the bottle up and said, “I hope you’ve come for something important. MacIain and I have three pints between us and two hours of daylight left to finish them.”
“You will be the one to tell me if it’s important or no. There’s a group of men coming into the glen. Some are English soldiers. Some clansmen.”
MacIain took a quick swig from his bottle. “A group? How many, lass?”
Cait shrugged. “A hundred. Maybe more. The line hadn’t ended when I last looked.”
Da turned to the chief. “Do ye think it has something to do with yer Oath of Allegiance to the king?”
MacIain seemed to consider Da’s question. “I don’t see how. I swore the Oath before Campbell himself. I’ve a letter from Hill to prove it.”
He was telling the truth. Cait had heard the story from the gillies who had traveled with MacIain to attend to his needs. According to them, MacIain had given his oath, albeit five days late, in January. He’d made the mistake of heading north to Inverlochy instead of south to Inveraray in a blizzard he’d said was sent by the devil himself. Colonel Hill had written him a letter that he was to present to Campbell of Ardkinglas when he finally arrived in Inveraray, explaining the delay and assuring him that MacIain had only the best intentions of swearing loyalty to King William and Queen Mary. At first, Campbell refused to listen, but then MacIain wept, begging for forgiveness, and Ardkinglas took his oath the next day. Cait knew the story to be true—all except for the weeping. She couldn’t imagine MacIain shedding a tear in front of a Campbell.
Da asked, “Then why do ye think there are English soldiers in Glencoe?”
MacIain swatted the air with indifference, then took another drink. “They’re likely headed to the garrison at Inverlochy. Or Fort William. Whichever ye wish to call it. Either way, I have a feeling we’ll soon find out.”
She had never heard the chief refer to the fort by its new name. Fort William. Could he truly, in his heart, be loyal to King William? MacIain turned to her. “Don’t look so glum, lass. Nothing is going to happen to the MacDonalds while I’m chief.”
She allowed her shoulders to loosen with his reassurance. She left the two men alone and went down to the kitchens to see if there might be a nice, warm bannock to eat.
Her mouth watered as the sweet smell of the bread reached her nose. Lilas, the cook, stood at a long table kneading dough, her brow furrowed in concentration. Caitriona leaned into the warmth of the hearth, her hands outstretched to capture some of its heat, and spied two round loaves next to the cook. “May I take a wee bit of bannock, Lilas?”
“Heavens no, lass. Don’t ye see that they’re broken apart? Ye don’t want to eat those.” Lilas swiped her cheek with her forearm, leaving a streak of flour behind.
“Is that what has yer brow crinkled?” A single broken bannock meant that a stranger would pay a visit. “We can manage to feed a mouth or two. Ye needn’t fash over it.”
Lilas stopped kneading, then yanked Cait over to the end of the table, where a large woven basket sat. The cook jabbed her finger at it twice. “Look at that! Now do ye think I’m simply worried about feeding a stranger or two?”
Inside the basket were at least a dozen bannocks broken into crumbly bits. Cait knew what that meant. Her stomach tightened.
Lilas pounded a lump of dough and a fine cloud of flour floated into the air. “’Tis a sure sign of misfortune, it is. Never saw a clearer one.”
