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PROLOGUE
“Quick!” Moira Crawford grabbed her son from the middle of the dusty street where he had been playing with his friends and hurried him into their cottage, shouting: “Lads! There are robbers comin’! Hide!”
Finn followed her, and Moira glanced behind her to make sure that the other boys had obeyed her orders, but they were gone.Thank God,she thought. Now all they had to do was survive, but that might be easier said than done.
She bolted the door behind her, shoved Finn under the table, and made him curl up as small as he possibly could so that he would hopefully be overlooked should anyone manage to come in. It was a small hope, but Moira would give her life for her son without a second thought. She was willing to give herself to the robbers to do as they pleased with her if only they would spare his life. So she waited, put her arms around her son, pulled him into a tight, protective embrace, and prayed harder than she ever had in her life.
Finn was terrified. Dundarroch, the tiny village he had lived in all his life, was being torn down around him and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He heard the crash of clay vessels shattering on the straw-covered ground, the terrified screams of women, and the coarse voices of men laughing and swearing, shouting the kinds of words his mother had always forbidden him to say. The ground was shaking with the hoofbeats of dozens of heavy horses, and their neighing and snorting filled the air and hurt his ears.
He was shaking with terror and clinging to his mother, who had draped her skirts over him to try to hide him. He could feel that she was shaking with fear too.
“Ye must be very quiet, Finn,” she whispered as she clung to him with strong arms that were muscular from years of doing the village’s laundry, which was how she earned their money. “These men can only hurt us if they find us.”
Finn nodded and looked up at her with eyes that were full of tears of pure fear. He had only ever had his mother to protect him, and he had faith that she would pull him through this latest trial as she had all the others.
Moira and Finn had been through many terrifying experiences in their lives. He remembered the day when she had finally thrown her drunken, abusive husband out of their home. Finn had been terrified, but his mother had protected him as she always had and always would, and at the end of the frightening experience, he realized that his mother was not only strong in body but in mind. She was his rock.
Now she pushed him behind her, and he sat in her shadow, the warmth of her body seeping into him. His heart was beating so fast he was sure that it would leap out of his chest, and he was trying to gulp down the fear that was overwhelming him. He wanted to run, but he knew a seven-year-old boy would not manage to flee far in the mêlée outside.
“I am so scared, Mammy,” he whispered. “Will they kill us?”
Moira was terrified too, but the worst thing she could do was tell her son since it would make him feel even worse. “They will go away soon, Son,” she whispered, wishing she could make them both disappear to somewhere safer.
Finn was trembling uncontrollably and tried to make himself even smaller.
Moira kissed his head. She had provided for him, fed him, and sheltered him for a long time, even when she herself had to do without. She loved Finn more than her own life, but this time she felt as if it was beyond her power. She screwed her eyes shut and winced as they heard the noise of heavy footsteps approaching the door. There was a series of loud bangs and a stream of curses.
“This bloody door will no’ open!” an irritated male voice shouted from outside. He banged again and again so that the stout wooden door shuddered on its hinges. “Ye in there! Let us in! This is yer last chance. There will be hell tae pay if ye dinnae!”
Moira cursed herself for her stupidity. If she had left the door unlocked, the robbers might have simply come in and taken whatever they wanted (there was not much) and left. Now, however, they thought there was something worth hiding in the cottage.
She turned to her son. “Finn, stay here. No matter what ye hear, don’t move. Promise me, Son.”
Finn nodded. “I promise,” he said, his voice trembling. “Where are ye goin’, Mammy?”
“Tae help us,” she answered, smiling through the tears that had begun to rain down her face. “I love ye, Finn.”
“I love ye too, Mammy.” He wanted to hug her, but she gently pushed him back under the table, then walked to the door and opened it. A second later he heard it crashing against the wall and heard his mother talking to two men. They were growling at her angrily, but her voice was low and calm as if she were trying to pacify them, and a moment later, he heard her being led away. That was the moment when his heart broke, for he knew he was never going to see her again.
* * *
Finn stayed curled under the table as long as he could while the men ransacked their little cottage. They found nothing of any value, however, nothing they could sell or barter, merely the little trinkets and toys that were only important to Finn and Moira.
Finn let out a sob, and there was immediate silence in the room. Finn froze, then clutched at the wooden sword he had been playing with before the bandits came.
“Come out an’ we will no’ hurt ye!” The voice was deep and commanding, and it struck even more fear into Finn’s heart. Realizing that they were going to find him anyway, Finn uncurled himself and stood up. He was cramped and sore from crouching, but he squared his shoulders, put on his fiercest frown, and held up his sword.
The man facing him was in his middle years, tall and dark with a deep scar running down his left cheekbone. He laughed when he saw the little sword and batted it out of Finn’s hand without even blinking.
Finn shrank back and said in a trembling voice, “Where is my Mammy?”
The man crouched down beside him. “Your mammy is wi’ the other ladies, quite safe, wee man.”
Finn saw a little toy horse that the village carpenter had made for his birthday in one of the men’s hands. He gazed at it longingly, and the big man who seemed to be in charge reached out and took it from the other one, then gave it to Finn, who clutched it to his chest and closed his eyes. At least he had something of his own now, something familiar to hold on to.
“Are ye goin’ tae kill me?” he asked dully. He was resigned to his fate; any minute now he knew that one of these big men would do something awful to end his life, probably stab him in the heart or chop his head off.
The big man laughed. “No, wee man,” he said kindly. “But I like the look o’ ye, an’ ye look as if ye have a bit o’ fight in ye, so ye are comin’ wi’ me an’ my lads. What is yer name?”
