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ChapterOne
“Run!”a woman yells.
Children scream and a baby is crying. The fog is thick, so thick I can barely see my hand in front of my face. People are running past, jostling each other and me. Clothing rasps as feet drag through grass and belongings clink. My foot comes down on soft, slick ground and slips. I fall with a yelp, barely managing to get my arms up to protect my head.
Dozens of people rush past, stepping over or on me. A rough pair of hands grabs my arms and jerks me to my feet.
“Ach, come on, lass,” a deep voice says. “No time to be lying about.”
As if on some cue from the universe there is a loud crack. The man saving me comes into focus right as his eyes widen as a red spot blossoms across his chest. He looks down, shakes his head, then looks up and his mouth moves without sound.
“Run,” he whispers, then he drops.
My heart lurches painfully and my mouth is dry. The baying of dogs intersperses with the firing of more shots as new shouts fill the air. Fear is like a feather teasing my nerves. Muscles spasm as adrenaline hits. I turn and run without any direction in mind, only a primal instinct to find safety.
“Here! Here! I’ve got their scent,” someone yells over the baying hounds. “Run, MacGregors. You’ll find no respite. The devil will be feasting on your souls tonight, you heathens.”
Two women, one of them with a child bound in a cloth to her chest, emerge from the thick fog that lies across the hills. They’re struggling with the climb. I stop and offer help. I don’t recognize them from the clan I was with, but it’s clear they’re also MacGregors and the stricken looks on their faces stab me in my heart.
“What is happening?” I ask.
“Run, lass,” the one with the child says. “We need to get higher into the Highlands. They won’t find us there. Count our blessings for this fog.”
“Who are they?”
“Campbells, Bruces, a dozen other clans,” the other woman says. “Are you daft? They’re all after us.”
The baying of dogs is closer, and more shots fire in a rapid volley of cracks as a bullet whistles over our heads.
“Hurry, the menfolk will hold them back as long as they can. We need to get to the caves.”
They grab my hand and we pull each other along without another word. As we climb, I catch glimpses of dozens of others. Everyone is carrying what they can on their backs. Women, children, and elderly folks are helping one another to retreat.
“Do you know Duncan MacGregor?” I ask, huffing and muscles burning with strain of climbing the hills.
“I know a few Duncans,” one of them says breathless. “Though most of them are dead.”
Tears build in the corners of my eyes but there’s no time for grief. The woman with child stumbles and I catch her before she falls. The dirt on her face has trails through it where she too has been overcome with grief but now her eyes are red and dry. She nods thanks, breathing too heavily for words, and resumes climbing. I can’t miss that the babe suckling on her breast is oddly calm, content to feed and bask in the warmth of its mother. It’s such a strange juxtaposition from the insanity I returned to.
Dogs bay too close for comfort. The purging of the MacGregor name has begun. I have made it back but not before the battles. Duncan is here. Somewhere. I’m sure he’s alive, he must be, or I’d feel it. I’m certain I’d know if he was gone, somehow, feel it in my heart or soul or something.
Every fiber of my being wants to keep looking for him, but it won’t matter where he is if I don’t survive myself. Survive, then I’ll find him, and I will save him.
I reach for magic and energy crackles in my core. The fog thickens around us until the women on either side are little more than shapes. The firing of guns stops and is replaced by distant cursing.
“Ach, thank tha Fae and tha Mother,” the childless woman says, her voice muffled by the thick fog.
“Blasphemy,” the mother says.
“Those are Christians back there killing our family,” she says. “I’ll put my trust in tha old ways, thank you very much.”
“Hush, before you get us killed,” the first woman says.
Reaching out, I take each woman’s hand in mine and squeeze. I don’t have the lung capacity for speech because it’s taking all my air to keep moving up. The sounds of pursuit fade and still we work our way up. The mist is so thick that the hands in mine are the only connection between us, an anchor that keeps me here, in this time and place.
As we climb higher the fog thins and the climb lessens until it’s more or less level land. Mountains rise to either side, limiting the view. The cliff walls are rough but unscalable without the aid of ropes and equipment. When I glance back the mist below us is a roiling wall of gray white. I don’t know how far up we are or where we’re heading.
“Ach, I need a rest,” the mother says even as her baby cries and wrestles against the binding sash holding it on her chest.
