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  His hand moved to pick up the flask and he gulped several large mouthfuls of its contents. I could smell the musty fumes of the liquid as he sighed, allowing the mixture to slide comfortingly down the back of his throat. Removing his jacket, he draped it over my shoulders. “You must be cold,” he muttered, more to himself than me, and once more offered me the flask. This time I took it.

  “Who are you?” I inquired, unable to hide the fear in my voice.

  “Simon Campbell,” he replied, apologetically.

  “Aye, I see you are a Campbell of Glenlyon,” I said. “But why are you helping me?” my tone was cynical and accusing, “or is this more Campbell trickery?”

  “This is no trickery, I mean you no harm”, he whispered softy, “I’ll tell you, lass, we had our orders, from the King of England himself, they were. ‘To fall on the MacDonalds of Glencoe, and put all under seventy to the sword.’ I have no stomach for such work,” he sighed, and met my eyes. “So I broke my sword and fouled my rifle and now, like you, I hide like a scared rabbit in a hole.” He rose to his feet. “I did my best to warn folk what we were about and told them that the Southern passes were not guarded.” He stood for some moments, his face turned slightly from mine but the shadows did not hide the horror behind his dark eyes. “I am a violent man, and have killed many times in war but I have never before witnessed butchery such as that.” I watched him, speechless, an uneasy knot tightening in the pit of my stomach. In spite of his people’s betrayal I felt the simple human need to comfort him.

  “You seem an honorable man, Mr. Campbell, and I am sure you have not killed a man other than in honorable battle.” Deliberately, he turned to face me, his eyes surveying mine quizzically. I met his gaze, sensing the agony in his soul. He must have recognized the same uneasy pain in my eyes because he reached his hand out to touch me and then stopped, as if checking himself and withdrew awkwardly.

  “We share the same pain, but in how we came by it, I have more choice than you,” he said simply.

  “Do you think, Mr. Campbell that because you have chosen your path that it will be any easier than mine?” He gave a throaty grunt and shook his head.

  “No, lass, it probably will not.” The shadow of a frown creased his brow, his wide jaw tensed and the regular beat of the pulse at the side of his neck quickened. He had probably lost as much as I in this valley. Self-consciously, I realized that I was staring at him and dropped my eyes to gaze unseeing at the ground. We were silent for a long period, during which Mr. Campbell consumed several large sips of the amber liquid in the flask. Finally, drawing a long sigh, he broke the silence. “You must be hungry?” he said, turning to pick up a cloth sack from which he removed a loaf of dry bread. I had not thought about food or the need for it since fleeing the valley the morning of the massacre and the mention of it now made my stomach churn with hunger. I nodded fervently, as he broke small chunks off the bread, and handed them to me. I accepted the offer gratefully, ravenously consuming the dry crusty bread as if it were the finest cuts of our precious cattle. “Tell me, lass, what should I call you?”

  “I am Corran.”

  “Well then, wee Corran,” he responded, lifting the flask in an exaggerated toast. “I am very pleased to know you,” he said, allowing the briefest hint of humor to cross his lips.

  “And I you, Mr. Campbell,” I replied shyly.

  “A toast,” he said softly, “to the future.”

  “What will you do now?” I asked.

  “Well, I cannot go back to my home, and I won’t be going back to the army, that is unless I have a fancy to be hanged for desertion or treason,” he paused briefly, taking another sip of the whisky. “But more than that, I am not sure of yet.”

  I was starting to feel drowsy. The bread had filled my stomach and the whisky was doing its job well. Dusk was drawing in and the night mist hung heavily in the crevice. I pulled the red coat higher and tighter around me in an effort to keep out the damp evening air.

  “Are you tired Corran?” he asked gently.

  “Aye, Mr. Campbell, I am,” I replied, yawning widely.

  “Why not rest a wee while then? You will be safe enough here for now.” His tone was warm, gentle and reassuring but terror still clung to my soul.

  “Are you sure we will be safe here?” I tried to hold my voice steady, hoping not to betray my fear but exhaustion and whisky had robbed me of the control I sought.

  “Aye, it’ll do nicely. No one will find us here, if you stay still and quiet that is,” he said.

  Later, I awoke to the comfort and warmth of his body. We were sitting, backs to the hard rock face of the cave. Huddled together, like two old friends, my head resting gently on his shoulder, his coat, draped, like a blanket over my knees. I lifted my head, slowly, trying not to wake him. He felt me shift and instinctively his eyes sprang open, his hand darted for his dirk.

  “Shh, shh, it’s alright, Mr. Campbell,” I whispered soothingly.

  “Sorry, lass, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he replied, returning his dirk to its sheath. He stood up, running his hands through his long, thick, curly, black hair. I smiled at his unsuccessful attempt to neaten his hair, thinking with amusement that it would probably take a lot more than a quick rub with his hands to tame the wild mop on top of his head.

  “Did you sleep well, Mr. Campbell?” I inquired, averting my eyes and trying to hide the amusement in my voice.

  “Oh aye, that I did,” he said, his eyes lingering on the blood stains that crusted my shift. “Perhaps,” he said, gently touching my blood and mud-stained cheek, “we could both use a stream of water to tidy ourselves a bit.”

  We made our way deeper into the woods. It was a still, clear morning and the warmth of the sun was a welcome gift. The snow glistened and crunched beneath our feet like a bed of shattered crystals and tiny drops of water fell from the long, clear icicles that hung from the trees.

  It didn’t take us long to find a stream of water. There were several inches of ice and snow to clear from the top of the stream before the running water was exposed. Mr. Campbell removed his dirk from his belt and stabbed purposefully at the cap of ice, chiseling a hole in its surface large enough to fit his hands through. He plunged his fists through the gap, filling his hands with icy water, and then splashed it liberally over his head. Dripping wet, he shook his head fiercely. His long, black curls swung wildly as the ice cold water sprayed off his hair. Cautiously, I dipped one hand into the exposed stream and let out a whimpered wail of shock as the ice cold water engulfed my hand. A small pool of crystal clear water lay in my palm and I looked down at it tentatively. I raised my hand and splashed the water onto my face. My cheeks stung like fire as the water hit me. I turned to see him watching me. His face held a slight frown as he raised his hand to his head, rubbing it roughly through the mass of long wet curls.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. He shook his head slowly and the curls of his long black hair swung freely around his face.

  “Nothing, nothing at all, now, do you feel better?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “Yes Mr. Campbell, thank you,” I replied, rubbing my hands together in an attempt to warm them.

  “Shall we go?” he asked, taking my hand and tucking it under his arm for warmth.

  The top of my head barely reached the wide expanse of his broad shoulders, as I stood dwarfed beside him.

  “Aye, I suppose we should,” I responded reluctantly.

  “I must go back into the village, lass; there are things I need to do there. Do you want to come with me, or would you prefer me to take you back to the crevice? It won’t be an easy thing for you to go back, I know.”

  “No, Mr. Campbell, I want to go back, I too have things I must do there. Do you think it is safe?” I asked.

  “Aye, I dare say it will be, I don’t expect to find the army still there, but we ought to be careful nonetheless.”

  “What makes you think they will be gone Mr. Campbell?”

  “Well I d
on’t know for sure, but I do know that they brought their empty wagons into the glen and when they left the wagons were full. They have taken the cattle already, so there is no other business for them here.”

  We headed back toward the path to the village, cautiously and acutely aware of every unfamiliar sound. We were silent for much of the journey, the only sound to be heard being that of the ravens as they squawked ominously over the bloodied bodies of the dead.

  “I need to find my grandmother and see her buried,” I blurted, conscious of the erratic nature and high pitch of my voice.

  He nodded. “Aye, lass, that you must do.”

  I stumbled down the track, coming ever closer to the place of my birth. The bile rose inside me, burning my throat, just as the smoke had done that morning. I could see the blackened remains of my home and felt myself running frantically toward it, crying out for my grandmother as I did. The roof had collapsed, making it almost impossible to identify individual objects amongst the charred remnants. Sobbing hysterically, my knees buckled and I fell to the ground.

  “Christ!” he muttered in exclamation. “May the Lord have mercy on us all.” A shiver passed through him as he glanced once more over the derelict ruins of the cottage, his eyes surveying the filthy mess of slaughter. He filled his lungs with a quick, deep breath and rubbed his hands roughly through his hair, he watched as the grief tore deeper through my consciousness.

  I felt his arms around me, dragging me away. I fought wildly with him, flaying my arms frantically; my body shook violently as he lowered me onto the cool ground outside the cottage. He bent down in front of me, his large frame blocking my view of the ruins. His powerful arms were around me, his strong hands on my back. Holding me tightly to his chest he soothingly rocked me like a frightened child.

  “It’s alright, lass. I will see her bones buried this day,” he whispered softly, “but now it’s time to go.” He took hold of my trembling hands and helped me to my feet. Blindly, I let him guide me away and back into the woods. He took me to the cave, handed me his flask and suggested that I consume a large quantity of its content. Tossing me his jacket, he turned and left. I took his advice and it was not long before the flask almost was empty. Very soon, consumed by grief, exhaustion took hold.

  When I awoke, it was to find him watching me. He rubbed his forehead as if to shift a headache.

  “It is done. Your grandmother is buried,” he said, rubbing his dirt-stained hands roughly together.

  “Thank you Mr. Campbell, I am most grateful for your kindness,” I said, massaging my throbbing temple. “How long have I been asleep?”

  “A while,” he said kindly.

  I noticed he had changed his clothes and was now wearing a belted plaid, a long white cotton shirt and trousers. I also noticed on the floor, by some bags, a flintlock pistol that I had not seen before.

  “You have changed Mr. Campbell?” I remarked, hoping my voice didn’t sound accusing.

  “Aye, that I have,” he shrugged; aware that I had guessed where the clothes and pistol had come from.

  “I don’t blame you Mr. Campbell,” I whispered.

  “I know you don’t, but even if you did, it wouldn’t change things,” he paused, inhaling slowly a steady long breath. “You know we cannot stay here in the glen?”

  I looked up at him, a frown deepening on my forehead as I did. “I know that well enough Mr. Campbell but I have no idea where I should go or what I should do. Have you a plan for yourself?” I asked flatly.

  “That I do,” he replied simply.

  A dark shadow had crossed his face and the danger in his future was clearly marked in his features. Sighing deeply he continued, “I have nothing to offer you, but if you wish to come with me I would welcome your company.”

  “You would have me with you?”

  “Aye, lass, but there are dangers in following me, not least of which is the fact that I am a wanted man, on the run from the King of England’s army.” His lips thinned and the muscles of his wide jaw twitched as his body tensed. “The Red Coats won’t give up their hunt for me, and if they find me they will show neither of us any mercy.” His eyes met mine showing a strength far greater than my own, and I had no doubt that I would follow this man.

  “They are risks I will have to take,” I replied simply, straightening my shoulders. He rubbed his forehead thoughtfully.

  “If that is what you wish, then you can come with me.” He was still looking down at me, one corner of his mouth curling slightly upwards. “Just one thing lass?” he asked.

  “Aye, Mr. Campbell, what would that be?” I replied seriously.

  He cleared his throat gruffly before responding. “Could you please stop calling me ‘Mr. Campbell’?”

  The tension lifted as he beamed down at me, a twinkle of playful humor darting across his eyes. I returned his smile, feeling a hint of life return to my body as I enjoyed the simple pleasure of a shared smile. He raised the flask of whisky to his mouth and drank hard. “Have we a deal then?” he teased.

  “I should think we have... Simon,” I replied, using his name for the first time.

  “I have something for you,” he said, turning to pick up a bundle of cloth. I took it from him, noticing as I did that it consisted of a plaid, an ankle length dress, stockings and a pair of boots. “Tonight, I mean to light us a warming fire and cook us this wee scoundrel,” he boasted proudly, displaying the carcass of a small hare. “You put those clean clothes on and I will fetch us some twigs for a fire.”

  ******

  CHAPTER 3

  The fire had burned down to embers, emitting little more than a gentle glow. It had done its work in the night and the crevice was warm when I woke. I moved to straighten my legs, debating whether to get up and risk waking Simon. I looked across at him; at his long black hair draped across his cheek, the slow rhythmic rise and fall of his broad chest, the wide bulk and length of his thigh muscles, strong and taut even in sleep. A blush rose in my cheeks and I lowered my eyes to the ground, biting my bottom lip in reproach.

  “Sleep well lass?” his deep, husky voice inquired. My eyes swung up to him. He had raised himself up on one elbow and was resting his head in his hand, his eyebrows cocked quizzically.

  “Oh! I thought you were asleep,” I said guiltily.

  “I know,” he replied.

  “How long have you been awake?” I questioned.

  “Long enough,” he said simply.

  “Oh,” I whispered my voice thick with embarrassment.

  Pulling himself up from the floor, he adjusted his expression to one of solemn purpose. “We have far to go today Corran and it won’t be an easy journey.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “We will head east.”

  “Why east?”

  “You ask a lot of questions,” he replied, impatiently pushing his hands into his pockets.

  “They are fair questions,” I snapped defensively.

  “Aye, that they are,” he said, nodding agreeably. “However, just because they may be fair doesn’t mean I have to answer them,” he replied sharply.

  “If I am to travel with you, Simon, then you owe me an insight into your plans.”

  His jaw tightened in fury. “I will tell you this once, and only once,” he growled, his voice dangerously low. “I don’t owe you or anyone else anything. I am going east and, yes, I have a plan for when I get there but I am not of a mind to share that plan with you just now. When the time comes, and I want you to know what I am planning, I promise you will be the first one to know.” He paused, rubbing his hands through his mop of long curls in frustration.

  “Well who else were you thinking of telling? I can’t see anyone else around,” I interrupted, seeking his eyes and holding their look. They burned fiercely down into mine.

  “You can either choose to trust me or not. That choice lies entirely with you and in it I will not attempt to sway you,” he finished, turning his back on me and plucking his coat from the fl
oor.

  “Now are you coming or not?” he barked.

  I roughly dusted off my plaid and wrapped it around my shoulders, fastening it just above my breasts with the brooch I had found in the bundle of clothes. He was clearly a man who liked to do things his way, and I wondered briefly how he had ever managed in the army. Unfortunately, I was not used to being told what to do either.

  “You know that this has nothing to do with whether I trust you or not,” I snapped, “I simply want to know what plans you have.” Meeting his eyes to assess his reaction, I realized that I had pushed the point too far.

  “You will know when I am ready for you to know what my plans are,” he broke off, taking a deep breath of frustration. “And unless you wish for me to tan your pretty little backside right here and now, I would strongly suggest that you drop the matter,” he boomed, grabbing the leather bag and swinging it forcibly over his shoulder. “Now get your things Corran, we are going.”

  The day was bright and warm, the sun melting the ice and snow around us as we left the crevice and headed away from the glen toward the boggy moorland of Rannoch Moor. I felt strangely daunted by the thought of treading new ground. Simon, however, did not seem to share my feelings and guided us as confidently as if he were treading his home track. He took us further and further into the wild rocky moorland. We followed the shores of shining lochs, their edges partially frozen.

  We stopped around mid-afternoon by a magnificent waterfall. Breathless, we stood and watched the water as it hurtled over the rocks, an endless cascade pounding its way down the stone. We stood watching in respectful silence for some time, drawing joy from the sheer beauty of it. A single high-pitched wail drew my eyes toward the center of a loch where a Black-throated diver plunged head first into the water. It disappeared from sight leaving only the circles of rippled water to betray its presence.