Clan: Season 3: Episode 1 - Calum's Country

by Leigh Barker

Angus found Calum and John in the stables behind Moy Hall. John was at the forge, hammering out new shoes for the thoroughbreds hitched in front of their stalls. Four left, from fifteen when the rebellion had begun. Some lost to the fighting, some stolen, and the remainder sold to help support the clan in these desperate times. Before Calum and John returned with a chest full of gold. One day he would ask where it came from.

  Donald Fraser, Moy’s blacksmith and the hero who routed Lord Loudoun’s men, was leaning back against the stable wall and admiring a craftsman at work. And taking a rest.

  Calum was sitting on a hay bale, watching his friend working, but stood up quickly the moment he saw Angus approaching. Trouble.

  “A new plague has arrived to torment us.”

  John put down his hammer. “The English?”

  “Aye, more of them.” Angus took a long breath. “Worse.”

  “What can be worse than the English?” John said.

  “Young Jamie is back from Inverness,” Angus said. “He saw a ship filled with men arrive at the port. Though they wear redcoats, these are not soldiers, they are the sweepings off the streets of London. Men here for one reason.”

  “To steal what has not already been stolen,” Calum said.

  Jamie came down the stone steps and ran across the yard to the stables. “Uncle Calum.” He pointed more or less north. “The English are taking all the cattle from the farms. We have to do something.”

  Calum stepped closer and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You did a good thing today, Jamie. Now leave it to John and me. We’ll go and look at these city sweepings.”

  Angus stifled a snort. “This I’ve got to see.”

  Calum shook his head. “You can’t be involved.”

  “I think I can.”

  “You’re an officer in the Black Watch. If you’re seen interfering with the English army carrying out their orders, then that will be treason. You’ll hang.” He raised a hand before Angus could say what he was always going to say. “Aye, Angus, but what about Anne?”

  Angus looked back towards the house, where Anne was standing with Magdalene and John’s two daughters. Magdalene was supporting her stomach.

  “And your new bairn, John? What about him?”

  “When he decides to come into the world, Alec will be in good hands.” He waited for Angus to turn to face him. “In yours.”

  Angus was silent for a moment, then nodded once. “Be careful, I don’t want to have to face Magdalene if you get yourself killed.”

  “Aye, that’s something I’d like to avoid.”

  “And what about me?” Calum said.

  “Nobody will mourn your passing,” Angus said, then smiled at John. “Always said he’d come to a violent end. Didn’t I say?”

  “Aye, and you’re right,” John said, and walked past Calum towards the horses.

  “John,” Calum said, then nodded towards his friend’s broadsword leaning against the wall next to the anvil, “I’m thinking you’ll m’be need that.”

  “Wait,” Angus said as they rode past him on his fine horses. He handed Calum a folded paper. “That’s your signed enlistment papers. You are now a lieutenant in the Black Watch, as is John.”

  John grinned. “Never been an officer before. Is the pay good?”

  “No pay,” Angus said as he waved them away. “But that paper will save you from prison when you run into another English patrol.”

  Calum nodded his thanks, pushed the paper into his tunic pocket and followed John out of the yard and onto the Inverness Road.

  John was still grumbling about being in the army and not being paid when they reached the long hill leading down into Inverness. They stopped and looked out at the mist rolling in off Moray Firth. Off to their right and out of sight was Culloden and Drummossie Moore, where Scotland had died, killed by the politics of the Bonnie Prince and the German king of England.

  He pulled himself back from the chasm of misery opening up before him and turned to John, expecting to see the same, but he was up in his saddle and looking intently off to the left.

  “What d’ya see?”

  John shook his head once. “Nothing, but I hear trouble. D’ya think we should—”

  Calum rode past him off the road and up through the trees stretching up to the top of the long slope. John grunted and followed him.

  It was going to be a stupid question anyway.

  What John had heard became clearer as they topped the rise. Whooping and shouting. In English. And there, a scream, long and wavering.

  Calum pushed his horse to a gallop along the narrow lane winding out into the rough fields. A minute later he saw the cottage and an old barn leaning away from the wind.

  And the English.

  It looked like the same redcoats they’d met on the road, but now they were in front of the cottage, two on horseback and the rest chasing a few cows out of a fenced field.

  Calum didn’t slow down and rode into the yard as if he was supposed to be there. Two men were on horseback, showing they were in command. The smart young lieutenant and a sergeant who looked like he made his living with his fists.

  There was a man on his hands and knees in front of the cottage, and he looked up with dark eyes drawn tight by pain and fear. Calum looked past him at the woman two of the redcoats were pushing back and forth between them.

  Calum looked the lieutenant over slowly from toe to head, then shook his head. “These are yours?” He nodded towards the men.

  The lieutenant bristled and sat upright. “These fine men are soldiers of the king. What business is it of yours?” He frowned. “Have we met?”

  Calum ignored the question. “Does the king send his soldiers to rob poor farmers and their wives?”

  The lieutenant gritted his teeth. “This scum rebelled against the king. They deserve to pay.”

  Calum laughed out loud and the lieutenant jumped as if he’d been slapped. “These people?” Calum pointed again at the farmer now up onto his knees. “This wee man and his woman rebelled against the mighty king of England?”

  “Yeah,” the sergeant said, his accent thick and northern. “This scum and scum like them.” He smiled, but it was twisted by his battered mouth. “Them and wild Irish like them.” He leaned forward in his saddle. “And I’m guessin’ you was fighting with the Rebels, or my name’s not Heth Arkwright.”

  “Then you’d better think of a new name… Hetharkwright,” Calum said all in one, the way Heth had. “I was nay there, nor was my big friend here. We were in America, seeking our fortune.”

  It worried John just a little that his friend could lie so easily and so convincingly. He put the thought aside to revisit at a later time, most likely in a tavern somewhere. He got off his horse.

  The sergeant glared at him. “Where do you fink you’re goin’, big man?”

  John handed his reins to Calum and pointed up at the sergeant. “I thought I might teach you a lesson in manners. Looks like you’re in need of one.”

  The sergeant raised his eyebrows. “If you’re wantin’ to die, then I’m here to oblige you.”

  John glanced back up at Calum and switched his eyes towards the men coming out with the cattle, and got an almost imperceptible nod in response.

  “How do you want to kill me?” John said, pulling off his tunic. “With your pistol? Or are you man enough to try with these?” He raised his fists.

  The sergeant stepped down from his horse, handed his pistol to the lieutenant as if he were his boy, and stepped forward with his hand extended.

  John had seen this trick before, used it a couple of times when his ale was on the bar and at risk. He rapped Heth’s hand with his fingers, as near as he was going to get to a handshake.

  The sergeant growled and stepped back, surprised his ruse hadn’t worked. He put his hand in the pocket of his redcoat and turned away a little.

  “Right hand,” Calum said quietly.

  John glanced at Heth’s hand and saw the crude metal knuckles he’d
slipped on in his pocket. “Made it himself by the look of it,” he said, and shook his head. “Not a blacksmith, ya can see that much.”

  Heth raised his hand and looked at the uneven and pocked lead rings running across his fingers. It looked perfect to him, and it should do, he’d paid good money to have it made from musket balls by that little weasel who did the cooking.

  John was getting bored and wasn’t a fan of fist-fighters who used concealed weapons, not in the spirit of the contest. He stepped forward and hit Heth in the face while he was still examining his knuckleduster. Not very sporting, but under the circumstances. John hit him again as he staggered backwards, and sat him down hard.

  “You take that off,” John said, pointing at the knuckles, “and I’ll not beat you like a bairn in front of your men.”

  Heth slid away backwards, turned and started to get up, but fell down again when John tapped his arm away with his boot. He looked up and saw the big Scotsman shaking his head and pointing at the knuckles. He didn’t want to take them off. They were handy in a fight, but he was in the dirt and the big man was on his feet. It wasn’t a choice. He took the knuckles off and put them back in his pocket.

  John waved him up. “Good laddie. Now we can get this over with. Won’t take but a minute.”

  “This time I’ll be looking at you, Scotchman. It won’t be so easy.”

  The rest of the redcoats left the cattle and the woman and formed a half-circle around the two big men, and the shouts of encouragement and jeering began. Everything was as it should be.

  The young lieutenant moved his horse closer, passing Calum without a glance. Calum leaned on his saddle as if he’d got all the time in the world, stretched and relaxed enough to put his hand on the butt of his pistol in his belt. He only had one shot, but knew where that would go. The lieutenant wouldn’t have to think about his career any more.

  Heth hunched his shoulders and raised his fists almost to his chin, then bent forward a little and moved towards John on the balls of his feet.

  John knew one thing without doubt, this man could fight and had fought many times. It wasn’t going to be the few minutes he’d pretended it would. He needed to do something to throw the man off his game.

  He pointed at him and laughed.

  Heth stopped dead, his mouth opened in surprise, and his fists dropped to his stomach.

  John took a fast step forward and slammed a straight right square on his broken nose, spun to his left and followed it with a crashing left hook to his chin.

  Heth stumbled sideways, his arms windmilling as he struggled not to go down. Then the moment was past and he growled low and deep like a timber wolf having a bad day. His hands moved back up under his chin and he shuffled forward again, his eyes no more than slits in his battered face.

  John watched him steadily, relaxed and smiling just enough to get to the man. He wished he felt as confident as he hoped he looked. So far he’d been lucky and had got in the first shots, but that phase was over. He wouldn’t fall for any more diversions.

  Heth skipped forward faster than he should’ve been able to and threw a long jab that just kept coming until it cracked into John’s lips and snapped his head back.

  There was a left hook coming, John didn’t need to see it to know. He weaved low and to his right and felt the punch pass over his shoulder and brush his head. He slammed a looping right into Heth’s ribs and followed it with a left hook of his own that found the side of Heth’s face as he tried to suck air into his suddenly deflated lungs.

  John glanced over his opponent’s shoulder as he tried to back away and saw Calum slide quietly off his horse and stroll casually towards the cottage. He’d need a few minutes, so the right-left-right combination he was about to loose would have to wait a while.

  Heth was clear now, but panting and gasping for breath, he wanted to swear, everybody knew that, but needed the air for staying awake. That he was still on his feet said a lot for his stamina and courage, or m’be he was too stupid to know when he was losing. Either way, he was determined to share the hurt and humiliation. He lowered his head and charged.

  John let out a sharp grunt of surprise. It was an amateur’s move. Foolish beyond words. Against a wild charge like that, all he had to do was—

  He waited until the last moment, then just stepped to his left, reached forward and pushed Heth’s head down to his knees.

  Heth’s momentum did the rest. His head hit the dirt while his legs were still pushing and he rolled forward like a bad rider coming off a horse.

  Calum put his finger to his lips and waved the woman over next to her man. He pushed them gently into the house and stepped in behind them. “Is there another door?”

  The man shook his head, then nodded. “Aye, a window. At the back.”

  “Go out that way, now.”

  “I’ll not leave my home and my cattle to these—”

  “They’ll kill you just for the fun of it.” Calum pointed at the woman. “And your wife?”

  That was all they needed. A moment later they were climbing out of the small window and into the fields, and Calum stepped back into the doorway in time to see the young lieutenant draw his pistol.

  “Englishman,” Calum said softly.

  The lieutenant turned his head and frowned at him. Until Calum pointed his pistol at him and shook his head.

  “D’ya not want to see your fine sergeant teaching the barbarian some manners?”

  Obviously not.

  The lieutenant started to bring his pistol around.

  “Now if you do that, son,” Calum said, still in the same soft voice, “you’ll just upset your mother.”

  The lieutenant stopped and his frown deepened.

  “When she puts you in the ground and says a prayer over your corpse.”

  The lieutenant looked from Calum to his pistol as he thought about it, working out how fast he could move. He wouldn’t make it.

  “Let’s watch your sergeant doing his teaching,” Calum said, and twitched his pistol towards Heth, who was now getting to his feet for the third time in as many minutes.

  The lieutenant squinted at Calum, but put his pistol back in his belt.

  John saw Calum’s play with the officer and knew he could put the poor sergeant out of his misery. He waited for him to get up and pull himself together.

  He’d fall back on the techniques that had worked in the past. Safety in familiarity.

  John switched to leading with his right, just to confuse the man. And saw he’d put the knuckles back on his right hand. A shot of anger ran through him. He was going to hit the man on the edge of his chin and get it over with cleanly and with a good chance of him being able to walk tomorrow, but now…

  Heth didn’t shuffle this time; he felt he didn’t need to, he was armed. He was going to make this big man bleed before he beat him to death. He walked forward as if going for a stroll, with no pretense of defence, took a half-step and lunged, his right hand coming around horizontally in a wide haymaker that was going to poleaxe the man.

  John let it come, then leant back and watched it fly past his face. He caught Heth’s passing elbow with his left hand and turned him, then dipped and sank a crunching right up into his exposed ribs. Something cracked like wet wood, but he followed the uppercut with another one as devastating as the first.

  This time Heth didn’t stumble or fall, he simply grunted and flopped to the ground, hugging his body and whimpering.

  The watching redcoats were completely silent, just staring at him with open hatred. Ten of them. Not even on his best day did John think he could take on ten Englishmen. And walk away. But he squared up, ready to give it a try.

  The redcoats started to spread out, intending to surround him and avenge their fallen sergeant.

  “Lieutenant,” Calum said from the doorway.

  The lieutenant tore his eyes off the unfolding bloodbath and looked over at the small Scotsman in front of the farmhouse. And the elegant pistol that was pointing at his
head.

  “You do officer things now. Will you do that for me?” Calum twitched the pistol up and down. “Ya see, it’s the big man’s turn to pay for the ale, and I’d be vexed if your men killed him before I got my beer.” He followed the lieutenant’s gaze to his pistol, as if seeing it for the first time. “Oh, this? This is a Queen Anne pistol. A fine piece and accurate enough to put a ball in your right eye from this range.” He raised his left hand. “Not that I would do that. Not if you tell your men to back off.” He smiled a friendly smile, waited a beat, then extended his arm and the pistol. “I’m a fair man. I’ll count to three. One…”

  “You men,” the lieutenant shouted. “You will form up in two ranks at once.”

  “You can go now,” Calum said. “But be good wee laddies and leave the cattle. The farmer’s grown fond of the smelly beasties.”

  The lieutenant took several seconds to look away, then snarled and started his horse moving out of the yard. “Get that on his feet and follow me,” he shouted, and galloped up the narrow lane towards the road.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” John said to the men milling around and mumbling. “There’s a lot of you and only two of us.” He smiled. “Thing is, my wee friend over there is a bit…” He made circles around his temples. “But he can shoot the ears off a gnat at twenty yards with that fancy pistol he’s holding.” He started to walk slowly towards Calum. “And after he’s killed one of you, I’ll shoot another while he’s loading. Then we’ll just shoot as fast as we can. And we’ve been practicing.” The smile again. “Ask yourselves, is it worth it? Getting your face shot off because your sergeant is too stupid to keep his mouth shut.”

  The soldiers looked at each other and at the sergeant still groaning on the ground. One of them, a skinny corporal, had his eyes fixed on Calum. He was going to try it. Do something foolish.

  “Laddie,” John said, and waited for the corporal’s eyes to slide enough to see him, “he’ll shoot you in the groin.” He gave him a moment to think about it. “Not enough to kill you, just enough to give your mates hours of laughter every time you bathe.”

  That did it. The corporal spun on his heel and stamped off up the lane, leaving the others to drag the sergeant after them.

  “Been a wee while since I heard you say so many words,” Calum said, slapping him on the shoulder as he walked past.

  “Had to do something, with them wanting to kill me because you had to be a hero.”

  “Somebody has to.”

  “Who says?”

  Calum pointed at the farmer and his wife coming back around the house. “People who can’t do it for themselves.”

  “You can be very vexing, Calum Maclean. Y’know that?”

  “Aye, I’ve been told.”

  They heard the sound of a fast-approaching horse, drew their pistols and turned, expecting to see the English returning at a pace.

  A girl pulled her spirited horse to a sliding halt and jumped down almost before it had stopped. She had a pistol in each hand two seconds after she hit the ground.

  Calum and John exchanged a look. They were both thinking the same thing. Wild and beautiful. And truly dangerous.

  She pointed her pistols at them and strode over to stand ten feet away. “What are you doing here? Are you with the English? Where are my parents?”

  Calum raised an eyebrow. “Which one do you want me to answer first?”

  “Parents.”

  Calum pointed at the couple moving painfully past the old barn. “Next?”

  “If you’ve hurt them, this will be the last place on God’s earth that you see.”

  Calum looked around slowly.

  “What are you looking for? More English friends?”

  “I was seeing if this place was worth being the last I see.”

  “You think this is funny?”

  “No, not much. Wee girls waving pistols at me is never very funny.”

  “You think I’m a wee girl?”

  “Asks a lot of questions, doesn’t she?” John said, and tilted his head as if to see her from a different angle.

  “Aye,” Calum said, “she does that. Cute though. In a scary sort of way.”

  “Shonay,” the farmer’s wife called as she approached the house, “what are you doing?”

  “I’m going to shoot these English dogs for hurting you.”

  John tapped Calum on the shoulder. “Did she call us English?”

  “Aye, she did that. And dogs, I think. I wasn’t listening.”

  “I’ve been called Irish and English today,” John said. “Must be my new tunic.”

  “Put those away, girl,” the woman said. “These men saved our lives. Well, the wee one did. The big one set to fighting, as men always do.”

  Calum glanced at John and gave him a grin. He didn’t get one in return.

  “I was distracting them while Calum here was sneaking about saving you,” John said.

  “Aye, you were that, and enjoying it from what I saw.”

  He decided not to bother with the madwoman.

  Shonay still had the pistols pointing at them.

  Calum pointed. “You have to pull the hammer back before—”

  She fired the pistol in her right hand and he ducked, then turned to see the neat hole in the door post. It would’ve had to pass an inch from his head to have hit there. Lucky.

  “You need to be careful,” he said. “You might—”

  She put a round an inch past his other ear with the pistol in her left hand. Not luck after all.

  “Now you don’t have a loaded pistol,” Calum said, and shook his head. Lassies.

  She dropped the pistols and had her claymore in her hand before they hit the ground.

  John leaned forward to see better. “Fine sword. Somebody did a good job on shortening it for ya.”

  “That’ll be me,” her father said, and stood up a little straighter.

  “You’re a blacksmith? I thought you were a farmer.”

  The man shrugged, then flinched as his ribs complained. “If it needs to be done, it’s done by me or it doesn’t get done.”

  “Aye, I know that well.” John nodded towards the girl. “She yours?”

  “Aye, my eldest.”

  “Is she always so… fiery?”

  “Since she was a bairn,” he said, and smiled. “I think it’s her red hair.”

  John walked to him and took his arm. “Are you injured?”

  “Only m’ pride.”

  “That’ll mend,” Calum said as he stepped past and took the woman’s hand. “And you?”

  “Now m’ heart has stopped bouncing about, I’m thinking I’ll live.”

  “I’m here!” Shonay shouted. “And I’m armed. What’s in your heads? I have a sword.” She swished her shortened claymore back and forth.

  Calum looked back over his shoulder and John caught his look and recognised it.

  “Put the sword away, lassie,” John said.

  “Don’t tell me what to do. This is my home. I’ll decide when and if I—”

  Calum gently put the woman’s hand back against her hip, turned and walked quickly over to the girl. She moved the tip of her sword to point at his chest, but with a speed that stunned her, he brushed it aside with his left hand, stepped up next to her, cupped his right hand behind her head and snapped his arm back and down, flipping her in a full somersault onto her backside.

  It took her several seconds to register what had happened; then she sprang to her feet with a flip off her back. Very impressive. Except Calum had her sword with its tip resting on his boot.

  “You extended your blade too much. It shortens your thrust,” he said, and demonstrated the extended thrust with her sword.

  She didn’t care; she was furious, shaking, speechless. Had a numb backside, a bruised ego, and no sword.

  “You think you threw me because I’m a woman and you’re a man?”

  “I think,” Calum said, with a long sigh, “you are a poor swordsman and have a
temper that would be better kept in check. Or somebody will spank you.”

  He hadn’t intended it to come out that way, but it had and it was done, and really he didn’t care that much. He was tired of tantrums and wee lassies with weapons. It wasn’t natural.

  He glanced at John and nodded towards the horses, got a nod in return, and left them all to whatever they were going to do next.

  “Ya need to be away from this place,” John said.

  The farmer shook his head. “This is my home. It’s been in my family for more generations than I can count. I’ll not abandon it because of the English.”

  John shook his head. “Nobody’s asking you to abandon your home. I’m telling you that you have to be away from here until the English have lost interest.”

  The farmer stuck out his chin and looked past him. When there was no response, he looked back and followed John’s steady gaze. His wife was leaning against the farmhouse wall, her face ashen and her body trembling now the moment had passed and she could think of what might have been.

  “Maureen,” the farmer said softly, “we must collect some things and load the wagon. We’re away to Cromarty, to your brother’s place.” He put his hand on her shoulder when she started to shake her head. “It’s for the best. We will come back in the spring.” He smiled. “Did ya not say you love spring in this glen?”

  She looked into his eyes for a moment, then closed hers and nodded.

  “Then it’s done.” He turned to his daughter. “Lassie, will ya help your mother pack some things? She’ll need the warms for the winter.”

  “Aye, I’ll do that,” Shonay said, “but I’ll not be coming with you.”

  Her mother pushed herself upright. “You will be coming, young woman.”

  “And say I do,” Shonay said. “What will become of them?” She pointed at the cattle milling around the open gate to the field. “They’ll be taken or lost. And without the cattle how will you live when you do come home?”

  Calum looped his horse’s reins over John’s saddle and came back across the yard. “What are you thinking?”

  Shonay glared at him for a moment, then saw the look on his face and softened. “I’m thinking to take the cattle away through the glens and find a place for them to wait.”

  “On your own?” Calum said. “You’re just a wee lassie.”

  She put her hands on her hips and looked him over. “I’d say this wee lassie is about your age. What are you? Twenty-five?”

  “Twenty-eight.”

  “Aye, I see that. And I see you hit every rock on your road to there.”

  “And here’s me thinking I’m a bonnie man.”

  “Aye, and I see that too. You thinking you’re bonnie.” She looked him over again. “M’be, with your yellow hair and blue eyes like some pretty blonde lassie. But you have a look about you. Old for your age, like you’ve seen too much life and the wrong sort.”

  John laughed and looked away as if something had caught his interest elsewhere. “Pretty blonde lassie,” he echoed, and chuckled.

  Calum ignored him and looked Shonay over as openly as she had. The sun was low now and backlit her wild red hair to look like a halo of fire, and her green eyes flashed when they met his. Those and her masses of hair told him what he already knew. She was a wild one and as tough as this country could make her. He’d seen that already, and though he’d said she was a poor swordsman, he knew that wasn’t true. The way she moved told him she was as good as any he’d met. And the pistol shots? He didn’t doubt for a moment that she could do just about anything she set her mind to.

  “We will ride with you and your cattle,” he said.

  “I don’t need any help.”

  “Aye, I believe you, but that’s a lot of cows for one… person to manage. And it’ll be dark soon.”

  “Lassie,” John said, “you should take his offer. Aye, I know he’s infuriating, but the three of us will move the cattle before the English work up the courage to come back. You… or anybody else won’t.”

  She looked from him to Calum, then at her parents and nodded. “You can come with me as far as the loch, then I’m going north and west to Strathconon. There’s people there who have nay love for the English.”

  “Aye,” John said, “and it’s good cattle country.”

  “It is that.”

  “Be careful,” her mother said, hugged her once and ran into the house. As if in a hurry to get things packed.

  The farmer put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her face. “You’re the son I never had,” he said, “but you are still just one against the English army. Promise me you’ll nay fight.”

  She was silent for a long time, then took a deep breath and let it go slowly. “Aye, I can promise you that. And, Da… I’m better than the son you never had.”

  He laughed. “Come back in the spring.”

  “I’ll be here. And you be here.”

  She walked back across the yard towards her horse, and Calum tried not the watch the way her slim body moved in her tight tartan dress.

  “Watching it does nay make it yours,” she said, without turning.

  Calum looked at John, but there was no help there, just a wide grin.

  Three people on horseback should’ve had no trouble driving twenty head of cattle, but one of those people was Calum, and he had no idea how to herd cows. They always wanted to go somewhere else. They stank. They were stupid. They had no purpose whatsoever. Except to make steaks. He decided that for the sake of the steaks, he’d keep pushing. Four cows wandered off in search of whatever it was cows coveted, and he decided he would stamp his authority on this task, show them he was not just a warrior.

  He rode up to them and matched their slow pace while he tried to decide how to turn a cow. Shouting at them didn’t work, he’d tried that. M’be a slap with his sword would encourage them to follow the others. It couldn’t hurt.

  He drew his smallsword, came up alongside the cow on the left and smacked it sharply on the rump. It bellowed and took off across the heather, followed by its mob. He stored the lesson away. Don’t slap cows with your sword.

  John left the wee lassie to manage the other sixteen cows and went to help Calum with his four. The two of them got the strays back to the herd. Despite Calum’s help.

  It was almost dark now and Shonay declared that they would bed the cattle down in the shelter of a small wood where there was water and grass. If Calum had a god, he would’ve thanked her. Whose idea had it been to join this cross-country cow trek? Probably John’s. Aye, it sounded like one of his daft ideas.

  He dismounted and was wondering how he would ever get the stink of these creatures out of his nostrils when he heard a horse approaching. He glanced at John and saw he’d heard it too. The lassie was fussing with the cows. He waved John off to the right and stepped out of sight into the trees. It left Shonay out in the open, but it would be worse for whoever was approaching than it ever could be for her.

  Even in the evening light he could see the rider was no more than a boy and a poor rider at that. He was barely staying on the small horse as it trotted along the game trail towards the stream next to the woods. It looked as though he had as much control of that horse as Calum had over the cantankerous cows.

  John stepped out of the shadows, raised his hands to slow the horse and took its bridle, then patted its neck to calm it down.

  “Uncle Calum!” Jamie fell off the horse.

  John caught the boy one-handed as if he were no more than a bairn and stood him on unsteady feet. “You’re a long way from home, laddie. How did you find us?”

  “Uncle Angus sent me,” Jamie said, and stopped to catch his breath. “I met a farmer and his wife on the Inverness Road. Duncan Mackintosh. A fine man, but he was afraid and in a hurry. I think—”

  “Why did Angus send you?” Calum said.

  Jamie stared at him with wide, tired eyes while he found the thoughts he needed. “The English are stealing all the cattle and sheep from
everybody and taking them south to England and—”

  John put his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Take a breath, laddie.”

  Jamie was breathing heavily from exhaustion and excitement and nodded like a pigeon in a grain loft.

  “Now,” Calum said, “tell me what Angus said. Slowly.”

  “Uncle Angus said he was going to raise the clan to stop the thieves taking the cattle to England. He said…” He took another shaking breath. “He said if they take all the livestock, Scotland will starve.”

  “He’s right,” John said.

  “Aye, about that.” Calum looked around at the dark countryside. “But he canna raise the clan, the English will call it a rebellion and murder them all.”

  John nodded. “Aye.” He waited for Calum to think it through.

  “You stay here with Shonay.” He pointed at the young woman with the fire in her hair. “She’s wild, but a good wee lassie.”

  “Thank you, I think,” Shonay said, and joined them, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine with me and the cows.” She glanced at Calum. “It’ll be better company you’ll be keeping.”

  “What are you thinking?” John said.

  “I’m thinking we’ll go and ask the English to give back the cows,” Calum said.

  “Aye, that’s what I was afraid of.”

  “First we go to Inverness. There’s something we’ll need.”

  “But Inverness is the wrong way, Uncle Calum. The cows…”

  “From what I’ve seen of these beasties,” Calum said, “they walk slow and stop to eat every five steps. We’ll have time to go to London and back before they reach the border.”