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13

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It was easy for Neil to navigate by the city’s lights for the first twenty miles. Then, he trusted the horse to continue on the broad path that made up the road north to Loch Lomond. As long as he did not veer too far right, he was not worried about going astray in the night.

However, he was feeling his tiredness creep up over him, now that the urgent shock of terror from the news and the warm glow from meeting Letty had both left him. He debated briefly whether to simply tie himself to the horse and keep going but worried that the animal might stop. He decided to stop and sleep for a nap, then eat something. He reasoned that the meal would waken him better than anything else.

Ten more miles up the road he stopped and pulled the horse aside, hobbling two of its legs with the bit of rope he’d brought. It immediately started chomping on the grass. Neil wrapped himself up in the plaid, curled up, and thought to himself, Only an hour, only an hour. He fell into sleep like someone walking off a cliff.

It was hours later that he woke. It was still dark, but Neil could feel the change in the air around and the chatter of birds that were getting ready for the day. He judged it to be about three o’clock. The basket was no longer warm, of course, but he delighted in the slices of roast meat and two small salted potatoes Letty’d packed. He whistled once, low and long, and heard the sputter of his horse blowing through her lips, as if she were laughing at him. Well, he thought, if that’s how you express gratitude, I’ll no be stopping to let you eat any more grass, ye wee rascal. He smiled to himself, then whistled again, two short, low blasts. He heard the plodding hooves and met the mare halfway, speaking low and holding his hands out to the grey apparition.

He set out again, and by the time the first lightness in the east could be detected, he’d arrived at the west shore of Loch Lomond. Here, for the first time since he’d seen the lights of Glasgow, there were other travelers. He judged it too soon for his mother to have reached there yet, so did not bother asking if anyone had seen his family. They looked like they were going about local business.

One man had a cart with jars of milk, the cream sloshing out of several as his horse stumbled a few times. The driver was grumbling, glancing back at his load and cursing the horse. Another horseman trotted past, a finely-dressed clergyman, perhaps out on an errand for his patrons. Two fishermen walked together, each holding two long handles with metal tines pointing sideways at the top. Neil wondered if they were after trout with those cleeks, or on their way to the sea for the skate. He nodded acknowledgement of all whom he passed.

As day broke full on him, the sleepiness left and some of the urgency returned. He clucked his mare into a trot for long periods, trying to cover more ground. He guessed that they would be traveling only by day, laden as they were and not knowing the road. So they would be up and moving now. He had said he would wait at Crianlarich, since that would be the logical point of intercepting them, but his heart wanted to continue, not sit waiting. The problem was he didn’t know if they would come through one of the glens from Glencoe, or travel down the east shore of Loch Linnhe. He supposed the latter was safer, but they were probably going on advice from other travelers and his mother’s intuition. Not a bad guide, but definitely not something he could predict.

He sighed, deciding to make camp at Crianlarich that night and to wait there the next day at least. By the time he reached the end of the long Sabbath, his back ached and his stomach was growling; he’d finished the bannocks and fried pie from Letty’s basket for his noon meal. Instead of avoiding the next outcropping of buildings huddled together near the crossroads, he went up to knock at the door of a small stone-built cottage next to what looked like a kirk.

There he found a meal with the minister’s family, the wife saying as how she knew her Christian duty well enough. He was well-filled when he hopped up onto his horse again, and thanked the family with a wave before trotting up the road.

Mindful of the warnings of his stepfather, he led the horse off the road at the point where he could see the western approach. He hobbled her feet again and sat to watch the last light leave the sky. He thought of the day he left Mull, when he’d looked back to see the same brilliant sunset over the island. His heart was heavy, but he prayed for his family on their way, that they not meet with trouble before he could protect them.

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The night was cold, September starting to turn its pretty head and blow the autumn winds that would bring stinging rain and ice to the highlands. Neil curled himself tighter into a ball, but did not sleep long. He awoke with the sounds of the birds stirring, perhaps two o’clock, and gave the whistle for the horse. She ambled over a few moments later, and he used a few handfuls of grass to rub against her coat, cleaning off the sweat from the day before. The work warmed his hands.

Neil wished he could find shelter from the wind, but the land was treeless. The best he could do was work his way farther off the road to where he remembered seeing the rise of a small hill. As soon as he felt the ground rise under his feet, he also felt the wind drop. He could hear it still, rushing around the small tussock, but he dropped gratefully down and kept the horse nearby. He could lay on his right side on the slight incline of the hill and still keep his gaze to the west. He watched for any lights or movement in the shadowy vale before succumbing again to sleep.

His skin was cool and he was shaking a bit when he woke up, crouched over his knees. Pale pink stretches of light reached out from the east, and now the road was visible. Few people were on it that day though, and soon it was raining, a light rain, but steady. Neil thought about his post on the river. He hoped he’d still have it when he returned, for he liked it well enough and did not want to work indoors at the mill. The very thought of it made his throat start to close up, but he forced his thoughts to where his mother might be right now, struggling. He would do anything to protect them, even work in that bloody mill.

The first person he saw was mounted on a hardy highland pony. A dog trotted at its heels. Neil deemed it time to start asking for help, and raised his hand high in salute, hailing the rider down at the bend in the road.

“Good day to ye, sir,” Neil said.

“And ye,” the highlander returned.

“I am waiting for some of my family that are traveling from Mull. Have you seen three women and a little boy walking this way?”

The man’s eyes betrayed no reaction, but his words softened. “Nay, but God go with them, and thee.” He nodded, Neil thanked him, and he walked on. Three more men reacted the same way when Neil posed his question to them throughout the day. Pity it was he saw in their faces. Either they had had their families removed as well, or they feared it might happen to them. No travelers this way had been well-dressed. How did the wealthy manage to get from north to south then? He’d seen no carriages. Just the one mail coach going north, making a great racket with its four horses and great big wheels.

It was nearing suppertime on the Monday, and Neil was wrestling with the decision to continue waiting in the smirr at Crianlarich, or whether to strike out to find them sooner. If only one of the travelers had seen them, he’d have a hint as to which way they were coming. Before he could decide, another horse came into view.

It walked with a quick step, as if nearing home. Neil saw that there were in fact two riders, a big man and a smaller woman, riding in front. He stepped out to hail them, and the horse plunged sideways. The man kept his seat, a trained rider, but the woman clutched the mane in front of her with a death grip. Neil saw the man speak some words low in her ear before turning murderous eyes on him. From twenty feet away, Neil still felt his heart quail from that look.

“And what do you want then? We’ve nothing to give or steal, if that’s what you’re after.”

“No, sir, good e’en, sir, good e’en, lady,” replied Neil, trying to remember his manners. “I am looking for news of my family on the road from Mull. Have you seen three women and a little boy on your way?”

At his question the woman looked up at him. “Yes. We passed them near Ballachulish early yesterday. They were moving—they had to go quite slowly. From there, they’d come through Glencoe. They’ll probably spend tonight there.”

Glencoe. Witness to clan betrayal and government treachery. Scene of the massacre of 1692, when almost a hundred Scots perished. Valley filled with angry and unforgiving spirits.

“Thank you!” Neil all but sang out. “Thank you very much. I am sorry for scaring your horse. A safe journey to you both,” Neil called out over his shoulder as he whistled for his horse and picked up the basket and his plaid and stowed them in his pack behind. At last, a sign. He ignored the shiver that ran low up his spine at the mention of Glencoe, and rode at a gallop to the north.