Prologue #2
Trees and undergrowth hemmed all around her, the stream flowing briefly past her before disappearing into the ground again.
A man and a woman leaned over her, watching curiously. She didn’t recognize either of their faces, which meant they weren’t servants at the Keep. At least, not the servants she would see every day.
She swallowed thickly, her throat dry and prickly.
“Thirsty,” she managed.
At once, the woman produced a small waterskin, holding it to her lips.
“Have a good drink, wee one,” she encouraged. “Reckon you came from Keep MacAlpin, did you? Half-burned it is and bodies are lying in the streets with nobody to bury them. A crying shame.”
Catriona gulped eagerly at the water, the tepid liquid washing away the ashy taste in her mouth.
“Don’t let her drink too much, Marion,” the man observed. “It’ll make her sick. Small sips, that’s what she needs, then a modest meal to see how that sits in her stomach. There’ll be more later, lassie. What’s yer name?”
“My name is Catriona,” she choked out. “I have to stay here until Da or my sisters come to get me.”
The man and woman exchanged a long look.
“I think ye might wait a good long while for that, Catriona.” The woman sighed, reaching forward and tucking a strand of nut-brown hair behind Catriona’s ear. “If they were coming for ye, they’d have been here by now.”
“No, they are coming,” she objected. “A man said that he would tell them that I was here.”
“What man?”
“I… I don’t know his name.”
The woman—Marion—glanced again at the man, who Catriona assumed was her husband.
“John?” she said shortly, and the man heaved a sigh.
“It’s likely that the poor fellow was killed,” he said gently, kneeling in the damp moss beside her. “Lass, whole families have been done away with in that Keep.”
“Not mine,” she insisted firmly. “We are strong.”
John and Marion exchanged glances once more.
They were dressed simply, like the ordinary folk Catriona often saw going to and from about their business.
She couldn’t estimate how old they were, only that the woman had limp blonde hair with a few streaks of white, and the man had black hair gone silver at the temples.
“I tell ye what,” Marion said carefully. “We’ll wait with ye till midday, till we can see the sun shining down at us from high above. Then if yer family has not yet come for ye, ye come home with us, aye?”
“I can’t come home with ye. My Da—”
“They might not be coming, lass,” Marion said quietly, taking Catriona’s hand. “But a wee lass like ye cannot go through the world alone. How old are ye?”
A fat tear rolled down Catriona’s cheek. “Seven.”
Marion clicked her tongue. “Poor lassie, dinnae cry. Ye have too beautiful eyes for that. Are they blue? Green?”
“Da says I couldnae decide which color suited me best in my mother’s belly so I went for both,” she explained, sniffing.
Marion chuckled. “I feel yer Da is right. Ye know, John and I had a wee baby girl once. She would have been about yer age.”
“Where is she?” Catriona asked, wiping away the tear with the back of her hand.
“In the ground behind our croft, lass,” Marion sighed and received a stern look from her husband.
“Don’t scare the girl. Now, we ought to eat,” John muttered, withdrawing a parcel of wax paper from a pocket. He unfolded it to reveal a few hunks of bread and cheese and half a pie.
Despite it all, despite the fear and panic threatening to close up around Catriona’s heart, she felt a twinge of hunger in her stomach. Shifting closer, she smiled hopefully, and John chuckled to himself.
“Just a wee bit to start,” he advised, withdrawing a blunt knife and cutting off a piece of cheese and pie. “In case yer stomach is upset. Small bites, and chew them well. There’ll be more if ye want it.”
She accepted the food eagerly, tearing into it ravenously. The three of them ate in silence, with Marion occasionally pointing out something interesting, like a bright flower or a small, unfamiliar bird darting through the trees.
Midday came, and Catriona pushed out her lip, insisting that her family would be along shortly. John and Marion smiled mildly and suggested they wait another hour.
Another hour became two, then four, and the sun began to die from the sky; long, cold shadows stretched across the ground.
At last, John sighed, clambering slowly and stiffly to his feet.
“They aren’t coming,” he said, with finality.
“Best for ye to come with us, lassie,” Marion urged, smiling hopefully. “Ye will be safe with us, but here…” she trailed off, shaking her head. “Who only knows what will become of ye here?”
More fat tears rolled down Catriona’s cheeks.
She was shivering so hard in her thin, damp nightgown that she could hardly breathe.
She allowed Marion to lift her to her feet, and then John wrapped a cloak around her, sweeping her into his arms. She rested her cheek on his shoulder, closing her eyes.
They aren’t coming. Isobel, Alyth, Fiona, Da. None of them are coming.
“Where are we going?” she mumbled drowsily. “Beyond the Glen?”
John chuckled. “Oh, far, far beyond the Glen, lass. We’re going to MacLeod lands.”
“I’ve never been to MacLeod lands.”
“You’ll like it,” Marion assured her, trotting after them with a smile. Her hand darted out as if to touch Catriona’s cheek. “We’ll be a family, the three of us. Won’t that be nice? A true family.”
“A true family,” Catriona repeated drowsily, sleeping gradually taking her.