Chapter 2
Ronan Campbell glanced up at the sky. It was gray from end to end with that ominous look he knew all too well. It was a look that said a storm would hit soon and it would be a bad one. He growled in annoyance. Curse it. Just what he didn’t need.
Perhaps he should have heeded Faye’s warning and not gone out this morning. The healer always seemed to know when bad weather was on the way. But if he’d stayed behind, who would have checked the waymeet?
Hunching his shoulders against the wind that began howling through the narrow ravine, he whistled to his dogs and carried on walking.
Bran and Skye trotted ahead of him, noses to the ground, roving this way and that as they followed scents that only their sensitive noses could detect.
Ronan let them wander. If they picked up anything interesting, they would let him know.
As if on cue, Skye suddenly raised her head and gave a low ‘uff’ of warning.
Ronan slowed, one hand automatically going to one of the matched pair of flintlock pistols strapped to his hip.
He drew one silently, holding it with the barrel pointing down, and looked around.
The ravine was filled only with scrubby brush and the occasional bird, nothing that posed any threat.
That didn’t reassure him any. These days, if you dropped your guard for even an instant, you were in trouble.
Ronan gave a low whistle, and the dogs came running back to him, tails wagging, big ears flapping. They were sleuthhounds, trained to track and find, and their keen noses had saved Ronan and his people more times than he could count.
The dogs fanned out to either side of him.
Up ahead, the ravine bent around to the left, blocking his view in that direction.
He edged slowly forward, his boots making not a sound on the damp earth.
He reached the bend and pressed his back to the rough rock of the wall and cautiously peeked around the corner.
The waymeet lay ahead. Marked only by a single wind-blasted tree that stuck out of the ravine wall like a grasping arm, it was one of many such places in this area, secret places where those fleeing the troubles could come to find help.
But today, the waymeet was empty. No gaggle of frightened folk waited under the tree.
No displaced family or destitute farmer made homeless by the unrest caused by the Articles of Union.
The tree swayed and creaked in the wind, but there was no sign of any other living thing. So what had alerted Skye?
He went still, listening, but detected nothing beyond the moan of the wind.
Finally satisfied, he put away his flintlock and stepped out, calling the dogs to heel.
The tree was a juniper, tough and wiry, and just about the only thing that could cling to life on these inhospitable slopes.
Ronan stepped into its shade and looked around, searching for signs that anyone had been here. There was nothing.
Suddenly, Skye began barking. Ronan spun, hand going to his pistol again.
Skye was dancing around excitedly, eyes fixed on something above Ronan’s head.
He glanced up only to find a tabby cat sitting in the branches of the juniper above his head, tail curled around its feet, calmly watching him with big green eyes.
He barked a laugh. “Is that what’s got ye so worked up?” he asked the dogs. “A cat?”
Skye whimpered, going up on her hind legs to get a better look at the cat, whilst Bran slumped to the ground with a huff. The cat seemed not in the least impressed by Skye’s antics and just stared down with a look of bored disdain.
“And where did ye come from, eh?” Ronan said to the cat. “There aren’t any farms for miles. Seems to me ye are a long way from home.”
“Aye, he is,” said another voice suddenly. “But he’s not the only one, eh?”
Ronan whirled, drawing a pistol. To his surprise, he found an old woman standing behind him, watching him with something like amusement on her creased face.
She was tiny, barely tall enough to reach his chest, and wore a shapeless wrap in a plaid pattern he didn’t recognize.
Where had she come from? There had been nobody here a moment ago, he was sure of it.
Ronan blinked and quickly tucked the pistol away. “My...my apologies,” he said. “Ye startled me.”
“So I see,” the old woman replied, raising an eyebrow. “Have things gotten so bad that pistols are pulled on strangers before greetings are even exchanged?”
Shame washed through Ronan. He’d come out here to try and help anyone who made it to the waymeet, and instead he was drawing a weapon on defenseless women.
Was this what he’d come to? Aye, the times were troubled, but Ronan would be damned if he would lose what little shred of honor he had left. He inclined his head in a half-bow.
“Aye, mayhap they have. But that isnae an excuse. Ye have my apologies again, madam.”
She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Then ye are forgiven, Ronan Campbell. Ye always were the most polite of all yer brothers.”
How did this woman know who he was? He would have remembered if he’d met her before, he was sure. She was striking in appearance, with hair as gray as the sky and dark eyes like chips of onyx.
Yet for all that, there was a sprightly kind of energy about her, and although her eyes were dark and deep, they shone with warmth and humor.
Bran and Skye, seeming to have forgotten all about the cat, clustered around her, tails wagging like puppies.
The old woman scratched their ears and gave a delighted laugh.
“Who are ye?” Ronan asked.
The woman transferred her gaze to him. She had to crane her head back to meet his eyes, but even so, Ronan felt like somehow he was the smaller of the two.
“I’m Irene MacAskill. It is a delight to meet ye at last, Ronan Campbell.”
Irene MacAskill? Why did that name sound familiar? He felt as though he ought to recognize it, as though he’d heard it somewhere. But when he tried to grab the memory, it skittered out of reach.
“What are ye doing out here?” he asked.
This waymeet was miles from anywhere—quite deliberately, of course—and she must have walked a long way to get here, no small feat for someone of her advanced age.
“Do ye need help?” he continued. “If so, I will gladly give whatever aid I can. My settlement isnae far if ye need—”
“That is very kind of ye,” Irene cut in. “But unnecessary. I’ve come here looking for two things. Firstly, that headstrong little beast up there.”
She pointed at the cat, who let out a yowl, stretched his forepaws out and stretched languidly.
“Dinna ye look so pleased with yerself, Baxter, my lad,” Irene said with a touch of exasperation in her voice. “We will have words about this when we get home. How many times have I told ye not to go off a-wandering?”
The cat yawned, showing an impressive set of teeth, and began licking one paw, oblivious to Irene’s scolding.
“Humph,” the old woman said. “He willnae look so smug when he doesnae get any dinner tonight.”
“Ye said two things,” Ronan pointed out, bringing her back to the point.
“Aye, that’s right.” Irene’s dark eyes fixed on him, and all of a sudden Ronan felt like he’d been skewered to the spot. It took all his willpower to resist the urge to take a few steps back. “The second thing I was looking for was ye, of course.”
Ronan relaxed a little. This was more like what he’d expected. “If ye need aid, then ye shall have it. Like I said, the settlement isnae far if ye wish to accompany me—”
“Ye misunderstand,” Irene cut in, holding up a hand for silence. “I havenae come looking for aid, but to give it. Or try to, at least. Whether ye accept my aid is up to ye, my lad.”
Ronan frowned in puzzlement. This encounter was not going the way he’d expected. Who was this old woman? And why did she make him feel so unsettled? “
“Like I told Baxter,” Irene went on. “He isnae the only one that is far from home. Isnae that right, Ronan Campbell?”
He narrowed his eyes, not liking the direction this conversation was taking. “I dinna know what ye mean.”
She cocked her head, regarding him. “Oh, I think ye do. Ye are a long way from home and traveling further every moment. Yet the balance needs ye, Ronan Campbell, more than ye could know. If ye travel too far from where ye are meant to be it will tip even further out of kilter.”
At her words, a shiver went down Ronan’s spine.
It wasn’t fear, exactly, but more like recognition.
Her words sparked something inside him, an unsettling sensation he’d rather ignore.
In the last few years, he’d taken on roles and responsibilities that he never would have chosen had he the choice.
Was that what she meant? And if so, how did she know so much about him?
Despite himself, he took a step back. “What do ye want with me?”
“Only to bring ye back to yer path. A choice will soon be coming to ye. Someone will come who will help ye carry the burdens life has given ye, if ye have the courage to let them. And in so doing, lead ye back to the path ye were meant to tread.” She reached up and patted his arm.
“Have courage, my lad,” she said. “Ye need not always be alone.”
Ronan said nothing, only stared, unable to think of a reply.
Irene glanced up at the tree. “Come on, Baxter, time we were going.”
The cat meowed, then suddenly dropped from the tree and landed lightly on Irene’s shoulder. For a wonder, the dogs didn’t react and merely sat staring at the cat like docile little puppies. Baxter rubbed his face against Irene’s cheek.
“Oh no!” Irene cried. “Dinna think ye can get round me so easily! No dinner for ye until ye learn to do as ye are told.” She winked at Ronan. “I think I might be fighting a losing battle there, but I’ll keep trying.” She smiled. “Think on what I said, lad. And choose wisely.”
Then, with Baxter riding on her shoulder like some pirate captain’s parrot, she turned and walked away, disappearing around the bend in the ravine. Ronan watched her go until the dogs whined, snapping him out of his thoughts.
He shivered, suddenly cold, and it had nothing to do with the brisk wind. Above, the clouds had turned black.
He whistled to the dogs, then turned and left the waymeet at a brisk walk. He had to resist the urge to look back.