PROLOGUE
"Get up. Get up, Cailean. Now!"
Cailean jolted awake as he was shaken roughly from his sleep. He frowned and opened his still-heavy eyes. He'd been dreaming, he was sure of it, about… what? He couldn't remember. He rubbed at his face, then his frown deepened as he realized how dark it still was and that it was his mother, not Morag, who had come to wake him.
"Mammy?" he asked, in as mature a voice as a five-year-old boy could muster. "What's happenin'? It's still nighttime, look out the window."
His mother had a strange look on her face that didn't fully go away, even when she gave him her special smile. Cailean suddenly noticed how noisy it was; there were loud voices rising from outside his room, and lots of clashing, like when he went to watch his father or the men at the practice yards. It had been in his dream, too, like a scary nightmare, but now he realized that it was out here as well.
And the smell… What was that smell? It reminded him of when candles were lit or when he snuck down into the kitchens to watch Cook work. "Mammy, is somethin' burnin'?"
His mother's expression got even tighter, and for the first time, Cailean's little heart clenched in worry. Why was she looking at him like that? Why were people shouting outside? Before he could ask any more questions, a woman's voice let out a loud, piercing scream that was abruptly cut off. Cailean cried out in fear, and his mother swept him up into her arms.
"It's all right, me wee one, it's all right," she told him anxiously. She held him close, and he could feel wetness on her face.
"Mammy? What's happenin'? Have ye been cryin'?" he asked, fear filling him now. He looked around the nursery wildly, as best as his eyes could make out in the dark.
He was the only boy who slept here now; his older brothers, Barry and Graham, were ten and nine and both had their own rooms. But the girls… Where were they? Abigail was four, a year younger than Cailean, and little Neala was only two. Cailean would move into his own room when he turned seven, and while he often talked about how he was looking forward to getting away from the silly girls, he secretly enjoyed having his sisters with him. Neala didn't do much, but Abigail and Cailean often made little tents from their blankets and told her stories.
"Where are the lassies?" he asked, his own anxiety clear in his little voice. "Didnae Laura bring them tae bed like she usually does?"
His mother didn't answer, just squeezed him tighter, then got to her feet. "Come. We havenae much time," she told him. "We're gonnae play a game, ye and I."
Outside the room, the screaming got louder.
"I dinnae want to play a game, Mammy. I want these people tae go away." Cailean wanted nothing more than to climb back into bed and hide under the covers until Morag came with his hot milk like she always did when he had nightmares, or until Laura showed up with the girls. "Can ye tell them tae go away? Where are me sisters? Why are me brothers not playin' with us?"
"Enough questions!"
Cailean blinked. His mother was never that sharp with him. He felt tears filling his eyes and reached for his little soldier doll that he kept by his bed at night. He knew he was a bit too grown up for such things, especially as a boy, but he secretly believed that it kept him safe, and he figured he could keep it until he was big enough to leave the nursery at least. Now, he was glad of it, and he clung tightly to the doll.
His mother sighed and gently touched his cheek. "I'm sorry, me heart, I didnae mean tae shout. But come, we must hurry, all right? We must, we must."
The shouting was very close now. "What kind of game, Mammy?"
The relief on his mother's face was palpable. Without saying another word, she took his hand and led him out of the room and down one of the scarcely used servants' corridors, along the same routes that Cailean's older brothers sometimes went when they wanted to be undetected. His mother pulled him into a small, disused room, and right to a big wardrobe that waited on the side opposite the door.
His mother knelt down in front of him as they stood before the wardrobe, her hands on either of his upper arms, forcing him to look at her. She wore a serious expression as she stared into his eyes. "Ye're gonnae hide in here, Cailean. All right? Ye're gonnae hide inside and not make a sound until me or Morag come tae get ye."
Cailean frowned. He didn't like being quiet, and this didn't seem like a fun game when there were so many scary sounds everywhere and he could smell something burning. It sounded like his mother intended to leave him here alone, and he shook his head violently. "I dinnae want tae go in there," he said, his left hand still clutching his soldier doll. "I dinnae. Ye cannae make me."
Tears filled his mother's gray eyes, the same eyes that Cailean and all of his siblings had, except for Neala. "Please, son," she said, something like panic filling her voice as the noises got even closer. "Please, ye must do as I say. Get in the wardrobe and wait. Dinnae make a sound, dinnae move, dinnae doanythin'until we come for ye. Please, please, please promise me. I'm gonnae go see if I can find yer siblings, all right? Please, Cailean."
Cailean started to sniffle, but he nodded. He was terrified, but he could tell that this was important. Something was wrong and he was beginning to fear that it wouldn't just go away. His young mind couldn't comprehend what could have made his strong mother cry like this, so he knew that he had to obey her. Maybe when she came back, the scary things would be gone.
His mother opened the door and Cailean climbed inside the wardrobe. It was dark, but there were some soft furs inside that at least made it comfortable.
"I'm gonnae close the door now, love," his mother whispered. "I have tae go. I love ye. Remember, be quiet.Quiet."
She kissed his forehead and closed the door, taking the light with her. Cailean trembled and sat down on the floor of the wardrobe, pulling a fur cloak around him like a blanket and clinging to his soldier doll tightly.
All he could do was wait. Mother would be back soon.
She had to be.
* * *
The next while was the longest of Cailean's life so far. He curled on the floor of the wardrobe, hearing scary sounds and screams and cries so close that he wanted to scream and cry as well, but he didn't make a sound. He'd promised his mother that he would be quiet, and so he was, so quiet that he was barely breathing. He was crying, but silently, not able to understand why he was still here alone, wanting to know where his mother and father and siblings were, not knowing if he'd ever be able to make a noise again.
