Once or twice, he heard footsteps that sounded like someone was in the room, but each time they left again, causing him to breathe out in quiet relief even though he didn't know what he had to be so scared about. He just knew that if anyone found him other than his mother or Morag, something terrible would happen.
Cailean held his soldier doll tight, his eyes burning, chewing on his lip so hard that it bled as he tried not to cry. He couldn't remember how long he'd been in there. He was scared and confused. The only thread that seemed to remain in his mind was the plea from his mother to keep quiet, and it was the only thing that he had left to him now. The whole world was crumbling, and Cailean clung desperately to the thread of his mother's instruction, praying that this would be over soon.
People were fighting, he could hear that now. There was too much noise, too much yelling, too many furious voices and terrified screams. Where were his parents? Where were his siblings? Cailean raised his fist to his mouth and bit at his knuckles, trying to stop himself from screaming.
Suddenly, the door flew open. Cailean yelped, unable to keep his silence through the sudden fear that he felt, but he was quickly shushed by the person in front of him.
"It's all right, lad. Come with me." It was Morag, his governess, with her tightly bound wheat-colored hair in loose waves down her back. She was in traveling clothes, but it was clear she'd gotten out of bed and dressed quickly. "Come on. Quickly. And stay quiet."
Cailean obeyed automatically, and Morag quickly dressed him with some clothes she'd brought with her and a spare fur from the wardrobe. She took his hand and led him to the other side of the room, kicking aside a rug and revealing a secret door below. She opened it, and Cailean looked down into the deep, dark entryway with apprehension. He didnotwant to go down there.
"Come, now," she encouraged, ushering him to speed up. The two of them climbed down, Cailean careful on the ladder while Morag pulled the trap door closed behind them.
When they reached the bottom of the ladder, they were in a secret passageway that Cailean had never seen. Morag took his hand and started walking briskly, causing him to have to run to keep up with her.
"What's happenin'?" Cailean demanded as soon as he realized that the sounds were somewhat muffled, which meant he was probably allowed to be loud again, too. "Where's me mam?"
Morag didn't answer. They turned a corner and walked through an archway, then Cailean almost screamed. Two men lay there on the ground, red stickiness all around them, their eyes open and staring. One of them had a big slash on his neck, the other a sword through his stomach.
"That's… that's Gordon and Joe," he yelped. "Are they… what…?"
"Shh, lad. Dinnae look," Morag told him, pulling him closer. She started to walk even quicker, nearly running herself as they moved into a wider corridor. More bodies littered the ground as they went through a twisted labyrinth of passages, some the main part of the castle, others secrets that nobody else knew about.
At some point, Cailean stumbled, and Morag didn't pause. She swept him up into her arms and carried him as though hewere still a baby, and for once, Cailean didn't object. Every so often, they ran into someone alive — a servant, or a guard, or someone else who lived here — who would tell Morag to turn this way or that to avoidthem.
"Who's them?" Cailean asked into her ear. "Who are we avoidin'? Why are they nae comin' with us?"
"They're shieldin' us," Morag replied, still holding him securely. She paused before the final turn, which Cailean knew led to the way out of the castle. "Come, hide yer eyes. Ye dinnae need tae see this."
Cailean hid his head against her chest as he'd been ordered, and Morag took a step out into the fresh air. The sudden impact of sound and noise was overwhelming, and Cailean could smell blood as well as fire.
"Please, Morag, where is me family?" he begged, sobbing against her chest. "Please, please, take me tae me mammy."
"Ye'll survive, Cailean," she told him in his ear. Her voice was thick and full of pain. "We're under attack, and these traitors caught us unaware, but ye'll survive. The McNair name will live nae matter what. I'll keep ye safe, I promise."
After that, it was a blur as Morag broke out into a run. At some point, Cailean lost his grip on his soldier toy, and he cried out to go back for it, but she didn't hear him. He twisted in her arms, looking around, and what he saw made him forget about the doll entirely.
His home was burning. The castle was aflame, and people were fighting and dying.
They reached a horse, and Morag placed him on the saddle before hopping on herself. She held him with one arm, clinging to the reins with the other, and they desperately fled the crumbling world behind.
Cailean knew as he watched it go that his family were still there. His name, his world, his life were burning, and soon there'd be nothing left but ash.
1
CHAPTER ONE
He woke with a start, sweat dripping from his brow as he pushed himself to a sitting position and tried to shake off the memory. He breathed deeply, trying to get the smell of fire and blood out of his nose and the sound of clanging swords and screams out of his mind.
Close to twenty years had passed since the day his family and lineage had been destroyed in front of his young eyes. Twenty years since Morag had saved him and brought him to the men who had turned him into something new. The boy had died that day along with his family, but the man he had become still dreamed every night of the burning and the death that had destroyed his world.
He groaned quietly, running his hands over his face and hair to try to gather himself. Cailean glanced over to the other bed in the small hut that was his home for now, and his mood lifted as he saw the person there: his closest friend, Darren, laying sprawled out and snoring as though he lay in the comfort of a king's bed. Darren's cheerful manner had been Cailean's shining light over these long years, and he was glad that his troubledsleep no longer managed to affect Darren's slumber like it had when they were younger.
Cailean slid off the pallet that was his bed and quickly washed and dressed as quietly as he could manage, though he half suspected that a stampede could make its way through the hut and Darren would still snooze. He didn't bother lighting a candle while he dressed; his eyes had long since adjusted to the darkness, and anyway, he could tell from the gradually lightening sky outside the window that the sun would rise soon enough.
Once he was ready, Cailean left the hut and was hit by the unexpected briskness of the cold air. It was never warm at this time in the morning, but he hadn't expected quite a chill in May. Nevertheless, he was glad for it; it finished waking him up fully and helped him feel a little more secure in the present, pushing the past back to where it belonged. Where it had to stay, for the sake of his sanity, if nothing else.
The rebel camp usually rose early, but Cailean was up before any of them, and it was still quiet and sleepy as he paced through the site. Tents and small huts like his own were scattered everywhere, this semi-permanent structure set up just outside the village having been his home for several months now. It was a good position for the rebels, and Cailean thought it likely they'd stay here for months more if nothing happened to move them. The nearby village was sympathetic to the cause, and the goodwill was definitely something the group didn't want to pass up on.
