“What is it this time?”
“They are talking of leaving, my Laird. Of traveling south before it is too late.”
“Curse them for a bunch of fishwives. Is this what the MacGregors are made of these days? Spines like eels the lot of them.”
“Another castle has fallen. They say he is unstoppable. Some say he’s the devil.”
“Well, we’ll have tae see about that, won’t we? Come on, let’s go nip this in the bud.”
He put the witch out of his mind. She might have been able to sneak into his chamber without being detected but she would be able to do nothing else until he got back to deal with her.
First, he needed to deal with something much more important, the yellow streak that seemed to have begun infecting his clan.
He’d no idea where it had come from. In all the years of toil and struggle, not a man among them had ever suggested leaving their homelands.
“Someone is riling them up,” he said to Tor as they descended the narrow stone stairs to the first floor of the keep. “I want to ken who is dripping poison in their ears.”
“They’re just scared,” Tor replied. “Crivens, aren’t you? Alice wants me tae take her south.”
“Your own sister fears whispers that an undead King is sweeping the Highlands? Och, man. I thought better of ye than to be frighted by such nonsense. Or tae be swayed by your own kin.”
“They’re a simple folk, my Laird. As am I. I hold it important to shy my face away from darkness and trust in the Lord above all things.”
“There is no mysterious barefoot man out there taking over the clans. There is only an ordinary man and an ordinary army and they can be defeated like any other. All this blether about the undead and evil forces is just what happens when there are gaps in knowledge, rumors fill in like rubble falling into a moat.
“We’ll ken the truth when the patrols get back. We’ll know who he is and where he is. Then we can raise our army in response and then we’ll find out just how immortal this barefoot man is.”
They had reached the bottom of the stairs by the time Cam finished talking. The noise of many voices talking echoed out from the great hall. Cam turned to face Tor. “Go find out who’s been riling them up. They’re good people and someone is taking advantage of them. I want to ken who and why.”
“As you wish.”
Tor headed to the outer staircase while Cam turned and headed for the curtain to the great hall. He paused to observe his Man-at-Arms heading away. He’d been in the post for the last three years and in that time had proved his worth in battle after battle. If he was getting scared, this was getting out of hand. It was time to take command.
Inside the great hall, four long tables had been laid out as at meal times, packed with more people than he thought the castle could hold.
More lined the walls. It felt as if the entire clan were there. The fires had not been lit. It was too early in the day. The air was warm nonetheless, the heat of so many bodies taking away any hint of chill. The conversation died as people noticed Cam’s arrival among them.
Cam paused in the entrance, judging the mood of the room. Then he passed through the gap between the tables, heading for the dais, returning nods as he went.
He took his place alone in the great chair, leaning back and looking out at them all. They looked scared. He would have to handle things carefully. Yell at them and they would cower like children. Too conciliatory and they would run south like they threatened, thinking he was as scared as them, that he could not protect them.
He would protect them. They were his people. He’d been through too many wars to be scared of a single man, no matter how many rumors might swirl around him.
“MacGregors,” he said, letting his voice carry across the room. “We are here today to discuss one thing and one thing alone. You all know what that is.”
“Aye,” said a couple of voices.
“The dark one,” he heard a voice say. “The barefoot man.”
He waved a hand and silence fell again. Eager eyes looked to him for guidance. He was their Laird, they needed to ken he had a handle on this.
He chose his words carefully. “I ken the rumors about land being swallowed by darkness from the Isles down toward us. I have heard tales of fish dying in the rivers, of crops failing, sunlight vanishing behind clouds and not returning. Look out the window. The sun still shines this day.”
“The MacDougalls were starved out by January,” someone shouted. “He is coming for us all. We should run while we still can.”
“He kills bairns,” someone else yelled. “Spikes the wee ‘uns who did naeone nae wrong.”
A mutter of agreement.
