19
Heather stood alone at the mouth of the cave. No sooner had she called for the old crone to come out than Gavin had run off.
From far within the cave the mocking laughter grew louder. “Left you alone,” the old crone called, her voice shrill. “Never mind, my dear. I’ll look after you.”
Heather stood perfectly still, hoping she looked braver than she felt. From the darkness in front of her a figure emerged. The old crone was shuffling slowly forward. She looked much older than she had before. “How old are you?” Heather asked as she appeared at the mouth of the cave.
“You should know better than to ask a woman her age,” the old crone replied, wagging her finger as she came out. “Where is the key, my dear?”
“I have it,” Heather replied. “Will you tell me something before I hand it over?”
“Very well,” the old crone sighed, hands rubbing greedily together. “I will answer one question. You better make it a good one.”
“Why do you hate the MacGregors so much?”
The old crone threw back her head and laughed. “The clan that locked up my husband all those years ago. The clan that sealed my son up in a tomb from which he can never escape. You want to know why I hate them so much? Why do you think?”
“I think you’re afraid of them.”
She laughed even louder than before. “You think I’m afraid of the MacGregors?”
“You ran away when the battle turned. You didn’t fight. You’re afraid of them.”
“If I’m afraid of them, why did I take their castle?”
“You didn’t take it. Mungo Frazer did.”
“I told him what to do!” She looked furious, the first flash of color appearing in her cheeks. “How dare you question me. You have no idea what I’ve been through to get my hands on one of those keys.”
The anger faded from her eyes and she seemed to shrink, looking awful pitiful as her shoulders sagged. “All I want is to embrace my husband again. Is that too much to ask?”
“What then?”
“Excuse me?”
“Once you have the key and you free your husband from captivity, what then?”
The old crone took a step forward, a smile playing across her lips. “Why then we kill every last MacGregor so that their bloodline fades from the world forever.”
“And then what?”
“Then we take our rightful place on the throne on top of the world. Enough questions. Give me the key.”
Heather took a step back. She was almost in the right place. “Come and get it.”
The old crone shuffled out into the dying light. “Don’t make me run after you,” she hissed. “I’ll take both your feet off for your cheek. Give me the key, now. I’ve waited long enough.”
Heather didn’t move.
“You hate the MacGregors too,” the old crone said, reaching out with her hand. “I can feel it in your bones. You’ve hated Gavin MacGregor all your life. This is your chance. Work with me and together we can rule this world. Your mortal enemy will be gone. Your family line will be restored. How good will that be? Don’t you want your family to be happy? Just give me the key and the Frazers will be given all of the highlands.”
“I don’t want all the highlands,” Heather said, pulling the key out and holding it in front of her face. “I just want him.”
“Who? Gavin? The great coward who ran off the first chance he got?”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Heather said, keeping the old crone’s attention on the key. “He didn’t run off.”
“Where is he then?”
