Prologue
April 13, 1746
“Think of it,lads. We’ll be heroes!”
Darach Chisholm whispered low to his two friends, still hunkered on a bench near the fire as his ma waved goodnight to his uncles, friends and neighbors, from the door.
“I’ll take care o’ that, ma,” Darach offered when she turned to clear the remnants of their evening repast. “Go and rest, now. Ye’ve worked far tae hard today.”
’Twas hardly a night that someone dinnae stop by to see what his mither had stewing in the pot, and before long a small group usually gathered to share neighborhood news and retell the old tales of daring feats of heroism in defense of Scotland. Those treasured stories, and others from his ma, were all Darach had ever kenned of his da.
“Did ye no’ hear my uncle say the Jacobite armies are gathering somewhere near Inverness?” he pressed his friends, once his mither retired. “The battle tae drive the vile British out o’ Scotland for good is about tae happen, lads, and if what uncle says is true, ’twill likely happen no farther than a brisk day’s walk from our doorsteps. ’Tis our chance tae be part o’ it!”
“Och!” his friend Reade chided. “ ’Tis a daft notion ye’re proposin’, and ye well know it. It doesnae matter if we wish tae go, or no’. We cannae leave our mither any more than ye can leave yers. Widows, both, and no one tae see tae their needs. What if we dinnae come back? What would become of ’em?”
Darach leaned in, a sense of urgency pulsing in his veins. “Now that the army has brought the battle tae us, we’d no’ be gone more than two days! Three at most. I ken my uncle could see tae my mither, and mayhap yers, for that short time. His crippled leg keeps him from the battle, but no’ from keepin’ a watchful eye tae home.”
After a hard look at each of the brothers, he reared back, squared his shoulders and pressed his fists to his hips. “I tell ye, lads, we’ll have those Hanoverian’s arses whipped and be back before the porridge cools.”
His two best friends sat silently, their twin shapes haloed in the light of the peat fire. Darach sighed and added more enticement. “Ye’ll have tales tae spin of yer valor and patriotism, for years tae come.”
Ewart shook his head. “Much as it pains me tae say it, I have tae agree with my brother. We cannae leave with our mither lyin’ weak in her sick bed. It’s been takin’ the both of us tae see tae our place and tend tae her.” He shrugged. “We’ve no choice in the matter. We cannae go.”
“Ye must!” Darach pressed. “For Scotland. The Jacobites willnae lose this battle, I’m certain of it, but if such a horror were tae take place, we’ll have neither farms tae toil over, nor homes tae shelter our mithers in!”
The two brothers glanced at each other.
“Two days,” Darach repeated. “Just two days tae free Scotland from the bloody British, forever. ’Tis yer birthright and the legacy ye’ll leave tae yer own bairns. Scotland needs ye! I need ye! Come with me lads. I promise, ye’ll no’ regret it.”
