“Donag?” Callum re-sheathes his sword. “She wouldnae hurt me.”
“True enough.” The man softens his voice as he looks back to me. “But she’d hurt you, lass. ’Tis your blood she wants.”
“I know. Aoife already told me.”
“Aye, but now the woman’s issued a curse. A MacGregor must die.”
“How can that be?” Callum asks through gritted teeth.
“She’s made a corp creadha.”
Callum goes rigid, and seeing his reaction sends panic surging through me. “A what?” My voice comes out shrill. “What is it? Callum?”
His voice is hoarse. “An evil thing. A clay body.”
Angus nods grimly. “And this one wears MacGregor plaid.”
Callum’s voice is a tight whisper. “As she destroys the doll?—”
Angus finishes for him, “So she destroys the person. A MacGregor will die.”
“You’re in danger, love.” Callum checks his blade with an unsteady hand, and the steel rattles against the scabbard as he slides it home. “We must go.”
I’ve never seen him like this. Callum is always steady, always sure.
“It’s okay,” I assure him. “Listen, we’ll get out of here. We can take a boat like you said.”
He whirls to face me. “You don’t understand. This curse. There’s no fighting it. No reversing it. Donag wants blood. And blood she’ll have. MacGregor blood.”
I think of Gregor MacGregor, the father I’ll never know. “You mean my blood.”
“Keep watch,” Angus murmurs to his companions, then steps close to Callum. “That’s not all, lad. The old Campbell is a sentimental cur and he might come to forgive your various trespasses. But Hamish?” Hetsks. “The young Campbell is on the hunt, with you his quarry.”
“That brat is long overdue a taste of my sword,” Callum says, seething. Somehow the sword is back in his hand. “I’m no coward.”
“’Tis better a coward than a corpse. Think on the lass.”Angus tips his chin toward me. “You dinnae want her to see such like. The Campbell lad is coming, and soon. Have a care.”
“You bother me with Hamish?” Callum gets up in Angus’s face. “Rose is the one who matters. Donag’s curse can strike anytime, from any quarter. You think I spare a thought for my own hide when she’s the one marked for death?”
“Nae,” Angus says, sounding like he’s trying to soothe a wild horse. He calmly takes Callum’s wrist and guides his sword arm back down. “What I think is you’ll put up your blade and get your woman safe and away from here.”
Chest heaving like he’s just sprinted a race, Callum gives the man a sharp nod. “Aye.” An inscrutable expression settles over his features, cold and hard as stone. He takes a deep breath and nods again, more slowly. “Aye, you’ve the right of it. I ken what needs doing.”
“Run, lad. Head to the woods. He’ll have a hard time of it tracking you through the trees. There’s an old fishing bothy beyond the eastern shore. Hide there, and mayhap Hamish’s blood will cool enough to realize the poor sense in crossing his father.”
“I know the place.” Callum clasps his hand. “Whatever comes, you’ve my thanks.”
“So you’ve said. Now stop your eulogizing and get out of my sight.”
Callum snatches our things, grabs my hand, and we run. Skirting along the shore of Loch Long, we go for what feels like hours. We go until I’m nauseated and don’t think I can go a step more. It’s long enough to track my regrets—a forgotten bundle of oatcakes, tucked uneaten beside the fire.The hair ribbon left in the grass, untied by Callum’s careful fingers what feels like a lifetime ago.
After a while, my running falters. I’m stumbling, barely jogging, breath burning in my chest and thundering in my head.
“There.” Callum points to the trees that fringe the shore like a ruff of inky black. Holding tight to me, he plunges us into the woods.
I trip almost at once.
He lunges to catch me. “Come, Rosie-love. Just a little more now. For me.”
