Page 1 of Reviving Her Highland Spirit

PROLOGUE

The battle had been over for several hours, by the looks of it.

What had once been a perfectly good field was now nothing more than a graveyard, albeit a graveyard where nobody was actually buried. Corpses littered the ground, and the once-rich grass was trodden into mire. The sun was going down, and a heavy mist hung over the field.

There were a few shapes in the mist, crouched over and hooded, scuttling from body to body. Foxes and dogs slunk around, searching for their next meal. Crows and birds of prey came down in droves.

Among all the silence and death, a little boy crouched underneath an upturned cart. A dead horse lay in the traces, as its rider was long gone. The boy waited until the hooded figures had moved away before he peered out. They were the human scavengers, the ones who stripped the bodies of valuables before they had time to be buried or burned. Scavengers could be dangerous. Young though he was, the boy knew that such people were better avoided.

Taking his courage in both small hands, the boy crawled out from his hiding spot, a flimsy piece of cloth tied around his mouth and nose to ward off the stench of death. He was no older than five years old, with brown hair plastered to his scalp with sweat and mist. His clothes were too large for him, and a dirty bandage was wrapped around a crescent-shaped wound on the palm of his right hand. He clutched his injured hand to his chest and forced himself onwards.

He began to slip through the carnage, forcing himself to look every corpse in the face, until he found the one he was looking for.

A young warrior lay on his back, sightless eyes staring up at the sky. His face was splattered with blood and mud, and his long brown hair had been stained black with dirt and sweat. The huddled shapes of dead bodies were scattered around him, and a filthy, mud-streaked sword hung from his slack fingers.

The boy stopped when he saw him, standing still as if frozen in place. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and went running towards him with his arms stretched out. He dropped onto his knees beside the body, applying his meager strength to make the body move.

“No! No, Da, we have tae go!” the boy whispered urgently. “Ye said I was tae wait and stay hidden, and I did, I did! I was good, Da. Come on, we’ll find ye a healer. Please get up. Please.”

The warrior lay still. He hadn’t been dead long - his body still held the hint of warmth. The boy couldn’t have said how long it had been since the battle had ended - it felt like an eternity.

The boy sat back on his heels, pulling off the strip of cloth. It didn’t do much to ward off the stink of the battlefield, in any case. He was crying freely now, fat, hot tears rolling down his round cheeks.

“Come on, Da, get up,” he hiccoughed. The dead warrior lay still, no longer able to hear his son’s pleas.

“I’m afraid it’s too late fer that, laddie.”

The boy scrambled to his feet at the unfamiliar voice, spinning around to face the stranger.

“Who are ye?” the boy demanded, with more courage than he actually felt.

The stranger was wearing the same dark, ragged sort of cloak as the rest of the scavengers. However, his hood was thrown back, revealing the brightest red hair the boy had ever seen. The strange man stood upright, not hunched over to scrabble among the mud and corpses for valuables.

The stranger carefully lowered himself to one knee to look the boy in the eye.

“Was this ye father?”

The boy nodded.

“Have ye no other family? No one tae care for ye?”

The boy shook his head immediately. There was no need to think about that.

“It’s always been me and Da,” he whispered.

The stranger sighed. “I ken how it feels tae lose someone ye love. I saw somebody I cared for die once, and it’s haunted me ever since.”

“Your Da?” the boy ventured.

He shook his head. “My mother.”

Ah. The boy had never known his mother. He knew, in an absent, disconnected sort of way, that he must have had one once, but he had no memory of her.

The stranger frowned, biting his lip, lost in a memory.

“I was much older than ye when I lost her,” he said finally. “But I felt just as lost as ye look now. I wish I’d had someone tae care for me, and show me the way. Come on, lad, ye had better come wi’ me.”

“And go where?” the boy asked uncertainly. His Da had always warned him to beware of strangers, but now his Da was dead, so what was he to do?