“Fine, that!” murmured Kelpie, remembering that day at Inverary. “And Argyll away after him all over the Highlands.”
Ian nodded. “And the English burned Antrim’s ships, so that he must stay here, will he, nil he. So he has been trying to get the other Highland clans to join him. He’s not had much luck, for some of the clans fear the Campbells too much, and some others have decided that they hate the MacDonalds even more than the Covenant—for the moment, at any rate. Lochiel doesn’t dare call out our clan yet, with Ewen still in Argyll’s hands, and—more important—with Argyll’s army so near to Lochaber. Can you imagine what would be happening to our women and children at Lochaber if Lochiel took the men away to fight the Covenant?”
Kelpie could imagine, easily. Her blood ran cold at the thought of Wee Mairi in danger, and she nodded soberly.
“Some of us Camerons have come along anyway, and so have some five hundred Gordons who are wanting revenge against Argyll,” continued Ian. “But most on this side of the mountains think we Western Highlanders are a band of wild savages, like the Red Indians of America. And even Stewart of Atholl—although he hates Argyll and the Covenant—will have nothing to do with the Irish MacDonalds. So—” He grinned at Kelpie mischievously. “We have just borrowed Atholl’s castle from him, and now we sit and wait.” He sobered again. “I do not know what we will do next. There is a rumor that Graham of Montrose is still alive, and perhaps he is our hope. But to tell the truth, things do not look very good, and the Covenant armies will not sit still forever.”
Kelpie’s lip lifted in sudden anger. “Och, ye will be losing this war, just!” she predicted despairingly. “For yourselves, and for the folk like me who want only to be left alone. You cannot get together even to save your own lives, but must always be quarreling clan against clan, and so ye will lose!”
Ian looked depressed, but Alex came out of his black reverie with a laugh. “Listen to her, just!” he taunted. “The lone lass who lives for herself and no other will be giving us a lesson on cooperation! But even though you don’t practice what you preach,” he added somberly, “you’re right.”
A puffy cloud blew over the sun, darkening the bright hills, and the thistles waved in a sudden sharp breeze.
The small army was spread over the hill and moor near Blair Atholl, looking somewhat dispirited. Some men were hopefully cleaning their gear, polishing the huge two-handed claymores and battle axes which struck such terror into Lowland hearts. Others just sat, or wandered, or gambled, or talked. Women were busy gossiping, sewing, cooking, arguing; but one tall, gaunt woman brooded alone. Children ran about playing tag or hanging about the men. A ragged, motley crowd it was, but fierce-looking enough, no doubt, to folk on this side of the mountains. Kelpie frowned suddenly. The whole scene looked familiar.
“We’ve set up our wee camp spot over yon, just near those rowan trees,” said Ian, pointing to a spot partway up the hill. But before they were halfway there a flurry of excitement near the edge of the moor turned into an uproar. Men began shouting, running. A single shot was fired, and then several more.
“It couldn’t be an attack!” Ian frowned, staring across the moor, “but what is it?”