“No,” Johnne says, but the weariness and strain in his voice and on his face is clear. “I was not, but I’ve been fighting the bastards, as have all our good men.”
“What are we going to do?” “How do we survive the winter?” “Is our name really outlawed?”
A dozen voices raise, shouting questions at Johnne. He turns in a circle, looking at his people, or what remains of them over.
“Ach, I know, I know. This is going to be hard, but it’s going to be fine. Remember, we’re MacGregors. Our ancestors are royalty and these are our Highlands. Our home. We belong here and the land will provide for us.”
“What news?” someone asks.
Johnne shakes his head. “Tis not good. I’ll not lie to you. King James the VI has placed his signature and outlawed our very name. You might be able to blend in if’n you change your name or go with a maiden name. If not, the law says you’ll be killed.”
“He can’t do that!” “It’s not right!” “Why?”
“Aye, he cannot, but he has. We’ve been played. Now the clan has retreated, Clan Head Alaqhon has ordered us chiefs to establish our families and prepare. There are dozens of gatherings dotting the mountains like ours. We’ll work together and we’ll survive.”
“We don’t have enough.”
“Aye, I know. We’ve a lot to do if we’re not going to be caught in the snows without supplies.”
“There’s not enough men.” I recognize Agnes’s voice.
I exchange a look with Rob and he shrugs with an agreeable nod. Together we push past the outer ring of onlookers and step into the clearing that surrounds the chief.
“Healer and Rob, a fine young man here as if in answer to your prayers, Agnes,” Johnne says, and a round of laughter chases itself around the circle.
“Chief,” Rob says with a bob of his head.
I make a half-curtsy and manage to not look a total fool doing it. All the training with the Druid has done miracles for my balance.
“You’ve both the look of intention on your faces. Speak up.”
“I know where more of our men are,” Rob says. “Lord Nicholas has captured a significant amount. I escaped from his clutches myself and found my way here.”
“You escaped Lord Nicholas?” Johnne asks, walking closer. He grips Rob by his arms and looks him over carefully. “You’ve barely a scratch. How did you manage this?”
There is no mistaking the suspicion in his voice that would never have been there before the troubles.
“I had a lot more than a scratch,” Rob says and my heart leaps into my throat. I shake my head, willing him to not say what I did. He looks towards me but I can’t read his face. My heart hammers as I wait for what he’s going to say next. “Our healers are skilled.”
“Skilled?” Johnne says. “Unless I miss my guess, they’ve the skills of the Holy Mother herself.”
“Aye. But I know where he’s holding our men. I can lead a group there; we can free them.”
The crowd pushes in. They want to hear too. Several of them speak up, some saying we should go now, others hushing the excitable ones.
“Where does he have them, lad?”
“Castle Moil on Skye.”
Sounds of despair arise from the clan around us and even Johnne takes a step back, shaking his head.
“That is no small task,” Johnne says.
I rack my memory, but I don’t recall any details of this particular castle. He said Skye and I assume he means the Isle but I’m not sure of even that much. If it is on the Isle getting to it and back will be a problem too.
“For an army, it would be impossible,” Rob says.
“And we don’t have an army, now do we?” Johnne counters.