The Park Family: Mairi: Retribution

Copyright © 2017 Lisanne Valente

First edition published 2017

Reconverted in 2019

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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For those we wish were here

and

For those who are yet to come.

May the angels guide you safely home.

Slàinte

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Epilogue

Artists’ Poetic Licence

Glossary

With Thanks to

Prologue

Baglis, Baglis! Lesley yelled. Good Lord, I swear that woman gets deafer by the century, she thought. When it was clear she couldn’t be heard, she cupped her hands over her lips and sent a shouted whisper.

Mum!

Baglis turned in Lesley’s direction, focussing on the area from where the sound came, searching for the voice, then smiling as she caught sight of a slightly disgruntled lass.

What? What is it, ma deary? she replied calmly, keeping her laughter in check.

What are you doing here in the open? All those in there, she pointed to Mingary they can all see you from the castle.

"I know that, lass. They think me to be Witch."

"You are a witch," Lesley interrupted.

You know as well as I, we are as far removed from their idea of witch as we are from that man in the moon.

Lesley looked skyward. Her mother had tried to convince her of the man in the moon and how the planet was made of green cheese her entire life, she now knew this to be a load of old rubbish, and yet she still searched, expecting to see a man winking back at her!

Well… are you going to tell me why you are out here? I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Lesley was tired, and frustrated with her mother. She had been searching for over an hour, and she knew for certain The MacIain would be waiting for news the minute she returned to the castle.

I’m needin’ some more herbs, lass. I’ve run out of a few. Wait! Baglis pulled her young daughter tightly into her arms, more for her own comfort and the enjoyment of holding her than for the danger to the vole she nearly stood on. Dinnae stand there, lass.

But you don’t need herbs, Lesley said, grumpily, not comprehending her mother’s reasoning, but happily snuggled into her arms. Let The MacIain wait. My Ma is the softest, cuddliest person.

Of course I do! There’s only so much magic can be shared with the mortals. Their healing has to come from the herbs of their own world. We can fuse those herbs together with our magic, and that can aid their healing, but it’s up to their own bodies to complete that which we give them. No matter what we do, though, there comes a time when a mortal’s body has just decided it no longer wants to be cured, and that the time is right for it to leave this world and go to the next.

And that’s when we see Uncle Azrael?

Baglis stroked her daughter’s long hair. It was plaited into a tight row and fell to her waist, but wisps of ash-blonde strands strayed from the knot. No matter how hard Baglis tried to keep her hair in check, it always had a mind of its own and escaped whatever hair concoction she tried.

Yes, ma deary, that’s when we see ma brother, yer uncle. Now away and get yer chores done, Lesley. There’s much to do in the infirmary. I gave yi a list, did ah no?

Aye, Ma, you always give me a list, cause there’s eyeways somethin’ in there to do, she grumbled.

Baglis pulled away from her daughter and regarded her curiously. Aren’t you the one who’s just telt me tae be careful? Aye? Then what do you think would happen if, because we havenae the essentials in place for the humans, it ended in one oh yon humans dying. Eh? Can yi tell me what and who would get the blame?

Lesley went pale and began to pull away. Ah’m sorry, Ma, yi have the right oh it.

Lesley freed herself, reluctantly, from her mother’s arms, and marched towards the castle, with a quick backward glance, she waved.

You have to tell her soon, Baglis. She didn’t turn when she heard the deep voice coming from behind her. He caused her no distress; she had known he was near, waiting.

Aye, that ah do, ma bonnie prince, but it’s breaking ma heart even thinkin’ about losin’ her. Does it have to be so? No, she said quickly, not allowing him to answer. I ken the truth of it, I ken it’s for her ane safety, but ma own daughter no’ havin’ knowledge of who her ane mither is, it… It isnae fair. She shook her head sadly. The powers that be, the Angels and the Fae, have a lot tae answer for, Seere, and your Demon horde hae done nothin’ but cause pain and anguish for all.

I cannot argue with you, Baglis, on any count. However, I will promise to take good care of your daughter. She will remain as an integral member of my castle, and she will be taken care of there. The queen of the Fae has assured me she alone will be in charge of her training.

And me? Her faither and her brithers? How do we cope with the losin’ of one so special? How do we stand by and watch her go, never knowing what’s become of her?

Well… there’s something else I’d like to discuss with you, Baglis, if you have a moment. It could solve a few problems. Oh, I’m afraid Lesley will still not know you’re her family, but at least you’ll be close by—very close by—and you could be a part—a very important part—of her life. I don’t believe the Queen of the Fae will be well pleased. Prince Seere laughed, throwing his head back in glee.

Aye, but isn’t it your job, young prince, to cause her as much bother as possible? You’ve never held back in your pranks that cause her strife and give her a fair amount of discomfort, and I’m no’ sayin’ she doesnae deserve it, cause let’s be oanest, she does deserve some mischief-making. Baglis chortled happily, a tiny hope filling her saddened heart.

Let’s away inside, and you can tell me of this plan that will no doubt get you thrown out of yer ane hame, Lenticularis Kisimul, again!

Chapter One

The Veil

The Glen—in Gaelic, A’ Charnaich, The Stoney Place—is a place of mystery and magic, it has been protected by Angels and Mistdreamers for centuries.

Glencoe, with its barbaric, beautiful mountains, is also known in the Heavens as The Veil.

The Angels have safeguarded this sacred location, forever, because it is the gateway to all the worlds, and all the universes. Throughout the ages, the Angels have shared this responsibility with other races. The Fae are one of those who have taken part in the task, and as brothers of the Angels, they worked closely with one another. When the time was right, together, they developed a plan that would be instigated, upon the birth of the human race. It was agreed that a family of humans would be invited to become Mistdreamers, and with this gift bestowed upon them, they would assist the Angels from the Earth’s plane and help to defend the universes from evil.

With careful consideration, the Angels agreed that the clan best suited to be their mystical warriors on Earth would be the MacDonalds.

And, therefore, it came about that the clan MacDonald of Glencoe became the first humans to pledge their fealty and unite with the Angels to help protect The Veil. Upon becoming the first Mistdreamers, their names, and those of their descendants, were written—by Ambriel, the Angel of Communications, using gold from the heavens and with the most prolific and artistic penmanship—into the Book of Angels. The words of the original agreement, and also the names of the Mistdreamers, were witnessed by the King of the Fae, who then confirmed it by signing his name in blood, thus sealing the fate of the Mistdreamers.

*

Throughout the history of the universes, wars had continually erupted in the heavens. Angels fought their Angelic brethren, and divisions appeared amongst Archangels, Seraphim, Cherubim, and the multitude of Angelic tiers. When Archangel Michael led his forces into the thousand-year war, it was to command a well-trained, disciplined army of Angels that he would direct to an overall victory, and in so doing, he would take no prisoners. When the war ended, the outcome left those still existing in the heavens agreeing to be governed by his rules. Not every Angel accepted this, or wanted his rules, and bitter acrimony caused further conflict. With the disunity, however, new allegiances would be forged, and the foundations of new alliances began.

Although Michael’s wrath was impossible to avoid, the Angels who had endured enough of the bitter fighting and had subsequently gone on to align themselves with new acquaintances, automatically fell from Michael’s grace. Thus, the ‘fallen’ Angel was born. Not quite an Angel of Hell’s domain, but one who could traverse between Hell and Heaven, while belonging to neither. The mightiest and most beautiful of all the fallen Angels was The Conjurer, the King of Hell, who carries many other names: The Devil, Lucifer, and Satan are only a few of them.

When The Conjurer, in his arrogance, came to his irrevocable conclusion that he no longer desired that which Heaven could offer—because it limited his great potential—he proceeded to create his own kingdom in Hell and made it an inviting concept to a thousand fallen Angels. He rejoiced in welcoming them as his own, encouraging them to delight in Hell as they had the Heavens, and he persuaded them to turn away from the Heavens, accepting his new realm as their own.

He taught them their lives could exceed any of their expectations; maybe a little different from their time as Angels, but much better. He explained punishment was enjoyable, pain without mercy was fun. He seduced them into understanding greed and personal pleasure was the ultimate objective, and that they could live their lives without recourse from anyone, especially those now dwelling in the Heavens.

He divided his realm into subdivisions, and placing his most reliable and trustworthy supporters as rulers of their own domains, he gave them the authority to rule as they believed fit. He coaxed them into recruiting new demons, and introduced minions—those humans who were easily lured from Earth’s realm with promises of all manner of temptations, and who then became their possessions. Toys to dally with whenever they felt a need. Owned by them, always available whenever they had an itch that needed satisfying. Accommodating whatever demonic urges arose.

His select Fallen Angels, those specifically chosen by The Conjurer, were to become the Kings, Presidents, and Dukes of Hell. The chosen nobility were each given a district within the Kingdom of Hell as their own realm. They would recruit warriors and build their own legions of demons, for the sole purpose of helping The Conjurer succeed, and, of course, the elected noble would continue ruling his given district, remaining loosely within the laws The Conjurer had set. These Fallen Angels were those he depended upon. His presence was more beneficial elsewhere, his awesome power required for purposes other than the running of the realm. It was tedious keeping his own minions in check, and whilst he knew they would not remain faithful to his laws, so long as there were not too many outrageous deviances, he would grant them certain aberrations.

However, as is the way with Angels, fallen or not, they became exceedingly discontented with their lot. Power and lust, while acceptable for a few millennia, could still lead to monotony. Therefore, boredom set in, just as it had done when they were in the Heavens, so they searched for an alternative, something new.

Some chose to distance themselves from The Conjurer. A few even attempted to return to the Heavens, but once associated with the Dark Lord, the Almighty Ruler of Heaven’s Realms did not give immediate forgiveness.

Those few Fallen Angels who, by the time they searched for another realm, were more demon than Fallen Angel, were rejected from reentering Heaven. They turned to Earth for the answers they sought. Several minions had been recruited from Earth; the brain power of those who had been turned was not intellectually stimulating to the demon rulers, but they served a purpose. There was no doubt in their minds, though, that humans continued to fascinate them.

The differences that presented in each human form was intriguing. The religious fanatics, who believed the literal word, were those humans the Fallen Angels would take great delight when whispering into their ears. The promise of a life in Heaven should they carry out a simple undertaking. Perhaps the murder of an innocent—it mattered not the task which they were required to undertake, just that they did it! And they rarely let the demons down!

There were humans who could not hear the fallen Angels when they whispered, so they would shout, striving to be heard, yet the humans still would not listen, which infuriated the Angels even more. They would return to those humans and repeat their whispers many times over the years. In some instances an eyelid would flicker, or there would be a slight quiver in a lip, which might indicate recognition of the Angels’ voices breaking through the humans’ seemingly impenetrable wall. They would then grasp at the opportunity to turn them.

In these instances, the game would eventually become dreary and monotonous, and the human’s life was ended. Not by the Angels’ hand, of course. The end would come about by the zealot—the soon-to-be minion—who, had heard ‘the voice of the Lord’ and acted upon the command. Without exception, the bored Angel observed, not taking any delight in the slaughtering of the innocent human, be that as it may, on occasion, the zealot could be quite ingenious in the kill. It was an unpleasant end to the human, but it was also an extremely unsatisfactory conclusion for the Angel.

No, what delighted the Dark Angel was the utter bliss experienced when he ended the life of the ‘future’ minion. Absorbing the reaction, as he stretched the creature’s neck.

The enjoyment in crushing a windpipe, hearing the last breath hiss from his throat.

The pleasure in watching eyes pop out of their sockets—then, moments before death, the Dark Angel would show himself, a wry smile fixed on his demonic face when the zealot saw him for the first time.

Fear. It was a delicious smell.

Terror, a delightful taste.

The Dark Angel savoured the moment of reality hitting home. The murderer’s vision of a golden walkway disintegrated, like ash blown away on a warm wind, instead a burning yoke, clamped around his neck, and at the same time, scorching chains snaked their way around his ankles and wrists, chaining him for eternity to the demon’s chair.

Inevitability was the ambrosia a demon drank while the zealot would ready himself for the tortures to begin.

*

When the Dark Angels discovered the Scots’ race, they were intrigued. They were a panacea to the Dark Angels’ tedium. A race of people who would argue against religion and yet believe The Word. A stubborn race, yet gentle and kind. Warriors at heart, and fiercely protective. They were a race of contradictions, and for five centuries the fallen Angels played an intense game of life and death, until, at last, they plotted together to ensure their safe return to rule the Heavens.

In the Battle of Killiecrankie, the Jacobite rebellion of 1689, the Highlanders charged the government army. Their skilful forward attacks overpowered the government forces, allowing the Highlanders to walk from the battlefield the victors. The lives of many friends, and even more enemies, were taken that day, and the Highlanders lost one of their most influential leaders, John Graham, the First Viscount of Dundee, a man who would become immortalised in song. This was an especially difficult loss to bear. They were Highlanders. There was no other choice but to regroup, tiredly, undeniably unenthusiastically, but they had to prepare themselves for the next battle.

Being supporters of the deposed King James the VII of Scotland, their newly regrouped army travelled in force to meet the government regiment of covenanters, whose allegiance belonged with William of Orange.

The Jacobites outnumbered the covenanters four to one, when they met them in the Streets of Dunkeld on 21st August 1689. Using the same battle plan that had been so efficient in winning the previous battle, they charged and attacked, as before. This time, however, they were outmanoeuvred. The Highlanders forced the Covenanters away from their positions and chased them through narrow and winding streets. The Covenanters put a stranglehold on the type of battle Highlanders normally fought. They would not give up; even though they were placed in weakened positions, the Highlanders continued to fight.

The battle surged on for hours until, in the end, exhausted, and left with little, or in some instances, no ammunition, they withdrew. The choice was a hard one to make, but if they wanted to live, see another day, perhaps another bid for freedom, they had to withdraw. Their 300 compatriots lay dead or dying, their blood running through the streets of Dunkeld, and the Highlanders knew their fight was over, and they would pay for their insurrection. One thing was certain, King William would have them pay a high price, even if it took him years to collect.

On the 27th August 1691, King William, upon advice of council—though it has been claimed by some, grudgingly—offered the option of pardon to those who took part in the Jacobite rising. If the clan chiefs signed the oath by 1st of January 1692 and accepted him as their king, he would allow their oaths to be taken as a sign of their obedience. Should they decide not to sign, he promised reprisals upon Scotland like they had never seen before. The clan chiefs contacted James, who by now was in exile in France, to ask for his advice on the matter, and for him to offer his opinion on whether they should agree to William’s demand.

James took his time, and wavered from day to day, confident he would be able to reclaim his throne. He dallied in giving his decision to the clan chiefs, but it soon became evident there was no chance of him regaining the throne, and with reluctance, belatedly, he sent his answer, which was to order the chiefs to accept William’s proposals. Because of his hesitation, the letter of Order did not reach the chiefs until mid-December, but when it was received, they immediately acted upon James’s wishes and signed the Oath. All, that is, with the exception of MacIain, clan chief to the MacDonalds of Glencoe.

Alastair MacIain, the 12th Chief of Glencoe, put off taking the oath of allegiance to William of Orange, in the hope it would be withdrawn and a new arrangement would be set in order. This gave the perfect opportunity for six Fallen Angels to put a plan together, and remove The Veil from the clan’s protection. In the seventeenth century, with real devilish intent, they put their treacherous plot into place.

The six Fallen Angels who decided upon this course of action were King Balam, whose perfect answers on all subjects past, present, and future would undeniably be important when questioning the humans; King Amdusias, whom, with his thunderous voice, could cause a fight in an empty street; King Zagan, with the ability to change metal into gold and water into wine made an interesting member of the group, and one who could easily corrupt a greedy, manipulative human.

Duke Flauros had to speak the truth whenever he stood inside a magic triangle, but with his ability to set fire to any of The Conjurer’s enemies, he would be useful when ridding the earth of those humans the group found to be irritants. Duke Vual could arrange friendships, and Duke Dantalian, whose gift of knowing the thoughts of people, also had the ability to change them at his will, would be another key member of the group.

These six Fallen Angels took possession of pivotal members in the Campbell Clan. Although in possession of the human bodies, they were clearly identifiable. Dantalian cast demonic glimmer to hide their true selves, and they easily inserted themselves into the Clan.

The moment was perfect. The Highland Jacobites, having relinquished their support of James, now appeared to be acquiescent, sympathisers of William, but wars have a habit of leaving open wounds, and when not tended correctly, they fester. The poison will then spread directly to the heart.

*

The title of The Butcher of Glencoe, is bestowed upon Robert Campbell of Glenlyon, because of his infamy in the history of the Glencoe Massacre. Until that atrocious event, he was a man who had many inner demons. Diaries from that era write he was not an unpleasant man; in fact, it is believed in many circles that he was quite the opposite.

When he inherited Meggernie Castle, he was full of optimism and anticipated an exciting future in Glenlyon, and so he began ordering immediate improvements be arranged. He roofed the castle with slate instead of thatch, creating a home safer for the inhabitants, with less likelihood of it burning to the ground. He built an enormous extension and created a beautiful castle in the process. The dwellings of his people living on the land were repaired and upgraded, and he put in place new technology for the cultivation of his lands; this would make life easier for his workers and, in the end, make him more prosperous.

The cost of these renovations was excessive, so money began to dwindle. This, combined with Robert’s tendency towards heavy drinking, gambling, and bad investments, left him close to bankruptcy. His only recourse was to sell some of the Glenlyon estate to recoup funds. It is credit to the man himself that his own tenants offered their hard-earned coinage in an attempt to help him escape the financial stranglehold he found himself bogged down in, but he refused their aid.

He continued to sell more of the Glenlyon estate, but thankfully, was able to retain a house, previously belonging to his wife, which had been part of the small dowry he had been gifted upon their marriage. According to the rights of marriage, all of her property had been settled into his hands.

Several raids had been carried out on his property, and he became too weary, or perhaps too in his cups to care, the worry of the situation overtaking all reason at times. But when the battle fatigued and despondent Glengarrys, together with their cousins the MacIains, crossed his lands en route to the Highlands after the battle of Dunkeld, looting and stealing what little cattle remained, it was the final straw for Robert.

The two clans herded his animals to The MacIain’s property on Glencoe, and Robert reported the theft and looting to the Crown. He insisted that he should be reimbursed for his losses. Upon reporting the raid, he cited the Glengarrys as the sole perpetrators, omitting the information of the MacIains involvement. Even in his drunken state, he still had an obligation to them.

His niece, and sister to Rob Roy MacGregor, was married to Alexander MacDonald, the youngest son of The MacIain. The Campbells, the proclaimed law keepers of Scotland, had jailed Rob Roy’s father, Donald MacGregor, on charges of treason after the Battle of Killiecrankie. They held him in the most repugnant of conditions, while they tortured him to the point of death.

The relations between Robert and his sister’s family hung by a tenuous thread; he had seen her health rapidly decline in the two years her husband had been imprisoned in the notorious Tolbooth gaol, in Edinburgh. All the while, she was unable to visit her beloved husband because he was considered, by the Crown, to be a treasonous MacGregor outlaw and a Jacobite sympathiser.

Robert had stayed clear of giving any aid to his brother-in-law, believing he would die in prison. Rob Roy gained the Crown’s ear by using his mother’s name of Campbell, and came forward with the finances necessary to buy his father’s freedom. Money that was no doubt raised from the sale of many animals stolen from landowners throughout Scotland. While Donald awaited his release, his wife lost the will to live and died. He never laid eyes on her again, and it was clear, upon leaving the prison, that the death of his wife had managed to do what all the torture inflicted on his body hadn’t accomplished. He was now a broken man.

Rob Roy MacGregor (Campbell) purchased land, using his mother’s maiden name of Campbell. The Crown had, by this time, outlawed the MacGregor, yet another bitter pill to swallow, and the bad blood that remained between the Campbells and Rob Roy left a sickening ache in Robert Campbell’s heart, and one he did not want to resurrect by including the MacIains in his Crown prosecution.

Had he informed on The MacIain, he was sure the ghosts of MacDonalds, MacIains, and MacGregors past, his sister and God knows who else, would haunt him until the end of his days, and no amount of whisky would drown out the words they would cast at him from beyond the grave.

But he resented the loss of his animals, and the constant looting of his property left an indelible mark of bitterness towards the MacDonalds.

In a last effort to support his family, and escape the financial straits he had managed upon them, Robert, at the age of fifty-nine, with little funds and no other prospect, set into motion the chain of events that would write him into the history books as one of the most despised humans to have lived.

He joined the Earl of Argyll’s Regiment of Foot.

Chapter Two

Alastair MacIain MacDonald, the clan chief of the Glencoe MacDonalds, travelled to Fort William on the 31st December 1691 to ask the governor, Colonel Hill, to administer his oath to the Dutchman William of Orange, now the King of England. Duke Dantalian, under the guise of Colonel Hill, was then to put into action the plan the six fallen Angels had constructed. He informed the McIain he was unauthorised to receive his oath and urged Alastair to travel quickly to Inveraray, whereupon his pledge would have to be made before the Sheriff of Argyll, Sir Colin Campbell, who also happened to be King Amdusias, one of the Great Kings of Hell, with twenty-nine legions under his command.

With a letter of protection from Sir Colin in his pocket, Alastair was assured that no action would be taken against him or his people, without him first putting forward his case before King and Council. The letter would state that Sir Colin should have, but could not receive his oath because of mitigating circumstances, but that it had been given by the specified date.

Is he approaching yet? Duke Vual, in the appearance of Captain Drummond, asked.

I care not, King Amdusias replied. Do they not have breeches in this time that will fit around my nether regions? These are damned uncomfortable. He pulled and tugged at the offending garments as he griped.

You are supposed to be Sir Colin Campbell, Amdusias. I doubt you would hear him whinge on about how his breeks were giving him gip!

Amdusias stopped complaining when he heard the cries of the guards on duty, announcing the arrival of a visitor, who it would appear, listening to the eager yells, was quickly nearing the castle. Whoever was approaching was being loudly announced with yells echoing from gatehouse to the curtain wall. The sounds, at times, were getting lost in the wild wind that blew enthusiastically around Barcaldine Castle. The snow was falling heavily, randomly flying in frenzied patterns as it was swept along with the powerful wind, yet still, a blanket of snow spread evenly over the ground, and snow drifts began to creep around the Castle like hunched camouflaged demons.

He has arrived, Drummond said. It’s time to make a hasty exit, Amdusias. You know what to do next.

You do not have to remind me. Just remember to do your part, without embellishment. Make sure you delay him for three days and all will be well, he answered angrily.

Shifting uncomfortably, Vual scratched his knee and frowned. How can there possibly be bloody midges at this time of year? They suck me dry!

Amdusias groaned. This was not the way he had expected their plot to develop. It was a freezing country, and a damned uncomfortable one as well. He rolled his eyes at Vual and promptly disappeared.

As it happened, no matter how hard he tried, Drummond/Vual could not prevent The MacIain leaving Barcaldine the following day, so determined was he to protect his people by putting forth his allegiance to the English King William. Vual knew his existence would be made miserable by Amdusias for his ineptitude, but these humans constantly baffled him. As he released the body of Drummond, he flew into the cold air in search of another way of preventing The MacIain arriving at his destination on time.

The weather was dismal, even for January in the Highlands, and the seventy-two-mile journey to Inveraray Castle was a bitterly cold one. Vual hid in the snow mounds and blew icy demonic breaths into the air, and the chill factor rose. Heavy snow poured from the skies, and with a sharp gust of breath, Vual caused the wind to pick up and form a cloudy snow storm. The tentacles of the storm swirled around The MacIain, and he tugged at his clothing, accidentally opening his skin to the freezing elements. He shivered and wrapped his garb tighter around him, then, with determination, yanked his plaid over his nose and mouth. His horse would die if he stopped for a moment, even though he had covered the beast in swaddling plaids. He smiled to himself recalling his wife’s painstaking job of carefully binding each of the loyal beast’s legs. When The MacIain shivered, the horse forced his head forward, equally as determined as his master to reach their destination. The storm whipped up around them like an invisible captor, but he forged onwards, determined to make his oath of allegiance.

Vual’s calculated actions saved him from Amdusias’s wrath because The MacIain took three days to reach Inveraray.

It would be written into history that Sir Colin Campbell had spent the New Year with his family in Loch Fyne and had been delayed in returning to Inveraray, to accept The MacIain’s allegiance, because of the unusually bad weather. Amdusias laughed while watching The MacIain from the comfort of Sir Colin’s private rooms, as he hurriedly walked around the forecourt of the castle. It would have been preferential to keep the man waiting a week, and if that was the case, the demons’ plans would easily be accomplished.

He noted the restlessness of the guards. They knew Sir Colin Campbell was in situ, and they also found it amusing to keep the clan chief waiting, but as the days dragged on and the weather continued to batter and chill them, their amusement turned to discord. When the three days came to an end, and before a rebellion broke out amongst Sir Colin’s guard, Amdusias reluctantly accepted The MacIain’s oath of allegiance.

MacIain left Inveraray and headed home to Glencoe, satisfied that he had made the oath in time and that his people were safe.

It is strange, a voice whispered from the shadows of Colin Campbell’s private rooms. He turned quickly to view the dark outline of the entity who spoke and sighed in pleasure when King Balam walked out.

What is strange? he asked the king.

This human I inhabit, this John Dalrymple. I fear there was no need for me to have taken over his form. He has hate enough inside to have accomplished this feat without my assistance. He wants to see an end to the Highlanders. There was no need for me to have become involved.

But Balam, Amdusias insisted, he mayhap required a little push?

I think not. His desire is to rid Scotland of the Highlanders and their way of life. He believes Scotland would be better served in a union with England.

Pfft. Amdusias flipped his hand. These Scotsmen don’t know what they want. That is why we are here to… assist.

Balam laughed outright. You may be right there. They are a nation of differences, are they not? They definitely spike my curiosity. I wonder what their women are like in bed—feisty and hot, no doubt.

I think talk of such has to be held aside, until we see the end to this. King Amdusias huffed. Do you go forward with the plan now?

Yes, of course. I meet with John Campbell, the first Earl of Breadalbane, and his cousin Archibald Campbell.

You mean Flauros?

Yes, yes, Flauros, Balam answered shortly. Why did we not think John Campbell could be possessed and controlled? Was it the case that he has enough hate in his heart for the MacDonalds and MacIain? If so, then my resources are wasted in this form, for he is, as John Dalrymple and well on the way to becoming one of our minions. Balam frustratedly ran his hand through the mat of Dalrymple’s hair. We could have been working on something else and not wasting my time in this black heart’s body.

"You have it right, but I still say John Dalrymple required a little ‘persuasion’, and