Chapter 1

"Icannae understand why the yeoman farmers dinnae hire mercenaries to guard their wheat harvest," Isla Cunningham told her sister. "If I had a nice harvest to take to market, the least I would do is spend a few shillings on protecting it."

Her sister ignored her, but it was not out of rudeness. Colleen Cunningham was a renowned healer and paid close attention to any elixir she was brewing. "Colleen!" Isla scolded. "I said something. The least ye can do is listen."

That made Colleen turn her head away from the fire and say, "Can ye repeat it please, dear Isla? I'm afraid that me mind was leagues away." Of course, Isla repeated her statement. The two sisters were incredibly close, sharing everything in their modest lives. Colleen, the eldest, prepared the potions and elixirs the villagers used to heal themselves from the flux, the fever, and the doldrums. Isla was the one who stood behind the counter at the village market and sold their wares. This was the perfect arrangement and suited the two girls' temperaments: Colleen was shy and Isla, the younger of the two, always enjoyed a good chat with visitors to the market.

The difference in their characters could be seen in their appearance. Colleen was of average height and her hair could only be described as brown. But on no account was this thought to be a disadvantage; her brown hair framed a face that was arrestingly pretty. Colleen Cunningham had the most gorgeous amber eyes fringed with long lashes and supported by soft rosebud lips. When she was embarrassed, her cheeks would blush pink too and when she was happy, her eyes sparkled like marigolds in June.

Isla's hair was lighter and brighter than her sister's, just like Isla's demeanor. The younger Cunningham girl was fond of a chat and a jest, always on the hunt for something to tease her more staid sister about. Isla had a lot of fodder to help her poke fun at her sister—Colleen was by far the most sought-after maiden around. Young men came from miles away to offer Colleen posies or spend a few moments in her demure company. All of which made Isla hoot with laughter.

But despite this outward demonstration of jocularity, the two sisters loved one another more than life itself. As Colleen would always say, they were all each other had at the end of the day. They enjoyed discussing incidents and events happening in the countryside around them. The Cunninghams had built their cottage a few miles outside the village, to be closer to the forest and fields where they could harvest herbs and flowers with greater ease.

"Oor farmers must pinch every penny, Isla," Colleen replied to her sister's question, "because since the laird died withoot an heir, the strongest lairds want to be the ones getting tax from the villagers."

"Och," Isla huffed and rolled her eyes. "I hate all this useless chat aboot taxes and lairds."

Colleen prepared to give Isla a lecture on how important it was to learn about their feudal lairds, but the younger girl made her excuses and left. Colleen sighed. She did not blame Isla one bit. The situation the village had been left in was not good. The elderly laird had died one year ago, leaving no male heirs behind. Unfortunately, all of his female heirs were past childbearing age and were rejected by the village guildhall too. The castle emptied as there was no more gold to pay soldiers their wages. Servants either moved to the village to work there or left to return home.

Smelling easy prey, three neighboring lairds tried to claim the land and snag the villagers' taxes for their own coffers. The black plague had swept through the Highlands over nearly one hundred years before and laborers and apprentices were still scarce, raising the price of goods and chattels everywhere.

After bickering amongst themselves for a year or two, one laird emerged victorious: Torquil MacKenzie. For centuries, the MacKenzies had enlarged their boundaries and launched spring raids on unsuspecting peasant farmers. With no laird to harry the invaders off their land, the MacKenzie attacks were becoming regular occurrences.

"He cannae just bully us to hand over oor gold to him," Farmer Hutchinson shouted at the village council hall meeting. "MacKenzie wants to raise taxes for no reason! He's threatened to burn doon me crops."

But all the council did as a response was to dither and chat. They were old and as stuck in their ways as the late laird had been. This acceptance to face up to whatever fate chose to bring them bothered Colleen more than she cared to admit. She had always been shy, enough to enjoy the quiet environment living on the outskirts of the forest brought her. But it was also highly dangerous for two maidens to live on their own.

"If we are attacked," Colleen warned Isla, "ye must run into the forest and stay there, Sister. Promise me ye will do that?" Isla had shrugged, saying she trusted her luck.

Colleen did not believe in good luck. With only Isla left in her family, she did not want to take any chances.

The next day was the market. Isla rose early to harness the pony to the cart and load crates of healing tinctures, dried herbs, and fragrant posies on the back. The two young females were almost self-sufficient in most things. They bought flax to spin their own linen, grew their own vegetables, and brewed their own ale. They had shared a room since Colleen turned her bedchamber into a distillery to make her own potions. Yawning and rubbing her eyes, Colleen tightened a bodice around her chemise and pulled on a rough linen petticoat. Over this, she tied a wool skirt that she had dyed yellow using marigold leaves. This color dye was chosen because it was Colleen's favorite hue, although sometimes Isla teased her, saying it was because Colleen had amber-colored eyes, like a cat.

"Yer eyes glow like jonquils in the dark, Sister!" Isla would laugh, "Like one of those mythical beasts travelers tell tales aboot after crossing the sea." But Colleen would scold her. "Dinnae go round saying that, Isla. It's hard enough for me to be a healer withoot ye shouting that I have the evil eye."

With her knee-length chestnut brown hair and heart-shaped face, Colleen caught the eye of every farmer's son who ever caught a glimpse of her during the kirk service, however, the healer was too shy to encourage them to dangle after her. "I have a sister to care for me, sir," she would tell any man who was interested in courting her, "and I must stand as guardian to Isla until she is old enough to fend for herself." So, the farmers' sons kept their distance—for now.

"Maybe ye should give all yer ardent suitors the evil eye, Colleen," Isla teased her, "because it will nae be long before they come buzzing around yer honey pot again."

Colleen was not listening. She had heard the sheep bleating and the sound of hooves running around behind the fencing. Holding up her hand to indicate that Isla should be quiet, she walked to the paddock. She saw a man in the distance, running as fast as his legs could carry him. She recognized him. "Good morrow, Tam. How are ye—" she stopped.

Poor old Tam's head was bleeding as he staggered down the lane toward them. Rushing to meet him and shouting for Isla to help her, Colleen brought the injured man into the cottage. True to her nature, Colleen did not say much as she busied herself tending to the man's wound. It was Isla who asked. "Did ye take a tumble off the ladder, Tam? Is yer pate addled?"

Colleen tried to hush her sister, but the old man whimpered. "Isla, I beg ye to drive the cart to the village and get help! The farmstead was attacked. Me wife! I must defend her from harm."

Tam Tavish and his wife had inherited their farm from a wealthy landowner after acting as the man's bailiff and housekeeper for many years. They had become very comfortably well off from the bountiful harvests, sending their own children to be merchants and craftsmen in the cities.

Colleen looked at Isla. "Take the horse and cart to market, Sister. Tell the sheriff to make all haste and ride to Tavish farm at once. Dinnae worry aboot me. I'll stay here and bind Tam's head."

Giving her sister a doubtful look, Isla did as she was told. She knew not to get involved when Colleen was healing someone. It was a difficult time to be known as a healer. One disgruntled patient or bitter customer and the council might be encouraged to summon them to stand trial for witchcraft!

Turning the old man's head to the side, Colleen tried to calm him down. "Hush noo, Tam. Yer goodwife will be all right. What men were they? Bandits? Deserters?" As she spoke, Colleen dabbed the blood away with lint and washed the wound with a sea sponge dipped in spring water. The gash was not deep, but it would not stop bleeding. Reaching for a bone needle thread with catgut, she began to sew the split skin together.

"They appeared oot o' the morning mists like specters," the old farmer said. "Three men on horseback. They wanted gold."

"What plaid were they wearing?" But Colleen already knew the answer to her question. "MacKenzie plaid." Tam replied in a hopeless voice. "I sent word to me son in Inverness town, begging him to find us mercenaries to protect the farmstead, but noo it is too late."

Patting the old farmer's shoulder, Colleen comforted him. "It's not too late, Tam. Ye will see that yer goodwife is unharmed and the men have gone." Colleen found it a lot easier to talk to people when they needed her help. As long as she had a roll of lint or a healing salve in her hands, she was able to chat with anyone who needed her help. It was only when she had to talk face to face with someone that her shyness surfaced. A true maiden, Colleen found it difficult to hold a conversation with men because of the way they always reacted to her eyes. It made her feel silly whenever a man started to compliment her. She felt most at ease with the elderly, the injured, and bairns. Anyone who needed her help was welcome in the healer's cottage. Any man who was there to ogle at her eyes or lavish bosom or swaying hips was always swiftly shown to the door.

"Let's get yer head bound up and then we can go and find Mistress Tavish. I swear she will be fine." Colleen's voice was as serenely beautiful as her eyes, making those who heard it think of tinkling pools of water and gentle rain.

This turned out to be true, up to a point. Mistress Tavish had been given a black eye and both elders had been knocked about, but no amount of bullying could change the fact that the farmer sent all of his gold to his son in Inverness, where it was under lock and key with the local goldsmith.

"Soon, bankers and goldsmiths will not be able to keep oor gold for us," the sheriff announced during the guildhall meeting. "Torquil MacKenzie wants to lay his hands on oor taxes and nothing will stop him."

"Aye," the chief master craftsman agreed. "The craven knave will nae wait for the King's endorsement. He will levy his taxes on us and imprison us if we have nae gold to give him."

Murmurs of ‘who will save us?' and ‘someone must inform the King' could be heard rippling through the hall, but no one could offer a solution.

After the market, Isla came back home with a pocket full of pennies and her eyebrows raised. "I think we should hire laborers to dig a palisade around the cottage, Colleen," she advised. "I don't like the idea of waking up one morning to find four horsemen creeping into the cottage."

Counting the pennies into a pot, Colleen agreed. "Let's not use oor coins, Isla," she suggested. "Rather, let us exchange one of the sows for the workers' labor."

Climbing into bed with her sister that night, Colleen halted before blowing out her candle. Was the door latched and bolted? Like most cottages, there was only one entrance opposite the fireplace. This allowed the distillery and bedchamber to share the chimney. A narrow burn flowed on one side of the cottage boundary, creating a barrier of bog and mud. The mire from the stable and byres formed a deep ditch on the other side. But the front entrance leading out to the country lane was open, ready to receive visitors, both the good kind and the bad kind.

I must get that palisade fence erected just as soon as I can find a laborer. I dinnae believe in luck.

The next morning dawned bright and fair. Instead of entering the forest to look for healing plants and tear off bark from the tree branches, the two sisters placed a bottle of St. John's Wort, yarrow, dittany, and feverfew essence into a basket, along with six bannocks, and began walking to Tavish farm.

It was the tail end of summer, but the weather was not yet chilly enough for the sisters to carry arisaids with them. A light chemise under a linen bodice and woolen skirts were all they needed. Even the feet they slid into their little wooden chopines were bare. Chopines were by far the most practical shoes to wear outside the cottage because it was so muddy. Colleen had braided Isla's hair, but there was no time to pin up her chestnut locks. Letting her long hair fall down her back, all Colleen did to keep the hair off her face was wrap a scarf around her head.

"Ye look like a wandering traveler maiden, Sister," Isla teased. "All ye need is a tambourine and some bells to set ye dancing around the campfire." Colleen hushed her. "Such nonsense ye speak, Isla. I'm a respectable woman with no wish to see anything at the end of the day except me bed."

"Many a lad would be happy to hear ye say that, Colleen," Isla shouted with laughter. Colleen was about to pretend to buffet her sister around the head when she froze. Horses could be heard cantering along the road. Market day was yesterday. Who could be coming?

Three horsemen came riding around the corner of the lane. There was no forest for the two girls to hide in; both fields on either side of the road were bare after the harvest. All they could do was move into the ditch and hope the riders would pass them by.

Pulling on the reins, the three men halted. One of them dismounted and sauntered over to them after throwing his reins to one of his fellows. "Well, well, what do we have here? A pair o' bonny lassies." Coming to stand in front of them, the man asked. "Whither goest ye, lassies?"

Looking at the man's plaid, Colleen saw they were MacKenzie's soldiers. Not paid mercenaries, but real soldiers; loyal to their laird, housed at MacKenzie castle barracks, and supplied with a regular annual salary. Like all Highlanders, they buckled their sheaths over the shoulder to keep their swords behind their backs, primed for action. These were serious men, armed and dangerous. Using all of her skill as a wise woman, Colleen read the men's expressions.

They are here on orders. The man they call master has sent them here to cause trouble. That air of authority they carry with them tells me everything I need to ken.

Pulling her sister behind her, Colleen plastered a fake smile on her face. "I am going to visit a neighbor. Oor brither is following behind us—he is always late, so we continued withoot him."

There was no brother, but these soldiers could not know that. The threat of a brother did not discourage the soldier. "Brither?" Turning back to his fellows, the man shouted, "Hoots, lad. These two lassies have a brither! We must run away before he comes." Shouts of laughter greeted this joke. "The brither is going to have to be a giant to stop me from wanting to dally with these two delightful morsels."

The other two men dismounted and went to tether their horse to a hawthorn bush. "What's in the basket?" the second soldier wanted to know as he came to join his friend. "I dinnae ken," the first soldier did not drag his hungry eyes away from Colleen as he spoke. "All I care aboot is this bonny wench. She makes me as hot as a summer's day."

Ripping the basket out of Isla's hands, the second soldier looked inside. Lifting up one of the bannocks, he tore the bread to pieces with his teeth while handing the basket to the third soldier. "Are ye nae hungry, lad?" he asked the first man.

Licking his lips, the soldier answered. "Aye, but not for food."

Colleen felt her cheeks burn with anger. "Leave us alone or ye'll be sorry. Aberkin village has raised an army. It's best ye dinnae overstep yer boundary."

She spoke with such conviction that two of the soldiers hesitated. "Maybe we should take this news back to Laird MacKenzie?" one of them said. The first man guffawed before leaning forward to pinch Colleen's cheeks. "Wait for oor captain, lassie. When he sees how bonny ye are, no amount of gold will stop us from taking the pair o' ye behind the bracken and giving ye something to squeal aboot."

Colleen saw red. She would do anything to protect her sister. "How dare ye speak to me like that! I am a healer and a wise woman. Dinnae tempt me to brew up a cauldron o' bad luck for ye, scoundrel!"

"Are ye noo?" the soldier grinned. "Then I'll do yer sister first whilst ye brew up that bad luck for me, shall I?"

Grabbing Isla by her long braids and telling his men to hold fast to Colleen, the soldier pushed Isla toward the bushes. "She's only four and ten years auld, for mercy's sake!" Colleen screamed. "Take me! Take me instead!" This was no small group of soldiers looking for gold; this was an invasion of men ready to take advantage of a land without a laird to guard it.

Grinning, the soldier shrugged, moving back to Colleen and letting Isla go.

"Halt!" a man's voice said as another rider rounded the corner. "Let the wenches go."

The soldiers were not shocked to see their captain emerge from the thicket of heather bushes growing in the verge of the lane. "Aye aye, Captain," the man said, dropping Colleen's arm. "But ye'll never see such a ripe pair of peaches again."

With a smirk on his face, the captain rode closer to see the two petrified girls. "Och, aye noo? What do we have here?"

Another soldier spoke up. "They say they have a brither following behind them, Captain Ewan. Shall we wait for him?"

The captain's smile got wider. "As it so happens, lads, I dinnae think we should. These girls are more than capable of carrying oor laird's message to their village." Turning to Colleen, the man gave a wink as he leaned forward over the horse's withers. "Tell yer sheriff and yer chief councilor that Laird MacKenzie is tired of waiting for yon villagers and yeoman farmers to accept his guardianship and begin paying him taxes. If ye dinnae pay him a tithe of gold before the start of winter, then I can promise ye that snow will nae be the only bad thing to fall this December."

Beckoning for the soldier holding the basket to show him the contents, the captain laughed when he saw the broken bannocks and tiny potion flask. "There cannae be much profit to be had from flogging elixirs and bread, ye pathetic creatures. Be sure to carry that message to Aberkin, though. If ye dinnae do as I order, I will come back…and then I will nae stop me men from taking everything ye hold dear from ye."