Chapter 1

Maxwell Forbes's feet were burning. He could barely put one foot in front of the other because his boots were so worn that they constantly chafed his feet, aggravating even further the blisters that he had acquired during his long weeks of traveling. He had walked from his home in the estate of Kirklieth all the way to Edinburgh and back again, and although he had no idea of how far he had traveled, he guessed it must be in the hundreds of miles.

Hundreds of miles. It was an immense distance. He knew, however, that he could run a thousand—a million—miles, and it would still not be far enough to put sufficient distance between him and his so-called crime. The more he thought about that word, the angrier he became because he had done nothing wrong, and yet he was a fugitive. He knew for certain that if he was caught, he might well be hanged or sentenced to transportation and hard labor for the rest of his life—if he survived.

The night before, he had been obliged to sleep in the hollow of an oak tree with an empty stomach and nothing but his cloak to keep him warm. Now, however, he had decided that he had endured enough of life on the road and was making his way home. He was unsure of the reception he would receive, but he had to try to at least make his peace with his family and Lachlan McDonald's. He could not go on this way forever.

It had been a year since he and his best friend had had their fateful and fatal argument, and during that time he had been wandering, begging for food, and eating scraps left in middens. Occasionally he had been able to find a bit of laboring work, but the pay had barely been enough to keep his stomach full, and now it was empty again.

As he trudged along the muddy path, he took out the few coins he had left in his pocket, hoping that he had enough left for a pint of ale. He counted out his money, tallying it up to five pence. It would be enough for a pint of ale and perhaps a meal, but he would have nothing left to tide him over for the next few days until he found his way home.

Maybe I can live off nuts and berries for a few days, he thought.

He dismissed the notion at once. He was a big man and needed a lot more than a few pieces of fruit and chestnuts to sustain him. If he was very lucky, he could catch a few fish, but such a meager diet could hardly keep him going all the way to Kirklieth.

He sighed irritably, but as the village of Invercree came into sight, a little hope began to wake in his heart. Perhaps he would be able to buy or borrow a pair of shoes, but he had big feet, and likely anyone he could beg or borrow from had much smaller ones.

Before, he had always found that being the biggest man for miles around gave him a distinct advantage since he was both respected and feared, but now it had become a huge handicap. As well as that, Invercree was part of the estate of the same name, and that was where Lachlan and Douglas McDonald had lived.

He had no idea whether or not Douglas still lived there or if he had married and moved away, but he needed to find out. He needed to somehow find peace, but not looking the way he did at the moment and feeling the way he did.

He trudged on; then, as he came to Invercree's only inn, the Spotted Dog, he counted his money again, not quite knowing why. It was the same amount as before, thank God. He paused outside for a moment, looking around. He remembered the last time he had entered a tavern.

On that occasion, Maxwell had left Edinburgh in the evening and had walked all through the night. It had been a cold night, but it was moonlit and dry, and after a while, he had expended enough energy to warm up and break a sweat. The road was smooth and quite easy to follow in the cold silver light of the moon. He was beginning to feel quite jolly and began to whistle a cheerful tune, then took a flask of ale from his pocket and drank deeply, relishing the cold, yeasty flavor as it wet the back of his throat. He was carrying twelve shillings in his pocket, the winnings from a card game he had played in Edinburgh. His opponent had been drunk and almost delirious and had been an easy opponent to beat.

Suddenly Maxwell heard a crash from the bushes to the right of him, and as he turned, something hard hit him, a glancing blow on the left side of his head. It was not strong enough to knock him out, but it was hard enough to hurt, and he instinctively began to run. He was dizzy, in pain, and disoriented and would not have managed to escape, but he had to try.

However, his way was blocked when he collided at some speed with a solid masculine figure, then he was manhandled onto the ground by two others.

"Hold him doon, Sammy!" one of them said angrily in a voice that sounded like the snarl of a dog.

"He is strong as a bloody bear, Andy!" one of the others growled. "An' about the same size!"

Maxwell managed to raise one leg up enough to bend it at the knee and shoot out a powerful kick to one of the men's groin.

The thug yelled out in pain and clutched himself, backing away, but Maxwell's effort gained him nothing. Andy sat on his chest and swiped him across his right cheek so hard that he saw stars for a few moments before an excruciating pain set in. It reminded him briefly of a childhood accident that had befallen him many years before, and at that moment he stopped resisting and went limp. The odds were completely against him.

He felt the robbers searching his body all over until they found the pouch that contained his winnings, then they sat on the ground and gleefully divided up their spoils. Maxwell tried to sit up, but he was pushed down again so hard that his head hit the gravel path and began to vibrate painfully.

"Four shillin's each!" Sam cried triumphantly. "That will buy ye a good time wi' Bettie McCauley in Bearstane, eh, Brian? She fancies ye somethin' rotten!"

"That's because I am a handsome devil," Brian answered, grinning. Then he aimed a venomous glance at Maxwell. "I hope I have recovered the use o' my auld man by that time, mind. Before we go anywhere, I am goin' tae give this one a taste o' what he gave me!"

The three men hauled Maxwell to his feet, and Brian took a step backward, enjoying the fear on his face. Andy and Sam were holding each of his arms so that he could not shield himself. By the look on his face, Brian was going to enjoy his revenge.

Maxwell was terrified of the agony that he knew was coming, but he was determined not to show it. He screwed his eyes shut and clamped his top teeth over his lower lip, then waited. He heard the men talking and laughing between themselves and making obscene comments about him while they tormented him by drawing out the agony of suspense.

When the pain came it was blinding, shooting from his groin to every one of his nerve endings, throwing him to the floor and leaving him crippled for a while. Maxwell had never felt anything like the agony that was blazing through him, but he made no sound, and apart from screwing his face up a little more, he showed barely any sign of what he was going through.

Andy and Brian let go of his hands and stood laughing at him, but they stopped as Maxwell stood up straight and squared his shoulders. It was costing him every ounce of willpower he had, but he clamped his jaws shut and said nothing as Brian came up to him and looked him in the eye.

Unfortunately he could not control the tears of pain that had started to fall. Brian gave him a mock-tender smile and patted him softly on the cheek.

"Poor wee soul," he said in mock sympathy. "Did we make ye cry?"

"Oh, dear," Sammy said, pretending to be concerned. "Maybe ye need another wee dose o' yer own medicine, eh, lads? Nothin' like a hair o' the dog that bit ye."

There was an enthusiastic cheer of agreement from the other two, and once more Maxwell felt his arms being gripped in a vicelike hold. This time he knew there was no point in trying to hide his pain since his body was still throbbing and aching with the agony of the first assault.

Yet just as he was beginning to sag in defeat, he heard the welcome sound of a horse's hooves coming toward him. He was about to cry out for help when he was thrown onto the ground and dragged into the bushes. He felt an agonizing blow on the back of his neck…then nothing.

Fortunately, Maxwell had woken a few hours later, bruised, cut, and aching, but luckily not seriously hurt. Unfortunately, he was now penniless and had no idea where his next meal was going to come from.

That had been two months before, and somehow, by dint of finding an odd job here and there and begging, which he hated, he had been able to amass enough money to survive. Once, he had even been given hot food and a bed for the night by a kindly priest who had given him a shilling. It had not been easy, though. Maxwell had not yet been reduced to stealing—that would be his very last resort—but he could see the time coming when he would have no choice.

Fortunately, that time had never come, and Maxwell was now standing outside the Spotted Dog with his last few pennies wondering if he should go inside. He could see that the big room was brightly lit by the amount of light that was spilling out of the open door, and he could tell that there were plenty of people there by the hubbub of laughter and chatter.

Yet as he looked down at himself, he could see what others would see as soon as he walked through the door. He was obviously a fellow who was down on his luck, and most people would take one look at him and mark him out as a beggar. However, perhaps his thick beard and messy hair would disguise him a little. He wanted no one in Invercree to recognize him at all.

There is nothing I can do about it,he thought resignedly, before he almost pushed the door open to enter the tavern.

As he listened to the laughter coming from inside, he recognized one very familiar voice, that of one of the blacksmiths, who knew him very well. This was because, when he came to visit Lachlan and Douglas to go hunting, his horse, a big black mare called Becky, was always losing her shoes.

Maxwell sighed. It would only take one person to recognize him, and he would be hunted down and captured, then God alone knew what would happen to him. However, it was too cold to stay outside, and even if he could not afford a night at the inn, he could perhaps bunk down in the stables for the night if he was sneaky enough. Hopefully, the warmth of the animals' bodies would stop him from freezing, and he might be able to steal a blanket from one of them.

Now he had to decide whether to go inside or not, but then he had a stroke of luck as the blacksmith, Hugh Spence, staggered out of the door of the inn, singing some bawdy ballad that made his fellow drinkers roar with laughter.

Maxwell breathed a sigh of relief, then pulled his hood up and bent over slightly so that he looked a little like a hunchback. This had the added effect of lessening his height a little.

He ordered a pint of ale, making sure that it was the cheaper variety, using a husky voice and speaking in Scots.

"What food dae ye have?" he asked the tavern lady, a plump woman in her middle years.

She glanced up from her task of cleaning the counter and looked him up and down with an expression that suggested she had just smelled something noxious.

"Mutton stew an' bannocks," she replied offhandedly. "The price is fourpence, an' sixpence wi' the ale."

"I only have five pence tae my name," he said desperately. "Could ye no' dae me a favor?"

The woman shook her head firmly. "If I did it for ye, I would have tae dae it for everybody, an' I would be out o' business in nay time." She turned away, sniffing.

Maxwell's heart sank. He could smell the mouthwatering aroma of the food wafting in from the kitchen. It was making his mouth water and his stomach growl, and he cursed himself for not ordering the food first since he could have easily done without the ale.

He finished the drink, then went to do something he had hoped never to do again. He had thought that the lowest he could go was begging, but now he was reduced to rifling through the middens.

Although he had done it before, it still made him feel wretched. He found some scraps of bread and cheese rinds, as well as a couple of half-rotten potatoes. He hastily stuffed them all in his mouth until there was nothing left, but he was still ravenous. As well as that, he felt sick, disgusted, and ashamed of himself. How had it come to this?

Sighing, he looked into the stables, but they were too small and too full of horses to be of any use to him. Anyone coming to retrieve his mount would spot him at once.

Then he raised his gaze to the hills above him until he saw Invercree Castle, and suddenly an idea occurred to him. It was extremely dangerous, but if it could be done, perhaps he could save himself.

He had to, or die trying, for he was a man with nothing left to lose.