they reached the cottage, Connor held his sword at the ready while Sorely rapped on the door, his fist making a hollow sound on the weathered wood.
"'Tis me, Sorely." His soft voice sounded unnaturally loud after their long silence.
The door opened a crack, and a beak-nosed face peered out.
"Open up," Sorely said. "I've brought our new chieftain."
Connor wondered how long he would be known as the "new" chieftain.
The beak-nosed man stepped back inside, and the door creaked open wide. If Duncan or his cousins were here, one of them would have gone in first to make certain it was not a trap. Connor was not afraid of death for himself, but his death would very likely lead to Hugh being made chieftain - and that would destroy the clan.
To succeed in his mission to assure the clan's future, however, he needed more than the fealty of his clansmen. He needed warriors who were fierce in their loyalty and willing to die at his side. Highlanders respected fearlessness, whether it was foolish or no.
Connor stepped over the cottage's threshold, praying it was not an ambush.
Inside, a dozen men, mostly farmers, crowded the cottage. Connor swept his gaze over the men, the lone woman standing by the hearth, and the children peeking out from the loft overhead.
He signaled for three of the warriors who accompanied him to stand guard outside. With three, they could keep an eye on each other, as well as watch for MacLeods.
"I am Connor, great-grandson of the Lord of the Isles, grandson of Hugh, the first MacDonald of Sleat, and son of Donald Gallach, our last chieftain." Though it would be safer for all of them if this meeting was over quickly, the men would expect a certain amount of formality from their chieftain. "Beannachd air an taigh." A blessing on this house.
"M矛le failte oirbh," a thousand welcomes, his beak-nosed host greeted him. "I am Malcom."
As each man introduced himself, Connor fixed the name and face in his mind. Then he said, "Tell me how you and your families on this side of Trotternish fare."
"Our children are hungry," one man spoke up, "and our women fear we cannot protect them."
Connor listened patiently while several of the men took turns speaking.
"We hold Trotternish Castle again, but taking back all of the peninsula will be a more difficult task," he told them. "Every man must be a warrior and join in the fight if we are to remove the MacLeods and make your families safe from attack."
There was a general rumble of agreement from the men.
"When the time comes to fight, I will send the crann tara," Connor said. The crann tara was a wooden cross that had been set on fire and then dipped in blood to extinguish the flame. It was the traditional method for raising the clan. "Every man who sees it will be expected to pass the word."
There was another rumble of agreement, then one man asked, "Where shall the clan gather?"
"It must be near here." That was the reason Connor had come to this particular place tonight. "The MacLeod warriors are spread thin among our own people here on Trotternish. Their strength lies on the other side of the Snizort River, so we must stop them there."
The room was quiet as the men took this in.
"Where is a good place for us to rally?" Connor asked. "It should be a place all our people know and can find in the night, without alerting the MacLeods."
As Connor shifted his gaze from man to man, each shook his head.
"What about a place men fear to go?" The voice belonged to the lone woman by the hearth. She was an attractive, plump woman in her midthirties, whom Connor assumed was Malcom's wife and the mother of the children in the loft.
"Hush," Malcom said, but Connor signaled for her to go on.
He had an inkling of what the woman meant and thought it a clever idea, though it did not appear to sit well with the men.
"There are three such places nearby," she said. "First is the graveyard on the island in the Snizort River, where the old church dedicated to Saint Columba is."
Connor felt the room grow tense. No man wanted to mingle with the dead after dark.
"We'd risk bringing ill luck upon us by disrespecting the dead chieftains and warriors who rest there," Connor said. "Where else?"
"The faery glen," the woman said. "'Tis hidden away, and the MacLeods won't go near it, day or night."