Chapter 11

Donnie and his father had taken to watching the TV news together more and more. As Donnie's geo-political awareness grew, and his understanding of climactic changes globally, he was able to become the one who was educating his father now. The report that had their attention was about a terrorist attack on the Sri Lankan cricket team in the Pakistani city of Lahore.

Pakistani officials have reported that 12 gunmen attacked the coach carrying the Sri Lankan cricket team.

The gunmen appear to have ambushed the single-decker bus at a roundabout in Liberty Square as the Sri Lankan team were on their way to play a test match. Early indications are that two members of the team and one coach have been injured. Eye-witness accounts suggest that the team have had a miraculous escape owing to the courage of their driver, who kept the bus moving through the gunfire and away to safety...

"The world is going mad," Douglas observed. "Why attack a cricket team? We've got the North Koreans rattling sabres at the South; we've got Iran completely ignoring world opinion and hell bent on developing nuclear capability. It doesn't appear as if there will ever be a solution to the troubles in either Iraq or Afghanistan any time soon and now we've got fundamentalists attacking a cricket team. Just what is going on in the world?"

"Things are starting to get worse than usual in Kashmir as well and the Chinese are not for letting up on the Nepal issue," Donnie agreed. "We shouldn't forget that there have been two high profile plots foiled here in the UK either. We're lucky that our own security forces managed to stop those."

Donnie was referring to two cases where young British Asians had been arrested before they could carry out their plans for spectacular terrorist atrocities. TV news had shown surveillance footage of the huge bag of fertiliser the jihadists had hidden inside a storage unit. The group behind the plan had been caught buying up stocks of hydrogen peroxide from hairdressing suppliers. The fertiliser, when mixed with the peroxide, formed a lethal explosive.

Another group had plotted to take liquid explosives on board international flights disguised as bottles of water or juice. The operation to arrest that group had led to chaos as flights had been cancelled from all UK airports.

In both cases, the would be bombers had already recorded their martyrdom video messages – meant to be shown after they had blown themselves up. Some of the group members had young families yet there was no remorse shown in the messages. In many ways it was chilling that young men were willing to become suicide bombers. They were willing to give up their lives, wives and newly born children for martyrdom.

Douglas thought back on the two UK plots for a moment or two.

"Yes, the security forces did well with both of those, but you know what they say?" he asked.

"What?" Donnie replied.

"We need to be lucky every time, the terrorists just need to get lucky once."

Donnie made progress on purchasing his land over the summer. The plot that he had chosen was close to a small village called Ardbrecknish in Argyll. One of the borders of the plot was the shore of Loch Awe and Ben Cruachan was visible some five miles to the northwest. The proximity of the great mountain was something that had swayed Donnie's choice when reviewing the brochures. His fond memories of holidaying in Argyll, combined with the mythology that Beira, the goddess, had been active in this area had counted for quite a bit in the decision.

Land prices weren't cheap though, despite the impact of the economic recession. Having listened to Beira, Donnie opted to spend as much as he could afford. He had only managed to get the seller down to £72,000 per acre, the price still high owing to the fact that the site had planning permission for building residential housing. For some reason that planning permission felt important to Donnie and he found himself willing to pay the higher price.

Gambling that his tree energy licenses would soon generate yet more funds, Donnie had committed £1.2million to purchase 16.5 acres – that was virtually all of the money he had made so far. There was a further option to buy another 16.5 acres for the same price within the next year.

Donnie, his parents and Heather journeyed to the site to look at it before he finally committed. If there had been any doubts that he would buy the land before that trip, they vanished as all of them were left breathless by the awe inspiring views over the loch and north towards the mountains.

Craig Bheithe farm August, 2010

Donnie was once again out in the fields with Rory, this time herding some sheep down off the hills so they could be shorn.

"Rory, come by, come by," he called, sending the Collie round to the left of the herd to stop it straying too far away from the gate he was aiming for.

As he watched his faithful companion race to obey the command, Donnie felt the sharp tug of vertigo strike him once again.

Clayton County, Iowa 1849

The sensation of being totally submerged in cold water was a shock to Donnie's system. He felt panic about to overtake him, but focused on keeping his mouth closed while he reached out to connect to his 'gifts'. The gift of Tailtui helped forestall the panic and Donnie remembered something he had watched on a TV programme.

Holding his hand up to his mouth, Donnie let a few bubbles of air escape. Despite being unable to see anything in the murky water, he nonetheless felt the air bubbles escape up through his fingers and thereby established which direction the surface was. Still remaining calm, he struck out with a powerful but economical stroke, using his legs to kick upwards at the same time.

Not a moment too soon, Donnie burst from the water. He quickly gulped in a fresh lungful of air; before his weight dragged him back under. Having reached the surface, it was easier then to get his head back out of the water for a second time. Donnie began to tread water while he tried to establish where he was. The water was cold, but not freezing and there was only a sliver of moon to help him see in the darkness.

Now that he himself had finished thrashing in the water, Donnie made out the sounds of someone else making splashing sounds. A moment later a man's cry reached him out of the darkness.

"Help! For the love of god help! Hel..."

He knew that sound carried well across water and was unsure of just how far away the man was. Hesitating for a few moments, Donnie wriggled out of his jacket and kicked off his boots. He held on to the jacket by his teeth, freeing his arms to begin slicing through the water in the direction he hoped the cry had come from. Without the weight of his boots dragging him down, Donnie showed that he was an accomplished swimmer.

More splashing sounds gave him the sense that he was headed in the right direction and he tried to give the man some cause for hope.

"I'm coming, I'm coming. Just hang on!" he called.

It wasn't easy to pinpoint the sounds in the darkness, but eventually Donnie felt his right arm thud into something solid. Arms suddenly came round him and it became a struggle to remain afloat.

"The idiot is going to drown us both," Donnie thought.

Thinking quickly, Donnie pulled his right arm back and aimed a punch at where he thought the struggling man's head was. The pain shooting up his arm let him know that he had connected and the death-grip on him relaxed.

Awkwardly, Donnie held the now unconscious man's head out of the water by supporting it with his shoulder. At the same time he began to tie a knot in each arm of his jacket just where the arm met the shoulder. He paused to blow air into one sleeve and then tied the cuff before repeating the process with the other.

The jacket now became a rudimentary flotation device, something Donnie had learned in swimming lessons several years before. He struggled in the water to remove his trousers and carried out the same process with the legs as he had with the sleeves of his jacket. Eventually he had created enough buoyancy to take the weight of the unconscious man.

"Now what do I do?" he asked himself. "This beats everything. Normally the goddess keeps me guessing as to what is expected of me, but this time she didn't even give me a warning that I was needed!"

"I'm sorry, Dòmhnall. There was no time. If I had stopped to explain, you would have arrived too late. In any event, you seem to be coping admirably well."

"Where in the name of the goddess am I?" Donnie demanded.

"Turn your head to the right. You should be able to see a light. That's the direction you need to go in."

Donnie did as the goddess had suggested and sure enough he could just make out a faint light. There was no way to tell how far away the light was and he would need to tow the unconscious man along. It was testament to how Donnie had grown into his service of the goddess that he simply began swimming towards the light, trusting that she wouldn't lead him astray.

Some minutes later the form of the man began to show signs that he was regaining consciousness. Donnie began treading water again and spoke to the man, trying to keep him calm.

"Don't panic, I've got you. Try not to thrash around so much. I've got a couple of floats here that you can hang onto to support yourself, but it would be a big help if you could kick with your legs."

"Who are you?" the man asked, his voice cracking.

"Save your breath for now," Donnie replied.

Partly towing the man, but now at least helped by not having to drag a dead-weight, Donnie started them off towards the light once more. The man obeyed Donnie's instructions to remain quiet, which allowed Donnie to focus on getting them to safety.

The light seemed to take a long time to get any closer and Donnie was growing extremely tired. He stopped for a rest, treading water as best he could. He took the opportunity to reassure the man floating beside him once again. Up close, Donnie could swear that there was a smell of whisky on his breath.

"Look, can you see the light now? We can make this, we can do it. I just need you to remain calm and keep kicking," Donnie urged.

A few minutes later, Donnie felt his hand touch something and he paused once more. He ran his fingers over the object and almost cried out in joy.

"It's a boat!"

The odds of finding a boat in the darkness had to be high and Donnie suspected that the goddess might have played a part in his 'luck'. The prospect of being able to reach the safety of a boat seemed to invigorate his new 'friend' and Donnie was forced to warn him to stop thrashing around.

"Listen! If you keep this up, you're going to scuttle the thing. You need to keep your movements smooth," he warned.

Somehow Donnie managed to help the man into the boat and then ordered him to the stern to counterbalance his own efforts to climb aboard. He lay panting for breath for a few minutes before sitting up. The boat was a simple rowing boat, but there was one slight problem in that there were no oars to be seen. Donnie was trying to figure out what to do next when the man in the stern asked his question again.

"Who are you?"

Donnie ignored the question and instead responded with one of his own.

"Have you been drinking? I can smell whisky on your breath, are you drunk?"

"I've had a drop or two of the uisge beatha, what of it?" the man asked, no remorse in his tone.

Donnie noted the use of Gaelic and guessed that at least he was still somewhere in Scotland. The man's response grated though.

"'What of it?' What fool ventures alone and drunk out onto the water at night-time?" Donnie asked.

"Mind your tone wae me, laddie. I'll have you know that I am Alexander McGregor and I believe I am Chief of my line!"

Donnie couldn't believe what he was hearing. Another McGregor Chieftain? Had the goddess sent him to rescue yet another of his clan's captains? Thinking back to his meeting with Alasdair of Glen Strae, Donnie asked his next question with not a little trepidation.

"What's today's date?"

"What? It's July the twenty third, 1849," Alexander replied, surprised by the nature of the question.

"Oh goddess, not again," Donnie thought.

Aloud he asked another question.

"Just where exactly are we?"

"Precisely? I'd say that we're in the middle of the Mississippi River," Alexander laughed.

Donnie gave the McGregor chief a look of disgust. He was laughing despite almost having killed himself. Coming to a decision, Donnie lowered himself back over the side of the rowing boat and pulled himself round to the stern.

"Get yourself into the middle of the boat," he ordered.

Once Alexander was settled again, Donnie held on to the rear of the boat and began kicking his legs to propel them towards the source of the light once more.

"You still haven't told me your name?" the McGregor chief asked for a third time.

"It's Donald, Donald McGregor," Donnie managed to gasp.

"Ha! So I've been saved by one of my own Gregorach!" Alexander bellowed. "I shall see that you are rewarded, laddie."

Donnie chose to ignore him and continued kicking out for the light.

At last they were close enough to make out the shape of something under the light. Donnie saw that it was a basic wooden jetty. The light was coming from an oil lantern hanging from a pole. He twisted his body so that his kicks took the rowing boat in the right direction and felt his task become easier as Alexander jumped from the boat onto the wooden structure.

"You have my gratitude, laddie," laughed the McGregor Chieftain. "Let's get ourselves warmed up!"

In the light from the lantern, Donnie could see that Alexander McGregor wasn't a huge man. Standing perhaps five feet nine or ten, he did however have very broad shoulders. It wasn't his physical stature that struck Donnie though, as he pulled himself out of the river; it was the clothes Alexander was wearing.

The Chieftain wasn't wearing tartan of any description. Instead he wore a pair of plain brown pants over what Donnie could swear was a homespun vest. The pants were held up by a belt and the whole outfit was rounded off by a sturdy pair of boots.