Chapter 5

Autumn 2009, Craig Bheithe Farm, Perthshire, Scotland

The Summer months were somewhat frustrating for young Donnie as he had no further contact with the goddesses. Still, his time was crammed full of work on the farm helping his father and brother on Craig Bheithe. He was so busy he had little time to dwell on the warning Beira had given him after his exams – that she might call on him at any time.

Donnie did find that being linked to the gifts within himself made quite a difference in his life. He had much more confidence and as a result became somewhat more outgoing. He began to play better on the local rugby team and even found he could speak to Heather MacAuley without turning into a stuttering wreck. He heeded Epona's warning though and didn't try to pursue the beautiful blonde girl.

Summer was giving way to Autumn and that meant it was almost time for harvesting the McGregor's wheat, oats and barley. The results of his exams were also due and school would be going back in a few weeks, after the long Summer holidays. Despite that, Donnie knew that he would be spending long evenings helping his father bring in the harvest. Summer had also blessed Donnie with a growth spurt and he now stood at a full six foot, two inches tall.

Today his task was to test the moisture of the grain, a job he enjoyed doing. This chore allowed him to be out in the fields all day and that was where he felt most at home. The sun beat down on his back and he was surrounded by nature in all her glory. Donnie also knew that he was being given a big responsibility, as getting the moisture right before harvest had a huge bearing on the worth of the grain. As always, faithful Rory was at his side as much as possible.

Donnie hand-picked a number of ears from each field and used the farm's portable meter to test the sample. He measured three separate samples for each field, taking grain from different point across the crop, and averaged the results to get an accurate reading.

It was still early, a glance at his watch told him it was only 09:50, but he had been out since 07:00 and he felt he was due a break. His mother had packed food for the day in a bag and he had it stowed behind the seat of the now repaired quad bike. Opening the bag, he extracted the roughly cut bread and cheese along with a small bottle of mineral water. He climbed onto a nearby gate and began eating the simple food, washing it down with the water. The sound of larks singing was a perfect soundtrack to frame the view he had over the fields of ripening wheat.

"I wonder when the goddess will call on me again?" he wondered idly, taking another bite of the mature cheese.

"It's funny that you should ask that question, young Gregorach! There is an urgent task that requires your attention."

Once again Donnie was surprised by Beira's sudden physical appearance and he toppled from the gate to land with a thud on the ground. Groaning, he pulled himself up and brushed the dust from his clothes.

"Is it obligatory for goddesses to surprise us lesser mortals?" Donnie grumbled.

Beira let out a cackle that suited her appearance as an old woman. Donnie did notice however that it was the face that had previously been asleep that was now facing the front and talking to him.

Beira laughed, once again reading his thoughts.

"Yes, you're right. This is my Brighde persona, my 'summer face' if you like. But I am still Beira and you need to stop complaining! One minute you're pining to see me again and the next you moan because you get your wish! Are you ready to serve me again?" she asked.

"Of course I'm ready; I just wish you would stop surprising me like that. Sironaidh did the same thing and I almost fell from a mountain-top."

"Ha, she didn't tell me that! I believe you had no such complaint at the way Epona appeared though! But enough, I have a task for you Dòmhnall; one that I think will appeal to you. There should be little danger, but your intervention will be significant for what is to come. Are you ready?"

"Wait! What is my task? Aren't you going to explain anything?"

Glen Strae, Scotland. 1603

Donnie's frantic questions were cut off, as once again he felt the vertigo that he had on his last 'challenge'. When the feeling passed, he found that he was standing on a hillside looking down the length of a glen. A high mountain peak rose up to dominate the horizon, its slopes green and purple with the heather in bloom. Steady rain was falling and Donnie realised that he wasn't really dressed for this kind of weather. He had stripped down to his shirt-sleeves while measuring the grain moisture and was now feeling the cold. It was noticeably cooler and he wondered where Beira had transported him to.

"She didn't even send Rory with me," he grumbled.

If not for the cold and wet weather, Donnie decided he would have been pleased to be here in this glen. It was certainly picturesque and easy on the eye, with a fast-flowing river winding its way along the length and a smattering of oak and birch dotted around. The sides of the glen were steep, but not completely vertical and he guessed he would be able to climb up relatively easily. His survey was interrupted by a harsh challenge from above.

"Co a tha sibh? Dè tha thu ag iarraidh?" (Who are you? What do you want?)

Looking up, Donnie saw a dirty, fierce-looking man in full highland dress. He also noticed that the highlander was holding a Claymore sword in his hands and that it was pointing accusingly at him. Not having understood a word of the challenge, Donnie was worried about the sword and what it meant. He was also wondering what this man was doing out in the wilds dressed the way he was.

"Have I stumbled into one of those battle re-enactment things?" he wondered.

The highlander repeated his challenge and Donnie saw that he had started making his way down the side of the glen, coming closer. If this was part of a re-enactment, Donnie decided that it was certainly pretty authentic. The man looked as if he was definitely going to attack him and either he was a great actor or Donnie thought he was in trouble.

"Hi, there! I'm sorry, but I seem to be lost. Can you help me?" Donnie tried.

"Dè thuirt thu?" was the highlander's response. (What did you say?)

By now he was getting very close and Donnie was trying to decide whether to stand his ground or make a run for it – it was fight or flight time. He decided to try to communicate one more time.

"My name is Donald McGregor, I really am lost. Can you help at all?"

The highlander's expression softened a little, but he still held the Claymore out in front of himself.

"Se do Gregorach?" {You are a McGregor?)

At last the fierce-looking man had said something that Donnie thought he understood. His research had told him what 'Gregorach' meant and he latched onto the word.

"McGregor, yes, my name is McGregor," he shouted.

The highlander slowed his approach and was now looking at Donnie with curiosity. Donnie didn't realise it, but the clothes he was wearing were like nothing the highlander had ever seen before. He was clearly still highly suspicious, but the use of the name McGregor seemed to at least have calmed him down a little.

The time for flight had probably passed now, as the tartan-clad figure was almost within a sword-length. Donnie took some comfort from the fact that he didn't show any immediate signs of using the huge two-handed blade. He stood perfectly still as the man walked around him, clearly fascinated by something.

"So much for the goddess saying there would be little danger," Donnie thought wryly.

A push in his back almost made Donnie fall over and he guessed the highlander was indicating he should climb up to where the man had first appeared. Donnie thought he had little choice; the man did after all still have the sword in his hands. He toyed with the idea of trying to use the climb to his advantage. Surely the highlander would have to put away the sword to free his hands in order to climb? As he, Donnie, was climbing in front, maybe he could jump the man from above?

"Or perhaps I should wait and see where he's taking me?"

The rain made conditions slippy and it took all of Donnie's concentration to save himself from unintentionally falling on top of the highlander. Although it was only the work of five minutes or so to reach the vantage point, they clearly weren't finished. The highlander nudged Donnie again and he could just make out a path snaking between some rocks.

Negotiating a bend in the path, Donnie saw that this was actually a well-concealed side glen and he wondered how far the highlander wanted him to walk.

After what seemed like several miles they entered a wood and Donnie was glad of the respite from the teeming rain.

A few miles further into the woods, Donnie thought he could smell smoke from a fire somewhere close at hand. The highlander tapped him on his left side with the Claymore, which was now back in his hands. When Donnie turned, a nod from his captor indicated that he should leave the path and head into the trees. The undergrowth was thick and it was something of a struggle to get through it. The highlander urged him on however, and at last they reached a clearing. Donnie could see that there were perhaps fifty or more of the filthy, tartan-clad warriors lying just under the canopy out of the rain.

All eyes were suddenly on the youngster and he felt more uncomfortable than ever. He just couldn't comprehend what these people were doing out here and why they were all so dirty. Donnie didn't fail to notice that all of the men seemed to be armed with swords of one description or another. Some type of meat was being roasted over an open fire.

His would-be captor pushed past Donnie and made his way over to another man who was lying down, covered over by what looked like a tartan blanket. The highlander bowed to this man and then knelt and seemed to have a whispered conversation.

"I guess that marks that guy as a leader of some sort?" Donnie thought to himself, his concern not completely clouding his thinking.

The highlander returned and pushed Donnie over in the direction of this second man. Donnie could feel the other highlander's following his progress. Now that he was fully into the clearing, Donnie could also smell something rank in the air, something that just smelled 'unhealthy'.

Donnie's suspicions were confirmed when he stopped and looked down at the man lying on the ground. It was obvious that, under the grime, the man's skin was deathly pale. With some effort the man sat up and immediately was wracked with a coughing fit.

"Why isn't this man in a hospital? He looks seriously ill," Donnie thought.

Once the coughing had passed, the man took a moment to look Donnie up and down before speaking.

"Se do Gregorach?" {You are a McGregor?)

Donnie could tell from the inflection that this was a question and he also caught the word 'Gregorach' once more. He guessed his captor had shared their earlier exchanges and now this man was asking him to confirm his name.

"Yes, my name is McGregor. I am Donald McGregor," he replied, sticking his chin out defiantly.

The man's response was not what Donnie was expecting. He seemed to curse and his eyes opened wide with surprise.

"You are a Sassenach?" he asked, his English heavily accented, but understandable all the same.

Donnie at least knew what the word 'Sassenach' meant, although he was surprised to hear the man use it. 'Sassenach' was Gaelic for lowlander and was used disparagingly.

"If you mean am I a lowlander, then no. My home is near Callander in Perth. I wouldn't consider that the lowlands," Donnie replied.

"Calasraid? Sorry, you're from Callander? You appear to have wandered far from home," the man suggested.

"Since I have no idea where we are, I cannot comment on that, Sir. Perhaps you would introduce yourself, as you have me at a disadvantage," said Donnie.

The sickly looking man managed to bark out a laugh before lying back down to rest himself.

"You certainly have spirit, I'll give you that. My name is Alasdair McGregor. Pleased to make your acquaintance I'm sure. Come sit by me so that we can talk more comfortably, err ... cousin."

There was a log pulled up to the fire that was keeping Alasdair McGregor warm and Donnie walked to it and sat down.

Nothing was said for a few minutes as Alasdair seemed to try and gather his strength. Now that Donnie was sitting down, Alasdair was able to meet his eyes without propping himself up and that seemed to be a blessed relief.

"Shouldn't you be in a hospital?" Donnie asked.

Alasdair's only response was to look at him quizzically, as if he didn't understand the question.

"Okay, perhaps that's none of my business, but where are we and what are you all doing out here?" Donnie tried next.

Again Alasdair chose not to answer Donnie's question, but instead asked one of his own.

"You speak like a Sassenach, yet you dare to use the name McGregor. Either you are a brave man or a fool. Which is it?"

Donnie responded instinctively. He was extremely proud of his name – more so since he had read some of the clan's history. He would never forget the clan motto that his research had taught him. Now, he snapped back a reply at the reclining figure.