Caledon

Part One:

Caledon is Called

The Mackenzies of the Bridge

The springy heather underfoot was the only thing which coaxed on the faltering footfalls of the tartan-clad man as he stumbled forward. Occasionally, his footing would fail him, and the heather would come hurtling toward him, the solid twigs stinging as they struck. They could not injure him more than his shame, however, and that had been his sole companion these five days since the ill-fated events of Drumossie Moor. On the first leg of his retreat there had been company, unwelcome but present, but none of the scattered clansmen had attempted a journey this far north into Sutherland. At least, none that he knew of, for secrecy was essential.

He did not stop his desperate march until, at last, the lights of a small house came into view. It was a short distance from him, half a mile at best, and a sudden eagerness dragged him forward. The April sun had sunk behind the hill where the small house sat and, though it had been almost two years since he was last here, he knew and recognised it at once.

That half a mile seemed to stretch out before him, as long and painful as the rest of his doomed escapade. He felt desperation pull him onward, yet the whole world tried to drag him back. He lost track of how long it took him to finally arrived at the modestly tended troughs beside the door. He was forced to crawl the remaining distance, his arms pulling him forward when his feet refused to, only adding to his bitter shame. But whatever Highland dignity remained drove him to pull himself to his feet at the small wooden door, and he hammered upon it with a force which caused it to tremble. Only the slightest noise had been audible inside. Now it stopped. The firelight which had escaped from the corners of the doorway vanished, and darkness surrounded the house.

For the love of God, the newcomer called, pounding the door once more. Robert Mackenzie, if you have any love for your kinsman, James Og, open this door! No sound ensued and with desperation, the man resorted to his native Gaelic tongue, pleading like a hound shut away from its master, trying to regain its place. There was a shuffling sound from inside and the door opened a little. A stern red face, a little lower than his own, could be seen staring out into the dim light. This was an older man, fifty years in age, but with his weather-beaten features and set jaw he might have been as timeless as the mountains around them.

James Og? he asked, opening the door a little wider and peering hard at the man before him. The loss of sight in his blinded left eye and the fading light gave the old man cause to reach out cautiously to the newcomer, still disbelieving that his words could be true.

Father, came a voice from further in the house, gentle but firm. "It is Jamie. Let him in."

Robert Mackenzie stood back from the door and allowed James Og to enter, which he did gratefully, stumbling over his feet to arrive as quickly as possible.

You look like you’ve a story to tell, observed the other man. He was a similar height to the old man but had a strength to him which, though it might once have been present in Robert Mackenzie, there was now no trace of in the head of the house. Come, I'll rekindle the fire.

Don't pester, Donnie, chided Robert’s gentle voice and Jamie smiled to himself. Can't you see he's weary.

I see it more in your eyes than his, Donald Mackenzie remarked pointedly as he beheld the glowing eyes and smiling lips of the newcomer before him. Sit down, Jamie, we'll have a blaze in no time. Mary, go for peat. Father, he added, taking the older man's arm and guiding him forward. Here’s your chair. Sit, I'll coax the fire aglow.

There could be no doubt that Donald Mackenzie was now the master of this house and he spoke with the comfortable authority which suggested he knew it. Yet there was nothing unkind in his orders. He endeavoured to show the greatest respect to his father, whom he adored, and he paid particular care to the protection of his sister, for whom he had watched several suitors come and go. He knew, of course, that Mary had pledged her love to their cousin, James Og, almost fifteen years earlier when they were all children, but the sight of the man before him only reinforced in Donald's mind that he was far from a suitable match. In fact, Donald all but worshipped his older sister and, whilst he regarded no man above James Og, he did not believe anyone merited her, for she was beyond the reach of all in manners, beauty and gentility.

What’s happened to you, James Og, that you come as a beggar to our door? asked the old man and, though his words seemed harsh, they were spoken with a sincere care. He placed his hand upon the sodden, plaid-clad shoulder of James who now sat at his feet.

I am below a beggar, sir, sniffed James, his eyes watering and his nose running at the sudden warmth and shelter. I have come to ask shelter and safety of you, for which I know I have no right to beg. I went to war, he stammered. As I am sure you know. Our clan is one divided.

It was a fool's cause, Jamie, the old man sighed, sitting back further in his chair as Donald successfully lit the fire. Mary re-entered, her apron pulled upwards to help her carry the peats which she handed one by one to her brother, though her eyes never strayed from James Og and her father. I recall my father talking of the '15; how your grandfather perished and they took our castle. Never were two brothers closer than they. I recall something of it myself, too. It was clear then that the Stuarts would never again sit on our throne.

I can only hope that you are wrong, sir, James replied, a dreaminess taking his words to a distant place. This sound drew Donald's attention and the young man stepped forward at once as his cousin's head fell against the chair in a faint.

Proud man, Donald muttered, unsure whether it was approval or annoyance which drove the words. He is wounded, see, he continued, pulling James Og's plaid back to reveal his bloodied arm. I'd wager he has walked all the way from Inverness like this.

It was not difficult for Donald to hoist James in his arms, though laying him in the box bed proved a little more awkward. Mary stood back, flustered and upset, wringing her apron until her father called her back.

Mary, care for him as you can. But please maintain a quietness to your actions.

Despite her father's words she rushed to her brother as he walked towards her. Is he well, Donnie? Will he live?

Aye, Donnie replied, irritation clear in his voice at the behaviour of his sister. Of course he'll live. Just bathe his wound and keep him fed, both things he seems to have forgotten to do himself, and he'll be on his feet in no time.

Mary nodded quickly and stepped over to the bed, speaking rapid words, but so quietly that neither her father nor her brother could hear them. She went to her own bed only when she was satisfied that nothing more could be done for her beloved patient. It was only then that the two men began talking.

She can’t marry Jamie, Donald said firmly, tossing another peat onto the fire. It hissed and at once filled the room with a choking smoke. He’s an outlaw now.

We could all have found ourselves outside the law, Donald, his father replied softly. But love will not stop for such a boundary as the law.

Father, you came all the way out here to build a home away from the death and destruction you witnessed in the attempts of the Stuarts to reclaim their throne. Surely you won’t let that threat follow us by allowing Mary to marry Jamie.

I rather fear our clansman, the Earl of Cromartie, has created that threat for us. We who carry the name Mackenzie are no longer safe here, and it’s only a matter of time until we are driven away. Or worse. I want you to take Mary away, Donald.

What? asked the son with a confounded disbelief. Father, your mind is flustered with-

No, Donald. James Og's arrival has only confirmed those thoughts I had already been considering. You are a Mackenzie, as true to the clan as any man, but as James said, we are a divided clan. There will be no heed given to the months you gave to the Hanoverian ranks when the soldiers hear your name.

Father, I can’t leave in such a manner. You know as well as I that if we flee, we’ll be hunted all the more. Would you condemn us to that end? And you know what would happen to Mary.

My mind is resolute. We must send James away as soon as he is able to leave. You must take Mary to Invergordon and find a boat to the continent.

And what of you, Father? You can’t believe that I’d abandon you. I respect my cousin more than any man. He’s fair and honest, but I would not send him away only for us all to be forced to leave moments later.

But his father only held up his hand, the signal that Donald knew too well, meaning the conversation was over. He helped the old man to bed before tossing another peat on the fire and lying down beside it, having given up his bed for his cousin. He could not sleep, though not for the lack of a bed. He lay awake considering the words that his father had spoken. His heart raced, his stomach turned and every muscle in his body cried out that it was wrong. But he had never disobeyed his father. He had joined the army at his father's urging. Not that he had seen a great deal of action, for in his first battle he had been wounded and had withdrawn back home to recuperate. He had worked hard since then to avoid the sound of war, being a peaceful man at heart, driven to violence only in the defence of honour. He sighed heavily and rolled over but was on his feet in an instant as James gave a slight cry. He rushed over to his cousin who sat upright in the bed, panting for breath.

Jamie, you're safe, Donald said firmly, trying to prise the sharp fingers from his arm. James did not let him go but relaxed from his nightmare back into reality.

Donnie, he gasped, leaning forward. It was like I was back there. Back at Drumossie.

Well, you're not. You're safe. The calm and determined way Donald spoke these words steadied the two men for only a moment before there came the sound of dogs barking and heavy footsteps coming closer. They marched in time, beating the ground like drum strokes. God in heaven, muttered Donnie, peering through the gap in the window shutters. Get them out of here, he continued firmly, turning back to his older cousin.

Don't be a fool, Donnie, it's me they've come after.

I wouldn’t be so sure of that. Take my father and Mary. There is a path that goes beyond the peak and down once more to the river. From there go towards Shin. You’ll find shelter on its west side. I'll join you there. He had already begun shaking awake his father and sister, and he helped the three of them clamber through the window at the back of the house. He closed the shutters once more and walked to the door, pulling it open and surveying the thirty men who approached the house. He licked his lips nervously and, never closing the door, stepped back into the house, feeling both giddy and afraid.

Mr Mackay of Moudale, he announced as a sombre man dismounted a tall horse. He was the only one who rode, the others following on foot, as blindly loyal as the snarling hounds which pulled back their lips as they watched Donald. What can I possibly have done to earn such an honour.

Where is he? was all that the other man said. He grabbed a torch from one of his soldiers and pushed past Donald to enter the small house.

My father? Donald questioned, using his slight stall in time to concoct a lie with which the three escapees might be concealed. He has taken my sister to Invergordon, to find a boat to the continent. I’m certain it comes as no shock to you that, after the events of Little Ferry, no one will deal with us.

Whatever can you mean? John Mackay asked in a tone suggesting he was happy to allow his opponent to stumble into a trap of his own making.

As a Mackenzie, your order has only alienated us further. And yet you won’t remember that when last I saw you it was to raise arms alongside you. In support of Hanover.

You were never alongside me, Mackenzie, you were always beneath me. But I did not mean your father. Where is your kinsman, James Og?

James Og? Donald asked, feigning surprise as best he could. I have not seen him since he announced he was joining the banner of The Young Pretender.

Interesting. And when did your father leave?

This morning. To try and reach Invergordon before nightfall.

That is interesting, Mackay mused, emphasising his quiet words. For I have two witnesses who swear they watched your father admit your cousin this very evening. And what a restless sleeper you must be, that you occupy three beds in the early hours of the night. He indicated pointedly to the box beds, none of which Donald had slept in, though all the bedding was crumpled and there were bloodied sheets where James Og had lain. Donald could find no words to speak but only shook his head in protest.

Arrest him, Mackay said firmly. Burn the house. I shall not have a lying traitor living in these lands. He turned to Donald and sneered as he added, Especially not one with the name Mackenzie. He watched as Donald had his hands tied behind his back, before he stepped out of the house and looked with satisfaction as the flames of the torches began to take hold. They began at Robert Mackenzie's chair and spread rapidly through the house. Donald did try to resist now, cursing the man before him, swearing such vehement threats upon the Mackay clan which two hours earlier he would never have used on anyone. John Mackay ignored him until he had once again mounted his horse, at which point he fiercely lashed out with his booted foot, striking Donald in the face.

They have not been gone long, he called, pulling the horse’s reins towards the direction Robert Mackenzie had left in. Let the dogs loose and we’ll have them in no time.

A Cruel Betrayal

James Og was a graceful man; thin, tall and with an agility which was beyond compare, even amongst the nimble highland men. In his youth, he had scaled the sheer mountains of his west highland home for enjoyment and sport. But on this terrain, a low hill by comparison, he could not find his footing. Mary ran a few paces behind while Robert Mackenzie, despite his advanced years, leapt ahead finding a safe path. James watched the half-blind man with an awe which only grew as they continued. He was unfazed by the wind pouring sleet down upon them, or the crying of the dogs which denoted Donald had failed to conceal their direction.

The night was deep when, at last, the lights of Lairg came into view and all three of the travellers gave relieved sighs as the houses became more than distant lights. The buildings took shape as they continued, the stone walls creeping out from the black night. It was their mistake, a bitter mistake, to stand and gaze at this safe haven, for the baying of the hounds echoed from the glen's sides and they found themselves ensnared.

Get up the ben, cried Robert and he leapt forward while James coaxed Mary to follow him. She had wept with tiredness an hour into their flight. Since then, however, she seemed not to notice what was happening around her but followed meekly where she was led, too tired to argue or cry. They had climbed barely twenty feet when the frighteningly familiar sound of shot filled the air, and the accompanying flash of light left James more blind than the old man.

Father! Mary screamed, rushing forward as the old man collapsed under the shot. James knelt next to him, trying to ease him.

Take her away from here, James Og, commanded Mackenzie. I'll not die at the hands of this wound, and I'll not have my daughter die because of it, either.

James looked down at the blood which spilt from the old man's side and nodded quickly. Come, Mary. We must leave.

I shall not leave my father, she protested, her strength returning through the terrible image before her.

Mary, his wound is not fatal, but a nightmare awaits you if you remain to be taken by them.

To strengthen the truth of James' words Robert rose and began walking once more towards Lairg, pulling the hounds attention and waving his hand in a carefree way to dismiss his daughter's claims. He vanished away from them whilst Mary wept onto James' shoulder. Her crying stopped as another shot echoed through the glen and she turned to try and find her father, but he had fallen once more. She shook herself free from James' grasp and raced down the hillside, collapsing to her knees beside her father who now had a second wound to his chest.

I told you to go with James, he stammered.

Father, I couldn’t leave you. She gave a small cry as the pack of hounds, which had so intently chased them, reached her and she struck at them with her hands, trying to keep them from her father. She hardly noticed their teeth, but continued to struggle against them, kicking them, hitting them, anything she could think of to keep them away.

Back! A strong voice commanded and, as one, the seven dogs retreated. John Mackay climbed down from his horse and looked across, shaking his head scornfully. Is it not enough shame for you to carry the name Mackenzie? he asked of the old man, snatching Mary's bleeding arm and pulling her from his side. Must you also harbour an outlaw, and even resort to running. He looked around purposefully as he tossed Mary back towards the gathered soldiers who caught her with open arms. And where is your cousin now? He has fled like the coward he is.

Robert Mackenzie, a man in whom the resolve of Highland stubbornness was never more prevalent, pushed himself to his feet. He was covered in cuts from the dogs' teeth and the two shot wounds continued to bleed. Yet for all the knowledge his own death was impending, he would not allow himself to be addressed in such a way.

He is well safe from you, and as God knows there is no greater coward than that one known as Mackay.

In a flash of fury, John Mackay pulled the pistol he carried and, pointing it directly at Robert Mackenzie's head, allowed the hammer to fall. Mary gave a piercing, desperate scream. The walls of the glen shook with it. She struggled in vain to reach her father, but the hold the men had on her was too great. Mackay turned and walked over to her. He placed his hand over her mouth and said firmly, Mary Mackenzie, you should thank me. I have saved you from marrying a coward and enabled you to see your brother once more.

Donald? she whispered as he removed his hand.

Yes. We shall spend the night in Lairg and tomorrow return to Golspie where you can be rejoined with your brother in Dunrobin Castle. For a time, at least, before he is hanged.

He pulled himself onto his horse, leaving instructions for the old man to be buried, and guided the other soldiers towards the welcoming lights of Lairg. Mary struggled, wept, and tried to fight against her captors, always calling out the name of her cousin in the hope he would return to save her, but James Og had already fled from the hillside and would not return to rescue her.

The Source

After the battle at Drumossie, James had not believed he could feel greater shame. But as the sky began to pale, he realised he had been wrong. All night, all the while he had been running, skidding, crawling up and down the sides of the hills towards Golspie, he had been followed by the shrieking scream of his sweetheart while he had watched in disbelief as John Mackay shot dead the wounded man. And then the repetitive wailing of his name as Mary's voice had faded. Mackay had been right in his assessment of the outlaw; he was indeed a coward. He had not always been this way. He had marched proudly under the royal banner of Prince Charles Stuart but following the sheer madness and the annihilation of so many men at Drumossie he had come to realise how rampant death was, and he was afraid to the point of terror regarding his own.

He clutched his arm and recalled, too, the skill of the shooter who had caught him with a bullet in the engulfing night. He thanked heaven that he had been more fortunate in its placing than his uncle, Robert Mackenzie, but with this thought he was reminded once more of those terrible events and he felt bowed down with shame. He missed his footing and fell, slithering down the wooded hillside until he crashed onto the rocks at the bottom. His senses felt numbed as he lifted his hand up to his head and felt the sticky blood which rushed from it. What a foolish death he would die here, but how fitting it should be an act of shame which killed him.

Somewhere, only a short distance from him, the sound of a waterfall could be heard, both heavy and gentle in a manner which made his head throb even more. It was the hard work and efforts of these falls which had carved out the ravine where he lay. The trees which had broken his fall on his way down, clung to the sheer sides and gave the April sky a peculiar criss-cross with their branches which, though budding, had not yet come into full leaf. He realised it was no longer raining. The ground around him was dry save for the spray from the waterfall which he noticed, with interest, was coming into view. He lifted his head up and, though it spun when he moved, he was surprised to find he was able to rise. At first, he felt his eyes were betraying him, and he screwed them closed before opening them once more, but the peculiar form of the waterfall was indeed beginning to take shape. Two hands with long watery fingers reached away from the rock and rolling from side to side on wide though fragile shoulders an ever-changing head appeared. It was queer, the manner in which this form