Heroes

By Leigh Barker

Heroes - The Collection: The FIRST Episode of all 8 rip-roaring Series. Each one a complete 1-hour Bitesize Read - with a beginning a middle and a cliff-hanger ending - in the true Saturday Matinee tradition.

The first episodes of 8 action / adventure series you won't be able to put down.
Buckle up for roller-coaster ride.

The Series:

Clan:
Calum Maclean is a sword-for-hire and a thorn in the side of anyone who sets himself up as Authority.
He returns to the Highlands from the war in Flanders where he fought for the English, for a price, to find Bonnie Prince Charlie has arrived and war with the English is inevitable.

Everyone thinks Calum will obey the Pretender. Everyone is wrong. Calum Maclean tips his hat to no man.

The Hellfire Legacy:
Marine Sergeant Ethan Gill is a hero — the real thing. A battle-hardened veteran of wars across the globe, with a sense of humour that would cut glass.
He’d retired to the ‘good life’ but now he’s working with the FBI – there will be trouble!
When terrorists start killing US generals, SecNav recalls him to duty.
To the toughest and most perilous mission of his life.

The Orpheus Directive:
Another Marine Master Sergeant Ethan Gill heart-pounding adventure.
He’d retired but SecNav has called his squad back to active duty, to go where Special Forces can’t, or won’t. To make the impossible look easy.
First Responder:
New York Fire Marshal Elmore James is one of our heroes who run into a burning building when everyone else is running out.
A bomber has blown up a bank in Manhattan. Lots of people want to blow up banks, but few ever do....

Soldiers:
Regret is a soldier with fierce independence that gets him into trouble, and a sharp mind that gets him out of it.

His skill with the Lee-Enfield rifle comes from long nights poaching in Ashdown Forest with his brother. That skill will save his life and the lives of his squad many times during the coming days and weeks of gut-wrenching tension.

Requiem for Eden:
With Lucid’s invasion driven back to the Dark Continent and his attempt to take over The Other Place thwarted, Eden should be the tranquil haven it was meant to be. If only...

Checking In:
It's another mind-numbing day for the check-in staff at Global Airlines Lite, until the anarchist Rob discovers the suspect package...

A Whisper on the Wind:
5 Bitesize Read Short Stories -
Lost Love, Adventure, True Stories, Just daftness - 5 stories to set your heart racing... and aching.
____________

Visit LeighWBarker.com for a complete list of all the books - and pick up more free books

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leigh Barker
• Release date: Apr 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781311700285

Leigh Barker

Leigh was born in Dudley in the middle of England. He has been a merchant seaman, a (useless) electronics salesman, a programmer, and a business analyst. And now he is a full-time writer, but that doesn't make him a bad person.He is presently writing 4 series:Clan, following the adventures of Calum Maclean as he tries to avoid the Bonnie Prince but still protect his beloved Highlands.The Hellfire Legacy Series follows US Marine Master Sergeant Ethan Gill and his team as they take on the jobs too hot for other special forces. They go where they're sent; South America, Middle East, Korea, but their most dangerous missions are on US soil.Volume #1: A Whisper of ArmageddonVolume #2: The Hellfire LegacyVolume #3: The Orpheus DirectiveEden, a three-volume series -Trinity is at war with Lucid, the son of Lucifer, and he will do whatever it takes to win. The Archangel Gabriel has an army but he needs more. He needs heroes, but they are few and far between. Which is why he gets Dylan and co. Not too much luck in Heaven then.Volume #1: Eden's Last HeroVolume #2: WinterwoodVolume #3: Requiem for Eden.Soldiers is set in 1914 and follows John Regret and his 12-man squad on their suicidal mission to find and destroy the German howitzer nicknamed Big Bertha. Find it before it drops it's thousand-pound shells on the allied army retreating across France. A seemingly hopeless mission that just cannot fail.Other occasional series include:Anarchy, the 'completely true' stories of men doing what men do when there's nobody to keep them in check. Create mayhem and behave like monkeys on speed.Coffee Break Reads - each issue has 5 stories short enough to read while taking a break from life. A mix of adventure, love, disaster, and fun. All with one thing in common; for a moment they transport the reader to another world.Episode 1 of each Season is free and can be picked up with other free books at:https://leighwbarker.com/my-library/Just copy the link above and paste it into your browser and you're there...

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Heroes

THE COLLECTION

First Episodes of all the Series

Plus 15 Short Stories

Copyright 2017 Leigh Barker

Published by Leigh Barker at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with others, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ISBN: 9781521082690

Heroes

Clan

Calum Maclean is a sword-for-hire and a thorn in the side of anyone who sets himself up as Authority.

He returns to the Highlands from the war in Flanders where he fought for the English, for a price, to find Bonnie Prince Charlie has arrived and war with the English is inevitable.

Everyone thinks Calum will obey the Pretender. Everyone is wrong. Calum Maclean tips his hat to no man.

(Episode 1 of Season 2 and Season 3 are also Free, but not included here as they continue from the climax of Season 1)

Soldiers

Regret is a soldier with fierce independence that gets him into trouble, and a sharp mind that gets him out of it.

His skill with the Lee-Enfield rifle comes from long nights poaching in Ashdown Forest with his brother. That skill will save his life and the lives of his squad many times during the coming days and weeks of gut-wrenching tension.

The Hellfire Legacy

Marine Sergeant Ethan Gill is a hero — the real thing. A battle-hardened veteran of wars across the globe, with a sense of humour that would cut glass.

He’d retired to the ‘good life’ but now he’s working with the FBI – there will be trouble!

When terrorists start killing US generals, SecNav recalls him to duty.

To the toughest and most perilous mission of his life.

The Orpheus Directive

Marine Master Sergeant Ethan Gill is back.

He’d retired but SecNav has called his squad back to active duty, to go where Special Forces can’t, or won’t. To make the impossible look easy.

First Responder

New York Fire Marshal Elmore James is one of our heroes who run into a burning building when everyone else is running out.

A bomber has blown up a bank in Manhattan. Lots of people want to blow up banks, but few ever do….

Requiem for Eden

With Lucid’s invasion driven back to the Dark Continent and his attempt to take over The Other Place thwarted, Eden should be the tranquil haven it was meant to be. If only…

Anarchy:

Checking In

It's another mind-numbing day for the check-in staff at Global Airlines Lite, until the anarchist Rob discovers the suspect package…

Toeing the Line

Another day in the life of the maintenance crew at Bullers. Nick is the only maintenance fitter who knows how to keep the line running. A position that some people would exploit for a comfortable life… and Nick is no exception.

Hotel California

A normal day in the life of a 5-star hotel.

This is just one day in Rob’s life, from wake up to the end of his shift as a concierge in a luxury Hotel – or at least one that would like to be luxurious.

You’ll never see hotels in quite the same way again…

Coffee Break Reads

A series of 15-minute reads for your break that will transport you to another life and another world.

A Whisper on the Wind

Lost Love, Adventure, True Stories, Just for fun - stories to set your heart racing... and aching.

When the Music Stops

Love, Adventure, Old memories, True Stories - stories to set you free.

Highway Shoes

Romance, heroism, redemption, lost love - stories of roads less traveled.

About the Author

Clan

Season 1

(Episode 1)

Calum’s Sword

General William Richmond rode with his six best royal dragoons assigned as his bodyguard and thought what a beautiful morning it was, riding among the trees and shrubs in late bloom. Which is a bit like saying there isn’t an enemy within a hundred miles.

As they rode out into the small clearing in the woods as though they hadn’t a care in the world, the dragoons were ripped from their horses by a volley of musket fire from the cover of the trees barely twenty feet away. The ambushers couldn’t miss. And they didn’t.

By the time General Richmond regained control of his horse rearing from the deafening musket fire and the screams of dying men, a dozen highlanders were already running across the clearing, dropping their used muskets and drawing their broadswords.

He patted his horse’s neck gently and stepped down out of the saddle as the attackers formed a half-circle in front of him. For a moment he touched the hilt of his cavalry sabre, but let it be. Sir William’s rank of general was no rich man’s gift to some sycophant; he was a shrewd warrior, but he didn’t need his military skill to know that if he was supposed to be dead, he’d be dead. There was more to this.

His ambushers were clearly agitated, as if their complete success had come as a surprise, and they edged closer but withdrew again while they waited for something to happen.

One of the dragoons began to sit, stared at the blood spreading across his buff-coloured waistcoat, and groaned as he fought for breath. The nearest highlander stepped closer and swung his claymore in a wide arc that dropped the dragoon’s head in his lap. General Richmond took an involuntary step back.

James Campbell stepped forward out of the pack. A big, powerful man with masses of wild, orange hair hanging onto his shoulders and sticking out of the top of his tunic. He pointed his broadsword at the general and grinned, relishing the Englishman’s first sign of fear. Well, lads, which piece of him shall we hack off first?

Sir William’s assessment that if they’d wanted him dead, he’d be dead, took a dent. It was beginning to look as if his survival had been down to pure luck, and he thought about drawing his sabre and just wading into them, but hurrying things along did seem a little… impetuous. The devil with it. His hand closed on his sword hilt.

Two highlanders strolled out of the trees and into the clearing as if completely unaware of what was going on there. The two couldn’t have been less alike. Calum Maclean was slightly built, in his mid-twenties, and some would say good looking—the ‘some’ being just about any woman who saw him. He had wild, blond hair, striking blue eyes and an easy smile, and a light and easy way of moving that would have warned anyone who knew anything about fighters to beware.

John Mackintosh was a blacksmith, and it showed. Everyone called him Big John, for all the right reasons. A big block of a man with arms as thick as the branches on the trees around the quiet clearing, and a belly that told of a love of food and ale. John had a quick wit and a left hook that could fell a bull at full charge.

You should have just told your woman that you were going to the inn, Calum said, without seeming to notice the armed men staring at them in amazement. You’re the man of the house, right?

John nodded, though not very convincingly.

Then next time, tell her to mind her tongue and care for the bairns. Calum stopped and turned to face his friend. You have to stand up to woman, or… He raised his hands as if in surrender, then looked around as if seeing the dozen highlanders for the first time. His brow creased in a deep frown, and he turned back to John. They’re trying to look like Clan Chattan, are they not?

Aye, said John, wearing boxwood in their bonnets, they are that.

Aye, their bonnets are Mackintosh, said Calum, but their kilt is Campbell. He pointed at the nearest man.

The man grunted and started to walk towards the newcomers, but the man-mountain James Campbell held out his broadsword and stopped him. Leave them be, he said with a sneer. Deal with the general here first; then we’ll chop up these two. First the one with the big mouth and the wee sword.

He pointed at Calum, who glanced down at the hilt of the French small sword in his scabbard, which, unlike the double-handed claymore held by the ambushers, was barely three feet long, had a razor-sharp blade, and a beautifully engraved mahogany hilt with a silver guard. Any one of the broadswords would have snapped it like a twig. Given the chance.

Calum and John continued to stroll casually across the clearing, but John picked up his friend’s tiny gesture, yawned, and wandered off to the right, as if to skirt the group and be on his way. Most of the ambushers ignored him and turned their attention to James Campbell, waiting for his order to hack the Englishman to pieces.

The way I see it, John, said Calum casually, there are only a few of them, and they’re Campbells, so it hardly seems fair and sporting. He drew his sword slowly. I was hoping for a little exercise this morning to warm the ol’ bones.

There’ll be no workout today, Calum, said John, also drawing his sword, a beautiful claymore crafted by his own hand and balanced perfectly for his height and strength. Not with just yon bunch of Campbells.

Calum yawned loudly and waved the Campbells on. You boys carry on with what you’re doing. He pointed at the general. But be careful. That’s an English officer and more than a match for cowardly ambushing crotch lice like you.

Three of them seemed to take offence at the remark, turned, and charged straight at him, their swords raised in both hands above their heads. It wasn’t going to take long to silence this loud-mouth Maclean.

Calum watched them coming almost indifferently, his sword drawn but its tip resting on his boot. One of them was a little quicker than the others and arrived first. His sword was already arcing around to the right and down as Calum stepped to the side and put the tip of his fine sword into the attacker’s heart with barely a flick of his wrist. The weight of the man’s broadsword turned him and dropped him on his back with his eyes open and staring sightlessly at the pale sky.

The other two were too committed or too stupid to read what had just happened and charged in. Calum let the nearest attacker’s sword almost touch him as it flashed down to cleave him to his chin, before twisting just a little to the side. The broad blade flashed past his face with barely an inch to spare, the momentum carrying the blade into the soft ground. He was too close for Calum to use the sword effectively, but the nine-inch dirk that seemed to have appeared in his left hand did the trick just fine as it sank hilt-deep under his ribcage.

The last attacker stopped in his tracks and stared at the still-twitching body of his friend. It had happened so fast it didn’t seem possible. For him, a sword fight involved the clanging impact of heavy broadswords, grunting and sweating until one man weakened or made a mistake that ended the encounter with a massive wound or loss of a limb. But this little man had killed them both with barely any effort. He stepped back. Then took two more.

Now you see what you’ve done, laddie, said John with a slow shake of his head. You’ve frightened the wee man.

Calum gave an exaggerated shrug. Aye, but that’s an easy thing to do to a Campbell.

The rest of the ambushers rushed them, screaming and raising their broadswords. Clearly upset about something.

James Campbell grabbed two of them and pulled them back. Watch the English… gentleman. Until we dispose of these two. He pointed at Calum. Then we can do what we are paid for and get home to our women.

He strode over two where John was facing down three Campbells. He’s mine, he grunted and pointed at Calum. Go and help them with the little one. He turned back to John. Well, Mackintosh, he said and sheathed his broadsword, you look like a man who thinks he can use his fists. He smiled. I have never met a Mackintosh I could no’ break in two without breathing heavily.

John sheathed his sword. You have now, Campbell.

One of the problems with men who ambush people is their quality. One problem among many. The two men left to guard the general heard a noise and turned from watching the action to find him holding his sabre with the painful end pointing their way. A half step forward and a thrust and there was now only one left, and he died as he raised his sword above his head in a suicidal stroke against a man with the single-handed sabre designed to use either the razor edge or the point. And it was the point that Sir William chose, just because it was… well, pointing in the man’s stomach. But just for good measure, he pulled it out with a sideways cut, opening up the man like a side of beef.

The Campbell looked down, but died before his mind registered the horror of his intestines spilling out over his kilt.

Sir William stepped over the dead man and strode to where Calum was facing seven Campbells, but still smiling. To hell with chivalry. He rammed his sabre into the kidney of the nearest man, raised his foot, and pushed his body off the blade.

For a whole second, the rest of them were stunned by the sudden appearance of the Englishman. In that second, Calum put his sword through one man’s sternum, flicked it out, and opened the throat of the man next to him, while the general brought his sabre up and over in a lightning-fast short arc that took off a man’s arm below the elbow and had him screaming and spraying blood.

One of the last three remaining attackers fancied himself as a swordsman, and had proved it several times against drunks and farmers. He held his broadsword out in front of his waist, the tip moving in small circles to distract Calum.

The general took a step towards the other attackers, but they suddenly turned and fled. Proving them to be the brightest of the bunch.

I’m going to stick you like a pig, Maclean, the swordsman said, still waving his blade around. Then I’m going to cook your heart and—

Calum’s wrist snapped out, and the tip of his sword flickered in the morning sunlight. Without a backward glance, he turned and strolled over to where John and James Campbell were facing off.

Sir William frowned and almost called out a warning, but then saw the blood flowing from beneath the swordsman’s kilt like a spilled jug of red wine. If that was not enough, the look of absolute horror on the man’s face did the trick. The general chuckled.

I’ve never seen that move before, he said as he watched the man’s broadsword sink to the ground. Takes balls, though. He laughed loudly.

He left the man to bleed out and walked over to where Calum was waiting for James Campbell to break John in half. The Campbell’s a big man, he said quietly.

Aye, he is that, said Calum, crouching and wiping his sword on a dead man’s kilt.

Are you going to help him?

Calum stood up and sheathed his sword. Who?

Sir William pointed at John.

Oh, said Calum, I thought you meant Campbell. He saw the general frown. He’s the one who needs help.

Sir William looked at the two men standing three feet apart and glanced quickly at Calum. James Campbell was at least three inches taller than John and had a longer reach by at least that much. He decided to stay out of it until John was down, then kill the ambusher.

James Campbell threw a looping right hand that had felled many a good man in the past, and there was no reason to expect anything different now. Except his fist crashed into John’s open hand and stopped.

John smiled at him. And crushed the fist as if it was a dried twig. The man screamed like a girl and fell to his knees. John grinned at his friend and then raised his boot and pushed the fallen man away.

Always the same with the big uns, he said, turning and still smiling. They think strength is all—

Calum casually pointed, and John turned in time to catch a left to the cheek. It staggered him, but he stayed on his feet. Just.

You talk too much, John. You know that? Calum said.

James lowered his head and charged forward, intending to—to do something stupid. It didn’t happen. John simply stepped out of the way and let him charge right on by. He raised his hands questioningly, but Calum just shrugged.

James Campbell circled slowly, starting to learn that this Mackintosh wasn’t going to break in half as easily as he’d expected. His right hand was recovering a little from the crushing, and he threw it as a feint so that he could deliver monster left hook to the jaw.

John should have blocked the feint, leaned back, ducked, or at least done something defensive. Instead, he kicked the man in the kneecap. Not sporting, but massively effective. Campbell staggered forward as his leg gave up trying to support him, and fell onto his hands and knees, then rolled onto his back and hugged his leg.

Sir Williams sighed heavily and shook his head, then turned to Calum and put out his white-gloved hand. I owe you my life, sir. He nodded once. I am in your debt.

Calum looked at the glove, glanced at John and winked, then shook the general’s hand. I’ll not stand by and watch a man murdered in cold blood.

Even an Englishman?

Calum shrugged. I have no argument with the English.

Sir William nodded. Will you tell me the name of the man who saved my life?

Aye, said Calum, throwing another look at John, who was shaking his head urgently. I am Calum Maclean of the Clan Chattan. He paused for a moment. And I tell you who I am because these men— He pointed at the bodies littering the clearing —pretend to be Chattan but are Campbells.

The general’s eyebrows rose in surprise. I believe the Clan Chattan fights for the Pretender.

Calum watched him for a long moment. Aye, the clan fights for the… Pretender. He met the general’s steady look. I fight for no man.

Unless he has gold coin, said John with a grin.

Aye, that’s true enough, said Calum. And we call Charles Stuart the Bonnie Prince.

Sir Williams smiled. Yes, I’m sure you do.

James Campbell groaned, and John remembered he was there and bent and lifted him to his feet with one hand. What do you want to do with this one? he asked Calum. Shall I stick him?

Calum stepped up close and looked the man in the eyes. Maybe. He let him think about it for a moment. Unless he tells us who sent him to take this Englishman.

Campbell glared at him, but it wasn’t convincing. I am nay afraid of a Maclean. He shifted his glare to John, but couldn’t hold it. Nor a Mackintosh.

And that was a lie.

Do you want this man, General? Calum asked.

Sir William shook his head and strode away.

Then kill him, John. Calum walked away with the general.

Campbell struggled, but he was caught like a rabbit in John’s powerful grip. John drew his dirk and examined the point to ensure it was good and sharp.

Wait! Wait! Campbell shouted.

Calum and Sir William exchanged a look, smiled and turned, and waited.

If I tell you, will you let me go?

As if Calum would say no, even if it was so. Not much of a bargaining opener. He thought about it for a moment. You’re nothing to me. You can go.

He nodded at John, who released his grip and let the man stagger and catch his balance. Fear and a boot to the knee can severely interfere with a man’s equilibrium.

Do you know who this man is? Campbell said, pointing at the general. This is Sir William Richmond.

Which meant pretty much nothing to Calum, and it showed.

He is one of the richest men in England, Campbell continued. And we—

A musket fired from the cover of the trees, the lead ball narrowly missing the general, who brushed his arm and tutted. They do seem determined to ruin my best tunic.

I think that this Campbell would be sorry for that, General, said Calum. If he wasn’t dead.

The general looked back from scouring the shadows to the body crumpled on the ground. Someone will be sorry for being such a poor shot.

I think you will find the shooter hit what he was aiming at, said Calum.

Sir William looked at the trees and nodded slowly. I believe you are correct. He would have told us why someone is keen to see me dead.

If they’d wanted you dead, General, said Calum, you’d be dead. He pointed at the bodies of the guards. It’s not likely they missed you by accident.

Sir William nodded. Yes, I thought that too. Then it was for a ransom.

Calum shrugged. Perhaps. He doubted that. There was more to this than greed. We’ll never know now.

Sir William started to turn, then stopped. I am free to go, am I not?

Calum pointed his sword at the bodies. I think the Campbells will be back and with more of their clan, don’t you?

Sir William walked quickly to his horse and swung up into the saddle.

Just one small point, General, said Calum.

Sir William stopped and looked back over his shoulder.

The Campbells are on your side, are they not? He followed John out of the clearing, chuckling.

It was late afternoon and August, but the candles were lit, and there was a roaring fire in the hearth at the end of the long hall. Colonel York was heartily sick of this damp, cold country and spent many miserable hours thinking of home in London.

Dragoon Colonel Richard York was barely in his twenties, had smooth-faced schoolboy features, hard hazel eyes, and the permanent sneering look of superiority bred into him at the finest schools money could buy. He could trace his family right to the throne of King George, not that it did him any good. A mere colonel is all that he’d been given by his grandfather. A colonel. His cousin was already a major-general. And he was at court, or in France, or anywhere other than this god-forsaken place. But that would change. That would surely change. And soon.

He put down the glass of poor wine and waved his orderly to answer the knock on the door. Good news. Just what he needed to raise his spirits. He waited for the orderly to pull open one of the big, rough, wooden doors and knew at once that good news was not coming.

Two bedraggled Campbells slunk into the dark room and walked slowly to the table where Colonel York sat, now reading a document in which he had no interest whatsoever.

The two Campbells waited in front of the table, their heads down and their eyes darting left and right, as if they expected someone to suddenly jump out of the shadows.

York put down the document and smiled. Ah, gentlemen. The smile switched off. It’s Duncan and…

Donald, my lord, said one of the men.

Ah, yes. Duncan and Donald.

No, my lord, said the man. I am Donald. This is Robert.

Right, said York, looking them over slowly. I take it from your demeanour that our little… venture was less than wholly successful?

A bead of sweat ran down Donald’s forehead and into the corner of his eye. He let it be. No, my lord, he said quietly. We were ambushed. He licked his lips nervously. By a giant, my lord.

York nodded slowly, picked up the glass of wine, and looked into it. That is very unfortunate. He put the wine down untouched. I paid you a great deal of money for this rather simple task, did I not?

The two men nodded but continued to look at the floor.

But you were… York frowned as he recalled the term Donald had used. What was it? Ah, yes. Ambushed. He nodded. By a giant, I believe.

Aye, my lord, said Donald very quietly. And there was another big man.

Colonel York watched the man through slit eyes and nodded slowly, clearly understanding and sympathising with the poor unfortunates. He stood up, walked round the table, and stood in front of the dejected men. He put his hand on Robert’s shoulder and squeezed gently.

All was well.

And these… giants defeated you and the other… nine, no, ten men? That is correct?

Yes, my lord, said Robert without looking up. With the help of the duke.

Ah, said York, releasing his grip. Then that I can understand.

The two men looked up and almost began to relax.

Colonel York slid the dirk from Robert’s belt and pushed it into his ribs without taking his eyes off his face. It was effortless. And meant as much as swatting a fly.

Robert sank to his knees without a sound and stared up at the man who had killed him.

So, Duncan, said York without even a glance at the dying man at his feet, the duke remains at large?

I am Donald, my lord. Which was stupid, and he quickly realized it. Yes, yes, my lord, the duke rode away.

York put the bloody dirk on the table and stepped over Robert’s body, now sprawled in front of his table. He sat and picked up his wine. This giant…

Donald looked up sharply. Yes, my lord?

Did you know him?

Now right there was a problem. Was the Englishman asking this because he suspected they were somehow in league with the Jacobite scum. Or was it a genuine enquiry. The question bounced around in his mind, along with the image of Robert’s dying look. No, my lord, he said before he could think it through. But he had a sword!

There was a glimmer of hope. A tiny way out.

The colonel put down his glass. I see. The giant had a sword.

No, my lord. Donald’s mind was still tumbling in desperate search for something to say that would save his life. It didn’t look promising.

Colonel York raised his eyebrows and waited.

Well, yes, my lord. He was going to die. The giant did have a sword. A very big sword! That was worth a try. But the little… giant had a sword like… He pointed at Colonel York’s sabre lying on a smaller table. Like that one, my lord, but not curved.

York looked at the sabre and frowned. You mean it was not a broadsword?

Yes, my lord. Not a claymore or like a sabre. Hope was blooming slowly. It had a fine blade. It had a silver crossguard. It had—

York raised his hand to silence the man. It had a silver crossguard. And a silver pommel?

Yes, my lord. It did. Silver. And dark wood. And perhaps no taller than a man’s waist. His brain clicked into focus. A finer one of those we saw when we fought with you in Flanders.

York nodded. Will you do something for me, Duncan?

Anything, my lord, said Donald enthusiastically.

I want you to find the man who owns this sword. Can you do that for me?

Yes, my lord, I can do that.

Thank you, Donald, said York, finally using the man’s name. And when you find him—

I’ll kill him! Donald was going to live, and his head buzzed with relief.

York flicked the bloody dirk and spun it absently. No, Duncan, I do not want you to kill him. I want you to find out all there is to know about him.

Donald was clearly confused.

I want you to find out where he lives. Who are his friends. Where his family lives. What is his favourite flower. And if he bathes. He smiled a smile that would curdle milk. Then I want you to report this to me. And only me. Do you understand?

Donald nodded and started to back away, ready for his exit.

And Duncan, said York, tossing the dirk onto Robert’s body. Bring me more men. And better than this gutter-trash you used last time.

Aye, my lord, I’ll do that.

Thank you, Duncan.

Donald, said Donald under his breath. But at least he had breath under which to say it.

Calum and Big John stopped at the end of the long drive leading to Moy Hall, the country house that was the home of Angus Mackintosh, the head of Clan Mackintosh, to whom Clan Maclean had sworn allegiance.

D’ya think she’ll remember you? John asked with a grin. It’s been three years since you’ve been off gallivanting around Europe, selling your sword.

Calum stopped and looked from his friend to the imposing stone building on the shores of Loch Moy. There was no doubt Lady Anne would remember him; the real question was, would she still care. It had, as John so helpfully pointed out, been three years.

What the hell, she was just a woman. He strode on. A little slower.

They crossed the wide gravel path and headed for the steps leading up to the imposing double doors. At the last moment, John stopped.

What? said Calum, stopping.

Should we perhaps go around back, just… well… just.

Calum started up the steps. We are not servants nor hawkers. We go in through the front.

That’s just what I was thinking, said John, following.

As they reached the top of the steps, the wide wooden doors swung open, and an old man, who should have been dead years before, blocked their entrance.

Who shall I say is calling, he said slowly.

Calum smiled and stepped forward. ’Tis me, Frasier, Calum Mclean.

The old man looked him up and down slowly, with an expression that said he didn’t care much for what he saw. I’ll see if Lady Anne will see you. He closed the door.

John chuckled and took a moment to study the fine workmanship on the edge of the door.

Calum looked at the closed door, turned on his heel, and walked back down the steps, but stopped at the bottom when the doors creaked open again and Lady Anne stepped out.

Going somewhere, are you, Calum? she asked with a suppressed smile.

Aye, said Calum, half-turning. I’m away to somewhere I’m welcome.

That’ll be a long walk, then.

John laughed loudly and put his hands on his hips, while Calum trudged slowly back up the steps and stood before the stunning tomboy with wild blonde hair.

Lady Anne took his hand in both of hers and squeezed. Calum, it’s wonderful to see you again.

And it’s good to see you, my lady.

Anne released his hands and stepped back. My lady?

Aye, said Calum without taking his eyes off hers. Isn’t that what you’re called these days? Now that you’re married to the clan chief.

Anne turned on her heel and strode into the house.

John stepped down two steps. I think she’s gone for a musket.

Calum shrugged and followed her into the house, ignoring the steely look from the ancient butler.

Lady Anne was in the wood-panelled living room, warming herself by a roaring fire. Just the thing for a September evening in Inverness. She crossed to the sideboard and picked up an elegant glass decanter without looking at Calum. Would your friend care for a dram?

Calum was about to speak, but John got in first. Aye, m’lady, I would that. He strode quickly across the room and took the glass of whisky before anything endangered the offer. Which was highly likely.

Anne put down the decanter and glared at Calum. You can get your own.

Calum smiled, crossed the room, and poured himself a large drink. He took a swallow and topped it up, nodded and lifted the glass, then put it down. Is that any way to speak to your humble servant, come straight here at your bidding.

John almost choked on his drink but managed to keep it in his mouth, or he would never be able to return to his village.

Anne watched Calum through narrowed eyes. You are neither humble, nor my servant. She continued to watch him. Unfortunately, or you would be seeking other employment.

Calum chuckled, picked up his whisky, and relaxed. I hear you raised the clan for the Bonnie Prince.

She nodded, and her eyes betrayed a smile.

I wish I’d been there, said Calum, leaning back against the sideboard. A wee lass riding the glens, bullying, bribing and sweet-talking the men to take up arms.

Aye, said Anne, and the smile revealed itself fully. But it was mostly bullying, I have to say.

He thought about it for a moment, smiling too. But you won’t lead the clan into battle against the English.

No, she said and sighed. But don’t you think I don’t want to!

He nodded once. I have no doubt about that. So why not?

Her blue eyes flashed remembered anger. Women don’t lead the clan on the field of battle. You know that. She took a long breath. And for good measure, my family, friends, and even the servants said it was not the thing to do.

Calum nodded. Aye, they would, or I think you would have ridden into battle anyway. He shook his head at the thought. They were right, of course.

You too! The remembered anger returned for real.

Battle is no place for a woman. He raised his hands to ward off the tirade that was surely coming his way. You are just a wee lass— He looked away quickly before he turned to stone. And you’re married to the Mackintosh, who, I might remind you, stands with the English.

No, you don’t need to remind me!

Calum stood up and gave her a moment. And what would you have done if you’d led the clan and there was Angus standing on the line?

She squinted and set her jaw. My duty.

He continued to watch her for several seconds. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Aye, Anne, I believe you would. He stepped closer. But you did the right thing. It is better that you stay and look after your people.

She returned his long look. Perhaps, but it would have been a glorious thing to do.

He laughed gently at the thought. It would that. He turned to John, who was lost in his own world and staring into an empty glass. John, go see to the horses.

John looked up, completely confused. But we don’t have horses—

Calum glared at him, and he turned, stepped up to the sideboard, and filled his glass before going out to check on the horses they didn’t have.

Calum waited for the door to close, put his hands gently around her waist, and a moment later kissed her. She looped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, hard. Then pulled away.

Calum, we can’t. We mustn’t.

He stepped back and nodded. Aye, you’re right. Angus. He licked his lips with the tip of his tongue. And he’s a fine man.

Yes, she said, a little breathlessly. Anger and passion rose in her until it threatened to send her swooning like a little girl. She pulled herself together quickly before she made a fool of herself. She looked into his pale blue eyes, then looked away. And you made it clear that settling down was not in your future. She took a long slow breath and relaxed a little. So what did you want me to do? Wait around for you until I was an old maid?

Calum looked up from her tartan breeches to her wild hair. An old maid she would never be. He changed the subject quickly. And what of Angus?

She looked at him, her face a mix of suspicion and question.

He’s with the English against the prince, he continued, with a shrug to underscore the statement.

She stepped forward and raised her hand to slap his face. He made no move to stop her, but she lowered it slowly. It is not how it appears to be.

He raised his eyebrows. I believe you, but how it appears is very bad.

She glared at him, then softened and nodded. Aye, but Angus accepted Lord Loudoun’s commission into the Black Watch long before the prince returned. She looked up at the portrait of her husband over the fireplace. A strong young man with a firm chin and soft eyes. He’s no royalist. She turned back at Calum. And he’s no Jacobite either.

M’be not. But he is the Mackintosh clan chief. And his place his here. He pointed at her. With you. And with his clan.

True, said Anne, her face reddening, he is the clan chief. And what he does now, he does for the clan.

Calum sniffed pointedly. And how does fighting with the English against the rightful king of Scotland help the clan?

A voice in his head told him to back off. He didn’t listen. But he never did.

He is not with the English! She stepped forward, and Calum stepped back, coming to rest against the sideboard. Yes, he is with the Black Watch, but he was with them before this all started. She leaned towards him until their faces were almost close enough for their lips to touch. What would you have him do? Desert? She leaned back, the moment passed. Where is the honour in that?

She stepped to his side and poured herself a whisky. A large one. Angus believes that the rebellion is a hopeless cause and one for which we will all pay a terrible price. She took a long drink of the amber spirit she held in trembling fingers. He stays with his regiment because he believes that the Mackintosh clan will suffer cruelly when the rebellion is crushed, and he will be in a position to prevent it.

And he is so sure the rebellion will fail? Calum was thinking about the kiss and three years come and gone.

Anne poured another whisky and handed it to him, then crossed to the fire and sat down in one of the stuffed chairs. Calum sipped his drink and followed her, leaning his hand on the shelf below the dark portrait of Angus Mackintosh. He glanced up at the picture, smiled a quick smile, and looked back at Lady Anne. He was pleased for her. Angus was a good man.

But now the prince has an army that will reclaim Scotland for its king and its people. He tilted his head in a gesture that could have been admiration or question.

Aye, Calum, she said, looking up at him, the firelight flickering in her blue eyes. He has an army, but the English King George has a nation of soldiers long used to war. She watched him for a moment. But what about you, Calum? Do you believe Charles Stuart will be king of Scotland?

He didn’t answer.

I see, she said, closing her eyes for a moment. But you do see Angus is in an impossible position.

He nodded.

She stood up and took his hand. If he deserts his regiment, Clan Mackintosh will suffer. If he does not, then he may face his own clan on the field of battle.

There is no doubt that he will face his clan if he stays, said Calum softly. He smiled a knowing smile that she remembered so well. So this is why you sent for me?

Yes, Calum. I want you to bring Angus back home. Her lips were dry from excitement and apprehension. So much rested on this man’s next words.

He nodded once. We will need horses. He glanced at the door. Real ones.

She put her arms around his neck and kissed him, switching from his lips to his cheek at the last moment.

He waited for her to step back and walked slowly to the door and stopped. You love him dearly, don’t you?

More than he knows.

He was pleased that she had found such love. But the ache in his chest reminded him of what might have been.

Calum and John sat on a fallen log at the side of the road and watched the redcoats struggling with the horses trying to pull the cannon through the churned-up mud. It looked like more rain was due, which was going to make the roads all but impassable. Calum smiled.

Colonel Richard York rode ahead of his dragoons as they tried to push through the confusion on the roads. His mood had not improved since his briefing from the Campbells on their failed mission, but he knew it wouldn’t improve until he got out of this damp wasteland with its skirt-wearing barbarians. Please God that the campaign would not see winter. He looked around at the damp hillside. And saw Calum. He swung his horse and rode through the artillerymen wresting with the wagons and the cannon, his powerful horse shouldering them aside.

You there.

Calum looked up slowly.

What is the meaning of this? What are you doing there?

Calum watched another rider weaving his way carefully through the men and horses clogging the road. Angus Mackintosh came alongside Colonel York and looked down at the men on the log. He closed his eyes in dismay.

You! shouted York. I asked what you are doing here!

It was true, he had asked.

Calum looked back at him slowly. Scouting.

York began to splutter and turned to Angus. Captain, I want this man flogged! He glared at Calum. And then I want him hanged. Do you hear me?

Angus looked down at Calum, who grinned back up at him. Aye, sir. Flogged and hanged.

York pulled at his horse’s reins angrily and pointed at John. And hang his surly friend too!

Calum stood up quickly, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword.

York was about to demand that he be killed immediately, when he saw Calum’s French sword partly drawn from its slim scabbard. He stopped and looked the man over slowly. It was possible. York was a bully and a schemer, but he knew a fighting man when he saw one, and he was looking at one right there. A very good one, or he missed his guess.

It’s my birthday, he said, his eyes squinting slyly. So I will let you live.

Calum shrugged but relaxed a fraction. He would have drawn his sword had they come for John. And he would have taken them on, the whole English army, right there. His clansmen would have stood over his grave and said how brave he was. And how dead.

They are scouts. It wasn’t a question. Then get them to their scouting duties at once, Captain.

Angus nodded without taking his eyes off Calum. Yes, sir. At once.

York wrenched his horse’s head around again and stopped. And Captain…

Sir?

Have them flogged first. He rode away through the men on the road.

Angus squinted at Calum. With pleasure, sir. He dismounted.

Calum smiled at him and put out his hand.

What the devil are you doing here, Calum?

You look pretty in your nice new kilt, said Calum, pointing at the Black Watch tartan.

Angus sighed heavily. You forget, I am to have you flogged.

Aye, pity about the hanging, though. Calum looked up at the sky. Nice day for a hanging. Not too much wind.

Angus closed his eyes for a moment, then put his foot on the log and leaned forward as Calum sat back down. Why are you here?

Calum shrugged. Anne asked me to come and bring you home.

What! said Angus, his foot slipping off the log. "Have you lost your mind? You canna just ride up to the English army and