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and not someone made of flesh and blood. Was a false hope better than no hope? Not that it mattered for battle training. Everyone learned to fight as soon as they could hold a practice weapon, once a week after lessons.
    The government had banned the bearing of arms in public, but a clan’s status and security still lay in the number of broadswords it could field. There were always enemies. At any time some rival clan, pushed to the limits of its own land, might decide Invercauld, or parts of it, could be annexed to feed and house their folk.
    ‘Besides,’ she said to the girl. ‘People who won’t defend their home deserve to lose it.’ She beckoned the boy forward and he swung his sword. Anne guided Catríona’s targe, pushing the blow away. The boy’s targe shielded his body. ‘Good,’ Anne said. ‘Now hold it.’ Moving the girl’s sword arm, she pointed out the boy’s weak spots. ‘If you’re quick, you might get him here.’ She touched the sword tip against his exposed upper right arm. ‘Then his sword arm is hurt and he’ll submit. First blood is all you need draw. But the only way is around his targe. Think fast and move fast. Now, you try.’
    She stood up, and the children set to again. A flicker of movement up on the mountain caught her attention. Her imagination must have conjured up intruders. There appeared to be a thin line of distant riders coming through the pass towards them.
    ‘I got him! I got him!’ Catríona squealed with excitement. Anne answered automatically, still watching the hillside.
    ‘Well done!’ There were riders up there, and people walking. Who were they? What did they want here? She turned to the children. Eventually, they’d become skilled, formidable fighters. Right now, they were messengers. She clapped her hands for attention. ‘We have visitors. Will you put everything away and run home. Quickly, quickly.’ As they ran to throw the practice weapons into their wooden box then scatter back to their various cotts, Anne scoured the slope, squinting to pick out some sign of identity.
    High up on the mountain track, the front rider was resplendent in trews, velvet jacket and full chief ’s regalia. An illegal sword glittered at his side. Highlanders, and on serious business. Behind the chief, a clansman led a riderless white horse. Could that mean what it ought to? She scanned the rest of the column. Three black cattle followed, a few sheep and goats and a fat pig driven by a boy with a stick. Other clansfolk drove the animals along, keeping them in line. At the rear was another rider, a second chief. A chief with red-gold hair.
    ‘Oh, dear life!’ Anne turned and ran to her home. Inside the house, she charged past her stepmother, knocking a chair sidewaysin her hurry to get to the window, where she peered out towards the mountains.
    ‘What on earth is going on?’ Lady Farquharson righted the tumbled chair.
    Anne turned to her stepmother just as Elizabeth ran in from outside.
    ‘Mother! Mother! Oh, Anne, did you see?’
    ‘Did she see what?’ her mother demanded.
    Elizabeth was almost delirious with excitement.
    ‘M c Intosh. It’s M c Intosh. And he’s got…’ She flapped her hands, unable to get out the words.
    ‘Gifts.’ Anne finished for her, cold now, matter of fact. ‘He’s bringing gifts.’
    It was enough to restore Elizabeth’s tongue.
    ‘Marriage gifts, Mother! A bridal horse, cattle, sheep, oh, I don’t know what else. James went to meet them. He’s coming to propose, Mother!
    Lady Farquharson grabbed the back of the chair, her knuckles white.
    ‘ O mo chreach , my goodness. And look at the place!’ She scooped up her embroidery and handed it to her daughter. ‘Quickly, greas ort . Och , my hair. I must change. Oh dear.’
    ‘You said he’d want a wife now he could afford one.’ Elizabeth hopped up and down, hugging the tapestry to her chest. Calmly, Anne walked towards the back door.
    ‘Where are you going?’ her stepmother