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  They looked down at the stone and listened to the wind sighing in the frozen branches of the trees above them, a sad sound like music.

  “And what did Catherine Morton and Patrick MacFarlane have to do with it all?” Samuel asked. “Did he fight in the battle do you think, wearing his Jacobite tartan?”

  One of the trees had fallen and lay on its side. Samuel rested his foot on the trunk, and gazed across the moor at the mist and cloud obscuring the distant mountain peaks.

  “It’s such a beautiful place, your moor.”

  “I know.”

  They were both quiet for a moment, as Samuel tried to imagine the Highlanders rallying in their thousands at this point, having tramped all the way by foot from the farthest mountains of the north.

  “Seb and Charles used to come here with their swords and shields, and re-enact the battle,” Fiona said. “It was one of our games.”

  Samuel could well imagine them dodging one another in the mist, diving behind trees and re-appearing, or doing a Highland charge with their swords raised, their blood-curdling battle-cry ringing on the air.

  “Listen, what was that?” He looked round at the ranks of frozen white trees.

  “It’s just the wind in the branches,” Fiona assured him.

  Samuel could make out a bank of solid white mist appearing in the hollow below them. It advanced towards them like an army.

  “Look at that,” he whispered, pointing.

  “It’s just the mist. Will you calm down,” she hissed. “You’re making me jumpy. I told you it was a bad idea to come here,” she muttered.

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “Well I am now. Can you walk a bit faster? We’d better be heading back before it gets dark.” Their feet were frozen, despite their boots and thick socks.

  “What about Lynns farm?” Samuel asked.

  Fiona looked at him in disbelief. “It’s a bit late for that now. We’ll have to leave it till tomorrow. We don’t want to get caught out in this,” she added as snowflakes began to spiral out of a darkening sky. It clung to everything, their gloves and scarves, muffling the hills in more silence.

  “You’re right,” he agreed.

  They began to make their way back to the road.

  “Have you ever met Mr MacFarlane before?” Samuel asked.

  She shook her head. “He’s a bit of a recluse. Mum’s met him though. They didn’t exactly see eye to eye.”

  At last they burst out from under the trees onto the road again, the monument in front of them.

  As they began to trudge uphill towards Dunadd, Fiona stopped and pointed.

  “Look. See that?” Below them, in the dip of the land, surrounded by a thick band of snow-covered trees, lay the rooftop and chimneys of a little white farmhouse which Samuel had never seen before. “Lynns Farm,” she announced.

  It looked a dark and gloomy place, slightly sinister with an air of neglect about it. Samuel wasn’t sure he liked the idea of having to go there. Mr MacFarlane did not sound like the sort of man who encouraged visitors.

  By the time they reached Dunadd it was dark and the adults had begun to worry. As they walked into the kitchen of the big house, a great fuss broke out. Fiona and Samuel were given a good talking to by not one, but three anxious females – Mrs Morton, Granny Hughes and Isabel Cunningham. All three women had a great deal to say on the subject.

  As Samuel and his mother made to leave, Fiona stopped him in the corridor and they began to whisper about their plans for the next day.

  “Are you still on for tomorrow?” she hissed. “Lynns Farm?”

  He nodded.

  “We won’t go together though,” she whispered, “in case my Mum starts getting suspicious. Meet me at the waterfall at nine o’ clock tomorrow morning.”

  As she finished speaking Samuel thought he heard a door quietly closing behind them. He turned his head, but the corridor was empty.

  “Really, Samuel, I don’t know what you and Fiona could have been thinking about, wandering about the moor after dark. It could be very dangerous, you know,” Isabel berated him, as they made their way across the courtyard back to the cottage.

  “I know, Mum, I’m sorry,” he said. “It only started to get dark when we were nearly home.”

  “That’s not the point. Don’t let it happen again. I’ve aged about ten years this afternoon. I hadn’t even realized you were missing until Granny Hughes started fretting about it.”

  Samuel decided the best policy was to apologize as often as possible. They opened the door of the cottage, only to find the stove had gone out again.

  “Blast,” Isabel muttered, as she set to work to rescue it. Samuel made his way to his own room.

  There, on his desk under the window, was the carved ebony box in which had been stored secret treasures from the past. In unlocking the box, they had unlocked more of that mysterious past. Now Samuel picked up the fragments torn from Catherine Morton’s journal, and placed them beside the leather bag, containing the ring and the piece of tartan. These objects belonged together, he decided. Inside the ebony box, where she would have wanted them.

  As he glanced about the room he noticed a muddy footprint on the rug beside his bed. He peered at it and frowned. Odd, he thought, as he slowly lowered the lid of the box.

  Prisoner!

  The next day Samuel was up early, before the rest of Dunadd were awake. He closed the door of the cottage behind him and stepped out into the icy-cold silence of the moor. It was quiet outside the cottage. No one else was about, except of course old Mr Hughes, attempting to clear the new snow that had fallen overnight.

  “Where are you off to at this time in the morning?” the old man asked.

  “Oh, nowhere special. Just out for a walk.”

  “Oh aye? All this fresh air’s getting to you, lad,” he remarked with a knowing smile. “Don’t be getting up to mischief again, and setting the women to worry. We had enough of that last night.”

  Samuel smiled and promised he wouldn’t, then set off down the driveway, under the frozen beech trees, hoping no one would notice him from the rows of gleaming windows.

  He remembered standing with Fiona in the corridor last night as she whispered “Meet me at the waterfall.” She knew the quickest way to Lynns Farm and would take him there. It was important to speak to Mr MacFarlane, and hear what he had to say.

  Samuel whistled to himself as he walked beneath the snow-clad trees. His breath froze as soon as it left his body. He crossed the narrow lane, and vaulted the gate into the fields below. He sank to his knees in deep snow, and struggled to make his way down into the gully by walking on the top of the snowdrifts. A milky white mist was just lifting off the hills, and the peaks of distant mountains broke through like islands in a sea. They shone pink and purple in the strange early morning light. It was amazing how half of the moor could be bathed in sunlight, while the other was still cloaked in shadow. It was part of the beauty of the place. The mist created an illusion. If you didn’t know better, Samuel thought, you would think there was a lake down there, lapping at the edges of the moor like a distant shore.

  He heard the waterfall before he saw it, and made his way towards it. Curtains of frozen ice were caught in its flow, fringed with gleaming icicles. It was a startling sight, and he stared at it for some moments, transfixed. Fiona hadn’t arrived yet, so he waited for her, listening to the sound of the water travelling under the ice. Normally the roar of the waterfall was deafening, but much of it was frozen over, held back, caught in mid-motion.

  A weak winter sun rose above the mist, and still no one appeared. For no reason that he could explain, Samuel began to feel nervous, as if he was being watched. He looked around him at the high ridges, half-expecting to see the ghosts of slaughtered infantry men appear above him.

  He glanced at his watch. It was strange of Fiona not to be on time. She’d probably slept in, or else she’d forgotten all about their meeting – although he knew in his heart of hearts that wouldn’t
really be like Fiona. She was as keen as he was to continue their investigation.

  Suddenly a sound caught his attention. A small pebble had been dropped into the water from a great height. He looked up. There, on a high ridge way above him stood a dark figure in the snow. Samuel’s heart sank. It was Charles.

  “Waiting for someone?” he shouted, above the sound of the water. “She won’t be coming, I’m afraid. I’ve made sure of that.”

  Then Charles jumped down from his high perch above the waterfall, and made his way round to where Samuel stood. Samuel watched him in silence, refusing to be drawn.

  “Thought you’d meet up with my little sister then, did you? On the sly?”

  “Why does it bother you so much?”

  Charles stepped closer to him and said “I don’t like strangers poking around. I heard what you were up to last night, by the way.” Samuel remembered the door quietly closing. “Thought you’d go and see the old man at Lynns farm, did you? I wouldn’t advise it. He doesn’t like unexpected guests.”

  “We’re not doing anything wrong,” Samuel said. “We just want to find out more about the house. Its history …”

  “Is that right?”

  Charles eyed him angrily. “That man keeps a shotgun in his barn, and you want to take my sister there? Don’t you think my mother might have something to say about that?”

  “We’d be careful,” Samuel protested.

  “Careful?” Charles laughed. “If you were careful you wouldn’t even think about going there.”

  “Why? What’s so terrible about the place?”

  “It’s not the place. It’s the man,” Sebastian added quietly. He had appeared behind Samuel now, to join forces with his brother.

  “We’re just trying to protect our sister,” Charles said.

  “From what?”

  But Charles just looked at Samuel. No one knew what burdens he had to carry in silence, not even his own brother. He wasn’t about to tell a complete stranger about them, an outsider, a newcomer.

  “One little reminder,” he went on. “You may think you’re nice and cosy living in that cottage, but one word from me, and I could get her to evict you, just like that.”

  “What is it you’re so afraid of?” Samuel said, looking him in the eye.

  Charles’s face was white and he looked haunted, as if Samuel’s words had struck true.

  “Just keep away from our sister. Okay?”

  “Where is she?” Samuel asked now.

  Suddenly Charles grinned wolfishly in a way that Samuel had never seen before, and held up a key in his hand. He dangled it in front of Samuel’s face. “Learning a lesson,” he said. “Learning to accept that her brothers know what’s best for her.”

  Samuel’s chest tightened with panic. “Where is she?” he cried again, “You can’t have locked her up!”

  But just as he was about to grab Charles’ arm Charles pushed him backwards, knocking him to the ground. The shock of it took Samuel’s breath away. He lay winded for a time, before gradually struggling to his feet.

  The brothers had turned and fled, leaving him alone beside the waterfall.

  As Charles and Sebastian hurried away up the hillside towards Dunadd, Charles suddenly stopped in his tracks, as if frozen to the spot. His breath was coming in rasps. A vision filled his head, like a flashback or memory from a time before. All he could see were the sweating flanks of a large black horse pounding across the turf towards the hidden ravine where the waterfall lay. He could hear the animal snorting with the effort, flecks of foam flying from its bit and bridle as it galloped. Its unknown rider urged it on, but Charles couldn’t see the rider. He could only make out the horse, see its sweat and hear its effort as it surged ahead. It was a glimpse only, and then just as suddenly the vision was gone, leaving Charles confused as he stood there in the snow.

  His brother looked at him in alarm.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I … I don’t know … Nothing,” Charles stammered. He slowly shook his head free of the vision, and the pair made their way back to the house.

  Samuel looked around him desperately, at the frozen-white curtain of water and the high ridges of the gully surrounding him. He had to get back to Dunadd and tell Mrs Morton what the boys had done to Fiona. But then he froze. They were her sons. She would never believe him. It was their word against his.

  He thought about this as he made his way up the steep hillside beside the waterfall. It was hard work, climbing through the snow. The moor, which had seemed so beautiful only moments before, was now a hostile environment. He no longer noticed the magical quality of the mist on the lower plain, or the cerulean blue of the sky against the whiteness of snow. Nothing else mattered but the pain and exhaustion in his body, and the need to find Fiona.

  Finally, when he reached the road, he stopped to rest against the gatepost, trying to get his breath back. His thoughts were with his friend. How could her own brothers do that to her, lock her up somewhere? Back at Dunadd he ran into the big house, his feet pounding noisily along the empty corridors, calling out her name, but there seemed to be no one about. Granny Hughes was not in her usual place, scolding the world in general and doing the dishes. Instead he found Mrs Morton sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee, stroking Lettuce the rabbit who had hopped off the table into her lap. She looked alarmed at Samuel’s outburst.

  “Whatever’s the matter?” she said.

  “Fiona,” he cried, out of breath. “She’s locked up somewhere. Charles and Sebastian did it.”

  There was a long silence.

  “I’ve already spoken to Charles, Samuel. He told me what you were planning to do. I warned you not to go anywhere near Lynns Farm. If you disobey me again, and lead Fiona into trouble as well, I shall have to take serious action.”

  “But they’ve locked up Fiona,” he spluttered. “I saw the key.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped, looking irritated for the first time. “My sons might do many things I disapprove of, but they do not, as a rule, lock up their sister. Fiona went out early this morning,” she went on. “She’s off enjoying herself somewhere, and has promised to be back by lunchtime.”

  “But where?” he cried, beginning to despair.

  Mrs Morton shook her head. “Where she usually goes. All those secret haunts of yours.”

  Samuel spun round and left the room. He knew there was no point in talking to Mrs Morton. She would never believe his word against her two sons.

  He ran down the corridor and out into the courtyard.

  He stood on the lawn in front of Dunadd. A thick white blanket of freshly-fallen snow lay across it, but there were new tracks, as if someone had recently passed that way. The boating pond, he thought in a flash of inspiration. He followed the tracks along the tree-lined path.

  The pond was still frozen over. He stepped onto the jetty and walked to the end of it. The blue rowing boat was trapped in ice, untouched. No one had been able to use it in weeks.

  Suddenly, in the stillness, he heard a sound, very faint at first, but then more distinct. It was the sound of someone crying. At first he wondered if it was the Weeping Woman, come to haunt him even here, but he quickly realized it couldn’t be. This was a different sound, less sad, and it was accompanied by an angry knocking noise. Someone was knocking and banging against the wooden door of the summer house on the other side of the water.

  He leapt to his feet and ran round the pond, calling out Fiona’s name as he did so. He had no key but pressed his ear to the locked door.

  “Is that you, Samuel?” she called in a muffled voice. “For God’s sake, get me out of here.”

  “Wait there,” he said.

  “As if I can do anything else!” she called back, as he disappeared behind the summer house where a barbecue and a tin box of supplies were kept. He reappeared with a long metal bar, and broke open the lock.

  “Wait till I get my hands on those brothers of mine,” Fiona spat. “Th
ey tricked me – they told me you’d come up here …”

  “There’s something strange about all this,” Samuel murmured. “Charles doesn’t usually carry on like this, does he?”

  Fiona shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s frightened.”

  “But what of?”

  The two of them were silent.

  “They warned me off going to Lynns Farm,” Samuel said.

  “How did they …?”

  “They must have been listening last night, when we fixed it up. I thought I saw someone … And not only that,” Samuel added, “but your mother knows about it too. They told her.”

  Fiona’s face fell. “How can we go to Lynns Farm now?”

  “You try and stop me.”

  Lynns Farm

  Upstairs in the tower Charles sat on his bed, his head in his hands. Down at the waterfall something strange had happened to him, but he didn’t know what. He kept seeing the image of a horse pounding towards the ravine, its muscular black flanks sweating with the effort. He didn’t understand any of it; he was confused, but he knew that something was terribly wrong. He felt strangely frightened.

  And what had compelled him to lock his sister in the summer house?

  He thought again of his father’s letter and the dreams that came to disturb him at night. He needed to confide in someone, anyone. He couldn’t carry this burden alone. It was too much. But who could he tell? There was no one. No one would understand …

  When Samuel and Fiona got back to Dunadd, far from being pleased to see them, Mrs Morton was furious and told Fiona she would not be allowed out for a week.

  “I know what you’ve been up to, Fiona. The boys have told me. I don’t want you going anywhere near that place, do you hear me? Nor Samuel for that matter either.”

  “Why not?” Fiona cried. “What’s wrong with Mr MacFarlane?”

  “He’s a bitter cantankerous old man, that’s what. He’s unpleasant and rude and a troublemaker. I must say that when I agreed to let the Cunninghams rent the cottage, I didn’t realize Samuel would give us this much trouble.”