Angus steps next to Sutherland and speaks low. "She's off to Auchencairn with your man." Sutherland can't believe his ears.

"What's that?"

"Now, not a word from you either...your Lordship," she declares strongly as she mounts the carriage and takes up her seat. "My mind is set on it."

Sutherland thinks for a moment. He turns to Duncan, and in a low voice says, "Perhaps a good thing. Put Lovat off his guard a bit, and keep you safer still."

Duncan is clearly frustrated by this turn of events, which seems to be beyond his control. "Let's hope it is just that," he says.

Hamish takes a look at the clouding sky. "We'll have to be off if we mean to get there before dark, your Lordship." He turns to his idiot companion Willy who is chasing after one of the kitchen boys, calling out to take up the reins. Dejectedly, he returns to the carriage.

Sutherland turns to his friend, a bit distraught now that parting and mission are to become reality. Is he doing the right thing at long last? Or sending others to their doom. It tears at him, but he bucks up for a moment. "Remember everything I said, my boy. For I mean it all as nothing else. I couldna' stand to lose a second son," he says in a tone both warm and warning. And as rock hard as any truth could be.

He hands Duncan a locket. He opens it to look upon a miniature portrait of Jamie. Duncan knows how much this means to him. "With luck, we'll have Jamie back safe, and all forgiven. And tales to tell I am sure."

"God bless you -- and keep you. My son."

Duncan mounts the coach and looks to his friends as the coach is whipped off down the road and out through the close. Sutherland looks on, the black rain clouds darkening his face. And then, the drifting words of a well known tune, mockingly sung by Hamish fill the early morning air,

"Hi, Bonnie Lassie, will ye gang wi' me,

Tae share your lot in a strange country,

For tae share your lot whan doon fa's a',

And tae gang oot ower the hills tae Gallowa'?"

The sky is overcast with the barest hint of a dull yellow sun peeping through as the coach travels beyond the city gates. On and on at a fast pace through low lying land they roar. The occasional hill rising up dramatically, mist moving slowly across them. The land feels barren, haunted and full of dread. The carriage roughly bumps along the barest of dirt roads. Roads that are little more than drove trails for the highland cattle on its way to market. They can hear the rushing of a waterfall somewhere in the distance, but cannot see it for the mist and gloom. Duncan is used to obscure scenes full of such apprehension and mystery, but Elspeth must put up a brave face on this new adventure.

After a while Willy excitedly motions to his comrade, pointing off in the distance. Hamish looks towards the base of one low mountain, and after a moment his eyes catch a glint of dull sun reflecting off of something shiny. It seems to move in a rippling wave. Even Duncan notices the sight. The sight of something he has seen many times before. Sunlight reflecting off of an army in the distance. Shocks of light bouncing from lance and helmet.

Willy seems very frightened indeed, and tries to wrest the whip from Hamish's hand to spur the horses on even faster. Elspeth looks to the gleams as she says, "Duncan. Who are they?"

"I can make a guess is all," he says dryly. "But they are the lances of one of the local great families. The riding clan of Elliot, or Young. Or Kerr. This is their land. Off on a raid no doubt. Even over the border perhaps. It's the beginning of the reiving season for them. And best to stay out of their sight," he remarks, quite aware of the danger and savage reputation of these local tribes. But keeping his manner calm and reassuring for the others.

Hamish keeps his gaze fixed on the distant warriors, perhaps 300 strong. Their nimble horses could easily overtake the carriage in minutes if they had a mind. But the lances vanish in a defile invisible to distant eyes, and the mist soon shrouds even that over. In moments they are gone. And the little group sighs in relief.

The coachmen whip their horses to a slathering frenzy now, leaving the valley far behind. But as they continue, a mist spreads out over the wet earth a short distance before them, the rain a soft drizzle. Almost like a wall. A barrier to hidden worlds beyond.

As they breech the mist, objects even up close are vague and distorted. Trees and rocks taking on terrible shapes. A lone headstone stands askew, thick undergrowth pushing it aside. Just beyond in the distance they can make out the skeletal ruins of an ancient abbey. Picked apart by scavengers and religious fanatics alike not so long ago, though it seems a million years past.

Just then the carriage turns a hidden bend and the earth seems to close in on them as they pace through a close and misty pass. The hills rising up tightly about them. Suddenly the horses neigh loudly. Roots of twisted trees just above them on the hill are sticking out of the earth washed away by the rain. They scrape the horses flesh and sides of the carriage like boney fingers screeching in pain. One looms out of the mist, forming a black hand, meaning to snatch at Elspeth, tearing her cloak and skin. Bloodied. She gasps at the shock, and Duncan yells for the coachmen to pull over. They do not, or care not to hear.