CHAPTER 1

The Scottish HighlandsAugust 6, 1871

If a gasp could be shrieked, that was the sound William Nealemade as he burst through the doors of Insh Church andinterrupted the wake in progress. He announced, "They'vetaken widow MacCurrach! She's gone!" and then the farmercollapsed in a crumpled heap halfway between the front pew andaltar.

Henry Lamont, whose mother lay in a casket at the head of thechurch, dashed over to investigate. "Fergus, lend me a hand," hecalled across the chapel. His burly friend strode up and graspedNeale by one arm while Henry held the other. Together they raisedthe aging crofter, but he toppled again as soon as they releasedhim, his limbs splayed in opposite directions.

"Och! Smell his breath," said Fergus Campbell. "He's drunk."

A nearby woman grunted in disgust. "How intemperate!"

"At Mrs. Lamont's wake!" added another.

Henry cursed. He was so startled by the outburst that hehalf-forgot his duties and focused on the farmer instead.

"He's from the hills north of town," Fergus noted. "We'd besthave a word with him in private."

Henry excused himself; the congregants would have tocontinue their lamentation without him. Fergus swung Nealeover his shoulder like a sack of wool and carried him away. Henrypicked up the man's cap and followed. Once outside, they proppedthe farmer against a thick larch. Fergus slapped his ruddy cheeks.

"You must be the c-c-constable," slurred Neale. His glazedeyes rolled into focus.

Henry's curiosity outweighed his initial outrage. He put hisface within inches of Neale's. With his right hand, he directed thefarmer's attention toward him. "Who are you? And who's takenthe widow?"

"The widow MacCurrach!" Neale replied with a start. "Thefaeries 'ave taken her away!"

"There's more than a dram or two o' whisky in him, if he's seenthe good folk," said Fergus with a snort. "And the MacCurrachs leftInsh years ago."

Undaunted, Henry continued. "How do you know faeries stolethe widow?"

Neale steadied himself and replied, "I was out mendin' asheiling dyke on the edge of my property, the one that bordersthe MacCurrach place, when I heard a noise what might wake thedead. So I dropped my work and listened. Sure as I'm sittin' here,there's another noise, only this one's louder. It made the hairs onmy neck stand on end ... like a thousand cats screechin' at oncein your ear."

Henry and Fergus looked at each other and then back at Neale,who went on. "I plugged these daft ears of mine and decided to gohave a look in case the widow was in dire trouble, like you mightdo. So I walked straight through the forest. Right before comin' tothe widow's house, I stopped at what I saw."

Fergus could barely contain himself. "What did you see, man?Spit it out!"

The old farmer leaned closer. "There was a terrible sight, ifever there was one. This is God's honest truth. All the windows ofthe MacCurrach house were wide open and the contents inside ...you're not going to believe this." He waved his hands in a dramaticflurry. "Everything was bein' thrown out. All of the widow's worldlypossessions. The works was bein' tossed out of the windows andthe front door by some unseen hands. Her bed was stuck high ina tree. The kitchen table cracked in half comin' out the door, andthen the legs gave way and tossed out too. Her pots and pans rolledin the mud. A thousand pieces o' things clanged about in the din."Neale frowned.

"What did you do?" asked Henry. "Was the widow there?"

"Aye, lads. She tried to run out o' the house when they grabbedher and dragged her back in. I fled straight to the inn for somethin'to steel my nerves. Flannery suggested I come here to warn Fergus,as he's both the deacon and the local law, lest the faeries take moreo' us."

"You were right to seek help. I'm Henry Lamont, a universitystudent, and this is my mother's wake." He rubbed his chin. "Ferguscan handle the matter from here. You should go home. If you havea wife and bairns, they'll be worried about you." He handed Neale'scap back to him.

"Aye." The farmer replaced his hat. "The name's WilliamNeale," he said over his shoulder. He was about to stumble awaywhen Fergus caught his arm and prevented his departure.

"Could you lead us to the widow's croft?" asked Fergus."Someone should see to it and neither of us knows the way."

Neale cringed. Henry could tell that the last thing thefarmer wanted to do was return to the scene he'd just described.Neale's gaze shifted to Fergus, who stood before him with a sternexpression. The old man's Scottish sense of responsibility trumpedhis fear and he promised to escort them back to the MacCurrach'sland. However, he would not agree to enter the house itself,because whatever took the widow might still be there.

"You're comin' with us," Fergus said to his friend. "We'll travelby horse."

"What?" Henry blurted. "Do you honestly expect me to leavemy own mother's wake? I only arrived from Edinburgh thismorning."

"Aye," Fergus replied with crossed arms. "She'll be here whenyou return."

Henry's cheeks flushed. "That's preposterous!"

"Your fancy seminary education may prove useful. We leavenow."

At twenty-four, the redheaded farm boy was a year Henry'sjunior but nearly twice his size. Seasons of steady plough-workhad left Fergus preternaturally strong. His father, CameronCampbell, was tenant of the largest portion of land owned by thelocal laird, Sir George MacPherson of Ballindalloch. As a result,Fergus had been elected Insh's constable and no one liked to crosshim because of it—which certainly applied to Henry. He relentedwithout a fight.

Henry, Fergus, and Neale clambered down a stairway cut intothe church mound; a hillock deposited by glaciers that had oncetravelled the valley's alluvial plain. The broad River Spey continuedto feed Loch Insh, but the glen was prone to seasonal flooding,when the mound became an innis, the Gaelic term for island. Henryopened the churchyard gate and held it for Fergus and Neale, whopassed through ahead of him.

Fergus whispered to his friend. "You'll have to admit there'ssomethin' to Neale's yarn. It has the ring o' the Lord's truthabout it."

"I put no stock in faerie stories or old wives' tales," Henryreplied. "Sound reason should be our only guide. Not a load ofsuperstitious poppycock." He hadn't yet told Fergus—or anyoneelse in Insh—that he'd left his position as a seminary student atthe University of Edinburgh, and thereby rejected a career in theScottish church. Instead, he'd begun to study engineering and hadplans to apply at Beardmore's Steel Company upon graduation. Hehad wanted to inform his mother in person before she passed, butnever managed to get around to it. Even so, he'd grown to considerhimself first and foremost a man of science.

Henry was about to further state his case with Fergus when helost his footing and fell flat on his backside.

"Pride cometh before the fall," Fergus chided with a heartylaugh. He offered his friend a hand.

"Thank you." Henry dusted off his black trousers. "As I wassaying, this is the nineteenth century. We have trains, steamships,and transatlantic telegraphs, not to mention the revolutionaryworks of Lyell and Darwin. Only a dimwit would believe in bogles,or faeries, or witches, or what have you."

"Suit yourself," said Fergus. "But I'd be cautious all the same."He untied the horses and swung onto...