Master of the Highlands

London gardens weren’t anything like this. She had the fleeting sensation that this maze had a life of its own. It had clearly been neglected for years, and she fancied it was a sort of malevolent force waiting to consume her.

She shook her head as if that could dispense with the fear that suddenly gripped her. Lily wanted to prove to herself that she wasn ’t afraid. If she were to make a fresh start in her personal life, she would need to embrace a little adventure. Besides, she figured, what better sketching opportunity than the bizarre Escher-esque maze right in front of her?

Lily passed through the opening and was thrust into a complete and shocking silence. She fought the sensation of being swallowed up, becoming one with the plant itself. She hadn’t noticed the birdsong that had ridden along the rustling breeze until its sudden absence left only the sound of her own breath echoing around her.

She was standing in a small room, with those hairy green leaves, dark fruits, and flowers forming the walls around her. Three passages offered themselves, each showing glimpses of dark green hallways forking into more green rooms offering more passageways.

Momentarily hypnotized by the effect, Lily took a tentative step through one of the passages. Alarms sounded in her head, but she gulped back the now-consistent throb of unease with the thought that she ’d go just a few feet to grab a peek around the first corner or two and then turn immediately back, retracing her steps exactly.

She took her first left and then her first left again—just enough to be completely surrounded by the massive plant. It was dizzying. Everywhere she looked there were shades of green and openings into more green and darker green shadows.

Abruptly, claustrophobia seized Lily’s chest and she decided it was time to get out immediately. She took a quick mental snapshot for the drawing that she would dash off once back outside the labyrinth , then confidently took her first right, then first right again. But instead of taking her back to where she started, that placed her in another green alcove, which opened up to three other intersecting corridors.

Fighting back a wave of panic, Lily mumbled to herself, “Okaaay. No biggie, ” her voice comforting her in the now deafening silence. “I must’ve taken the wrong first right is all. ” Lily backtracked left and left again to return to what she thought was her first stopping point.

Now she was alarmed . She thought she ’d retraced her steps exactly, but she was standing in another, larger alcove formed by the increasingly malevolent-looking shrub. She studied the space—could this have been her original starting point? Were there only three openings in the first room? She thought there had been four. She tried going left again. This time she knew she was completely lost as she peeked her head into what was to be her second left only to see a much larger rectangular space opening onto just two other passage s. She jerked her head back out of the alcove—she knew she hadn’t seen that room before. The last thing she needed was to get even deeper into this maze than she already was.

“Think, Lily, think.” Wasn’t there some sort of law of physics she could turn to in this situation? Like, a law of the universe stating that, if you keep turning left, you’ll eventually get back to where you started? Okay, she thought, so I’m no scientist, but there must be some other way to work through this.

She remembered the mazes that she loved to do as a kid. This damned maze couldn’t be any more difficult than one of those. How big could it be, anyway, when she hadn ’t even seen it from her perch on the hill? Her strategy, she decided, would be to plow bravely forward, leaving some sort of trail as she went. Surely, eventually, she would find her way back out.

Another hour passed, and Lily’s mind had cleared of everything but the single -minded focus of systematically working her way through the maze. Her pattern was: head down a corridor, taking every first right until she hit a dead end, then retrace her steps and start the pattern over again taking every second right, and so on. She scuffed her heel into the path as she went to mark her trail.

Lily came to an abrupt stop. She found herself standing in what was the only entrance to the smallest alcove yet. Directly across from her was a niche cut into the wall of shrubbery, displaying a pale gray stone carving about three feet by three feet square. Lily couldn ’t fight the artist in her and, transfixed, slowly approached for a better look. The niche itself had long since become overgrown, so Lily had to pull some branches away to get a good look at the carving, shuddering as a clump of the plant ’s heavy black berries brushed against her hand.

It had been done in very hard rock, Lily thought probably granite, which surprised her since it would ’ve taken some pretty sophisticated tools to get lines this delicate into rock that hard. Even the ancient Egyptians hadn’t figured that one out. It had a surprisingly smooth surface for something continually exposed to the elements. A geometric pattern lined the outer edge of the square, reminding Lily of the chevron motif popular in ancient Greek sculpture. Every four inches or so, though, the chevron pattern was interrupted by one of many different carved markings, which Lily thought were runic characters like the kind found on Celtic knickknacks at the Glasgow airport tourist shop.

The center, though, was what really captured her attention:lines carved in rudimentary shapes, interspersed with deeply carved points. Blurring her eyes, she imagined she could see simple human and animal shapes represented in the form of the lines. If she had to hazard a guess, she would say that she had discovered an ancient star chart, but surely something of that nature would be in some museum somewhere, not all the way out here. No, this had to have once belonged to some rich, eccentric Scot who let his garden get away from him. It was just the sort of lawn ornament that she could picture being sold side by side with those silly gargoyles that had become so big in gardening stores back home.

But she couldn ’t get over how smooth and cold the stone was. The clean quality of the lines suggested to her that this had to be more than your average garden statue. She slowly traced her finger along each line, all the while wondering in the back of her mind what kind of tools an artisan would need to carve with this kind of precision. Smooth line. Point. Smooth line. Point.

She became transfixed. Beginning in the upper left corner, Lily ran her finger slowly over the outlining edge of the carving, feeling the chevron pattern flow into a runic character then back to the chevron pattern again. A random thought popped into the back of her head and she thought with wonder how it is that the blind can learn to read Braille. She sensed that her own finger was becoming more sensitive to the rhythm of the pattern, and that if she were only to concentrate a bit more, she too would be able to close her eyes and take in the entirety of the image with her hand alone. When her finger returned to the upper left corner of the carving, she slowly and systematically began to trace each line and each point in the center of the stone. Lily was torn from her reverie when, upon dipping her finger in the last point at the end of the last line, the ground beneath her feet jolted. She bit back a shriek as her mind raced to make sense of what was happening. The earth heaved again. A crooked half smile somewhere between amusement and terror quirked her features as Lily’s last conscious thought was how ironic it was to die in an earthquake while on vacation outside San Francisco.

Chapter 4

“I’ll not understand why you’re off to treat with such a man as Monk. ”

“Aye, and a bonny morning to you too, Uncle. ” Ewen flashed a smile at Donald. He well knew his uncle ’s querulous temperament and had expected that a meeting with the new leader of Cromwell’s army would not sit well with the old warrior.

He prized his uncle ’s bravery and knowledge—the man had been invaluable in Ewen’s early days as laird—so he often gave Donald great latitude in any disputes.

Donald continued, undaunted by Ewen’s attempt at humor, “The man’s a murderer who’s spilt the blood of your kin. It was you who delivered more than a score of Cameron men to the Earl of Glencairn to rise against these Commonwealth whoresons, or have you forgotten so soon? He’s a devil, that man is, that’s why they wear those red tails on their coats. ”

“My uncle you may be, but you ’re not the laird. Sir. ” A roguish gleam in Ewen ’s eye kept the potentially volatile exchange light. “I’ll never forget the destruction he and his bloody British footmen have wreaked on Highland soil. We both of us regret we weren ’t at the Battle of Worcester when so many Scotsmen fell, or have you forgotten so soon?”

“General Monk, och. ” Donald spat in disgust. “The man’s not honorable. I vow lad, I’ll redress not being by my brothers’ sides at Worcester. ” His voice boomed with growing zealousness, echoing down the empty stone hall.

“Damnable Monk. He ’s slow as an old merchant galley, blowing where the wind may, aye? Leaving orphans and widows in his wake. They who’ve luck enough to be counted among the living, that is. ”

“Uncle, respectfully. ” Ewen halted and turned, gritting his teeth so as not to lose patience with the irascible older man. “I am Lochiel, aye? And as such, I have to do what ’s best for the whole clan. A laggard and a scoundrel General Monk might be, but he ’s asked for an audience and I will hear what he’s about.”

“Och, if he doesn ’t stab you in the back first, ” Donald muttered under his breath.

“Aye, in my head, the man ’s no better than a common reiver, but if treating with him could mean peace for the Highlands, then so I shall. ”

After a moment, Donald gave a brisk nod. His scarred face cracked into a snarl that would look much more like the smile it was were it not missing a couple of teeth. “I suppose you have the right of it, lad. ” Not used to such an outburst of emotion, Donald’s usually surly mien returned.

“But the moment Monk shows his true colors, I ’ll spill his blood myself, aye?”

“Fine, uncle. ” Ewen clapped his hand on the other man ’s back. “Now can we be off, or are there other theatrics you ’d have off your chest first?” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">