But it was the thick piece of curling wood clutched in its sharp little claws that made Catherine smile. Robbie had found Cùram’s tree! She hugged the kitten to her chest, ignoring its spitting attempts to bite her.

“Shhh,” she crooned, rubbing its neck. “You’re safe now. Robbie wouldn’t leave you to drown.”

The wet little bundle trembled in her arms and finally settled down. She tried to pull the root from its claws, but it growled and hugged the wood tighter.

“Okay, you can hold on to it for now,” she whispered, using her thumb to stroke its shivering body.

She looked up when Robbie came striding through the water with Ian. He set him down on the ground beside her and cupped Ian’s sputtering face in his hands.

“You’re okay, Uncle. Just get rid of what you swallowed.”

Ian leaned over and coughed up a stomach full of water. He wiped his mouth, looked up at Robbie, and grinned. “I thank ya, MacBain.” But his smile disappeared when he looked over at Catherine. “What in hell is that?” he asked, pointing at her chest.

“That,” Robbie said, taking the once again spitting kitten from her and holding it against his own chest, “is a piece of the tap root from Cùram’s tree,” he said, pulling the wood from the kitten’s claws and holding it up. “I found it,” he said, clutching his prize in his fist. He looked over his shoulder at the stream gushing from the crack beside them, then turned back. “But I’ve killed the old tree of wisdom,” he whispered, shaking his head.

“It was in a deep crevice on the island, just its top branches exposed. When I dug at its base to get this root, I opened the flood-gates.”

“But what in hell is that?” Ian asked again, pointing at the kitten.

Robbie held the growling black ball up to face him. “A panther cub, I’m guessing,” he said, smiling when the kitten took a swat at him.

Ian snorted. “We don’t have panthers in Scotland.”

Robbie handed the cub back to Catherine and shrugged. “It was all alone in a tiny den not far from the entrance and was still there when I came running out. I couldn’t leave it to drown.”

Catherine held out her hand to Robbie as the cub squirmed and growled in her arms. “It wants the root. It’s his security blanket.”

Robbie hesitated, obviously reluctant to give his prize away, but then handed it over.

The cub dug its tiny claws into the wood, clamping its teeth over the root before finally settling against Catherine’s chest.

She pulled open the front of her shawl and tucked the kitten and root inside, tightened the knot securely, and patted it as she smiled at Robbie. “I promise not to let either of them out of my sight,” she said. “Ah… we chased the horses off so the MacBains wouldn

’t find us. How are we going to get back to the village?”

No sooner had she asked that than at least four dozen MacBain warriors emerged from the woods, swords drawn and pointed at them, each looking fierce enough to stop Catherine’s heart.

Robbie stood up and pulled his own sword from its sheath, which caused several of the warriors to step forward.

“Nay,” Ian said, scrambling to his feet. “Angus, ya old bastard, it’s me, Ian MacKeage.”

“You would have better luck in Gaelic, Uncle,” Robbie whispered, not taking his eyes off the wall of warriors.

“Aw, hell,” Ian muttered. He started speaking in Gaelic and walked toward them.

Catherine watched as one of the warriors, a man nearly as old as Ian, took a step back, his face paling and his eyes widening in shock.

“What’s happening?” she asked, getting to her feet to stand beside Robbie, clutching the kitten and tree root to her chest.

“That’s Angus MacBain he’s talking to,” Robbie told her, still not taking his eyes off the threat. “He’s my grandfather. And he can’t believe he’s seeing Ian, as his son, Michael, was lost with Ian ten years ago.”

“But what is Ian saying?”

“That he was with Michael when they were captured by the English. He’s telling Angus how his son died and of Michael’s great love for his own daughter, Maura. That they were going to run away and get married when she died.”

“Angus didn’t know about Maura?”

“He knew Michael was hellbent on going to war over a MacKeage woman, but Angus didn’t know Maura had been pregnant with his grandchild at the time of her death.”

Robbie darted a look at her, then back at the two older men. “Angus heard that Greylen and Ian and the others had disappeared with his son in a great storm, but he really thought the MacKeages had killed Michael and the five other MacBain warriors. There, Ian just told him that Michael died a hero by saving his life.”

Angus scowled at Ian and pointed at Robbie and Catherine.

“Ian is telling him… aw, hell,” Robbie growled, wiping his face with his free hand. “Ian just told him I’m a powerfuldrùidh named Cùram de Gairn and that if they don’t go home peacefully, I’m going to drown them all.” Ian pointed at the water spewing from the crack in the mountain, and Robbie groaned. “Now he’s telling them I can reroute the Snow River and that if they want it to flow through MacBain land again, they should bow to my benevolence instead of daring to point their swords at me and my wife.”

“So I’m a wizard’s wife?” Catherine squeaked.

Robbie snorted. “Ian does love to spin tales,” he said, shaking his head. He resheathed his sword and took a deep breath. “Well, I might as well give them a show, so my uncle won’t be a liar and they can go home and tell their own tales around the campfire.”

“What?”

He took hold of her hand and led her straight toward the wall of warriors. He stopped in front of Angus MacBain and said something to him in rapid, spitting Gaelic.

Catherine leaned toward Ian.

“He’s telling Angus that he knew his son and that Michael MacBain was a great warrior that any papa would be proud of,” Ian translated for her.

Robbie pulled his dagger out of his belt and handed it to Angus. The old MacBain warrior clutched the dagger in his fist until blood ran through his fingers and snapped his gaze back to Robbie.

“That’s Michael’s dagger,” Ian said in a whisper. “And now Robbie is turning so that Angus can see the hilt of his sword, that used to belong to Robert MacBain, Angus’s brother.”

Angus was Robbie’s grandfather? Robbie certainly hadn’t inherited his height from him.

Angus MacBain was only an inch taller than she was. “Is he going to give up his sword?” Catherine asked in a hushed voice, leaning closer to Ian even though Robbie still held her hand.

“Nay,” Ian said. “Angus asked for it, but Robbie told him that Robert wanted him to have it, to remind him of his duties to the MacBains. They should know they have a powerful guardian looking out for their welfare and that he’s going to breach the dam so their livestock can drink from the Snow River again.”

“C-Can he do that?” Catherine whispered.

Ian shrugged. “The boy’s not one to give empty boasts.”

Robbie then led Catherine right past the gaping warriors, speaking in Gaelic as they strode past, and Ian and Angus fell into step behind them. But instead of also following, the warriors suddenly scrambled down the hill toward the riverbed.

“I’ve told them to move their horses to dry ground,” Robbie explained as he helped Catherine over a fallen log. “How’s your passenger doing?”

“Fine,” she said, patting the lump on her chest. “I think he might even be sleeping. Can you really break the dam?”

“Aye. It’s unstable and should only take a small effort.”

The clamor of pounding hoofbeats rose from the other side of the lake. Catherine, Robbie, Ian, and Angus stepped out of the woods and onto the edge of the dam just in time to see Niall and an army of at least two hundred warriors come to a halt on the opposite shore.

Robbie shouted to Niall and pointed to Ian and Angus, then spoke rapidly in Gaelic to the young laird for several minutes, until Niall finally dismounted and strode across the dam toward them.