Father Cowan had taken the cattle to the upper pastures, and Annie knew he’d be fast asleep against a sun-heated stone. She urged the geese into the stick-fence enclosure and made sure they had water. Ever since the night, she’d passed the claymore to Rafe Campbell, she’d been troubled by her action. He was the enemy. Baen would have rid them of this new conqueror if she hadn’t interfered. When the story made its way to Bryce, he’d railed at her. Even Father Cowan had been snappish, and she’d tried her best to mollify their anger, pointing out all she’d heard at the table that night and her conclusion that of the two commanders, Rafe was the lesser of two evils. Still doubting her wisdom, they’d finally accepted her explanation, but she’d not satisfied her own misgivings. Sighing, she trudged to the stone hut she shared with the old priest. Her duties, both as a crippled, mute goose girl and as leader of the MacDougall clansmen, sat heavy on her shoulders this day. Would Rafe Campbell bring a better way of life to her clansmen and would they ever bend to the yoke of Campbell rule?
