He turned back again to the hills of his beloved Scotland, the land of
his birth. A great sorrow filled him, and an ache that was almost
physical gripped his chest, for a dream that had died, and a home that
was lost.
But the past was gone, and there was no returning. He must look to the
future. He must live free or die.
The lad looked back at him, startled by the change. "Master," he said
plainly. "Who are you?" The Highlander breathed deep the sea air, then
replied.
"I am Michael James Scott, a proud veteran of the war against tyranny,
and a man who will hide no more." With that he gave rein to his
fretting animal, and rode openly to the fisherman's cottage.
The old man had seen him coming, but remained smoking placidly as
before. There was much here that he did not understand, and he had
many questions. But he knew enough not to worry himself, or to act in
haste. Life, in the form of young `Jamie', was coming straight toward
him, and would no doubt make itself clear.
Drawing up to the low stone shelter, Michael dismounted and tethered
his horse, then strode quickly up the steps.
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