The mist rolled through the valley like a shroud, blanketing the Highlands in a veil of secrecy. The sun barely pierced the dense fog, casting a dim light over the camp where the clansmen had gathered once more. The air was thick with anticipation, but beneath it, there was a tension, an undercurrent of fear that few dared to speak of.
Sir William Fenton paced back and forth in the center of the camp, his mind consumed with thoughts of the battle that was surely to come. The raid had been successful, but it had not gone unnoticed. Word of their actions had reached the king's men, and they were already making preparations to strike back. The calm before the storm was over.
David Barnet stood at the edge of the camp, his arms crossed, watching the activity with a growing sense of unease. Clansmen sharpened their swords, cleaned their pistols, and whispered among themselves. The sense of unity that had once filled their ranks now seemed fragile, as if it could shatter at any moment.
Moira approached him quietly, her face unreadable. "You're thinking about the coming battle, aren't you?" she asked, her voice soft but steady.
David nodded. "I don't know what to expect. We've made a lot of noise, and now the king's men will come for us. There's no turning back."
Moira stood beside him, her gaze distant. "We're not the only ones at risk. The entire Highlands are under threat. If we fall, what will happen to those who still stand with us? We fight not just for ourselves but for all those who are oppressed by the crown."
David turned to her, his expression hardening. "I know that. But the closer we get to this fight, the more it feels like we're walking into a trap. We don't know where the king's men will strike first."
Moira's eyes flickered with concern. "You're right to worry. But if we don't strike now, we may lose the chance entirely. If we don't show our strength, we risk being hunted down one by one."
David sighed, frustration creeping into his voice. "I can't shake the feeling that something's wrong. We've had traitors in our midst before. Who's to say there isn't another among us?"
Moira's hand rested on his arm, a reassuring gesture. "You're not alone in this, David. We all feel the same fear. But we stand together. That's our strength."
A Sudden Visit
As the day stretched into afternoon, a messenger arrived at the camp with urgent news. Sir William, who had been deep in discussion with Angus MacLeod and Duncan, immediately made his way to the messenger. The words that followed were whispered in hurried tones, but they carried a weight that was palpable.
"News from the south," the messenger said, his face pale. "The king's men are mobilizing. They've received word of our movements and are preparing to strike. They've sent reinforcements to the garrison we raided. The full force will be here in three days."
Sir William's eyes hardened as he processed the information. "Three days… We have no time to lose. Prepare the men. We leave at first light."
The messenger nodded and turned to leave, but Sir William stopped him. "Wait. One more thing. Who else knows of this? Who is your source?"
The messenger hesitated. "I... I don't know their names, my lord. But I overheard them speaking in the village. Men in red coats. They were talking about a betrayal."
A cold shiver ran down Sir William's spine. He turned to Duncan, his voice low. "A betrayal? What does this mean?"
Duncan's face twisted in a grimace. "It could be that someone among us has been playing both sides. This is not just about the garrison. If they know our movements, it means we have a mole."
Sir William clenched his fists. "I won't let that stop us. We move at dawn. The traitor will be dealt with, but we'll be ready for them."
A Test of Loyalty
As the evening drew near, Sir William gathered the clansmen for an important meeting. David stood among them, his eyes scanning the crowd, searching for any sign of suspicion. The air in the camp was thick with tension, and the slightest sound seemed to echo through the silence.
"Tonight, we prepare," Sir William began, his voice cutting through the stillness. "The king's men are on the move, and we need to be ready. We leave at first light to strike their outposts before they can mobilize against us. But we also need to deal with a matter of great importance. Someone among us has betrayed our position to the enemy. We don't know who, but we will find out."
The murmurs of discontent rippled through the crowd. Eyes darted nervously from one face to another.
Moira stepped forward, her expression resolute. "We cannot afford to waste time with suspicion. If there's a traitor, we must act swiftly. We know that our unity is our greatest strength. If one man falters, we all fall."
Sir William nodded in agreement. "You are right, Moira. The traitor will be found. But we must not let this divide us. We will not let this moment of doubt weaken us. Our mission is clear. We fight for our land, for our freedom. And that will be our focus."
David, his mind racing, could feel the weight of the decision hanging in the air. He had seen betrayal before, and he knew how quickly loyalty could crumble under pressure. But who could be trusted now? How could they be sure of anyone's allegiance?
That night, as the clansmen settled in for rest, David couldn't sleep. He lay in his tent, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts whirling. His heart told him to trust in their cause, in the unity they had built, but his mind kept returning to the question of the mole.
And then, in the stillness of the night, there came a sound—the faintest rustle, a whisper in the wind. David's instincts kicked in, and he sprang to his feet, grabbing his sword. He crept outside, the shadows of the camp dancing in the flickering firelight.
He wasn't alone.
Moira stood near the edge of the camp, speaking quietly to a shadowed figure. David's heart sank as he recognized the man. It was Thomas, the traitor from the earlier days. How had he gotten free? Why was he here, speaking with Moira?
David's hand tightened on his sword hilt. He couldn't let this pass. He approached them quietly, his thoughts racing. Were they conspiring together? Was Moira the traitor?
As he neared, he heard Moira's voice, soft but clear. "You have to understand. We can't win this fight without the full support of the king's men. If you want to survive, you need to act now. We have to strike before they realize what we're doing. I'll make sure your family is safe—just give us the information we need."
David froze. The weight of her words hit him like a physical blow. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Moira, the one person he had trusted, was conspiring with Thomas to sell them out.
"Moira!" he shouted, stepping into the open.
She spun around, her eyes wide with shock. Thomas turned, his hand reaching for a knife hidden beneath his cloak.
"David… you don't understand," Moira said quickly, her voice pleading.
"Don't lie to me," David snapped, his heart pounding in his chest. "You're with him, aren't you? You're betraying us!"
Moira stepped back, her face conflicted. "I'm trying to save us all, David. I'm trying to make sure we survive."
David's vision blurred with rage. "By selling us out? By helping the king's men?"
Moira's face crumpled with sorrow. "I didn't want to do this. But we don't have a choice. If we don't play their game, we'll all die. This is the only way."
David's grip on his sword tightened as the truth sank in. There was no way to deny it now. Moira had turned against them. There was no room for mercy. He raised his sword, ready to strike.
But before he could move, a shot rang out. A figure appeared in the darkness, his pistol raised. Thomas crumpled to the ground, a look of surprise on his face.
Sir William stepped forward, his eyes hard. "You've made a choice, Moira. And it's cost you everything."