Chapter 21: The Loch

The kirk door faced east, straight down the shingle to the frozen loch.

Over the far hills the sky had split into a thin strip of yellow, and the ice was turning gold along its edge.

Hamish stood in the doorway with his fist knotted in Niall's coat and held him there.

Niall had his boots braced on the threshold.

He was pushing back with everything he had, and Hamish pushed him an inch at a time into the light.

"Look at it, laird!" said Hamish.

"A hundred years you've hid from it!"

"Look!"

I flung the iron ring away across the floor so it could not touch my husband.

I took Niall by the other arm, and I pulled.

Hamish was strong as a bull.

It was Niall's own blood in him, the blood from the night he was made.

It did not matter that Hamish was dying by inches.

He had enough strength for one more morning, and he meant to spend it.

"Ailsa," Niall said through his teeth.

"Let go."

"Never."

"The light is coming."

"I know it's coming!"

Behind me, somebody took hold of my waist.

A hand locked around my belt, and another took hold of that.

I turned my head.

The widow stood behind me with her jaw set and both arms around my middle.

The old miller took hold of her belt.

Then the man with the split lip took the miller's, and then a boy, and a woman with a rake.

One after another the glen came pouring down the aisle.

They took each other by the belt and the wrist and the shawl.

Eighty people made a chain through the pews and down the aisle and out the back of the kirk.

Every one of them dug in their heels.

"Pull!" said Morag.

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