Ciaran could have drawn his own sword. It was right there in its scabbard by his hand, waiting to be drawn. He saw a man coming toward them quickly on horseback. Eoin had his hands full with trying to turn the horses to take the wagon down the hill, and Baltair was on the other side, sword in hand and ready to fend off attackers. But the halberd, the one Eoin had time-traveled to get, lay within reach on the floorboards, corralled from falling off by a hand’s breadth of edging.

Yes, Eoin said the plain long staff topped by an axe the size of his head was for his druid masters and not for the three of them to use. Eoin spoke of nothing more than he did his druid masters, and this didn’t surprise Ciaran.

It brought back the memory of the day Ciaran first met his cousin Eoin. Ciaran and Baltair had been at the deathbed of Ciaran’s father and Baltair's uncle, Angus. The two of them hovered there, reciting the Latin prayer a priest had taught them. They didn’t understand the words, but they were sure it was the right thing to do.

The door to the inn room they had rented for Da’s last day burst open, and Dougal Murray came in with a stranger. "Begging yer pardon, Angus, but this man has just shown up, saying he's yer kin."

Ciaran and Baltair met eyes. How dare this man intrude on such a private family time?

But Father held up a feeble hand. "I thank ye, Dougal. Ye did right tae bring him tae me. Leave us. We hae family matters tae discuss."

Da waited until Dougal had left the room at the inn and closed the door, leaving the four of them leaving the three of them alone with the stranger. "I can see that ye are a MacGregor. Ye hae the look o’ my uncle, and also o’ my grand da. From which time hae ye come?"

Ciaran met Baltair's eyes again. With their eyes the two of them said to each other:

“Och, nay, nay. Da has gone daft. Now we hae tae deal with the stranger on top o’ watching him die. How dae ye want tae gae aboot it?”

“Ye gae right side and I wull gae left, and together we wull manhandle him oot the door. Ready?”

Meanwhile, the stranger played along with Da's craziness. "My given name is John MacGregor, but I gae by Eoin, John being sae English. I come from the twenty-first century. My father is Peadar Mac Dall—"

Father brightened a bit. He even tried to sit up in his bed. "I ken who Dall is. The tale o’ his move from Kilchurn Castle under the Campbells intae the future under the druids has lived doon through the centuries. And likewise the tale o’ his son Peadar's move tae the future from servitude in the new world. Ye come from an illustrious branch o’ oor clan. Moreover, we can trace oor ancestry directly back tae Dall, through his son Dombnall."

This got Ciaran's attention. He'd heard many stories of his great great-great-grandfather Domhnall. How he had to make his way in the world when his father left. How he had been an illustrious warrior, resisting the purge of the MacGregors by the Campbells as long as he was able. How he had married and sent his children into hiding with the Murrays, yet still fought the good fight his own self, ever hopeful of fending off the condemnation of the MacGregor clan.

How did this Eoin ken the tale? Was it possible he was kin? Ciaran and Baltair both asked each other this with their eyes as they looked back and forth from Da to the stranger.

At last, the stranger shared a nod with father and then turned to speak to Ciaran and Baltair. "Aye, I wull ken the story o’ yer forefather Domhnall. My uncle was the terror o’ the Rannoch Moor. They called him a cattle thief, but all along he was merely getting back what was rightfully oors. The Campbells used him in his youth as their muscle tae secure the Rannoch, and then in his older years, the verra same men who had fought by his side betrayed him. I ken the tale o’ how his son, my cousin, Gregor MacGregor —named for the namesake o’ oor clan, the Viking king himself —how this Gregor son o' Dombnall fulfilled his father's wish and journeyed with his wife Molly tae Murray territory and proclaimed himself and his children after him for all eternity members o’ the Murray clan."

Ciaran and Baltair relaxed. Ciaran put a hand on Eoin's shoulder. "There is na way ye could know that withoot ye being kin, sae be welcome in oor camp."

Da weakly cleared his throat and patted his bed on both sides. "Come. Sit doon with me. Hold my hands and comfort me in my last moments. Whatever Eoin tells ye, believe him. I was gaun'ae tell ye myself, but I hae run oot o’ time. Ye hae the need tae ken afore ye wed."

It was a tad much, suddenly having another relative and then Da saying Eoin would tell them things he had meant to. But Da was dying. There was no time to waste on pettiness. Ciaran did as he was told, urging Baltair by gesture and expression to do the same.

Father's hands were cold and clammy. His heart could be felt to beat, but only just. The wound he'd received in the recent battle with the Camerons was taking him. It seeped blood out of his shoulder even as they spoke, but if the closeness was causing Da pain, he didn't mention it, instead clinging to Ciaran's hand for all he was worth.

It saddened Ciaran, how little strength Da had left, and he caressed his father's hand and arm, letting the tears flow down his face as he gazed in Da's eyes. "I love ye, Da. Save a good place for me up there in Heaven. I dinna care how large my mansion is, just that it be near yer ain."

This made Da smile, and tears ran down his own face. "There be a curse on the MacGregors, son, nephew. Aye, a curse even greater than the obliteration o’ oor clan name by the Campbells." He looked to their new cousin. "I hae na the breath tae tell it. Ye must dae sae. Make taste, while I am here tae affirm it tae my son and my nephew."

At first, Ciaran kept his eyes on Da as the stranger spoke, only half listening, instead choosing to give Da his entire attention.

But Eoin's tale proved oddly compelling.

“...sae the druid had oor MacGregor ancestor betwixt a rock and a hard place. He could na get away withoot bargaining. Being a gambler with nary a child in his family as yet, he saw nay reason tae refrain from settling his debt with the fate o’ his descendants. I wull save the details for another day and ainly tell ye: the fourth born son o’ everyone in oor family is pledged tae be a servant tae this druid's clan o’ druids. They have us fetch things, and mostly this means we travel through time. As I said tae ye da earlier, I am from the 21st century. I was born there. And my father's Peadar, who was born in the 16th century o’ Dall, before Dall moved tae the 21st century.”

Ciaran felt lost, and he just stared at the man.

Caught up in his own tale, Eoin laughed, looking faraway. “'Tis an odd tale. My da moved tae my grand da’s time when they were the same age, sae my grandda is maire like an uncle, and my uncles are maire like cousins—"

Ciaran had had enough. "Can ye na see my father must die soon? Leave off this foolishness."

But Da squeezed Ciaran's hand one last time, and the last words Ciaran heard from his da were, "'Tis all true, son."

Eoin’s druid masters had ordered him to get the halberd, so in a roundabout way, it was part of the family curse, too.

But what if it could help? What magic must it possess? Could it get them free of the Camerons’ ambush? If they possessed something that could give them any advantage at all, didn't they owe their clan the courtesy of using it?

Besides, his curiosity was killing him. He would be relieved just to know what it could do, and then he wouldn't need to wonder anymore. He could go on with his life.

Ciaran seized the halberd and raised it up just in time to fend off a Cameron on horseback. Rather than cut at the would-be boarder, he used the huge-bladed axe as a poker, and pushed the horseman away.

But that wasn't all.

The man lay still on the ground. And so did the man's horse.

It was as if two of them were made of rock, they were so still. Were they dead? Ciaran leaned over in the wagon to see them better. No, they were twitching as if they were trying their hardest to get up, but some invisible force was holding them down.

Ciaran turned the halberd around in his hands, admiring its abilities. What more could it do?

Laying his hands on Ciaran and Baltair, Eoin uttered an unfamiliar word, "Brothok!"

Ciaran felt as if he had just hefted a huge stone and thrown it as far as he could. As if he had just run for an hour and only now stopped to catch his breath, Ciaran bent over forward and sagged into the wagon seat. He only looked up because Baltair shouted at him and grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the wagon, which had stopped.

"Get on!" Baltair was yelling.

Ciaran shook his head to clear it and assess what was going on. Someone had cut the horses loose from the wagon. Baltair was on one and Eoin on the other. Baltair wanted Ciaran to get on behind him.

But that wasn't what caught his eye. No, what had Ciaran's attention, what made him stutter, gasp, and take a double and triple takes, was that all the Cameron men and horses lay paralyzed on the ground. It was as if he had poked each one of them with the halberd as well. He looked at it again, full of awe. “It looks sae ordinary. Who would hae—”

“’Twill last a scant moment!” Eoin yelled. "And ye hae na maire strength tae spare, aye? We must away!" The horse he was on danced around with his own agitation, frothing to turn and run down the hill.

Baltair's tug on his arm became even more insistent, and Ciaran followed it, getting on horseback behind the man and settling in. Ciaran’s sword hung to his right, so he held the halberd in his left, resting it against his kilt.

Eoin rode over and held out his hand.

But Ciaran wasn't going to give it up. Och, nay. This thing was amazing. He held it close. If Eoin tried to pull it away, then he would pull Ciaran right off the horse, and Ciaran had some ideas what he might do then. Oh, he wouldn't paralyze his cousin. Not in front of all these Camerons, he wouldn’t. But he might paralyze Eoin's hand, just to give the man an idea what it felt like to be helpless. His bigger cousin could do with a taste of his own medicine. He stared Eoin down, defying him to try and take the magic weapon.

Sighing and glancing toward where the Camerons were beginning to recover, Eoin turned his horse and took off down the hill.

Baltair kicked their horse into action as well, and just in time.

Because the Cameron men were getting up. The wagon was between them and Ciaran, but he got the impression that, had they tarried only seconds longer, they would've been captive. Or worse.

While Baltair coaxed the horse into keeping up a dead run down the hill, Ciaran turned to reassure himself it would take the Camerons too long to go around the wagon to follow them.

Ciaran's breath caught in his throat.

Nadia was in the wagon!

She was peeking out from under a blanket between two of the apple crates. She must've been there the whole time. Why had she kept quiet? Why hadn’t she told him she was there?

Her eyes met his. She looked so afraid and yet so hopeful, it made his heart hurt.

"Baltair! Turn this horse aroond! Dae it nae, this verra instant!"

Baltair kicked the horse into faster motion forward.