“My uncle Dougal, and Murtagh, him who was my godfather. They’re the two I’d most want with me, in battle.” Jamie made a small restless movement. “If I can, I make a wee moment to be alone before a fight. To wash, ken, and pray a bit, and then … to just ask if they’ll bide with me as I go.” Ian thought this interesting; he hadn’t known either man himself—they’d both died at Culloden—but he’d heard stories. “Bonnie fighters,” he said. “Did ye ask my da, too? To go with ye, I mean. Perhaps that’s why he’s about.” Jamie turned his head sharply toward Ian, surprised. Then relaxed, shaking his
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