Page 3 of The Speed of Lightning
With that, he shoved Calum through the doorway and down the earthen steps of the meetinghouse, casting him onto the path that led toward the bay.
Frustration welled up inside him. “Of course I have not forgotten. Da, I chose the cross not to shame my blood, but to save it. You speak of honor, but my honor is not buried in the past—it walks forward into new life. I cannae deny the God who saved me. I am still your son, still a son of Jura, but I will not walk backward for the sake of tradition. Can you no’ accept me as I am?”
The heaving crowd surged forth out of the meetinghouse, a monstrous wave that closed around him. He was hemmed in, cornered by the very clan who had known him since he was a bairn. Shouts of unflinching condemnation thundered in his ears.
Ragnall lurched down the steps, rousing the crowd with his voice. “If your tànaiste will not swear our oath you are no’ fit to rule Jura, Cù Ceartas. Condemn your son for his treachery—or exile him from our shores. If you willnae teach him a lesson, we will.”
“No!” Maw cried, stepping forward in terror, awash in grief.
Murderous shouts rose on every side. Freya clapped her hands over her ears, eyes wide with fright, her presence swallowed by the mob—his one ally lost. Calum swallowed hard, his throat dry, his heart hammering against his ribs. He’d meant to obey his conscience, not publicly condemn his father.
Da looked down at the small red book in his fist, grief shadowing his eyes as he lifted them to the pulsating crowd. He raised both hands, and at once the mob hushed.
“For once, Ragnall may be right. I cannae allow this to stand.”
Calum’s stomach plummeted, realizing what was happening. Da would not accept him. Hecould notaccept him and honor the oath he’d pledged. With his own words, Calum had branded himself an outsider—an enemy to his clan—and Da was bound to punish him.
The same unflinching resolve that his father always wore returned to his face. “I do not condemn you for your belief, nor do I divest you as my heir. However?—”
A ripple of disapproval stirred the crowd, but Da pressed on.
“However…I believe you still have much to learn about what it means to be chieftain, to uphold our charter, and to honor the traditions of our clan.”
His voice faltered, and with it Calum’s heart.
“Go, Calum. This is no longer your clan. I send you to the world, not to break you, but to temper you. Let the world teach you what no man here can—that strength of spirit must serve more than itself. Return only when you have found the way to carry both your god and your people in honor.”
For the first time in his life, Calum had confessed—before himself, his family, and his God—what he truly believed. Yet he had chosen his moment poorly. He had not honored his father; he had thrown his faith in his face. Stunned, he stood frozen, staring at the red psalter extended in his father’s hand. And in that moment, he understood—it had cost him everything.
Ragnall’s voice cut through the uproar like a war axe. “Drown him in the Crackaig Bog!”
The crowd surged closer, a wall of bodies pressing in. Every instinct in him flared sharp. Energy shot from his spirit into his legs, and he bolted, slipping through the grasping hands of those he had once thought of as friends. Lightning-quick, he fledtoward Ardlussa Bay, desperate to escape the island before the mob closed in.
Thoughts fired through his mind in short, frantic bursts.
He vaulted over a jut of rock and tore through the woods, feet skittering across the leafy forest floor, his mind fixed on where he might find refuge.Cousin Lachlan. Duart. Same belief.
The shouts behind him faded; the distance widened. Still he sprinted, desperate for every stride of head start he could steal.
Reaching the bay, he untethered his boat, pushing as quickly as he could, the chilly tide rising over his shoes and legs as he struggled to launch it into the sea. Shoving the galley forward, he strained as it sank into muddy gravel.
Frustrated, he growled, heaving again with all his strength. The skiff barely budged. Going back for help was unthinkable—he would be lucky to escape with his life. He drew on all his reserves of strength and rammed forward once more. “Move!”
Something slammed into the stern, and the boat lurched forward into the tide. Grateful, Calum glanced over his shoulder. “Thank?—”
Water soaked Freya’skyrtill?8 as she pushed the skiff deeper into the surf. Stunned, he struggled for words—then remembered. “Oars! I need to go back to the boathouse.”
Freya shook her head. “There’s no time. The clan’s no’ far. Get in, quick—I can push you out into the bay.”
Calum vaulted into the boat. “How did you slip past your father?”
A half-smile tilted her bloodied lip. “He caught me trying to follow, but your da stopped him.”
“Da?”
“Aye. I ran then, as quick as I could. I’m fast for a lass.” She drove the boat through a small wave, ducked beneath, then resurfaced beside him, panting. “No’ as fast as you. But fast enough if I’m determined.”
Paddling with one arm, Freya tugged a corded pouch from around her neck and tossed it into the boat. “Here! Take it.”
