CLICK ABOVE TO LISTEN

The joyous echoes of Christmas soon faded, giving way to the promising dawn of a new year—and with it, the cherished arrival of Callum and Maeve’s firstborn, a baby girl they tenderly named Roisin (Rose). She instantly became the undisputed apple of her father’s eye, quickly claiming centre stage in the bustling Hamilton clan. Even the mischievous twins, Logan and Taylor, now favoured playing with their little cousin, treating her like their very own baby sister. Lorna, the only unmarried sibling, found immense joy in caring for her tiny niece, readily offering her help whenever Maeve needed a moment.

Lorna, meanwhile, had forged an unbreakable bond with Macbeth, her faithful Scottish deerhound. They were an inseparable pair, often seen departing in the early morning mist for their regular hunting exploits. But a truly wonderful surprise awaited Lorna: one of the farm’s mares was with foal, and the magnificent offspring, a filly with a coat as black as night and a single white spot on her forehead, was gifted to Lorna by Callum. Lorna was absolutely ecstatic, promptly naming her Midnight.

Midnight was approximately three and a half years old when Lorna began the challenging task of training her to be saddled. It proved to be a considerably difficult endeavour, for Midnight, with her wild, untamed spirit, had no intention of accepting a saddle. She kicked, pranced, and bolted around the training enclosure, and on numerous occasions, had Lorna not been so fleet-footed, she would have suffered serious injuries from the mare’s sudden, powerful back kicks. Yet, Lorna’s unwavering patience and innate ability to communicate with animals finally paid dividends. Midnight, at last, accepted the saddle, and rider and horse embarked on their first exhilarating run across the farm. On that initial gallop, Lorna didn’t just notice—she felt—the powerful strength that was beginning to course through the wild-spirited beast beneath her. Soon, rider and horse merged into a singular entity, a bond forged in trust and love.

On a few of their exhilarating runs, Lorna would allow Macbeth to tag along, and surprisingly, he effortlessly kept pace. A unique, three-part relationship began to blossom, as the horse and dog developed their own deep animal friendship. This novel development brought Lorna a profound sense of belonging, as if this trio formed her own private family. Other family members attempted to ride Midnight, but to their dismay, none succeeded.

The inseparable trio often ventured to the edge of the forest, where a wooded area nestled alongside a slow-flowing stream, bordered by a patch of lush, sweet grass. There, Lorna would unsaddle Midnight, allowing her to wander freely, enjoying the verdant grass or drinking the cool, fresh water. Macbeth, too, would slake his thirst at the stream before enjoying some jerky Lorna brought for him. Lorna, cautious by nature, never ventured deeper into the forest with Midnight, fearing that a sudden attack by dangerous wild boars could lame or even kill her beloved horse.

On her dedicated hunting days, with only Macbeth for company, Midnight was left to roam the familiar expanses of the farm. History, however, very nearly repeated its tragic self, but this time, it was Lorna’s loyal hunting partner who faced peril. Macbeth had long learned to let Lorna take point, acknowledging her as the leader, expertly equipped to handle any danger. But on this particular day, having picked up the fresh trail of a wild boar, he instinctively moved ahead. Lorna, sensing the imminent possibility of an attack, nocked an arrow, ready to let it fly. Just in time, a fully grown boar, its extended, evil tusks glinting ominously, charged down the path directly at them. Lorna took swift aim and released that deadly arrow, striking the boar with lethal precision, embedding its sharp tip deep in its brain. The boar’s immense speed and bulk propelled its momentum forward, and its massive body collapsed a mere two metres from them. Grateful that there were no other boars present—this one was a lone maverick—Lorna decided their hunting for the day was done.

With the burgeoning additions to the family through marriage and births, combined family dinners became cherished, though less frequent, arrangements. At one such occasion, held in the original home’s dining room—now delightfully overcrowded with all the Hamiltons—a discussion arose about the children and their schooling. Most boys and girls in the region were sent to distant boarding schools, often leading to disheartening outcomes. Stories of these institutions were horrifying, and many children returned rebellious, struggling to reintegrate into their families and, by extension, their communities. The local school, with its single female teacher, offered only a rudimentary curriculum for younger girls, never standardized and constantly adapted for various age groups. The three young children in their growing clan desperately needed education, yet the parents and older family members flatly refused the available choices.

A sudden, thoughtful silence fell over the room, broken unexpectedly by Elizabeth. “I will homeschool them,” she announced, her voice firm. “I’ve had a good formal schooling myself in the city we came from, and I have my own personal library, which holds an abundance of books on several subjects, including English literature and arithmetic.” Maeve, quick to support, spoke up. “And I can assist Lizzy! I can augment her teaching with the knowledge I acquired as a stage performer, and, of course, with good old Irish singing and storytelling.” This new development sparked a lively debate, with views for and against the idea meticulously weighed.

After much deliberation, Angus, the steadfast family patriarch, spoke in a commanding voice that silenced the room. “Our choice is a limited one, and what Lizzy and Maeve have proposed is, without a doubt, the best option we have. I wholeheartedly support their endeavour to homeschool the children. All in favour, say ‘Aye.’” After a brief moment of silent consideration, the room erupted into a unanimous chorus of “Ayes,” bringing broad smiles to the two ladies’ faces. “Order of business settled,” Angus declared. “Anything else we need to talk about?”

At that point, Esther interjected, a playful glint in her eye. “We’re all married; what about our baby sister, Lorna? I was in town the other day and overheard some youngsters talking about what a good catch she’ll be for the lucky man she weds.”

In an instant, Lorna spoke, her voice clear and decisive. “Discussion closed. I’m not interested in any relationship of that kind. Not now, not ever. I like my life precisely as it is. No one to be bothered about, and nobody to answer to except, of course, my beloved family members. I am a free-spirited individual.”

“But don’t you want to be happily married like us?” Evander pressed, a touch of genuine curiosity in his tone.

He received an instant, emphatic response. “You’re all happily married. I, for one, am happy! Happy and single. Do not complicate my life.”

A sudden hush fell over the room as Esther, who had innocently sparked the discussion, wisely exclaimed, “Discussion closed!” knowing all too well Lorna’s fiery temperament. Needless to say, this particular topic was never raised again.

The very next day, as if to clear her head from the recent discussion surrounding her single status, Lorna first took Midnight on a wild gallop across the farm. The horse, sensing her rider’s internal tension, didn’t run with her usual unbridled grace. Returning to the farm, Lorna donned her full hunting gear: sturdy leather breeches, her trusted bow, a quiver bristling with seven arrows, and her hunting knife secured at her side. She called out for Macbeth, who, only too happy to oblige, fell into step beside her. She rode Midnight to the clearing at the edge of the trees, dismounted, and gave the mare a firm smack on the rear—a clear signal for her to return to the farmstead. By now, Lorna had settled her mind, and with a clear, calculating focus, she entered the deeper forest.

Today, her hunting plan was simple: to procure enough rabbits for a delicious, wholesome Scottish stew that evening. Artemis, the goddess of hunting, who herself favoured the bow and arrow, seemed to smile upon Lorna that day, as her hunt proceeded without a single hitch. She returned home with an impressive count of fourteen rabbits. Still residing in the main house with Esther and her husband, Lorna generously set aside three rabbits for their household, distributing the others among the various family homes.

Some weeks later, on a Saturday, Lizzy felt unwell and asked Lorna to care for the boys. Lorna, having planned a trip to the village, asked if she might take the twins along. She received a grateful nod of approval from her sister-in-law. Aunt and nephews, dressed for their outing, with the boys, who had by now also learned to ride horses, set off on their new adventure: a town visit with Aunt Lorna. As part of her customary attire, she carried her trusted bow and quiver of seven arrows.

Her first stop was the greengrocer’s shop, where she purchased items that didn’t grow in their own expansive garden. Next, she proceeded to the grocery store for items Esther required. While she was inside, the boys patiently waited outside with the horses. Just as Lorna was paying for her goods, she heard the twins cry out for help. Rushing outside, she was confronted by four boorish youths roughing up the two boys, who were bravely trying to prevent them from taking their horses.

“Leave those boys and leave those horses!” Lorna yelled, an arrow already nocked to her bowstring. She recognized Otto, the sheriff’s son and the arrogant leader of this motley crew. He smirked and, pulling out a menacing knife, declared that if she tried anything, he would stab one of the boys. His fatal mistake was his habitual assumption that he would always escape the consequences of his crimes, thanks to his father’s ceaseless indulgence.

Lorna the Huntress, seeing the imminent danger Mischief was in, let fly with her first arrow, piercing the wrist that held the knife. Before any of the others could even react, a second arrow was already on its way, striking the youth who held Goodboy, piercing his shoulder. The remaining two assailants, startled and terrified, turned and fled as fast as their legs could carry them. Knowing the cold-hearted, notoriously useless sheriff, the storeman, who had witnessed the entire incident, strongly encouraged Lorna to get mounted and ride home immediately, warning her of the vengeful sheriff and his deputies.

Arriving back at the farm, she safely delivered the boys to Lizzy and immediately summoned her brothers to the main house. She recounted the harrowing events, and they, also keenly aware of Sheriff Jude’s vile reputation, armed themselves without hesitation. They set off to the main farm gate, ready to await the inevitable arrival of the sheriff’s hunting party. They were not disappointed. It wasn’t long before Sheriff Jude appeared, accompanied by no fewer than eight town layabouts, including his two deputies.

Sheriff Jude, his voice booming with false authority, bellowed, “Hand over your sister, Lorna! She’s charged with the attempted murder of two town boys!”

Angus, his voice laced with cold fury, retorted, “They threatened two defenceless little boys with knives! Besides, if she truly wanted to kill them, both boys’ bodies would be lying on cold tables in the mortuary. They deserved what they got, and knowing your kind of ‘justice,’ kindly step off our property, or you and a few of your friends will be taken back to town in boxes.”

One belligerent, drunken oaf unwisely raised his gun, and Callum, without a moment’s hesitation, shot him clean through the right shoulder. This undeniable show of formidable resistance had its immediate effect: the sheriff and his pathetic posse, shaken and deterred, were swiftly sent packing.

Soon, the entire countryside buzzed with news of the incident. While the disgraced sheriff scrambled to raise a second, larger posse, Lorna, ever pragmatic and wishing to spare her family further trouble, retreated into the woods, with Macbeth faithfully at her heels. Years ago, quite by accident during one of her hunting trips, she had discovered a hidden cave on their property—a secret known to no one else, which she had carefully guarded for just such a time as this. No one would ever find her there unless they knew the hidden entrance.

She had first stumbled upon it while hunting a remarkably elusive mountain goat. Three times she had spotted the nimble creature, only for it to vanish into thin air, seemingly without a trace. This raised not only her desire to refine her hunting skills but also ignited her intense curiosity. She meticulously noted the area and its surroundings. There was a five-metre waterfall, part of the stream flowing through the eastern section of their wooded property, and it was in this very neck of the woods that the mountain goat would make its mysterious escape.

Lorna set up a discreet spy camp—a small tent crafted from wood and leaves, perfectly blended into the forest, offering a clear sightline of the area surrounding the waterfall. Armed with her brother Angus’s spyglass and victuals and water to last a couple of days, she settled into her hidden perch. Her patience and keen observation skills eventually paid off. She caught sight of the fleet-footed animal navigating its way up the sheer mountain face. At a point two metres from the base, it expertly climbed onto an almost invisible ledge, extending behind the cascade of the waterfall, giving the illusion of the goat simply vanishing.

Gathering her bow, arrows, and hunting knife, she emerged from her hiding place and, mimicking the goat’s precise climbing routine, gained access to the hidden ledge. Inch by careful inch, she made her way behind the roaring waterfall. There, she had her first unobstructed view of the cave, roughly six metres wide and extending about eight metres into the mountain’s rear. The cave’s roof soared over two metres high, and as her eyes adjusted, she noticed a small rivulet gracefully running through the cave, providing a constant supply of fresh water. A thin shaft of light pierced the gloom through an aperture—a narrow crack, forty-five centimetres long and five centimetres wide, high in the cave roof. Sparse vegetation grew within, prompting the goat to venture out for food. She spotted the goat in the far back, preparing to charge this sudden intruder into its “home.” Lorna was ready. Knife in hand, as the goat lunged, she swiftly stepped to her left, catching its horns with her left arm. In one quick, decisive stroke with the knife in her right hand, she slit its throat. She would have preferred to let him go, but in that moment of self-preservation, she knew there was no alternative; it was either her life or his.

In meticulous preparation for this very day, she had painstakingly stocked the cave with an abundance of dried meat (jerky for both herself and Macbeth), a generous supply of dried fruit (raisins, figs, dates), dried vegetables (peas and beans), and pickled carrots in bottles. She even had a store of ground coffee and sugar, for the occasional hot drink she desired. She had mastered the ancient art of starting a fire with flint stones and constructing a smokeless fire, essential for cooking and heating water for her coffee.

She planned to sit tight for the next couple of days. On one occasion, she heard the distant voices and noises of the sheriff’s posse, tirelessly searching for her, and found sure comfort in the knowledge that they would never find her hidden sanctuary. On the third night, she ventured out with Macbeth, heading directly to Evander’s place. She knew, because of the young boys, she had to avoid the main house where Angus resided. She explained, without divulging the exact details of her hiding place, that she was safe and only needed some food items, plus a little milk for a proper cup of coffee. She also requested a large bag of ground pepper and asked him to relay to the rest of the family that she was safe and sound and not to worry. With her message delivered and supplies secured, she melted back into the protective darkness of the night.

That very night, leaving Macbeth safe within the cave for his own well-being, she meticulously distributed handfuls of pepper on various pathways throughout the forest. This was done in anticipation of the posse returning with tracker dogs. Her foresight and careful preparation paid off handsomely. Two days later, a posse, accompanied by ten tracker dog owners, entered the forest in determined search of her. It didn’t take long for the sniffing dogs to react, their painful nasal experiences forcing them and their disgruntled owners to abandon the search party. Hearing the dogs’ pained barking echoing in the distance, Lorna felt a pang of sympathy for their suffering, yet knew, with grim resolve, that her actions had been a necessary evil.

Meanwhile, Sheriff Jude, in his relentless, self-serving quest for “justice,” soon found himself fighting to retain his position. The Hamiltons, widely respected as upright, exemplary citizens, had garnered the unwavering support of the entire farming community and, to a significant extent, the townsfolk. The town council swiftly called a meeting to discuss the sheriff’s fitness for duty.

The sitting town council had, by this point, also had enough of his high-handed, corrupt ways, compounded by his son’s unimpeded, destructive lifestyle. It didn’t take long for them to vote for him to be stripped of his title. With a swift, unanimous vote, Evander Hamilton was sworn in as the new town and county sheriff, effective immediately. His very first act as sheriff was to take the exiting sheriff’s badge and ceremoniously pin it upon his own vest. The home the former sheriff and his family occupied was council property, and he, his wife, and their horrible offspring were ordered to leave town before sundown. Sadly to say—no, gladly to say—they were never seen or heard from again. Sheriff Evander Hamilton, with quiet determination, then systematically cleaned the town of all its unsavoury personnel, meticulously restoring law and order to their once-troubled community.

Lorna only learned of these dramatic new developments, including her complete freedom from the trumped-up charges, the night she next visited Evander. Surprised by the sight of the gleaming sheriff’s badge on his chest and hearing the incredible news, she threw her arms around him and kissed him on both cheeks, her heart bursting with happiness. Hoping that such a harrowing experience would never again befall her, she was only too glad to take her three brothers to her hidden “safe house.” They were utterly amazed by the secret cave and immediately discussed turning it into a private retreat for themselves, to escape to when their wives occasionally “gave them hell.”

That very afternoon, she saddled Midnight, and as usual, with Macbeth tagging along, this beloved trio of close friends darted off into the glorious sun, heading straight for their favourite tree-lined, wooded clearing. They only returned to the farmhouse late that afternoon, to be met by the entire family, all in high spirits at the triumphant return of their “Prodigal Daughter.” Lorna just revelled in all the heartfelt attention, knowing, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she was deeply, truly loved. In joyous celebration—after all, they were Scottish, and any reason to celebrate was wholeheartedly welcomed—Angus provided a selection of fine whiskies and two barrels of frothy beer on tap. The wives collectively prepared a magnificent feast, including some traditional Haggis, and Lorna, radiant with happiness, performed the famous sword dance. Everyone had a truly wonderful time, and it was long remembered as one of their most memorable parties.