The Faerie Flag Read online

  Alison Ingleby

  The Faerie Flag

  A Contemporary Retelling of the Scottish Legend

  First published by Windswept Writing 2019

  Copyright © 2019 by Alison Ingleby

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Alison Ingleby asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  First edition

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

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  Contents

  A Note on Language

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Glossary and Gaelic pronunciation

  Author’s Note

  Other Books by Alison Ingleby

  About the Author

  A Note on Language

  This book is written using British spelling and grammar. For my readers who are more familiar with US English, I hope you don’t find the spelling and language variations too distracting.

  There are a few Gaelic and Scottish slang words used in the book, which are included in a short glossary at the end, along with a pronunciation guide for the Gaelic names.

  Although I prefer the spelling “faerie” to “fairy”, out of respect to Clan MacLeod, I’ve referred to the Fairy Flag by its proper name throughout this story.

  Chapter One

  Surreptitiously glancing at his wristwatch, Fin waited impatiently for the last of the Japanese tourists to catch up. Half past four. He breathed a sigh of relief and stretched his neck, a bubble of excitement building in his stomach. Half an hour to go. Then Dunvegan Castle would officially close for the season and the Clan Parliament could really begin.

  When he cleared his throat, fifteen pairs of expectant eyes turned to him. “Here you see the famous Fairy Flag of the MacLeods. Legend has it that hundreds of years ago, the Chief of Clan MacLeod fell in love with a faerie princess. Her father, the faerie king, forbid them from marrying, saying it would break her heart as human lifespans were short compared to those of faeries.

  “But the princess was so upset that, finally, her father relented and said they could be handfasted for a year and a day. During that time, she gave birth to a son. After the year and a day was up, the faerie princess had to leave her husband and son and return to the faerie folk. Sometime later, the clan held a feast to try and cheer up their chief, who was still grieving for his lost love. His son’s nursemaid was distracted by the dancing and did not hear the boy as he cried. But his mother, the faerie princess, did. She flew in to comfort him, wrapping him in her faerie shawl.

  “When the boy grew up, he remembered his mother’s visit and told his father that the shawl had faerie magic in it. Three times could the MacLeods fly it if they were in mortal danger to call on the faeries for aid.” He lowered his voice to build up the suspense. “Twice, it has been used. Who knows when it may be required again?”

  “Looks a bit worse for wear,” a short, middle-aged man muttered under his breath. Fin bit back a retort. By the look of the man, he’d rather be at the pub watching football and sampling the local beer than touring Dunvegan Castle. The young boy clinging to his hand seemed more interested in the suit of armour in the corner than the flag on the wall, but his sister, a blonde girl of about five, looked up at Fin with wide eyes.

  “We went to see the faeries’ home,” she announced proudly. “They made circles of rocks and spirals and stuff.”

  Fin forced himself to smile. “That must have been nice.”

  Since the tour bus drivers had started spreading the word about the so-called “Faerie Glen”, it was no longer the quiet patch of farmland it had once been. Along with the Faerie Pools and the Quiraing, it was now one of the most popular tourist attractions on the Isle of Skye. It was good for business, he supposed, though he always looked forward to the tourists departing at the end of the season.

  He led the group past the dungeon and down to the vaults below the main room where the Great Sword of Dunvegan stood in its glass case. Memorized words spilled from his lips as his mind wandered to more exciting topics than the history of Dunvegan Castle and Clan MacLeod. Not that it wasn’t an interesting history – the MacLeods had as many bloodthirsty ancestors and tales of battle as any Scottish clan – but Fin had other things on his mind. Descendants of Clan MacLeod from as far away as Canada, Australia and even Chile had been flying in over the past week for the quadrennial Clan Parliament.

  Fin had missed the last Parliament, four years earlier, because he’d been travelling Europe after finishing his higher exams. The time before that, he’d only been fourteen and hadn’t been allowed to take part in most of the activities. This year, he’d been put in charge of a lot of the preparations for the celebration that took place at their ancestral home and was looking forward to a week of tours, dancing and feasting with the younger clan members.

  As he thanked the tour group and ushered them into the gift shop, he felt a touch on his shoulder and turned to see Jeanie beaming up at him.

  “Is that the last lot?” she asked in her lilting Highland accent.

  “Yes, thank goodness.” Fin yawned and raised a hand to cover his mouth.

  “Time for a cup of tea with an old lady before starting the cleanup?”

  “An old lady? Where?” Fin raised his hand to his forehead, glancing theatrically around the empty corridor.

  Jeanie gave a tinkling laugh and lightly punched him in the stomach. Fin grinned down at the short, elderly woman whose head barely reached his chest. He’d known Jeanie since he was a little boy. She was a MacLeod, too – mother of the current chief of the clan and, presumably, some distant relative of his. Although she’d been retired for years, she liked to help in the castle, which was also her home.

  They walked down the stairs to the small staff room. Fin made two cups of tea, then carried them over to Jeanie’s favourite seat by the window that looked out over the loch. He sat down opposite her and curled his fingers around the hot mug, looking out the window. Strong autumn winds blew white-tipped waves across the dark water, and the trees on the far side of the loch were a sea of gold, rust and amber. The summer had felt short this year, but it often did in the Northwest Highlands of Scotland.

  A flash of movement caught Fin’s eye. Someone had left the television on. He’d bet a tenner it was Connor. The lad was always forgetting to turn it off. He reached across the table for the remote.

  “Turn it up, Fin. The news is just coming on.”

  Fin flicked up the volume control and the sound of the newsreader filled the room.

  “We’re just getting a report in from the Royal London Hospital that a patient with symptoms matching those of the Pittsburgh flu victims has been a
dmitted. This is the fifth case reported in Europe. In the last few hours, the United States government has confirmed cases in New York, Los Angeles, Chicago and Miami, as well as Pittsburgh. The first case in Japan has also been announced.

  “The Health Protection Agency has issued a statement saying they are working with overseas colleagues to identify the virus and are considering appropriate containment measures. On social media, the virus has been dubbed the ‘Pittsburgh Plague’ due to its rapid spread and deadly symptoms. Our correspondent is at the Royal London Hospital now, awaiting further details …”

  “Well, let’s hope none of the clan has brought any bugs over from the States.” Fin turned back to Jeanie, but the smile dropped from his face as he caught her expression.

  “Let’s hope not, indeed.” Frown lines creased her forehead. “I have a bad feeling about this, Fin.”

  “It’s odd that the same virus appeared in multiple cities simultaneously,” Fin said.

  “Well, people travel a lot nowadays, don’t they?”

  “I guess so.” He paused. “The government hasn’t said anything about it being a deliberate attack, have they?”

  Jeanie gave him a sharp look. “No, and don’t you go starting with your conspiracy theories. People are worried enough as it is.” She sighed and her face fell. “I just hope they can find a cure before more people die.”

  Fin raised his mug of tea and saluted her, then took a gulp of the hot, sweet liquid. “Here’s to that.”

  Chapter Two

  “I have just received confirmation from the Highland Council that the Skye Bridge will be closed until further notice. I just hope it’s not too late.” Malcolm MacLeod, Chief of Clan MacLeod, ran his fingers through his greying hair and cast his eyes around the room.

  He looks tired, Fin thought. Everyone did. The excitement of the Parliament had died days ago as news reports of the Pittsburgh Plague worsened. Even the BBC was calling it that now. So far, Skye had escaped, but there were already cases reported in Edinburgh, Aberdeen and Glasgow, and Fin knew it wouldn’t be long before it spread across the Highlands.

  The government had put containment measures in place, including grounding all flights, but it didn’t seem to be doing anything to stop the spread of the disease. Or the fear. People were afraid to go out, afraid of encountering others, even their neighbours. Fin wondered how many people across the country sat glued to their televisions or the internet, wondering if – or when – the plague would reach them.

  “The good news is we have enough supplies here to last us for months. I never thought my mother’s propensity for stockpiling food would come in so handy.” Malcolm shot Jeanie a wry smile. “I’ve spoken to your hosts and they are very happy for you to continue boarding with them for as long as is required. As there is no way for you to get home at present, I’m afraid you’ll have to enjoy our Scottish hospitality a little longer.”

  “I’ll drink to that!” a large, red-faced man shouted from the corner of the room. He held up a crystal glass of amber liquid and tilted it toward the clan chief.

  “He’s been doing enough drinking for everyone,” Flora MacLeod muttered under her breath. “He’s not even a proper MacLeod. It’s his wife who has the family connection.”

  “He says he can’t get proper whisky in the states,” Fin whispered to his mother.

  “You mean he doesn’t want to pay for it.”

  “I think Jeanie’s hidden the remaining bottles of Talisker from him.” Fin smiled. “And I can’t see him going down to the distillery to pick up any more.”

  “Be quiet,” Fin’s father hissed, shooting them an angry look.

  “We all need to stay positive and remember our clan motto: hold fast. As long as we don’t venture too far away, we should be safe from infection. So, please, enjoy the castle and the gardens, and make the most of our beautiful Scottish weather,” Malcolm finished, raising his hand to the window, which was being pelted by rain.

  There was a smattering of forced laughter. People rose from their chairs and spread into the library of the old castle. None of the rooms were large, and they’d had to push the Victorian mahogany dining table to the side of the room just to squeeze everyone in. A couple of the castle staff began to fold and stack chairs as Malcolm walked over to Fin and his parents. A large man in his early sixties, he divided his time between Skye and London, where his children lived. Ever since his wife died of cancer five years earlier, he’d lost a lot of the vigour he once had, and with the trials of the past few days, he seemed to have aged even further.

  He grasped Fin’s father’s arm companionably. Andrew MacLeod had managed the MacLeod estate for the past twenty years, and the two men had a close relationship. Fin had inherited his father’s dark, unruly hair, though Andrew’s was now turning grey at the temples, and his height. Andrew MacLeod stood even taller than the clan chief.

  “Have you heard anything from Caitlin, Flora?” Malcolm asked.

  “She called yesterday to say they had the first cases at the hospital. We’re waiting for her to ring again.” Fin’s mother frowned. “She was on a night shift, so she should have been back hours ago, but I think they’re working overtime in intensive care at the moment. Trying to limit the number of people who come into contact with the patients.”

  Fin could tell his mother was trying to make light of the situation. When Fin had spoken to his sister the day before, she hadn’t been able to disguise the fear in her voice. She’d reassured their parents that, of course, the patients were isolated, and they were taking so many precautions the chances of any of them catching the disease were minimal, but privately, she’d confided in him that they were already under strain.

  “If we get even a couple more cases, we won’t have the resources to deal with them safely, Fin.” The lightness in Caitlin’s voice had evaporated when his mother had handed the phone to him. “I’m staying here until it’s over – I don’t want to risk infecting James if I go home.”

  Malcolm’s voice brought Fin back to the present. “It must be difficult for them. I’ve not heard anything from my two, but as you know, they rarely call home.” He lowered his voice and took a step closer to Fin’s parents. “I have some bad news. I didn’t want to mention it in front of everyone, as I don’t want to scare people, but I received a call from the police an hour ago. A tourist in Broadford is suspected to have the disease.”

  Fin’s breath caught in his throat, his mouth suddenly dry. “Here?” he whispered.

  Malcolm nodded. “I told them they should have shut the bridge earlier.” Anger flashed in his eyes. “People have been fleeing up here in the hope of escaping the plague, but all they’ve done is bring it with them.”

  “We need to do something – to stop it getting here.” Fin looking around wildly as if the portraits of his ancestors might have an answer.

  “All we can do is sit tight and pray they find a cure.” Malcolm sounded grim. “On the news, they said they were running tests on the few survivors, so hopefully they’re making progress.”

  “Two survivors are all they’ve had so far.” Fin’s mother snorted. “And two hundred fatalities. I hope they work quickly, otherwise, there won’t be enough people left alive to test the survivors.”

  Fin balled his fists. “There must be something else we can do?”

  He felt his father’s hand on his shoulder. “I know it’s frustrating, Fin, but this is out of our control. We will hold out here for as long as we can. We’re isolated and viruses burn themselves out eventually. There is still hope.”

  Fin shrugged off his father’s hand and stumbled away from them, his mother’s words ringing in his head. A ninety-nine percent fatality rate. The news hadn’t broadcast any images of the victims, but Caitlin had given him a pretty good description on the phone. A red rash on the skin, followed by a burning fever. Dark blood leaked from the victim’s nose and mouth as their organs began to collapse. She said she prayed for them to die, just so their suffering would end.
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  He put out a hand to steady himself against the doorframe and took a deep breath to calm his churning stomach. The rooms around him were full of people talking – a cacophony of overwhelming noise. He needed to get out, needed to breathe in fresh air.

  Fin stumbled along the corridor to the main staircase. The oil paintings on the walls blurred, then divided into two as he shook his head, trying to clear his vision. His heart was racing, trying to pump blood to his unreceptive brain which was frozen on the image Caitlin’s words had conjured up.

  Red rash. Blood leaking. Organs failing.

  He tripped on the edge of a rug and fell. Sprawled on the floor, Fin stared up at the bull’s head mounted on the wall above him and focused on sucking in deep breaths of air.

  His heart rate slowed and his mind cleared. “Hold fast,” he murmured.

  I thought we’d be safe here. That we’d just wait it out.

  Apart from the ferries, which had stopped running days earlier, the Skye Bridge was the only way onto and off the island. How long had the tourist been here? Had they been sick when they arrived or had they gone out and explored the island, spreading the virus further afield?

  Broadford was an hour’s drive from Dunvegan and no one had been travelling further than a mile or two since the bridge had closed. If someone here had the plague, surely, they would know by now. Perhaps his father was right. But in his heart, he knew it was only a matter of time before the sickness reached them.

  Getting to his feet, Fin lurched into the old drawing room and shut the door behind him. He pressed his back against it and closed his eyes.

  The silence came as a relief. The room was cool and smelled of floor polish and carpet cleaner. It was hard to believe that four days ago, he’d been herding tourists around the castle, telling them the legend of the Fairy Flag, all of them blissfully unaware of how their lives were going to change.

  The Fairy Flag.