8
Malcolm fell. As if from the sky, he dropped like a stone. He could see the heather below, rushing up at him, each purple flower so clear, so distinct. The onrushing air tore at his face, his hair, peeling back his lips, forcing his eyes open. Fear possessed him, but try as he might, he could not close his eyes. He moved his hands to cover his face, but spread his arms with shock, realizing the skin from his fingers to his elbow was ablaze with crimson flame. Malcolm continued to fall. The heather-covered earth opened to receive him.
The Highlander jerked into consciousness with a start. The ground beneath him smelled not of heather, but of old, befouled straw. A noise—the sound of a men speaking—could be heard from a distance not far off. The pounding in his ears made the words uninte
