Source: Robert BAIN, Clans and Tartans of Scotland, 1960, William Collins Sons & Co, Ltd., 25 sgg.,188-189, plus map.

    Alison let the reins go slack on her horse's black neck, her wagon speeding as fast as it could along the trail for Colorado Springs, shiny with brine under the pale new sun. She was in sight of the town now: she could see the dark line of the railroad. No white-grey smoke. No distant woo-woos. No people trudging across the main road with their baggage.
    She let her horse slow down with a relieved sigh that billowed in the crisp November air. She could go back to enjoying the morning without worrying about being late. She crossed the railroad and looked around. There was positively nobody in sight. Which was disappointing.
    She stopped before the telegraph office. "Hello, Horace," she called aloud. "Have you seen my husband?"
    Horace's head popped out from the window. "Not yet, Mrs. McKay."
    "How about the train?"
    "It's late too."
    Alison nodded. There was no reason to worry about either yet. She clicked her tongue to get her horse moving again and stopped the wagon before the store. She waved a greeting to Loren, wrapped herself more tightly in her heavy rose-coloured shawl and jumped down. She had to collect some of the last provisions for the Thanksgiving dinner, although she knew she would have to come and fetch the turkey later on. Brian was helping Loren with the hustle and bustle of the festivities, and it was he who hauled the parcels onto the wagon. She gave the boy a coin, which he took gleefully. She felt a wonderful tingle of expectancy and could barely contain her excitement. Her cheeks were burning red, and not just from the cold. Loren exchanged a smirk with Brian, who didn't fully understand.
    She strolled back to the railway, wondering if she should send a message to the fort. Then she remembered that the telegraph up there was still out of order. The sharp sound of hooves on the icy road made her turn with fluttering heart. As if she had willed him into existence, Sergeant McKay turned the bend and came to a stop before her. "Train?" he asked, dismounting.
    "Later than you are," answered Alison with a widening smile. She closed the gap between them as he rolled the reins on the nearest handrail, and they embraced. He wrapped his arms beneath her shawl and kissed her smiling lips and she held to his neck with one arm, taking off his hat. They remained locked like that so long, in front of a railroad with no trains, that an innocent bystander could have thought the soldier in the blue overcoat and the brightly dressed lady were exceeding their greeting, or parting well in advance, or that one of them had forgotten to board the train.
    "Cold nose," McKay whispered at last.
    "Look who's talking."
    "I did mean mine."
    She pulled his face again to hers, heedless of the citizens who began clustering beside the railroad. "I missed you, Terence," she breathed.
    "I, too," he said, relaxing in her cosy embrace.
    Their dreams of never parting anymore had been very quickly cut to size by the demands of army life. After a brief honeymoon in the last warm days of September, during which they had barely left Alison's house or rather her bed - while Bella mercifully placed something to eat outside the door every day - McKay had had to go back to Fort Lafayette. He had tried to juggle his time off so that he could come home often, yet, despite Colonel Marlowe's support, that had proved unfeasible. Alison had started coming to the fort every day, until it had become too tiring. She had to run the farm alone, now, and couldn't yet afford any help except Bella and her family, so the ride to and from the fort was taxing. They were still trying to find a compromise. She had not seen him at all for almost two days, and he had not slept at home since Sunday.
    But at least now he was back for Thanksgiving… even though they would not be alone.
    The distant whistle of the train made them turn abruptly. As they watched the noisy column of smoke moving nearer, Alison ran her hand along McKay's arm. "You nervous?"
    "A li'l. Haven't seen 'em for three years. How 'bout you?"
    "Scared," she laughed. "But I think it's normal. And I'm curious too."
    He smiled. "You'll do fine."
    "So will you."
    The train entered the station, slowing down in the metallic screeching of the brakes. Alison kept her bonnet in place with her hand. McKay scanned the line of windows as people began getting down, greeted by the townsfolk.
    "Terence!" called a female voice.
    He turned and saw a finely-dressed lady, a little beyond middle age, waving at him from a platform. He reached her and held out his arms to help her down. "Glad to see you, Ma."
    She dismounted and embraced him warmly. Behind her, an elderly gentleman was pulling down their baggage. McKay turned to him. "Welcome, Pa. You had a good trip?"
    The man took his extended hand. "Good enough, son. How are you?"
    "Fine, thanks."
    Mrs. McKay saw the young woman standing there, biting her lip with a timid smile. "You must be Alison, dear. Here, let me embrace you. You have my deepest gratitude."
    Mr. McKay smiled. "Don't let her scare you at once, ma'am. I'm very pleased to meet you at last."
    As they exchanged greetings, there was a small bustle on the train. Two young men were trying to pull down a very large and heavy chest. A powerful voice sounded behind them. "Now be very careful, laddies. That's history you're moving. Don't bump it."
    McKay turned to the train, eyes widening. "Don't tell me," he said slowly.
    "Well," said his mother, "we had no choice…"
    "Are you all outta your mind? It's dangerous at his age…"
    "Leaving him home would have been worse, son," said Mr. McKay gravely.
    The sergeant stared as an old man descended gingerly the steps, aided by the two youths. "Well, laddie! About time, hm? Aye, and a fine lass you got yourself, too!" He rolled the R of "yourself" like a saw through dry timber.
    "Hello, Grandpa," sighed McKay.
    
    Alison drove her wagon carefully on the rough trail, as McKay rode slowly beside her on his horse. Her mother-in-law sat at her side, and the men travelled in the back with the baggage.
    "Quite a nice little town you've got," said the lady brightly. "Must be even better in fair weather."
    "Yes, it is," smiled Alison. "It's not hard to reach even when it snows, though. I live close by. Right round the bend."
    She stole a glance at Marcelle McKay. Now it was clear who was the beautiful one in the family. One of the first thing the sergeant had written to Alison during the summer after Windy Creek was a full description of his family, and she had been very moved by this thoughtfulness. It spoke of pride in his origins and of consideration for her opinions. So she knew that his mother had been a true Southern belle, the younger daughter of a not exceedingly fashionable Savannah family, who therefore had not met with serious objections to her marrying a young and fairly successful trader from Buffalo.
    She glanced behind her shoulders. "Are you all right back there, gentlemen?"
    "Yes, thank you, ma'am," answered Mr. Donald McKay.
    He was a neat, unobtrusive man, physically very different from the sergeant, but with the same reserved manner. His father Angus, McKay's grandfather, could easily be approaching ninety. Now he was thin and stooped, but in his youth he had probably been even taller than his grandson. He wore a gorgeous white moustache and had almost all of his own hair. "This lassie rides fast," he chuckled. "She's worthy of our name, isn't she, laddie?"
    McKay smiled at him with true affection.
    "She's skinny," said his father amiably. "Do you give her enough to eat, son?"
    Alison laughed. The sergeant did not answer.
    They stopped in front of the house. Alison jumped down as McKay helped his mother descend, while his father gave a hand to Grandpa.
    "Quite a nice little house," said Marcelle. Alison smiled. It seemed to be one of her favourite turns of phrase. She turned happily towards McKay and was once again surprised to see his face darken.
    "Please come in," she said quickly to the guests, and led them inside the house.
    Sully's wedding gift to the McKays had been a full overhauling of Alison's house. He had fixed all draughts and the holes in the roof, then had added some plumbing and a pump in the kitchen. He'd even put in a larger dinner table and widened a hollow nook in the bedroom, where they put the bathtub. They had planned to leave their room to McKay's parents; now they had to think where Grandpa could sleep.
    "I don't mean to give you any trouble," said the old man. "I'll just sleep in the open, like I've always done."
    "Always, Pa, when you were Terence's age," said Donald.
    "We'll bring in my sister's old bed," said Alison briskly. "You know what, we'll go take it out of the barn right now, while you refresh yourselves. There's some water and towels, and I just put on the kettle for tea. Come with me, McKay?"
    The way she said that made him feel the electricity in the air. He nodded at his family and followed Alison outside.
    She let him in the barn and shut the door. "Well?" she said, arms crossed.
    He knew it was a showdown. "Alison," he began in a sensible tone, "I don't like 'em to begin criticisin' the moment they set foot in Colorado Springs."
    "Criticisin' what?"
    "Like telling me I don't give you enough to eat."
    "That was a joke! Your father was pulling my leg and yours."
    "Was he? You don't know him, Alison. He's persuaded I can't look after myself, let alone after a family."
    Family. The sound of that word touched her so pleasantly. She felt very proud of him, and all the more disconcerted by his uneasiness. "I think you're wrong."
    "Yes? An' what about my mother? You heard her. Everythin's too small for her."
    "This is really unfair. It's just her way of speaking."
    "After the hundredth times it begins to be more 'n that."
    She placed her arms around his waist. "McKay, you got a chip on your shoulder as large as a locomotive. Don't you think it's childish?"
    He closed his eyes for a moment, returning the embrace. "Maybe you're right. It's been so long. Yet…" He looked at her with a glint in his eyes. "I bet my mother bought us some luxury weddin' present, such as lace window curtains. She likes to improve on what she finds. An' my father'll surely give me cash. You'll see."
    There was bitterness in his voice, and he wasn't the kind to get upset about nothing. "Maybe I'll see," she said. "But I won't care. And neither should you."
    "Yes," he admitted with a rueful smile. "But it hurts."
    She thought of Susan. She nodded, then kissed him lightly. "Come on, help me with the bed."
    
    The day was heading to a close in one of the spectacular sunsets Alison's farm was graced with. She was in the kitchen, preparing supper. Angus sat in the rocking chair near the fire, snoring.
    Marcelle came out of the bedroom with a big brown package. "I have something for you, dear," she said softly. She even had his son's manner of speaking. "For you and Terence, actually - but he won't approve."
    Alison smiled, faintly amused. She pretended not to know what was inside. She got up and washed her hands, then proceeded to open the package.
    Marcelle stood looking at her. "I didn't know what you had already, so I brought something that can be always useful."
    Alison couldn't help feeling excited as she pulled out a set of towels with a matching apron. They had roses along the hem and felt wonderfully soft and fresh, smelling of lavender. She kept rummaging and found also bath towels, and on the bottom, carefully pressed, bed sheets and pillowcases. All embroidered with tiny roses. Alison was as happy as at Christmas time. Had McKay written that she loved roses in his letters to his family? "Thank you," she whispered.
    "Terence would say I'm spoilt," said Marcelle. "He'd complain that nothing is ever too good for me."
    Alison lowered her head to hide her reaction.
    "Don't blush," Marcelle encouraged her. "I know he warned you about it." She looked around. "It's just that I like beautiful things. And it seems my gifts come useful. I don't see many new items here. Where's your trousseau?"
    This is blunt indeed, thought Alison. She squared her shoulders and pointed to the graceful but threadbare towels beside the stove. "That's my trousseau," she said unashamedly. "I put it in use many years ago. My parents were dead, I had to take care of my sister, I had abandoned any ideas of marriage."
    Marcelle smiled. "Silly girl," she said. "To think that behind the corner there was my boy. What use all that hopelessness?"
    Alison's eyes filled with tears. "I couldn't know it back then. I… I don't want to think about it."
    Marcelle sat down and gave a last critical look to her gift package. Satisfied, she leaned her arms on the table. "I wonder, though. How come such a hasty marriage? Terence never told us anything about you until it was a fait accompli."
    Alison searched frantically inside her memory. When she came out with the meaning of that phrase she had heard once from Michaela, she felt proud of herself. "When we first met he was very prudent, I think," she said. "Then…" She knew McKay had told his parents nothing about the Red Needle. "We'd been apart for many months, and when he came back from a particularly trying mission, we decided not to wait. We were afraid that he could be sent away again."
    "That's like him, yes," nodded Marcelle. "He looks so judicious, yet when necessary he can be brash and stubborn."
    Alison smiled idiotically.
    "And tell me, dear, any children in sight?"
    "Well, not yet," she answered. "We've been married for less than two months."
    "Of course," said Marcelle. Alison noticed that the question came at a diplomatic distance from her previous one about the hasty marriage. What is this woman assuming? she thought crossly. Then she reminded herself amusedly that her mother-in-law had every right to assume.
    
    McKay and his father were strolling along the perimeter of Alison's patch of land. The sergeant stopped beside the fence and pointed. "You see that field up there on the hill, the one with the trees on the side? It's ours too."
    Donald looked, then lowered his eyes. "It's hers, you mean."
    McKay tried to remember what Alison had told him. I don't care, and neither should you. "Pa," he said calmly, "I bring home my pay. My savings helped buy Susan's share of the farm. I give Alison a hand when I can. I'm not eatin' her bread for free."
    "That's the least you can do, Terence," said his father. "And of course the land's legally yours, now that you married her. Yet I feel your wife's more enterprising than you are. What have you built in your life?"
    McKay leaned on the fence. "I don't want to talk about this, Pa."
    "I think this is exactly what we should talk about. You're a married man now. You can't keep up your careless standard of living."
    "My careless standard of living," he answered slowly, striving for control, "is my duty and my pride."
    "I think now your duty is towards your wife. Do you want her to keep living in this miserable town?"
    "You're talkin' like Ma!" burst out McKay. "Stop slightin' my town."
    "Your town?" said Donald in a gentle tone. "Which town? Colorado Springs? I thought your town was Buffalo. Or is it Denver? Or maybe Savannah?"
    McKay turned and leaned his back on the fence, crossing his arms. "All right. Given that I'm a thoughtless, good-for-nothin' drifter, what d'you think I should do?"
    "Come back to Buffalo with Alison and find a respectable and rewarding job."
    The sergeant reacted scornfully. "Pa, I told you I don't wanna talk about this. We speak diff'rent languages. We always did. Please, let me be."
    Donald nodded. "All right," he said. "I guess we'll never get anywhere." He rummaged in the wide pocket of his winter jacket. "I've got something for you and Alison, if you want it."
    "Yeah, sure," McKay answered, disconsolate.
    Donald took out a small parcel and handed it to him.
    It wasn't cash. He opened it and found a book.
    "It's the family Bible," his father said.
    The sergeant felt a sudden lump in his throat. "Thanks, Pa." He looked at the faded lines of writing in the first pages, and the empty space under his own name. He felt the weight of the past and the promise of the future. It was up to him to keep them in balance.
    As he leafed through the Bible, an envelope carefully laid between the pages caught his attention. "What's this?"
    "Two hundred dollars," said Donald. "Against a rainy day."
    McKay couldn't refrain from smiling.
    
    "Donald could never come to terms with the fact that Terence chose the army over college," said Marcelle sadly. She was helping Alison peel the potatoes. Angus was still snoring steadily. "You know, he's our only child - I had problems during delivery, and could not give him any brothers or sisters. Donald never understood his decision."
    "Did you understand?" asked Alison gently.
    "I? Oh, I don't know. I'm his mother, so I feel it. I can't explain this to you."
    "You don't need to," smiled Alison.
    "Surely one of the main reasons was that Donald's younger brother, Ewan, had enlisted in the army," said Marcelle. "Terence was very fond of him. Sadly he died in the war."
    Alison nodded. He'd told her about Ewan, many times.
    "Yet it was not just a case of hero worship," went on her mother-in-law. "I think Terence needs… order. I don't know why, our family has never been unstable or quarrelsome. Yet I saw his character change as he began his service. He got stronger, more assured of himself. It was not just a matter of becoming a man. He found what he was looking for."
    "He's a good soldier," Alison agreed. "That's the first thing that struck me in him. He was concerned for his men, yet fair to the civilians. I remember thinking that there should be more like him."
    Marcelle sighed. "Yes… that's why I've never been able to censure his choice like Donald does. Yet I know there's a great contradiction in his life. And I'm afraid one day it will break him."
    "What do you mean?" asked Alison, though she believed she knew.
    "When he enlisted, I could not think about anything else but… my boy's going to kill people. I kept telling myself they would be bad guys. Then the war broke out. I've never had problems with the Union, I followed Donald to Buffalo, so you can write off the moral conflict. It wasn't easy, of course, we knew so many Southern families. Yet he was young and it was a sort of rightful war. He assuaged his conscience with that, for a few years more.
    "Then came the Indian Wars. And going around ordering massacres of women and children seemed less justifiable. Mind you, I've no bleeding heart for the Indians. I think they're just savages." Alison looked at her, surprised, but she didn't miss a beat. "Yet anybody who has asked in their minds the moral question for the slaves should at least stop a little and think about the Indian moral question. And Terence is still that good soldier we were talking about - I know what he does, even though in his letters he downplays everything so that we don't worry. I know last winter he almost had himself shot for treason, to help the Indians. But he's one in a thousand. He's not one of them anymore. Can you see this, Alison?"
    "People up at Fort Lafayette are decent people," she answered uncertainly. "He's got good friends. He says his commander's the sanest person he's ever served with."
    Marcelle bent a little towards her and looked at her from under her blond eyebrows. Alison felt a deep warmth in recognising the gesture, the look with which her mother-in-law was trying to drive the point home. "Will he want to stay entrenched up there for the rest of his life?" said the lady. "Will he be able to? Will you want it? Especially when the family grows - for I have no doubt about it. Alison, I'm not as snobbish as he depicts me, but I can see you're barely getting along."
    "I've had problems with the farm this summer. Things will get better."
    "I hope so, my dear." Marcelle took her hand. "I hope so, for both of you." 
    
    They dined all together in Alison's kitchen. Any remaining tension was dispelled by Angus. Perfectly refreshed after his nap, he regaled them with an account of his coming to America with his father at the beginning of the century. He recollected boisterously his boyhood memories of Scotland, made all the more magical by the distance. Then, around the fire, he ended the evening with a haunting, one-man re-enactment of the battle of Culloden, where he said his own grandfather had fought. By the light of the flames, the older and younger McKays were staring raptly at him.
    An arm around her husband's waist, Alison whispered in his ear: "Isn't it the hundredth time he tells this story?"
    McKay shook his head slowly. "Never like this."
    At the end of the evening, Alison lit up another lantern. "Are you provided with everything? I think so. Well, good night. We'll be in the barn, if you need us."
    "Thank you, my dear," said Marcelle. "Have a nice sleep."
    Angus stopped McKay at the door. He nodded conspiratorially towards Mr. and Mrs. McKay. "Tomorrow get rid of them, laddie. Send them to admire the charming views of Colorado Springs. I need to talk with you alone. And with your lassie, if she likes."
    The sergeant looked at him, head tilted. "Yes, of course. Good night, Grandpa." Then they went out in the night.
    They reached the barn with blankets on their shoulders, their breath condensing in the light of the lantern.
    "You're very fond of him, aren't you?" Alison asked McKay.
    "Yes. We've always been very close. When Ewan died, he laid many hopes in me."
    "And you've never disappointed him."
    "I hope so," he whispered. He opened the barn door for her. "They are fond of you, you know?"
    She smiled shyly. "I'm so happy about it. I don't know how I did it."
    "Come on, you've been great." McKay helped her up the ladder, placing his hands on her hips. Not that she needed help. Their horses looked up, interested in the novelty, then went back to sleep. "You've been so nice an' sweet, even when they didn't deserve it. But then you always are."
    "No, not always," she reminded him, flopping down in the straw.
    "When needed," he reassured her.
    They hung the lantern to a roof beam, threw a blanket on the straw and laid down on it. She was fully dressed and wrapped up in her shawl; he had folded his coat as a cushion and in case of emergency, and still wore the rest of his uniform. "Just imagine what would have happened if Susan had accepted my invitation," said Alison, "instead of spending Thanksgiving with Markham's stupid parents. I'd be running up the walls."
    "I don't think so. Maybe they would've neutralised each other. An' besides, how do you know his parents are stupid? You never met 'em."
    "It's hereditary, I suppose."
    McKay smiled. "Wanna show me you ain't always nice an' sweet?"
    Alison blew out the lantern, then they snuggled under the heavy counterpane, pulling it over their heads. "No. Right now I'm as nice an' sweet as you like."
    He drew her to himself in the dark. "Yes," he whispered. "It's so peaceful here with you. So safe."
    "You'll always be safe with me," she added, holding him close in the circle of her arms.
    He kissed her lovingly, passionately. At last. He held her to himself, feeling the delicious shape of her body under the many layers of clothing. Alison moved against him with a sigh, burying her fingers in his hair, caressing his broad back. At the end of a particularly long, deep and hot kiss she pulled away with a soft moan. He breathed her name, searching her under the shawl and lingering on her tender flesh. Their yearning for each other was becoming almost painful. Finally he pulled at the strings of her dress, while reaching for the first yet-unhooked button of his uniform.
    "Hey - you're not going to start undressing anybody, are you, McKay?" she asked him.
    He stopped, thinking. He was acting instinctively, but actually it was a bit too cold for that. Being a thorough and traditional man, he had never found himself in such a situation.
    Alison smiled. "Have I ever mentioned to you how much I love your uniform?" she purred.
    "Seem to recall somethin' like it," he whispered.
    "Have I ever mentioned how much I love you inside it?"
    "Never enough."
    "Then come here, you soldier, and don't you dare remove one single item of it," she said, pulling him down to her. They started fumbling at their clothes, laughing softly and shushing each other, until they finally found a suitable accommodation.
    
    Alison woke up seeing the sun shine through the counterpane. Some cold air filtered under it to allow breathing, but they were comfortably warm. She slipped out of McKay's embrace and pulled the cover back. He was still fast asleep. Poor child, she thought kissing his lips. Such a tiring life.
    She pulled the counterpane up again to keep him warm, straightened her clothing and descended the ladder. The morning was chilly but dry. When she came into the kitchen she found Angus, dressed and shaved, heating the water for coffee. "Good morning!"
    "Mr. McKay! Already up? It's very early."
    "Ach, lassie. Mr. McKay is my son. Call me Angus."
    Alison smiled gladly. "Very well… Angus. Coffee'll be ready presently."
    "Alison is a Scottish name too, you know?"
    "I don't think I have Scottish blood. My sister Susan and I, we come from an old Puritan family. My mother found the name in a book. I'm proud to know that, though." She sat down at the table before him. "Did you sleep well?"
    "Perfectly, my dear. Your home is very comfortable."
    "Thank you."
    "You're happy with my grandson, aren't you?"
    "I'm very happy," she smiled.
    "I had never seen him like that. He's happy with you too. Aye, I think you're the best thing that ever happened to him. He says he fell in love with you the moment he saw you."
    She got up and took the kettle, blushing. "It's not true. Last year we must have crossed each other a hundred times in town and never noticed each other."
    "Because you weren't looking. He had other cares on his mind, and no time for girls. And you had no use for soldiers. There comes a time for everything, lassie."
    "If you put it that way," said Alison, sitting down again, "I could say I fell in love with him at once, too. The moment he spoke, I knew he was a kind man."
    "Looks count, too. You make a beautiful couple."
    "Thank you," she said softly.
    "Has he ever told you anything of the history of our clan?"
    "Actually not," answered Alison, stirring the coffee. She felt it was a sort of test question.
    Angus shook his head. "I knew it. He's such a good lad, but he's too much like his father."
    "Really?" marvelled Alison. "I thought they had very little in common."
    "Oh, no, no. They have both a very laudable trait - they are proud of the country they were born in. And they think they can belong to only one culture."
    Alison nodded. Sgt. McKay had absolutely nothing Scottish about him.
    "Yet belonging is one thing, and knowing is quite another," went on Angus. "Donald's never wanted to have anything to do with Scotland. Maybe because he remembers too well my father's hardships and mine. He knows nothing about our land. As for the laddie, Grandma and I raised him on ancient stories, but when he grew up he set them aside as one sets aside childhood toys. After his eighteenth birthday and his enlistment we didn't have any more to say on his education. He turned out a good man anyway - a good American."
    Alison wondered about it. "Maybe there is not much you can do about it," she said gently. "Even the Indians are setting aside their traditions."
    Angus sighed. "Poor souls."
    She poured two cups of coffee. "Well… I for one am anxious to learn everything about the McKay clan."
    "You don't know what you're asking for," said the old man in mock menace.
    "I do," she answered in the same way.
    Angus cackled and took a sip of coffee. "We come from the most Northern part of the Highlands," he said, his voice deepening. "A hard land, you know? Aye, hard and cold. Like the people up there. Hard and cold on the outside, but… You know what the name McKay means?"
    Alison drank her coffee, enjoying Angus' little game. "No, I don't," she answered eagerly.
    "It comes from the Gaelic MacAoidh. Son of the fire."
    She closed her eyes and smiled. "It fits."
    "Yes," nodded Angus. "That's what we are. We also have a war cry."
    "A war cry?!"
    The old man took a deep breath. "Bratach Bhan Chlann Aoidh!" he bellowed at the top of his considerable voice.
    Alison jumped off her chair. "W-what?"
    "It means 'the white banner of McKay'," explained Angus evenly.
    Donald and Marcelle came running out of the bedroom, already dressed. "What's the matter?" said Donald. Then he saw Angus. "I see… the war cry."
    Marcelle sat down beside the old man and patted his arm affectionately. "Thank Heavens we convinced him to leave the bagpipes home."
    The old man put down his cup and waved the kettle. "Want a cup?"
    Alison straightened the chair, still unsettled, and busied herself with the toasted bread.
    The kitchen door opened. McKay leaned on the frame, jacket unbuttoned and shirt out of his trousers, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Now what was all that frightful racket?" he mumbled.
    "Nothing, laddie," roared Angus. "Sit down and have something to eat."
    He came in and took Alison by the waist. "Mornin', love." He kissed her cheek, then sat beside his grandfather.
    "Just like old times, eh, Terence?" said Donald. "With the welcome addition of your lovely wife."
    "By the way," said Angus, "I have a suggestion. This laddie here has taken some days off to stay with his lass, too, not just to look after us. You two could take the wagon and go for an outing in the woods."
    "Actually there are some very picturesque sights around here," said Alison.
    "In that case," said Marcelle, amused, "you should come with us, Pa, and leave them alone."
    "Oh, I'll find something to do somewhere else," he said. "I think you two deserve a romantic walk too. You're always looking after me. I'll just find a quiet tree and sit under it."
    Donald and Marcelle smiled at each other.
    
    McKay, Alison and Angus stood on the porch, waving at the departing wagon. Then the old man said, "Then again, if you really want to be alone, I could…"
    They both turned to look at him.
    "What's in the chest?" asked McKay, jokingly inquisitive. Alison rubbed her hands together.
    "All right, then!" laughed Angus, thumping his cane on the wooden planks. "Come with me, children."
    They followed him into the bedroom. The large chest stood at the foot of the brass bed. Angus sat on his small bed and motioned to his grandson. "Please, laddie, you open it, your back's young." He threw him the keys.
    McKay crouched down and unlocked it. Alison stood behind him, hands on his shoulders. He opened the lid and sat back on his heels. A pungent, pleasant smell of camphor filled the room.
    "Well?" asked Angus, expectantly.
    McKay put his hands inside and lifted a superb basket-hilted broadsword.
    "Look at him, just like Achilles," said Angus, pleased. "First thing he notices is the sword."
    The sergeant slid it out of the scabbard and hefted it at the level of his eyes, sighting down the blade. "Wonderfully balanced," he said admiringly. "Never seen a hilt like this."
    "It's yours," said Angus.
    McKay looked at him incredulously. "Mine?"
    "It was meant for your father. I had ordered it expressly from Scotland, along with the rest. He never wanted it."
    "The rest?"
    Angus nodded. "The brown package."
    McKay passed the sword to Alison. She took it carefully. It was heavy, and she laid it on the bed. He got out the package. "There's another sword under it."
    "It's mine," said Angus. "I wouldn't want to celebrate Thanksgiving without my sword and my fineries."
    "Your fineries," repeated McKay, undoing the knot of the package. He lifted the paper and didn't grasp its nature at once. "A blanket?"
    Alison got it first, maybe because of that morning's talk. "A kilt!"
    "That's yours, too," nodded Angus.
    McKay sat down on the bed. He started pulling out a heavy bundle of green-blue woollen fabric. He shook it out and found he was holding a sort of pleated garment fastened by leather thongs. Underneath he found even more of the same material.
    "That's the plaid," said Angus.
    "Ah," he answered, uncertain.
    "Try it on," said Alison temptingly.
    He grinned uncertainly. "I'd like to. I - I think it's against regulations."
    "McKay, you're off duty. You're not even in uniform anymore."
    He had washed and was wearing a red-and-white checked shirt over his denim trousers. "Right. Well. Guess I'm a li'l embarrassed. I have to think about it."
    "Of course, laddie. Take your time." Angus waved again towards the chest. "In the smaller package there are socks, sporran and dirk. I lost the bonnet, unfortunately."
    "Sporran and dirk?" said his grandson, unwittingly rolling the R's.
    "The sporran is essential, as you will find out. The dirk is a traditional knife worn in your sock."
    McKay got up from the bed and started rummaging again in the chest, until he found the dirk.
    Boys will be boys, thought merrily Alison. "Just imagine, McKay, if you'd had all this for the Halloween play."
    "Yeah, Hank would have died of envy. I wouldn't even have needed to behead him."
    "What Halloween play?" asked Angus, intrigued. "You actually beheaded someone, laddie?"
    "We'll tell you all about it, Grandpa. It was fun. But first, can you tell me somethin'?"
    "Go on."
    "Why now? I mean, I've been on leave in Buffalo a lotta times, you coulda given all this to me then, without all this fuss of bringin' the chest here…"
    Angus smiled under his moustache. "Because now you have a home to keep it in," he said.
    McKay turned in his hands the sporran, whatever it was, feeling a warm gratitude. Behind him, Alison crouched and put her arms about his neck. It was she who answered, "Thank you."
    
    After lunch, Alison took everybody for a tour of Colorado Springs. They left the wagon just outside the town and walked leisurely along the main road, Angus with his cane, giving his arm to her.
    "Not that there's much to see," she said. "I've been living here four years, but I exhausted the novelty soon. I like the town, though."
    "So do I," added McKay. "This place got a heart."
    Alison nodded a little forward. "Here's someone who keeps it thumping," she said, smiling. "Our doctor, Michaela Quinn."
    The lady with the cowboy hat and the leather coat was walking briskly with a pile of books in her arms. She stopped when she noticed them. "Alison, Sgt. McKay, it's a pleasure to meet you."
    McKay lifted his fingers to an imaginary army hat. "Dr. Quinn, I'd like you to meet my parents, Donald an' Marcelle, an' my grandfather Angus McKay."
    Michaela smiled widely. "I'm so happy to know you! Excuse me, my hands are all dusty."
    "That's a lot of books you're carrying, Michaela," said Alison.
    She nodded. "The Claytons left town and donated their books to the library." She looked quizzically at the old covers. "Mostly romances. The Reverend's not entirely convinced but… I'll have a look at them before I put them down for rent."
    "You own a library!" commented Donald, impressed.
    "Well, it's not large," she answered. "Would you like to come in and have a look?"
    "Gladly."
    "Go along, children," said Angus. "I prefer the fresh air. And anyway, I've read all the books."
    Michaela smiled. "See you later, then." She led Donald and Marcelle inside her clinic. He was saying, "Quinn, Dr. Quinn. This sounds familiar. Tell me, ma'am…" His voice trailed away.
    Angus resumed his stroll, giving his arm to Alison, escorted on the other side by McKay. He looked around wistfully. "Your Grandma would have loved this place, laddie. She always dreamed to come out West. Each letter you send, I take my time to go down to the graveyard and read it to her."
    Alison held his frail arm, moved. McKay nodded. "You miss her," he said gently.
    "Aye, laddie, I miss her a lot," he said, eyes reddening. He sighed. "But then again, one has to go on living. That bonnie lass over there, for example, would you introduce me?"
    McKay followed his gaze. "That bonnie lass over there, Grandpa, is Miss Dorothy Jennings, the editor of our local newspaper, an' her affections are already engaged."
    Angus looked at him sternly. "Does this stop you from a little civility, laddie?"
    McKay smiled. "All right." They walked up to the porch of the Gazette. Dorothy was already looking at them, sniffing some novelty. The sergeant pulled out a flawless introduction, and Angus appreciated it.
    "Your grandfather?" she said charmed, taking the old man's hand. "I'm so pleased to meet you, Mr. McKay."
    "Call me Angus."
    A small circle of bystanders had gathered around them, among them Sully, Hank and Jake, and the Reverend.
    "That's a beautiful name," said Dorothy.
    "To tell you the truth," said the old man, "this wee laddie here should have received the very same name, Angus. Ach! But his degenerate father was too taken up with Latin literature."
    "It was a toss-up 'tween Terence an' Cicero," McKay explained half-heartedly to Dorothy.
    "I'd settle for Terence anytime," whispered Alison in his ear.
    "Dangerous world, ain't it?" Sully told him with a small smile.
    McKay threw a glance at him. Both men started snickering. 
    "Now what's the matter with you two?" asked Angus.
    Hand on his mouth as if to check his stubble, the sergeant waved away the question with a "Later" gesture.
    Seeing it was not that exciting after all, Hank turned his back on the crowd, wondering very privately and amusingly how great it would be to introduce the old Scottish gentleman to his Nana. He passed Cloud Dancing, who nodded calmly at him. Hank ignored him.
    "Will you join us for the celebration tomorrow, Angus?" asked the Reverend. "Each family'll dine at home, but in the mornin' we'll have a small function an' refreshment."
    "I'm sure we'll all be glad to join you," answered Angus, looking at Alison and McKay. A mischievous light shone in his old dark eyes. "It'll be the right time to wear our kilts, won't it?"
    The sergeant looked down. "We'll talk about it."
    "What on Earth's a kilt?" whispered the Reverend to Jake.
    "I haven't the foggiest," answered the Mayor.
    Angus nodded to himself, then turned to McKay. "I thought so. You don't have the least intention of touching it with a barge pole, have you?"
    "Really, Grandpa," he said, opening his hands, "this is not the time and place -"
    "You're like your father," said Angus, flatly.
    McKay tightened his jaws. He let his arms fall along his sides. To Alison he seemed pale. "I ain't gonna discuss this now."
    "And I'm not afraid to discuss it in front of anyone!" exclaimed Angus. Dorothy and Cloud Dancing looked at each other, alarmed.
    "All right," said McKay, crossing his arms sombrely. "Grandpa, I do love the land our family came from. But I can't persuade myself that any of it can survive here."
    Angus was shaking his head.
    "Grandpa, please, try to understand. I respect your choices. It's just that I don't feel like sharin' 'em."
    "Just like your father," insisted Angus, thumping his cane on the ground.
    McKay closed his eyes and had to bear down hard. "I envy your ability to see Scotland wherever you go," he said slowly. "I look 'round an' can't convince myself. Nobody wears that kind of dress here. Nobody dances our traditional dances. Nobody speaks the Gaelic language. An' even the land's utterly different, Grandpa. You always tell me Scotland's so foggy…"
    "The foggiest land you'll ever see," answered Angus proudly, shakingly.
    "Yes. Can't you see, Grandpa? It'd be like goin' to the store with a wheel under your arm. A beautiful carved wheel. But you don't have the other three wheels. You don't have the horses, you don't even have the wagon. It's pointless. Don't you see?"
    Angus looked at him, outraged. "This is all rubbish. I know why you don't want to wear your kilt. You're afraid you'll look like a lass! No McKay has ever looked like a lass. Because even the McKay lasses, ach, they are lasses in spades!" He gave a meaningful look at Alison and stormed away.
    "After him," said McKay, nudging Alison. Cloud Dancing and Dorothy watched them go, then looked at each other, worried.
    Donald and Marcelle were coming out of the library with Michaela. "We just made an amazing discovery, Terence," said his father. "Your uncle Michael, my elder brother," he added as an explanation to Alison, "was a colleague of Dr. Quinn's father at the Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston."
    "We're practically relatives," added Marcelle. Then she looked more closely at their countenance. "Is there something wrong?"
    Angus held Alison's arm and stared obstinately in the distance. McKay looked at his own boots, lips pressed together. Alison smiled brightly. "It's been a tiring walk. Come on, everybody home. You'll give me a hand with the pumpkin pie."
    
    The night had fallen. McKay was sitting on his blanket in the straw, arms around his knees. He heard Alison enter and close the door, then come up the ladder.
    "Is he still there?" he asked her.
    "Still sitting beside the fire, brooding."
    McKay lowered his head on his knees. "Didn't wanna hurt him."
    She sat on her heels beside him. "Of course not."
    "I can't do somethin' in which I don't believe, Alison."
    "Strange words from a soldier."
    "Yeah." He ran a hand through his hair, dejectedly.
    "You know," she said, kneading his shoulders with her hands, "I think you're jealous."
    He lifted his face. "Jealous?"
    "Of your beloved uniform."
    He looked at her with raised eyebrows and shook his head slightly.
    "Your father doesn't approve of your choices. That makes you defensive. But you mustn't believe your grandfather thinks the same."
    He took a deep breath, relaxing a little under her loving touch. "I don't believe that."
    "And yet you feel offended."
    He slowly shook his head again, pressing the palm of his hand against his eye. Then he fell back on the blanket. "I don't know. Maybe."
    She lay down beside him. "He's not trying to take something away from you, Terence," she said. "He's trying to add something."
    He stared at the beams on the roof. "I'd just feel awfully awkward."
    Alison ran softly a finger along his cheek. "Listen," she said, "when will you see him next?"
    McKay opened his mouth to answer, then thought about it. He looked at her, troubled.
    
    "Aye, and all the streams around Bannockburn ran with blood," proclaimed Angus, eyes lit up by the flames on the fireplace, barely mindful of Donald and Marcelle asleep in the other room. Alison was sitting opposite him at the kitchen table, face in her hands. "But the Bruce, he drove his men on, and by the end of the day…"
    The door of the kitchen opened and McKay stepped in defiantly.
    Alison stared.
    "Now that's a McKay!" beamed Angus.
    The sergeant closed the door behind him, shutting off the cold wind. "Hell of a season to wear this thing."
    "One gets used to it. And that's no excuse for swearing, laddie!"
    Alison was holding her hands over her mouth and slowly sucking in her breath. Her eyes ran down his figure, stopping flabbergasted just below the lower edge of the kilt.
    Angus noticed. "Come on, lassie, I suppose you've seen your husband's knees before."
    Alison gradually lowered her hands. "Not when they're the only part of him that's showing," she gasped.
    McKay stood obligingly before the door for some moment more, scowling. Above his white shirt he had draped the plaid, fastened with a brooch. It had taken his and Alison's combined common sense to figure out the purpose and positioning of the sporran, but apparently they had got it right.
    "Almost perfect, laddie, almost perfect. Come here, let me see what you've done with that brooch."
    For a moment McKay just stood there biting sourly at the corner of his lower lip, then came forward.
    "Oh, no no no!" exclaimed Angus. "Take your hands away from your thighs! The fabric won't move, it's heavy enough. What are you afraid of?"
    McKay crossed his arms sullenly.
    "Much better." Angus stood up rigidly. "Now, this brooch, you have to fasten it on your shoulder so that the fold falls down the back, like this."
    He refastened the plaid for him. The sergeant looked at his grandfather, head tilted, eyes warming again. "Thank you."
    "But you're not going to wear it tomorrow, are you?"
    "I can't, Grandpa."
    Angus sighed. "I wish I understood. I can't say I do. But trying counts, I hope."
    "It does," McKay smiled.
    "Well," said the old man patting the table and getting hold of his cane, "I can tell when somebody's feeling bad. Go get yourself out of that thing, laddie, and have a good night."
    "Oh, not so fast," said Alison, eyes all a-glitter, rising from the table and taking a surprised McKay under her arm. "Guess he'll want to keep it on a little more, to test the practical aspects. Good night, Angus, and thank you!" She pushed the sergeant out in the frosty night and scuttled after him, pulling the door close behind her. The old man chuckled.
    
    The morning after, the Reverend said a few words in church, to remind his congregation of the significance of Thanksgiving. Then everybody gathered on the meadow to talk with friends, before they all went back to their homes to celebrate with their families.
    McKay was wearing his best uniform, with a clean neckerchief and shined boots, and strolled around with his hands behind his back. He looked a bit out of place, just like the times he had made his nightly round of the Indian reservation. Alison was busy explaining to Marcelle the traditions of Colorado Springs, the Sunday picnic, the role of Grace's Cafe. Angus and Donald were having a heart-to-heart talk, and the old man wore his own father's kilt, a true relic, perfectly preserved, with bonnet and socks. He even carried vigorously his old broadsword.
    McKay sighed. He found himself wandering towards Cloud Dancing. He always felt strangely at ease in the company of the Cheyenne medicine man, who was now wearing his finest buckskin tunic and all the ornaments befitting his dignity and uniqueness in Colorado Springs. When the sergeant saw the usual look of respect and gratitude with which Cloud Dancing greeted him he felt reassured, less harried by his father's claim that he had never built anything.
    He noticed with some amusement that the Cheyenne was studying Angus with almost scientific interest. "I suppose that is - the kilt," said Cloud Dancing.
    "That's right," answered McKay. "Grandpa looks mighty fine with it." He sighed. "I'd never look like that. I'd be awkward. It takes some spirit."
    "Yes, it does," answered Cloud Dancing.
    "I'm sorry to have disappointed him," the sergeant went on, glad to have found a sympathetic ear. "I do understand the way he feels about it. I wish he could forgive me."
    "He will. He just feels lonely."
    "You think so, Cloud Dancin'?"
    "Yes. You said so yourself, yesterday." The Cheyenne looked into the distance, well beyond the trees that closed the horizon. He spoke calmly. "It is hard when nobody wears your kind of dress. Nobody dances the dances you once were so good at. Nobody speaks your language. And the land, that misty land you remember and love, the land of your fathers, is lost forever."
    Looking at the peaceful Cloud Dancing, McKay felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise with a shiver of emotion. Before he even realised it, he felt a prickling in his throat and his nose, and his eyes clouded over. The Cheyenne smiled at him and walked away in all the splendour of his ceremonial dress.
    
    Dorothy had joined Alison and Marcelle and was inquiring as to the possibility of interviewing Angus for the Gazette. It seemed to her she was brushing close to a fascinating world which had left no traces in America. She had never suspected Sgt. McKay to have such interesting relatives. Not that he wasn't interesting, but frankly he couldn't hold a candle to his grandfather.
    Alison froze in the middle of a phrase. Dorothy saw her go white one moment and red-hot in the cheeks the other moment, staring at something behind her shoulders. Marcelle lifted an amused eyebrow.
    Dorothy was not sure she wanted to know. Then she reminded herself she was a journalist and had to see everything. She took a deep breath and turned. McKay was crossing the meadow in a kilt identical to that of his grandfather. He wore the plaid over the jacket of his uniform and walked with one hand on the hilt of the sword, straight-faced and not the least awkward. Actually he seemed very proud of it. Alison looked like she was on the verge of swooning.
    Hank stared, as did most of the townsfolk. "Now there's two of 'em things," commented Jake.
    Donald nudged Angus. The old man turned and smiled. "I knew you would, laddie!"
    McKay reached him and gently patted his shoulder. "Better?"
    "Decidedly better."
    Cloud Dancing appeared on his other side. "Impressive."
    "Cold," countered McKay from the side of his mouth.
    "Pity I missed you dismounting from your horse," said Alison mischievously.
    "That's why I came in on foot."
    "Make him wear it some other time, lassie," Angus urged her, and she gave him a meaningful look.
    They were so busy discussing McKay's appearance that they almost forgot he was there with them. He stepped back, uneasy in the limelight, and was surprised to be joined by his father.
    "I didn't think you would, Terence," said Donald.
    "Neither did I, Pa. You probably don't approve."
    "I can't say I understand," his father answered. Then he smiled. "Which suggests that I give you both at least the benefit of the doubt."
    McKay stared at him, reluctant to concede a truce, yet glad to have pleased Angus. They both looked at the reunited family. Grace was beginning to call everybody for her great Thanksgiving lunch.