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Chapters (94)
  1. Cover
  2. Time for the Dead
  3. Dedication page
  4. Map
  5. Epigraph page
  6. Prologue
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. 64
  71. 65
  72. 66
  73. 67
  74. 68
  75. 69
  76. 70
  77. 71
  78. 72
  79. 73
  80. 74
  81. 75
  82. 76
  83. 77
  84. 78
  85. 79
  86. 80
  87. 81
  88. 82
  89. 83
  90. 84
  91. Epilogue
  92. Acknowledgements
  93. About the Author
  94. By Lin Anderson

She had arrived, it seemed, at the south-western end of the peninsula.

At first view, this hidden valley felt like the end of the world. Yet people had lived here once, as evidenced by the broken-down walls of crofts and holdings. Counting the mounds of fallen houses, she realized that the valley must have held up to ten families at one time. The occupants, she’d learned from a book on Skye, had been burned out of their homes and forcibly sent to Nova Scotia. It was either that or imprisonment.

What had been done here wasn’t that different from Afghanistan, she thought. The powerful in both lands, whether warlords or landowners, were always the ones to decide who should live and who should die. She thought of the wrecked Afghan villages the team had visited, of the broken walls and shattered lives, never sure which side had done such damage. They’d duly set up their field clinic among the ruins and waited for the survivors to bring out their crying children and injured.

He’d been dismissive about the wounded men, insisting they were helping them only to have to fight them again. But even he was moved by the traumatized and broken children. It was hard to reconcile that version of him with the man that he’d ultimately become.

Did war change him or had he always been like that and being in a war zone had simply given him the opportunity to be his true self?

The truth of everything that had happened had become opaque since her return, mainly due to his voice constantly retelling the tale, altering her perception of it. The others had accepted his version, or been happier with it. A story that now cast her as their saviour, and not a victim.

She’d wondered at times whether she’d imagined it all – her prison, the visits – until Sugarboy would remind her, whispering the truth in her ear.

But Sugarboy couldn’t remind her of the truth any more in Afghanistan, or here on Skye.

She sank to her knees, her eyes closed, desperately trying to discover his voice in her head, to smell again his presence in the darkness and hear his laughter. But couldn’t.

Eventually opening her eyes again, she caught the distant sound of waves as they met the jagged edge of the peninsula.

What would Sugarboy urge her to do now?

A decision would soon have to be made whether she went west or east along the deserted coastline. Both routes were exposed and, she knew, would prove trickier than climbing either of the two hills that now lay behind her.

But she didn’t care how difficult the path she chose might be. What was required was to find a place to hide among the cliffs, inlets and caves that lined the coast.

And await his arrival.

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