Eleven year old Annie crouched behind the barrels in the small vegetable garden and listened. "Where is that wretched lass?" Her father was angry. She held her breath and prayed for a new influx of drinkers. The family McGregor owned a small alehouse in Edinburgh, close to St. Giles Cathedral. It was one of these places where farmhands, labourers and travellers could get drunk on very little money. Despite the fact that it was hardly ever empty, Robert McGregor found more than enough time to make his youngest daughter´s life hell whenever he felt like it. Anne pressed closer into the barrels. The last three days had been worse than usual. Granny had died peacefully in her sleep. Ma had hardly stopped crying ever since. Anne hadn´t meant any harm. She had just wanted to cheer up Ma by pointing to the empty armchair. "Don´t cry, Ma. Granny´s still here, you see? She wouldn´t leave us." Her mother had started to cry even harder. Instead of calming down, she had punched the armchair. "Why did you have to pass it on, you old crone?" Granny had watched her daughter with a sorrowful expression. It´s in our blood, dearie. After her violent outburst, Mary had turned towards her daughter again. "Do you still see her?" When Anne had nodded, her mother had gripped her arms with unusual force. "Don´t ever mention that to anyone else, do you hear me? Otherwise, they will burn us all!" Now Anne had started to cry. "Please, Ma. I´m sorry. I didn´t mean to be wicked. I thought you…" Her mother had pulled her into her arms. "You aren´t wicked, my wee Annie. It´s okay. Everything´s fine." Except it wasn´t. Robert McGregor had seen everything. He had dragged his screaming daughter into the vegetable garden and started to beat her. Anne´s sobs and his wife´s cries had alerted the neighbours. It had taken three men to pull McGregor away from his unconscious daughter. Anne woke up in her bed, her father standing next to her. "If I ever hear that heretic nonsense again, I will kill you myself. Do you understand?"
Now, Anne crouched behind the barrels and examined the bruises on her arms. They were turning greenish now. She touched her face gingerly and winced. Her left eye was swollen shut, she could count herself lucky that her father hadn´t broken her nose. Anne wrapped her arms around her knees. If she could only make her father understand that she hadn´t meant it like that. She didn´t understand why seeing her dead Granny was heresy. Granny had called it the Sight. It was passed down through the women in her family. Ma didn´t have it, but Granny had. As had Granny´s ma. Granny had never said it out loud, but Anne knew that Granny had been somewhat disappointed that her own daughter didn´t have it. Instead, she had to content herself with watching and waiting if one of her grandchildren possessed her clan´s gift. Now, it seemed, it was awakening in Anne. She was more intrigued than scared. Granny had told them about it often enough. The things they might see, hear, sense… Anne had never received any kind of formal education. Like Granny and Ma, she could neither read nor write. She had no notion about big ideas like heresy, she only hoped that the Sight wasn´t it. Heresy was turning your back to God, that was all she understood about it. As long as she said her prayers every night and went to church on Sunday, God couldn´t really believe that she was turning her back on him? If anything, she felt a quiet pride. Now she wasn´t just wee, little Annie McGregor. She was part of the next generation of Campbell women who possessed a talent that didn´t belong into the confines of the city, but rather the vast, rolling hills of the highlands.
"For fuck´s sake, girl! If you don´t come out at once, I will tan your rear until you won´t be able to sit for a week." Anne took a deep breath and hurried out from behind the barrels. It´s going to be fine. Just don´t cry. Dad hated it when she started to cry. It made him only more aggressive towards her. Her father was upon her the moment she entered the tap room through the back door. His first slap made her stumble against the wall. "Sorry, dad. Sorry. Sorry." She lifted her arms to shield her face. "Leave the girl, Sir." The man´s voice didn´t belong here. It was silky and rough at the same time, almost like the purr of a cat, with a clipped pronunciation. A proper, English gentleman. They didn´t get much of them around here. When Anne took her hands away from her eyes to survey the stranger, she was more than surprised. He was sixteen, seventeen years old, with a skin that reminded Anne of the cup of hot chocolate she had once seen a lady drink. He was small for a man, with a slight built and a narrow face. His unusually big eyes had a milky veil. Is he blind? But… how could he have known…? Anne didn´t question the matter for too long. When the young man smiled at her, she forgot her own name. "Are you alright, miss?" "I… erm… yes, thank you." Anne stammered. With a glance at her father´s furious expression, she added. "It was my fault, really. I deserved it." The stranger curled up his fists, but remained calm otherwise. "Indeed?" This question was directed at her father. Robert McGregor puffed his chest. "The girl is more trouble than she is worth. She needs a good beatin´ now and then." "You…" The stranger made a step towards Anne´s father, but a second man laid a hand on his shoulder. "Omar, stop it." Anne hadn´t noticed him before. He was tall and stately, with a mop of grey hair and a red nose. His accent sounded foreign, even more so since his nose was clogged up by a bad cold. McGregor huffed. "Better keep your monkey on a leash, Mr. Bianchi." Bianchi grabbed the shoulder of his young companion more tightly. "Sir, I must insist that my young apprentice is treated with respect." Anne had seen enough brawls become seriously to recognize the expression on Omar´s face. He was ready to commit murder. McGregor shot him a look of pure disgust. "Child, take care of those two. Dinner, bed. And be more careful with the mugs this time. If you break one again, you will regret it." Anne froze. Her father was in an especially foul mood today. She´d be lucky if she made it through the evening without another beating.
Anne led Omar and Bianchi to the only free table. "We… don´t have much for supper. Broth, bread and sausages. Will that… be alright?" "That sounds lovely." Anne wondered if she should say something else, just to keep Omar talking. He had the loveliest voice she had ever heard. Thinking of it, he was the most beautiful lad she had ever seen. Nobody else had ever stood up for her like that. To Anne, Omar looked as glorious as all those great knights in armour in Mr. Harris´ painting shop. She hurried away to fetch their dinner. She took extra care to prepare them the biggest bowls, the freshest bread and the tastiest sausages. The tray was almost too heavy for her, but Anne made it safely to the table. The smell of the broth made her stomach grumble. "Have you eaten today?" Omar asked. Anne nodded shily. "Yes, sir. Will that be all, sir?" "Yes, thank you. I am afraid I didn´t catch your name, Miss McGregor." Miss McGregor. Anne felt like a fine lady. She blushed. "Anne, sir." she mumbled. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Anne McGregor. My name is Omar Khaled, and this is Signor Lorenzo Bianchi from Italy." "Italy." Anne repeated longingly. "Is it as sunny as they say, sir?" Bianchi chuckled. "Sunnier than this dismal place, that´s for sure." Anne would have liked him to tell her more about it, but her elder brother Vic passed them. "For God´s sake, Annie. Don´t just stand there. Help me with those Irish over there." Before Anne could excuse herself with a last, shy smile for Omar, he took his knife and cut her a large bit of bread and sausage. "I would be honoured if you shared our dinner, Miss McGregor." Anne could barely stop herself from giggling. "Thank you, sir." With that, she hurried away to help her siblings in the tap room. As much as she wanted to, Anne didn´t have time to stop at Omar´s table for more than a moment. Two hours later, most of the drinkers were staggering home, and Anne was free to show her favourite customers to their room. It was a tiny chamber in the attic. There was hardly room enough for the double bed. Bianchi collapsed gratefully into it. His cold had become worse. Out of habit, Anne touched his forehead to feel his temperature. "Sir, if you want, I can make you some tea. Elderberry and willow bark." Bianchi sneezed. "That would be lovely, thank you." Anne hurried into the kitchen to prepare the tea. On her way to the attic, Vic caught up with her. "Annie, be careful with those two foreigners. If they try anything funny, come and tell me. Do you want me to bring that up?" Anne blushed and began to stammer. In places like the McGregor alehouse, children had to grow up fast. She knew exactly what Vic meant. So far, she had been able to evade every notice of that kind from customers. "No. They have been… they are… I´m fine. Really. Thanks." Bianchi was too ill to be lecherous and Omar Khaled was the loveliest young man she had ever met. Anne was safe with them, she was sure of it.
When she entered the attic again, Bianchi was snoring. Omar had taken his shirt off to wash himself in a small bowl. Anne caught herself staring at his chest. His wiry body was covered in the strangest scars. He must have done a lot of fighting. Anne averted her eyes and cleared her throat. "Your… your tea, sir." Omar put his shirt on and took the steaming mug from her with a kind smile. "Thank you, Miss McGregor. I apologize for keeping you away from your bed at this hour." He woke up Bianchi. "Here, drink." Bianchi lifted the mug towards Anne in a grateful salute. "I see that I am in good hands. Thank you, little miss." Little miss. Something you might be called by a well-meaning uncle. Especially with that funny accent. "I recon, you´ll be fine in a couple of days. Best stay in bed, though." Bianchi emptied the mug with a smile. "Whatever my little doctor says. Well then, buona note." He pulled the blanket over his face and was asleep in a matter of seconds, snoring loudly. Omar chuckled. "I envy him that. It takes me forever to fall asleep." Anne came closer. She didn´t know why, just that she wanted to prolong the peaceful moment. Omar suddenly turned towards her with a serious expression. "Is your father always like this?" "Like… like what, sir?" Dad was as most fathers were. Violent on bad days, indifferent on good ones. "Does he usually beat you that savagely? I assume, you have him to thank for your face." Anne didn´t know how to answer that. Dad would be angry, no matter what she said. Suddenly, she felt very cold. She nodded. "I deserved it." she tried to explain. "I didn´t mean to, but I was wicked." "Wicked?" Omar repeated softly. "My God, what could a girl like you possibly have done to deserve that kind of treatment?" His voice was rich and soothing, like honey. Without knowing how it happened, Anne found herself sobbing into Omar´s chest. "I didn´t mean to, I swear." Omar seemed unsure whether to touch her or not. Would that soothe her or unsettle her even more? "But what did you do?" Anne swallowed and took a couple of breaths to calm herself. "Dad says, it´s heretic. But I didn´t do anything that could anger God. I just saw my Granny." Omar didn´t seem to know what to make of it. "You saw your Granny. What´s so bad about that?" Now came the bad part. "Granny´s been dead four days. But she came back to look after us. Please don´t tell me dad that I told you. He will kill me if he…" She started to cry again. It was good to get it all off her chest. Omar wrapped his arms around the sobbing girl hesitantly. "Your secret is safe with me. I swear."