Chapter 3

The war room was a vast affair of brass and wood. A table sat at the middle, with chairs surrounding it. The treated heads of hunted animals were mounted in strategic places: a stag, a bear, two wildcats. The warriors seated around the table were grim. They were of superior build, their muscles well-defined, their hands seasoned in war. At the head of the table sat Alistair Fletcher. His hair was goldish blond, and his eyes were as blue as the sky. Of the lot, he was the tallest. His lips were set in a thin line.

"I am conflicted as to whether the British are very cunning or very, very stupid," he said to his men. "Loch Lomond is accessible by foot, as ye all know. The castles close to it are easily scalable. The troops have been there fer quite a while, and I am moved to wonder whether their arrogance is borne of their possession of a secret weapon."

"We can never put ‘cunning' and ‘English' in the same statement," Douglas, one of Alistair's most trusted warriors, declared. Alistair shook his head. Douglas was a killing machine. He had once singlehandedly decapitated a small English troop and brought Alistair the heads as a trophy. He had a weakness, however: a deep hatred for the British that did not allow him to see facts as they were sometimed. The English were cunning snakes, and to underestimate them would be to dig one's own grave.

"The English troops defeated us only recently, Douglas. So, it is safe to say that they are masterful in war," Alistair continued.

"They have been there fer quite some time," Keith, Alistair's friend from childhood and second-in-command said. He and Douglas were seated closest to Alistair. "I suggest we send scouts out. At least two. And then we can decide on what course of action to take."

"True," Alistair concurred. "We must move quickly, however. We do not have the time to send more scouts out. We have a good idea of their security system. We must invade them before they occupy a greater portion of our land."

Alistair's brother, his only surviving family, had been captured by the English troops during the battle. Alistair had broken free of the barrier of English soldiers that stood between him and the soldier who was dragging his brother, wounded and bloody, up a horse, but then he had been struck on his left thigh and he'd fallen to the ground. The wound was not done healing, but Alistair was ready to head back into battle to rescue his younger brother. He had waited for days to receive the terms of his release, as was common in these parts. The English liked to barter, to string their opponents up and bleed them dry. But nothing was forthcoming. And now it was time to take matters in his own hands.

"How soon do we strike?" Keith asked.

Just then a child of about eleven years old burst into the war room. He was panting, out of breath. A young woman followed immediately after. "Tasgall!" she chided, her eyes bright. She turned to Alistair. "Forgive him, me laird. I tried to catch up with him, but this child has the longest legs." She turned to her husband, Douglas, as if to say, ‘Look what your son has done now." She then glared at her son. "Come away now," she said.

The boy shook his head, but his tone was pleading. "But I have news fer Laird Alistair, Mother," he said, "Really, I dae."

"You can tell it tae yer faither," Catrina, his mother, said. "And then yer faither can tell it tae the laird. That is the way of things.

Alistair chuckled. "It is quite all right, Catrina," he said, and turned to the child. "Well, go on. What is this all-important news?"

"Ye want me tae tell it tae the whole…" the child began and looked at the warriors seated at the table. He then summoned courage and said, "I saw a carriage, me laird. I went about looking fer rabbits and I didn't find any, but I found a carriage." He paused. "I have caught rabbits before. Two in a day, even. Today just wasn't me day."

"The laird does nae want tae hear about yer rabbits, son," Douglas said, his voice firm.

"Yes, Faither," Tasgall said, realizing that there were far more important things than establishing his prowess at rabbit-hunting. He turned back to Alistair. "There were two men guarding the carriage. English soldiers."

There was a murmuring among the men. "What direction did it go in?" Alistair asked.

Tasgall pointed to the west.

"That is the way to Loch Lomond," Keith said. "That is, if little Tasgall here is right."

"Of course he is right," Douglas declared.

"He is but a child," Keith said.

"He is very nearly a man."

"What about it, then?" Keith asked. "Are we tae just-"

"Quit your bickering!" Alistair ordered. "The carriage that Tasgall saw is most likely a goods carriage. It must be carrying supplies tae the British troops." He paused. "We must intercept it." He turned to Tasgall. "Thank ye, lad."

Tasgall bowed. "Ye are welcome, me laird."

"Ye may go now," Alistair said.

Tasgall withdrew from the room, his mother following closely behind. When they were both out of the room, she gingerly shut the door.

"Lads," Alistair said to his warriors, "our plans have changed."

* * *

Journeying through the country was a most inconvenient affair. Jane's back ached from all the sitting. Her companions were taciturn, naturally. There was no chaperone who understood her needs and no companion to speak to. And worse still, they were heading into enemy territory.

Twice, she had had to relieve herself, and twice she had suffered the indignity of them pretending not to stare as she did her business in the bushes not quite far from them because, according to the more vocal of the two soldiers, they could not risk her being snapped up by Scottish savages.

Something weighed heavily on her mind, heavier than her new life in Scotland. It was how to find her sister's lover. She was hopeful that it was all a misunderstanding and that as soon as she reached him, he would get on a horse and travel to England to claim Eleonor for himself. Which would unearth new problems, no doubt. But she had to find him first. And Jane had to hope against all hope that he would not display the weakness she had come to know with most men. Selfishness.

The carriage trudged through uneven terrain, and Jane found herself bouncing up from her seat occasionally. One of the soldiers cursed a blue streak, and it put fear in her. No woman should suffer through being alone with three strange men for an entire journey.

Her thoughts drove her to another bout of sleep. She had a dream in which Commander Pierce strapped her to his horse and paraded her before all of Scotland as his property. They were then attacked by Scottish marauders, and she was captured and subjected to inhumane treatment. Suddenly, her uncle Howard rescued her and sent her, in the unrealistic manner of dreams, to the King. The King asked who her husband was, and she replied, but quickly added his part in her capture.

The King was unmoved. "You must be returned to him at once," he commanded, and then turned away from her, despite her pleas. She was then back in what her mind construed as Commander Pierce's home, and he was sneering at her, brandishing a horsewhip.

She woke up in tears. Her throat was tight, and her heart was beating fast. Surely her fate could not be as terrible as her dream! Although she had not dwelled on it, she harbored a faint hope that she would be spared a marriage to the man by some twist of fate. That was unrealistic, and it only happened in books, but one could dream.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the carriage stopped, throwing her against the partition. She righted herself. "Why have we stopped?" she said, loudly enough for the soldiers to hear her. There was no response. Suddenly, she heard what could only be a war cry, followed by the sound of metal clanging against metal. One of the soldiers shrieked. It was so high-pitched; it was almost impossible.

Jane gasped. There was trouble!

The carriage door was flung open, and Jane found herself staring into the bluest eyes she had ever seen. They belonged to a man who look like a conqueror and an angel as well. His face was set in hard line. His blond hair looked menacing, putting one on mind of a vicious wildcat. His lips were set in a thin line. He regarded her darkly, and Jane had only one second to think before the intruder was in the carriage with her. He smelled of the outdoors, of wild and primal things.

And, faintly, of blood.

Jane resisted the urge to shiver.

"I will ask ye two questions," he said, his voice low and deep. "Answer them truthfully. Who are ye? Why is your carriage on me land?"

"Go to hell!" Jane spat.

The man laughed. The next second, Jane was being dragged, by the waist, out of the carriage. She flailed, screamed, and pounded on the intruder's back. This seemed to amuse him, for she heard him laugh. It was as though she weighed nothing. "Unhand me, you brute!" she commanded.

"I will be just that if ye keep fussing," he said. This was a warning that she knew he would make good on. He set her down. She looked down at the grass and then up at him. He stood at least a whole foot taller than her. She looked beyond him and her breath caught. There were five other men dressed just like him, standing in the grass. She gasped. Surely, they had not killed her-

She turned her head and saw the two soldiers that had accompanied her. They were on the ground, blood pooling around them. Jane almost swooned, but she caught herself. She heard someone whimper and saw that it was the coachman. He sat on the floor, against the carriage, like a defeated child.

"Look up," one of the other warriors said. Jane's head jerked up, but it wasn't she that the warrior had been addressing. He was a little shorter than the intruder, with ginger hair and brown eyes. His gaze was fixed on the coachman. "Who are ye both," he asked the whimpering man, "and where are ye headed?"

The coachman shook his head, his face creased in fear. In one swift moment, the warrior put a knife to the coachman's throat. It glistened with macabre promise. "I am nobody," the coachman said quickly. Just a lowly coachman. My name's Solomon Johnson."

"And the girl?"

The coachman looked at Jane with something quite like apology before he said, "That is Jane Marsh, soon to be Jane Pierce. I have orders to take her to Commander Edward Pierce."

"A commander's wife-tae-be, is it?" the warrior with the blade said, looking at Jane with contempt.

But the intruder regarded her with a different emotion entirely. Pleasure. And that was a lot more worrisome. "How fortunate! Too fortunate, perhaps. We have taken the good commander's bride captive."

So, this was about Commander Pierce! These could be the Scottish enemies that Commander Pierce's men had won in a battle. No doubt they wanted revenge. And she was the one caught in the crossfire. A chill went up Jane's spine. "You are from Clan Fletcher," she suddenly blurted out, and then chose to continue as there was no cure for it. "You seek vengeance because he defeated you in battle, do you not?"

She saw his face darken and his jaw worked, but she continued still: "He will not fall for whatever trap you mean to set for him."

"Fer your sake it is better that he does, young woman," the man said, and bent towards her. Jane flinched. His face came so close to hers. His blue eyes were cold and calculating, like a snake's, yet she found it hard to look away from them. Until something caught her eye: the glint of a knife near her throat. Her eyes widened in panic. Alas, the warrior deftly cut off a lock of her hair. This excited the rest of the men, for some reason. The second warrior brought it to the coachman and squeezed it into his shaking palm.

"Go," the intruder said. "Go and tell Captain Pierce what has happened. Now."

The man shakily rose to his feet, and Jane saw that his breeches were soiled. She turned her sights back to the intruder. "Tell him, also, that Clan Fletcher is ready tae negotiate."

It was when the coachman got on the carriage and took the reins that the reality of the situation dawned on Jane. She would be left alone with these marauders! They would take her captive and do to her whatever they wanted to until Commander Pierce agreed to whatever terms they would give him for her release.

"I refuse to be treated like property!" she lashed out. "I am a proper lady, and I will not be treated like chattel, like some… medium of exchange in this foolish game of male dominance. I refuse to be your captive!"

The men burst into laughter. It was a loud, rancorous sound that startled her. By now, the carriage was on the move, bouncing along the road in a hurry. Her heart sank.

"If only captives had a say in their captivity," the intruder said. He walked to her and bent so his lips were scant inches away from her ear. "I will nae exchange you fer land, lass. I will use ye as bait tae reel Commander Pierce in. And then, I will kill him."

"Have you not had enough?" she snapped. "You killed my Uncle Howard three weeks ago. He was a kind, honorable man and you snuffed his life away."

"Lady," the intruder said, "I ken nae of whom you speak."

"How dare you!" Jane exclaimed. "How dare you kill a man and not even know his name?"

"I could nae possibly ken the name of everyone I have killed, lass," the intruder said.

"Don't call me that!" Jane protested. The term was for their women, women who men like this no doubt treated as property and nothing else-

"Nae?" The man leaned so close to her, they seemed to share the same breath. His blue eyes looked intently into her green ones. Jane swallowed. And then she felt pressure on her hands. Her eyes grew questioning, and she looked down. The rogue was binding her hands while his eyes were still fixed on hers!

"You brute! You savage rogue! Let go of me this instant! Untie my hands! You're nothing but a callous, heathen, primitive-"

"Those are nae words that ladies use," he said with a chuckle as he did a final knot. "Have ye lied tae me, lass?"

Before she could answer, she was swung over his shoulder as though she weighed nothing. She shrieked, but with her hands bound together there was little she could do. He started to walk into the forest, and his comrades followed. From her position, Jane could only see their feet. "Let me down!" she ordered. "I am not a doll, or a child to be carried so! Let me down, you knave!"

His response was a chuckle. She drummed on his back with her bound fists, but that achieved nothing except elicit laughter from the rest of the warriors. She remembered Eleonor's letter. She'd slipped it into one of her pockets the last time she had alighted the carriage to relieve herself. But the rest of her things were gone!

"Look what you have done!" she said angrily. "You have sent the coachman away with my belongings!"

"Ah, but ye are nae a very observant lass, are ye?" her captor said. "Yer belongings are being carried by one of me warriors."

"How dare you!" she said but receive no answer. They were in the forest now. They all spread out, and Jane wondered why. Her captor walked with purpose, and soon she heard the whinnying of a horse. From her position, she could not see it. She realized, then, that they had left their horses in the forest to avoid raising suspicion before their attack on her carriage. A new wave of anger shook Jane.

"Spread your legs wide," she suddenly heard.

"Excuse me?" Jane thundered in the most proprietary English accent. Without another word, he flung her astride a horse. It was black as night, the biggest horse she had ever seen, a magnificent beast. The horse moved a little, and, with her hands bound, she could not grab the animal and feared that she would fall off. She panicked. Her captor, in one fluid movement, mounted the horse and grabbed her waist, pulling her to him. A blush crept up her face. He whispered in her ear, "Did ye think I meant something else?"

Jane blushed even harder. "You are a pervert."

He chuckled. "And yet I am nae the one having those thoughts."

"Shut up," Jane said. She knew this would likely anger him, but she did not care. How dare he laugh at her?

One of the other warriors, the one with the ginger hair, rode up to them. There was a smirk on his face. "Watch out fer this one," he said to his comrade. "She has fire in her."

Another one of them laughed. He looked a little older than the first two. "Dinnae fash, Keith," her captor said, "I know how tae tame a wild mare."

"You behave like animals!" Jane declared.

Again, her captor leaned into her, his breath a chilling thing against her skin. "I can be an animal if ye want me tae be, lass."

Jane grew red, and again, the warriors laughed at her expense.

"I willnae dae anything ye dinnae beg me tae," her captor said.

"I would not ask you to do anything to me even if you were the last man in the world!" Jane spat. And immediately she knew that was untrue. He unnerved her. Without a word, he seemed to promise dark, dark things. The prospect made her skin prickle and her throat tight. This was virgin territory for Jane. She reminded herself that it was his kind that had killed her uncle Howard. If not he himself.

It was he who now wished to use her simply as bait.

If she must feel anything for him, it should be hate.