Chapter 5

Alistair could swear that he had never heard his name sound more pleasant on any other person's lips.

With a quick movement, his eyes still on hers, he withdrew his knife and tore her bindings. She gasped and looked down at her hands. She flicked her wrist and wriggled her fingers this way and that. It was almost child-like in its innocence. He took off his shirt and put it on her, while she stared at him, seemingly transfixed. When he drew it over her thighs, he lingered a few moments. And then he stood. The muscles on his chest were corded. A long scar ran from his right shoulder to just under his left breast. At the sight of his torso, he saw her blush. "Who is staring now?" he asked.

She quickly turned her face away, but he gently touched her chin and turned her face, so she was looking at him again. "Ye can stare as long as ye want, lass. Or at least until yer skinny fiancé comes tae fetch ye."

A look flashed across her face. Alistair might not have noticed it if he wasn't looking intently at her. "What is the problem?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" she responded.

"That face ye just made."

She said nothing and understanding hit Alistair. "Ye dinnae love him, dae ye?" he asked. She was silent, still. "Why, then, are ye marrying him?" he asked.

Her face fell. For the longest time, she observed her feet. And then she looked up. "It is for my sister's sake. I had no choice, really."

Alistair felt a wave of respect for her. He too knew duty and responsibility, perhaps more than anybody else. Sacrifices had to be made for family, and if this Englishwoman understood that, fiery as she might be, then she had earned his regard. "I understand," he murmured. "I too would dae anything fer me family."

She looked at him intently, as though she meant to unearth some secret, but then looked away. Suddenly, they heard thunder. It was loud enough to frighten Alistair's horse. The beast bolted in the direction of home. Alistair tried to grab on to the reigns, but the horse would not have it. He and Jane watched it make its way past the pushes until it was out of their line of vision.

Inwardly, Alistair sighed. He had trained the horse better, he'd thought. Now, they would have to return to the castle alone and on foot. They would have to scale the hill, as well, which was a tortuous task without a steed. This would take at least two hours. It began to rain, then. First, it was soft drops of water, and then it became fat pellets that made a dull roaring sound as they met with the earth. Jane burst into laughter. "Just my luck," she mused, "being captured by a Scotsman and then being confined to the woods by a storm." She turned to Alistair, her face no longer full of wonder or inquisitiveness. It was angry. "This is all your fault!" she said. "If you hadn't captured me, I would have gotten to General Pierce's castle in Loch Lomond by now."

"If ye hadnae fled, we would have been at me castle by now," he responded. "This is yer fault, lass."

"I have told you not to call me that!" Jane replied.

They were a sorry sight, drenched in rain. Jane wiped the rainwater off her face and then turned in the direction of the cottage she had fled. She looked at it in what seemed like contemplation.

"No," Alistair said.

"Pardon?" Jane said, turning back to him.

"Dinnae even think of that cottage. The witch of the Highlands resides there."

Jane's eyes grew wide. "The what of the what?"

"The witch of the Highlands," Alistair repeated.

"How do you know that?"

"Because every Highlander knows that." He ran his hand over his drenched hair and then wiped his face. "When ye were there, what did she tell you?"

"Only a bunch of nonsense," Jane said, "Now, if you are done with the interrogatory, I would love to find shelter." She started to walk ahead of him in a different direction from the cottage.

"Where are ye going?" Alistair asked.

Jane turned, and for some reason the way she looked appealed to him. She looked like she had been through a lot but was still strong despite it all, or perhaps because of it. "Your castle," she returned, matter-of-factly. She cocked her head. "Or have you forgotten that I am your prisoner?" Her tone was proprietary and amusingly condescending, as though she was talking to a halfwit. She continued to walk away.

Alistair laughed. "It is in the opposite direction."

Jane stopped and turned around. She was clearly embarrassed. Alistair resisted the urge to laugh again. "There is nae need tae be grumpy," he said. "Like I said before, this is nothing personal."

The look on her face was both annoyed and angry. "It feels very personal, Alistair, seeing as how your clan killed me uncle, killed innocent soldiers, and has now kidnapped me."

Through the pelting wetness of the rain, he saw her tense up. Gone was any ounce of playfulness or receptiveness or wonder. Those had been replaced by a darkness that marred her features and, for some odd reason, disturbed him. "Why dae ye keep bringing yer uncle up again?" he asked.

"Because you killed him!" she screamed. "Your clan killed him, and you may just as well have done it yourself! And I have spoken with you as though… as though we were…" She trailed off. She then continued to walk away, and Alistair followed close behind.

The rain became even heavier, pounding upon the woods and their bodies. Quite unexpectedly, Jane descended to the ground and burst into tears. Alistair watched in sheer fascination and utter helplessness. "My uncle was the only person I had besides my sister! He was the only man that ever loved me. He taught me everything I know. Everything! His presence was a balm to me. He made me feel like a human being and not the waste of space my father made me think I was. Now he is gone, and my life is as good as ruined. Because of you. You took him away from me. You. Your clan."

Alistair had no idea what to do, but the rain was pouring down now, and they had to find shelter, otherwise they might catch their death of cold. He communicated this to her, extending his hand, but it seemed that she did not hear, for she remained on the forest floor. But then her crying ceased, and she rose to her feet unaided. Her clothes, including his shirt, were soiled.

Alistair took her hand anyway and steered her in the direction of a deep cave half-closed by a huge rock. He herded her inside. From there, they watched the rain fall relentlessly on the earth. Alistair heard shivering sounds and turned. Jane was in fact shivering, her hands hugging her body, her teethe chattering, her hair plastered to her face. Alistair himself was freezing, only, he had learned the art of hiding distress. He walked closer to Jane, and she flinched. "What are you doing?" she asked in alarm.

"We need body heat to survive, Jane Marsh, or we will both freeze to death."

"G–generate your own body heat, then!" she said around her clattering teeth. The sound made Alistair worry further. The girl really was cold.

"There are times tae be stubborn, Jane Marsh," he said, his speech more coordinated but still affected by the cold. "Now is nae one of them. Come."

He reached for her and enfolded her with his own body. She stood stiff, but then, slowly reluctantly, she put her head on his shoulder. He felt the tension seep out of her. The best way for this to work would be for her to discard her soiled clothes entirely, but he knew that a suggestion like that would scare her away, and so he persevered.

"Lass?" he said.

"What is it now?"

"'T'would be better if we lie down."

"I will not lie on the floor of a cave, thank you very much. And definitely not with your paws around me."

"Paws?'

"Your giant hands!" Jane said, and Alistair noted, with relief, that her voice sounded better. He chuckled.

"Ye mean fer us tae stay on our feet in this manner?"

"What is wrong with your feet?" she asked.

Alistair grinned. "Very well." He wrapped himself a little more tightly around her, and she did not protest. But her body was taut, stiff with caution. This would not do at all. Alistair thought of a way to make his captive more comfortable around him so that they could survive the night. There was no way to placate her for the kidnapping, but perhaps he could address the other thing that she was angry about: her uncle. Perhaps, if he could prove to her that her fears concerning his clan killing her uncle were unfounded, she would loosen up a little more. Alistair had no idea how to go about things like subtlety, and so he decided that he would just take the direct approach.

"Jane?" Alistair said gently.

"Hmm?"

"Dae you ken how yer uncle died?"

He felt her become even more tense than before. "Why is that important?" she asked.

"Because it might help me discover who killed him."

"You still claim that it was not your clan?"

"Just answer me, lass," Alistair said.

Jane sighed. "He was stabbed in the back."

Alistair pulled away from her slightly, and she was forced to look up at him. "I didnae kill him. And it is not likely that any man from me clan did."

Jane scoffed. "Of course you would deny it."

"I have never denied a kill in my life. Everyone that has died by me sword deserved it, and I would proudly declare it before anyone. I dinnae lie. I didnae kill yer uncle."

"What makes you so sure?"

"The men of Clan Fletcher dinnae stab people in the back. It is a dishonorable thing fer a soldier tae dae. One of the most dishonorable, in fact."

"In England, I heard a lot about honor in war. But it is a ruse, is it not? Men have no need for honor when they are desperate to win, to vanquish, to plunder. They would do whatever needs to be done to attain victory. I am staring at a perfect example. You. You captured me, an unassuming female with no fault in your war, simply to use me. Is that honorable?"

"Aye," he said simply. "In the period in which ye have been in me charge, has any harm come tae ye, save that which ye inflicted upon yourself by ye stubbornness?" His voice was raised at the end.

"Come now," she hissed, "did you expect me not to try to escape a bloodthirsty, murderous bunch of marauders who were carrying me off to the middle of nowhere?"

"There are a lot of words on that small tongue of yours. Be careful that they dinnae land ye in trouble that ye cannae claw yer way out of." His eyes flashed with warning, and her fascinating green eyes blinked. He'd succeeded in scaring her a little.

Good.

"I still maintain," she said, surprising him, "that a man who kills scores of men cannot be bound by honor."

"I have told ye," He said slowly. "I didnae dae it." He paused. "Years ago, me faither was killed in a battle against an enemy clan. Clan Fletcher was winning the battle. Me faither was the most valorous man that I have ever met. He was in his prime, still. His swordsmanship was legendary. He had never been defeated. But then, in that battle, an enemy soldier maneuvered his way behind him and struck him in the back with a knife."

Jane's eyes, those limpid green pools, were on him. She was listening with rapt attention.

"I saw everything," he continued. "But it was too late tae help him. From that day, as I bent over me faither's body and watched his life seep from him, I promised meself that I would never kill a man in that way, nor let any of me men dae so."

Jane was still, except for her breathing and her blinking. There was no way of telling what she felt about what he had relayed to her, for her emotions were locked behind those eyes. He stared into them now. "Yer eyes are really green," he said. "Like the forest on a sunny day."

He saw surprise, then disbelief, flash across her face. "Ye dinnae believe me, Jane Marsh?"

"My father hates the color of my eyes."

Alistair scoffed. "Daes he have eyes?"

"Yes," Jane replied. "Black ones. My sister, as well."

"Yer sister hates the color of your eyes, too?"

"Oh, no," Jane said. "She is a perfect angel. No, I meant, her eyes are black as well."

"It was yer maither that gifted ye such beautiful eyes, then," Alistair said.

"No," Jane said. "I am told she had brown eyes."

Alistair was about to comment on the fact that Jane had said ‘I am told,' and ‘had,' but she asked suddenly, "Did you say my eyes are beautiful?"

"Yes," Alistair. "It would be a sorrow tae humanity fer ye nae tae ken."

"Oh," Jane said, and they just stood there, staring at each other. A thunderclap made Jane jump. "Uh…" she said, "I think, we should try to get some sleep until it stops raining."

"Ye are exhausted, are ye nae?" he asked.

She started to deny it, but then nodded. "Yes."

"Only a few moments ago, ye said ye would never sleep in a cave with me by yer side."

"I was not this exhausted a few moments ago," she retorted.

He bit back a smile. "Very well."

He let go of her, and they descended to the floor. He then put his hands around her again. "Ye can sleep, but I will be awake," he said. "Just in case ye decide tae run."

Infuriated, she turned away from him. Effortlessly, he pulled her back to himself until she was once again snug against him. "Dinnae let anger get in the way of yer survival, Jane Marsh," he whispered into her ear. "Now sleep."