Chapter 6

Jane felt her body respond to his when he pulled her closer. She fought it, and tried to focus on all the reasons for which she should hate him. Only, it was a little harder now that there might be a huge chance that his clan was not responsible for her uncle's death. She had not wanted to voice it out, but she believed the story about Alistair's father and the vow that Alistair had made upon his death. It was foolish, she knew, believing her captor. And yet he seemed in earnest.

Her supposed hatred was not helped, either, by the fact that he had tried to keep her as comfortable as he could. He had given her the shirt off his back, and even now, she was sure that her wet clothes were an inconvenience to him. They could not be comfortable to the touch in the least. And still he held on to her in an attempt to keep her warm.

And then he had gone on to compliment her eyes.

Eyes which she had despised since she was old enough to understand feelings. The only other man who had ever complimented them were her uncle, and whenever he had done so, she'd thought it was because he loved her or because his eyes were the same color as hers.

She tried her hardest not to lose guard. Whether he killed her uncle or not, they were still on opposite sides of the war. They were not friends. They never could be.

A small part of her was grateful for the delay in her marriage to Commander Edward Pierce. It was a small relief, a temporary mercy, but one she would take with open arms. She knew that the marriage was inevitable, for her sister's sake, and harbored no notion that this cup would pass over her.

That is, unless Commander Pierce refused Clan Fletcher's terms.

Those thoughts floated around in her head until she fell asleep.

* * *

Commander Edward Pierce would kill them. Every last one of them. He would mount their bodies up on the wall and watch them rot in the sun. How dare they kidnap his bride! He threw a brass pitcher against the wall. It crashed against it, fell down, and emptied its contents on the grimy ground. The soldiers watched the trajectory of the pitcher. Like a single entity, they then turned to their commander.

"Get out! The lot of you! Out, I say!"

They scrambled to their feet, all twelve of them, and hurried to the door.

"Not you, Peter, a halfwit, are you?" Commander Pierce shouted at one of them. The soldier returned to the table and quietly sat down. Commander Pierce turned to the coachman. "How dare he! How dare he?!" The veins in his forehead bulged. He clutched his belly, which always ailed him when he got riled. Which was very often.

"Who did this?" he asked the coachman.

"C… clan Fletcher, Commander."

"Clan Fletcher," the commander repeated. "Those fiends that have refused to stay under a rock like the vermin they are. They had courage enough to steal my wife-to-be?"

"Yes, Commander."

"How did they know who she was?" he asked.

The coachman blinked. "I do not know, Commander," he said, his voice low.

Two goblets went the same way of the pitcher. If Peter, the commander's right-hand man, were allowed to speak, he would advise on the disadvantages of wasting good wine and denting drinkware. At Loch Lomond, supplies were hard to come by. Only a small portion of the soldiers had access to wine, only when at the commander's pleasure. Cutlery, crockery, and drinkware were outnumbered by the soldiers eight to one.

The commander grabbed the coachman by the front of his shirt. His eyes were brimstone. "Again, how did they know who she was?"

The coachman gulped. "The… soldiers may have told them before… they were killed."

"Blasted sons of whores!" Commander Pierce let go of the coachman, and the smaller man staggered before he composed himself. He reached into the leather pouch around his waist. "I was given-"

Peter drew his sword preemptively.

"Stand down," Commander Pierce ordered, and the coachman gulped before his hand continued its task. He brought out a bunch of Jane's hair and presented it to the commander. "Laird Alistair ordered me to give this to you as proof. He wants… to exchange your bride-to-be… for his brother."

Commander Pierce took the hair and brought it to his nose. He sniffed it twice and proceeded to nuzzle it. Then, he seemed to remember that he had company and placed it on the table. He placed a goblet on top of it to prevent it from flying away.

"Perhaps, Commander," Peter said, "we should accept the proposal so your wedding can go on as pl-"

"Never!" the Commander said. "I would then have no advantage over the clan. The plan was always to lure the laird with his brother and then kill them both."

"We can still manage to overpower the clan. We almost did it once before."

"We cannot overpower them if they still have a laird. To weaken them, we must make them headless. We will kill them off like flies. We shall extinguish them. And then the King shall grant me any favor of my choosing. The plan was perfect. Until they ruined it!" He threw another goblet against the wall.

"Commander?" the coachman said tentatively.

"Speak!"

"They came from the west of the main trail. And one of them was commanding the others. Must have been the laird himself."

The Commander smiled. It was so sudden, it put the coachman ill at ease. "If that is true, then he is not in his castle. For him to have launched an attack that swiftly, he must have been monitoring the trail. We can still catch the bastard. Get me a map of the area, Peter."

Peter stood and walked to the corner of the office, where the maps were. He picked one, took it to the table, and unrolled it before Commander Pierce. "Watch the hair!" Commander Pierce shouted, and then proceeded to examine the map. "Point to where this capture took place!" he ordered the coachman.

The man bent over, squinted at the map, and finally pointed to a spot on it.

Commander Pierce straightened in satisfaction. He picked up a bell on his table, rang it, and then set it back down. He then ordered his right-hand-man to take two other soldiers to camp around the area that the kidnapping had taken place. They were to lie in wait for the laird and kill him if they came upon him. His plan, if Peter and the soldiers succeeded, was to order the rest of the clan to return Jane to him or watch him kill their laird's brother.

Of course, he would kill the laird's brother no matter what.

And he would kill the clan as well.

"Go now," he said to Peter, and the younger man strode out of the door. The coachman still stood, examining a spot on his dirty boots.

"Well do you intend to live in my office, then?" Commander Pierce asked. The coachman shook his head quickly, bowed a little stupidly, and fled. Commander Pierce sighed. If not for the Scottish sons of whores, Jane would be here right now. He would be pressing into her flesh, marking her as his property forever. The imagery of Jane writhing beneath him engorged his member. He sent for relief. A few minutes later, three girls entered the room. The last one in shut the door behind her. One was a blonde, one a ginger, and the last a brunette. They sashayed over to the general in fluid movements, their hips swaying. The brunette had green eyes. Quite like Jane.

"Stop," he ordered, and they paused. "I am too stressed for a foursome today." He pointed to the brunette. "You. The rest of you, out."

The rejected pleasuring girls stared at each other and then turned and walked out of the office, the swaying in their hips gone. The commander knocked the goblet standing on Jane's hair over and grabbed the hair. "There," he directed the brunette to the side of the table that was closest to the door. "Sit on the table," he ordered the girl. "And spread your legs."