Chapter 1
Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, somewhere in Scotland
Shoulders clenched as he pressed his wrists apart, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam ignored the soft trickle of blood which ran over his skin, an easy feat when compared with the sting the ropes inflicted.
How long since they waylaid him? A week perhaps? Six days of travel in the direction of Scotland, backroads and secrecy drawing out the journey as his captors wished to avoid the harsh sentence of their crimes–death or deportation–and then half a day or more in this cellar. Yes, that is near enough seven days.
“An entire week and I have yet to achieve a successful escape.”
Chuckling wryly at his own expense, Richard leaned against the wall, the action uncomfortable.A veritable lifetime and still, this colonel is yet bound. How perfectly irritating!
Ignoring the memory of his unsuccessful and rather painful attempts at escaping his well-armed and ill-tempered captors, he leaned forward, a string of profanities passing through his mind as he ripped angrily at his bonds, the uncouth words flung haphazardly at vague images of the men responsible.
Pausing his efforts at long last, his breath came hard and heavy, the rope on his wrists as firm as ever.
He could not force it, and bound as he was, he could not hope to overcome his captors, but there had to be another way.Shaking his head at the smooth edges of the stones he sat on, he searched the space around him.
Gaze trailing to the wall behind, he considered the rope connecting him to a metal ring, his lips curling.It certainly held promise.
Standing, Richard peered at the mortar which did much of the task of holding the ring in place.A weakness. A bit of metal or even rock or wood might do it?Gripping the rope, he pulled with all his might, the ring as solid as ever.This may take some time.
∞∞∞
With the setting of the sun, the dark cellar became as black as pitch, the small half window in the far corner displaying a single star.
Blinking as the cellar door creaked open, Richard sat straighter, every opportunity to display his resolve taken with no small amount of pleasure, though at times it did prove costly. The missed meal earlier in the day and several new bruises evidence of such cost.
“Here!” one of his captors barked as he banged a wooden bowl on the ground, an old bent spoon clattering to the floor as thin, grey soup splashed out. “We was told to see you are healthy-like; you is worth a fair few pounds if we keep you well.”
“I am overjoyed,” Richard quipped, his lips curling at the man’s sneer.
“Eat!”
“Am I expected to eat this as a dog, or might I be allowed to eat as a man?”
“No,” the man chuckled, his humour far from shared. “I was told you are to eat like a babe; spoon-fed like some rich fool.”
“Let me speak with the one in charge,” Richard ordered, his posture and tone commanding respect with almost everyone he had ever met except this man.
“Oh, well, I suppose ifyousay so. Or maybe not.” Leaning in, his foul breath washed over Richard. “How about this instead? You is fed by me or… no food. Your choice.”
Lips thinned, Richard glared at the greasy-haired man.Starving would be preferable to the disgrace of his suggestion, but if he could find a way to obtain that old, bent spoon. That would be worth it.
“Very well,” he growled, the man’s eyes growing wide at Richard’s words, “I would prefer to eat than not.”
“Wise decision,” the man cooed as he picked up the bowl and spoon.
Enduring the indignity of being spoon-fed, Richard prepared for his one opportunity, the spoon nearing the bottom of the bowl his signal.
A swift turn of his shoulder, a well-staged loss of balance, and the last remains of the bowl tipped toward his captor, the man stepping back to avoid the contents.
“Why you!” he fumed as Richard’s knee covered the fallen spoon. “If any of that slop soiled my boots, I promise a good horse whippin’, make no mistake.”
Chin lowering, Richard appeared in all ways contrite as his captor snatched up the bowl and stalked toward the door.
“Least you’ll get nothin’ more tonight,” he spat. “No food, and no light.”
The door closing behind him, the room once again returned to its darkened state, yet under Richard’s knee the spoon still remained.He had won his prize.
