Bluebell screamed, going up on her hind legs, forefeet windmilling. It was clear that she was panicking at the sudden loss of weight from her back, and her eyes rolled in her head, trying to see where her rider had gone.
“Enough!” boomed an authoritative voice. “If the horse won’t settle, kill it.”
The voice rang through Senga’s whole frame as if she’d been struck by something. She shivered, pushing herself up onto her hands and knees.
He strode towards her, stepping into her line of sight.
“Well, hello there, daughter,” Laird Murray murmured, his round face breaking into a smile. “We meet again. And so soon! I am blessed.”
“If ye are going to kill me,” Senga hissed, glaring at him, “then get it over with. I’m not afraid of ye.”
“I have no concerns about being able to inspire fear from ye,” Laird Murray snorted, scratching his patchy beard. He took another step forward, crouching down in front of her. He tilted his head, smiling at her. “I’m glad we could be reunited properly.Search her—I don’t want her getting any ideas about taking my vengeance from me.”
Senga was hauled unceremoniously upwards by her arms, and impassive men with rough hands and stinking cloaks patted her down, searching for hidden weapons and anything else that they felt she shouldn’t have. Her belt was pulled away, with its pouches for herbs and little rings to store vials. One of the men pulled her herb knife out of its sheath and held it up wordlessly for Laird Murray to see.
He tutted, shaking his head. “I never taught ye how to use weapons, did I, lass? There was a reason for that. Women ought to stay in their place, and yers is not behind a blade. Now, I suppose I went wrong with yer upbringing somewhere, eh? What do ye think?”
He reached out, grasping her hair, and yanked back her head, forcing her to look him in the eye.
Senga clenched her jaw, refusing to answer.
He chuckled, releasing her hair. “Fine, stay silent. Ye’ll talk fast enough when yer wee stableboy gets here.”
Chapter 17
A Last Look At The Sun
They dragged Senga away from the hillside and into the trees. There was a small clearing just inside the treeline, and the soldiers threw her roughly down to the ground. There were about thirty soldiers in total, all of them crowded into the clearing, staring down at her with blank, impassive eyes.
Senga sprawled on the wet ground, the breath knocked out of her body. She could hear Bluebell whinnying and prayed that her father wouldn’t follow through on his threat to have the horse killed.
She thought, briefly, of the Abbess standing in the window of the convent. Had she seen?
It doesn’t matter if she saw,Senga thought blearily.She’s inside and needs to stay inside.
“So, when this battle is won, I’ll be taking ye back to Keep Murray with me,” Laird Murray said conversationally, pacing around Senga.
She stayed where she was, crouched on the ground. Standing up was a mistake—it would only mean it took her longer to fall to the ground when he struck her. And hewouldstrike her, Senga knew that.
“I cannot wait,” she responded, when it was clear that he was waiting for some response.
Her father grinned. He paced over to where a low tree stump jutted out of the ground and sat down upon it.
“I can’t marry ye off now,” he mused, scratching his chin. “Ye are too old, and everybody will guess that ye have ruined yerself with that wretched stableboy. Maybe I’ll just lock ye in a cell to rot. I’m sure ye remember what the Murray dungeons are like, eh? Take a last look at the sun today, lass. Ye won’t see it again.”
Senga dragged her gaze upwards, meeting her father’s eyes. He was watching her with obvious amusement, and he smiled more widely when she looked at him.
Vague threats rolled through her mind, flashes of angry words, things she had no means to voice, and threats that would only make him laugh. A feeling of powerlessness washed over her, so intense it made her shiver. There’d be no running, no fighting. She was out of options, with nowhere to turn.
Suddenly, Senga was very tired of kneeling on the cold ground. Yes, perhaps there would be further to fall, but wasn’t it better than crawling on the earth?
She rose gingerly to her feet, her sore legs twinging, holding her father’s gaze.
“Ye can kill me, but I think ye know already that this war is lost,” she whispered. “There’ll always be rebellion. Even if this battle is lost, even if ye kill every single one of us, there’ll always be more. Laird Dickson is starting to realize that, isn’t he? That’s why he’s so angry because he knows that nothing will ever be enough. We’ll never stop, and nor will the ones who come after us.”
Laird Murray’s smile faded rapidly. He jerked his head forward towards her, eyes narrowing. “Och, aye? Well, ye will be dead. And we’ll make such an example of ye that nobody will dare try again.”
She shrugged tiredly. “I think we both know, Father, that there’s always somebody who dares.”
