And it was a grim one indeed.
She looked outside the window and was struck by the freedom of the trees that the carriage whizzed past. They grew as much as soil and sunlight and rain allowed them. No one laide claim to them. She would never have that kind of freedom. Something suddenly caught her eye and her head whipped to the left. There, on the low vegetation, was what appeared to be a boy on a horse. She blinked.
And he was gone.
She could not have imagined it. She inched closer to the window and looked outside it. There was nothing but grass in every direction as far as her eyes could see. She took her eyes away from the window and stared instead at her hands.
Her fate was worse than prison itself.
CHAPTERTHREE
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.”
