The prisoner's eyes flickered. Got him.
"How long have ye been in his service?" Alpin continued. "A year? Two? Long enough to see how he treats the men who fail him?"
"I haven’t failed."
"Ye got captured. That's definitely a failure in his eyes." Alpin let that sink in for a moment. "And now ye're here, locked in me dungeon, while Ashcombe sits comfortable in his camp. Ye think he's goin' tae negotiate fer yer release? Pay a ransom?"
The man's throat worked.
"He willnae," Alpin said flatly. "He's probably already replaced ye. Told the others that ye were weak, that ye deserved what ye got. That's how men like him operate."
"Ye don’t know him."
"I ken his type." Alpin stood, moving closer to the bars. "So, here's yer choice. Ye can sit here in silence, loyal tae a man who's already fergotten ye exist. Or ye can answer me questions and maybe I'll see about gettin' ye out of this cell alive."
The prisoner stared at him for a long moment. Then: "Ok."
"Good. Let's start with what matters most." Alpin's voice dropped lower. "Why is Ashcombe really here? Is it about the coin he paid Graham, or is it about the lass?"
The man hesitated, then laughed bitterly. "Ye really don’t know, do you?"
"Ken what?"
"The duke doesn’t give a damn about the money. Never did." The prisoner's eyes were hard now, all pretense of resistance gone. "He wants the girl. That's all he cares about. The coin, the auction, the contract with Graham, none of it matters. He just wants her back."
Alpin's hands tightened on the bars. "Why?"
"Because the duke... he doesn’t take kindly to being robbed."
"She's nae property tae be stolen."
"Try telling him that." The prisoner's laugh was bitter. "He's got contracts, proof of purchase. As far as English law is concerned, that girl belongs to him."
"This isnae England."
"No. But that will not stop him from coming for her."
The words hung in the cold air between them. Alpin forced himself to stay calm, to think strategically rather than react emotionally.
"How many men can he call on?" he asked.
"More than ye have."
"That wasnae an answer."
The prisoner considered, then shrugged. "Right now? About fifty at the border camp. But he's got connections. Other English lords who owe him favors. If he decides to make this a real fight, he could bring hundreds."
"Would he?"
"For her? Aye. I think he would." The man's eyes were steady now. "You humiliated him. Took what he'd bought, made him look weak in front of his men. Men like Ashcombe... they don’t forget that kind of slight."
Alpin stepped back from the bars, his mind already racing ahead. Fifty men now, potentially hundreds later. Against his garrison of maybe hundred trained warriors, plus whatever militia he could raise from the surrounding villages.
"One more question," Alpin said. "If I offered Ashcombe the coin he paid fer the girl––returned it in full, with interest––would he take it and leave?"
The prisoner shook his head slowly. "No. As I said, this isn’t about money anymore. It's about pride. About ownership. About proving that a Highland laird cannae just steal from an English duke without consequences."
"Then he's a fool."
