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Douglas stared at the girl laid at his feet. Her hair was a disheveled mess, and her dress had been twisted around her body. She was certainly spirited, he had to give her that, and he admired the way she had tried to stand up to him and the way she had attempted to escape. It had been a futile effort considering that the only thing awaiting her outside these doors were more of his men, but such courage wasn’t common within the English, and he found himself wondering if she had any Highland blood within her.

Then he stared at the desk and shook the pain away from his hands. The impact had left a deep mark upon his flesh, but he was proud of his handiwork. He looked around the room and shook his head, disgusted by the opulence on display. It was the same throughout the entire house. It was just like the English to have all these treasures on display, as though simply owning these things made them nobler. Douglas knew it wasn’t the case. The only true nobility came from one’s own soul. Trinkets like this couldn’t make up for that.

He walked to the side of the room and picked up a small round orb. It was heavier than it appeared, and there were crystals dotted into the metal from which it had been forged, as though the night had been wrapped into a sphere and was now being held in his hands. To express his disdain, he let it fall to the floor. It landed with a thud and then rolled harmlessly to the wall where it settled.

He turned back to the girl, who was still unconscious. He crouched down and brushed the hair away from her face. Her lips were full and soft, and her chest rose with every breath.

“Ye know, lass, I was nae lying when I said I was nae gaeing tae hurt ye,” he said, even though she couldn’t hear him.

It was true, though. Despite wanting to appear as savages, Douglas wasn’t completely without heart and didn’t intend to kill everyone. There was no reason for him to take the life of this girl, and he couldn’t deny that he was curious to speak with her more to see where she got this inner strength from. For now, he had to think about what to do with her, for taking captives hadn’t been part of the plan. Douglas lifted her into his arms, thinking about how light she was. The hair fell away from her face, revealing her gentle beauty.

Something deep and profound stirred within him, something that he didn’t quite understand. He never thought he would find an English girl beautiful. To him, the only beauty had come in the strength of the Highlands, in women who could match him for drinking and then give him a contest in an arm wrestle. This girl was completely opposite to everything he knew in his world, and perhaps that was what had intrigued him so. She was gentle like this when she wasn’t spewing bitter hatred toward him, and he realized that he wanted to speak with her again.

Douglas opened the door to the study and looked down the hallway. There were sounds of people writhing in agony and of his own men taking joy in this pain. He made his way to a set of stairs and walked up to the very top of the estate, where he found a room with a bed. He placed the girl on the bed and pulled a blanket over her. Her face was smudged with marks, and her cheeks were rosy, but other than that, she seemed well. When he left, he made sure that the door was fastened shut, and he pocketed the key, exhaling deeply because he wasn’t sure what had possessed him to show mercy to her.

Douglas returned downstairs, marveling at the wealth on display. Some of his men were running through the house with glee, stuffing their pockets and pouches full of coins and other shiny goods. Douglas didn’t bother with any of that. He hadn’t come for the wealth. The estate had been conquered, and the true treasure was what it represented. It was the first blow struck against the English nobility, and he could well imagine them stroking their beards and muttering between each other about what to do with the Highlands. Soon enough, word would spread through Scotland about this blow against the English, and it would draw others into their cause. While Laird Wallace’s name would be on everyone’s lips, Douglas’s would not be too far behind. He wanted to ensure he was synonymous with the march of victories, and he knew he was off to a good start.

He strode down to the bottom floor and out into the small courtyard where Fergus had returned with the other men. Dead bodies were scattered at their feet, and one man in particular was on his knees before Fergus. His hair was white, and his clothes were streaked with mud. Blood covered his hands and face, and Douglas noticed the rope tied around his hands. He assumed that Fergus had dragged him along the ground.

“Douglas! Look what I found! The baron here is the head of this estate. What a find, aye!” Fergus said, beaming. “I managed tae get most of them back, although a few slipped away.” The smile flickered from his face, replaced by a scowl momentarily.

“Better that a few escape tae spread the word. If nobody knows what happened here, then there was nae any point tae it,” Douglas said. “The estate is ours now. What does this man hae tae say for himself?”

Fergus shrugged and hit the baron in between his shoulder blades, pushing him to face Douglas. He was kneeling by the well. He clasped his ruined hands together. Fear was etched upon his face, and there were clear rivulets where tears had run down his cheeks.

“Please! Please, I beg of you,” he said, spluttering as he spoke. “I mean you no harm, and I don’t want any trouble. What you’ve done here…yes, you can have all that I own, but please spare my life. All I want is to go to safety. You can have anything that is mine. I…I even have a daughter! Yes… She is of marrying age. I’m sure she would be able to provide you or your laird with many strong children. I am willing to trade her life for mine if she still lives…” His speech faltered at this, and Douglas was disgusted by the pitiful way in which he begged for his life.

He didn’t deserve to live.

“Ye would only try and raise arms against us. I know yer type,” Douglas said. “I could fit the honor of the English on my wee finger.” He held up the little finger of his right hand and wiggled it. “Ye hae nothing tae offer us, Baron,” Douglas said.

“Should we take him prisoner, or should we deal with him now?” Fergus asked.

The baron whimpered at this.

Douglas thought the matter over. While a baron could prove to be a valuable hostage, Laird Wallace had made it clear that this was about sending a message. Besides, if they needed a hostage, then he had the baron’s daughter. It seemed more efficient to bring things to a close immediately.

“We hae no need of him,” Douglas said, and with that, the baron’s fate was sealed.

Fergus’s smile widened as the baron started to protest again. He lifted his hands up and opened his mouth to try and plead with Douglas, likely to try and sell Douglas his daughter again, but he never got the chance. Fergus unsheathed his blade and swung it through the air, bringing it about in a sharp arc. It cut through the baron’s neck. There was a squelch and a snap, and the shocked expression would be forever etched upon his face. It flew up into the air and bounced on the edge of the well before falling into the water, landing with a plop. His body, now headless, fell forward and lay prostrate on the ground with dark blood oozing out, seeping between the cobbled stones of the courtyard.

“Well, that’s done,” Fergus said, wiping the blood off on his boot before he sheathed his sword again. “I’m sure the laird will be pleased.”

“Aye, that he will be. I think we lived up tae the Viking reputation,” Douglas said, surveying the carnage and the horror he had brought to this small estate. There was a small part of him that wondered if it had been too much. The words of the girl lingered in his mind, that none of these people had ever raised a blade against the Highlanders and that none of them knew anything of war. However, then he remembered that they were English, and the English were the ones who had taken his parents from the world.

“I know we hae our differences, but ye were right tae charge through the field. The looks on their faces, aye… I dinnae think I’ve ever seen anything like it,” Fergus said as he whistled to the other men to bring out the drink. They had brought plenty with them to celebrate, but there was more wine to be found in the estate, and they drank heartily, enjoying their spoils of war.

“Tae the Highlands,” Fergus said, raising a bottle of wine.

“Aye, tae the Highlands and everyone in them,” Douglas replied.

The men drank well, but Fergus had another question for Douglas.

“What happened tae that lass ye caught up in yer arms?” Fergus asked.

Douglas didn’t bat an eyelid. “I killed her,” he said, the lie coming out of his mouth faster than he could think. He wasn’t sure why, but at this moment, he didn’t want the same fate to befall her as had befallen the rest of her estate. There was something about her that seemed different, something that made him want to know more about her, and he wasn’t about to risk her life for that. He knew if he told Fergus that she was still alive, he would try and drag her down and make another example of her, and no doubt the men would love that. Douglas needed more time before he decided what he was ultimately going to do with her, and to do that, he needed to get back in the house without making it obvious that he was hiding anything. For a moment, he let his gaze drift to the upper level and the window of the room in which he had left her, hoping that she would not rouse and make any noise that would alert the Highlands to their presence.

Just in case that happened, Douglas raised his wine into the air and began to sing. The rolling words came out in a deep baritone, and the other men quickly joined in, eager to celebrate their victory with a song. As the leader of this small band of warriors, Douglas went around each of them in turn, congratulating them on a job well done and saying that Laird Wallace would most certainly take note. The morale was high, and it was only left to discover what Laird Wallace had planned for the rest of these border estates. There was talk of what Laird Wallace had achieved with the men he had taken and if it would be anything like what had happened here.

Somehow, knowing his uncle, Douglas was confident that it would have been even more savage, probably with men left hanging from the doors and a pile of bodies waiting to greet anyone who passed. A river of blood was beginning to flow through the land, and it was only going to get wider, but in the midst of all of this, there was the girl again. Douglas couldn’t get the image of her face out of his mind. It was as though she had cast some enchantment on him, although he had never believed in witches. But he was certain there had to be something about her because nobody else had ever made such an indelible mark upon him in such a short time.

It was all he could do to wait until the depths of the night before he returned to the chamber where he had left her to face her again, to try and come to an understanding of how she could affect him in the way that she had. He left his men behind, singing songs and reliving the tales of the day. They boasted about the spoils they had collected and argued about the worth of some of the ornaments. A fire blazed in the courtyard as they robbed the estate of all its food and comfort and drink, and as the smoke rose toward the heavens, there was a sense of unease in the world, as though the wind knew that something terrible had happened here, something that could never be taken back.