A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you to my three lovely reviewers! Historical innacuracies, don't you just love them? :) Though I feel I need to clear some things up…Lord Charles wasn't talking marriage allience to Scotland, he just wants to marry his little Christine off as soon as possible before the beautiful Scots invade. Ooh, Scottish men in kilts…ahem. Sorry, just dreaming ;) But our lovely warrior Erik is making his first appearance in this chapter!

Well, I'm not going to keep you from the chapter anymore with my blabbering. Here you go!

In the Name of the Father

Chapter Two

"Erik?"

Erik's head snapped up, his focus broken. He registered the face before him. "Yes, William?"

William's brow furrowed. "We need ta get movin'. Night will be fallin' soon."

"Aye," Erik muttered, turning his gaze back to the hills before him. "It'll happen soon, Will…aye, it will."

William shook his head and turned to the men before him. "Pack up yer things. We be movin' out within the hour." William felt awful for what his army was about to do, but it was crucial for the rebellion. And the nobleman who took his Murrin was rumored to be staying there for the fortnight… William shook his head and wiped at the tears prickling at his electric blue eyes. He wouldn't think of Murrin now, not until they reached the castle. A strong hand came down upon his shoulder and he looked up to see Hamish standing there.

"Thinkin' o' Murrin?" he asked quietly. William looked out to the sea and nodded.

"The doctor…he said she was pregnant…" Will trailed off, and fresh tears started in his eyes. "I'm such a fool…all this is m' fault…"

"Don't say that, Will," Hamish soothed. "The English 'ave 'ad it comin' for centuries now. They're bastards, the lot o' 'em, and it's time we showed 'em just who they be messin' with."

William wiped the tears trailing down his cheek. "You're right. We need to get movin' if we wanna make it before sundown. Where's Lachlan?"

Hamish nodded his head to where Will had left Erik. Lachlan stood there with his brother, a hand clamped on his shoulder. The resemblance between them was striking. They stood tall and imposing, towering over many a person at 6 feet 5 inches. Their handsome faces were identical, save for the wrinkles starting to form on the elder's, and the white half mask covering Erik's face. William shook his head. The poor English knight had no idea what was coming to him.

Erik's face was stony as his brother approached him. "Are ya gonna be okay?" Lachlan asked quietly. The elder brother was worried about his younger sibling. His normally hard-faced, cold-hearted brother and fellow knight was looking across the sea with something that looked like a cross between hatred and sadness. Lachlan knew a part of Erik died the days his parents were brutally murdered and Briana left. Though his appetite was usually small, he had gained several pounds of pure muscle from the brutal training he had been putting himself through for this fight. Lachlan was well aware of the battle Erik was going to fight with that damned Englishman, and he was going to be there to help kill the bastard.

"I should ask you th' same thing," Erik whispered. His left hand flew up to where the mask was, stroking the smooth white plaster as if it would give him the answers to his question. "I only wish Brian was here too…"

Lachlan clapped his youngest brother on the shoulder. "I do too. We lost many a great man in that battle…"

Brian, the middle brother, had been lost in battle three weeks ago. It was a devastating blow to the two brothers, for Brian had always been the middle ground. He kept things light and humorous when a situation was dark, and he was able to stay serious when complications arose. He, like his brothers, had become a knight in honor of their parents, and had vowed with Erik and Lachlan that they would not truly rest until they avenged them.

Briana had been separated from them at the age of sixteen. A young lord from neighboring Ireland offered to marry her, and wanting to get away from the war and bloodshed of Scotland, she immediately accepted. The three brothers never saw their beautiful sister again, but she wrote them every year at the winter solstice, and the last they heard, she had two teenage children, a younger one and a babe on the way. Her life was perfect without them.

"I wonder how she is," Lachlan mused, reading Erik's thoughts. "I wonder if the war has yet affected her."

"Doubt it," Erik said gruffly. "She's safe, far away from this hellhole. Thank God fer that."

Lachlan nodded absently. "We must get goin', Erik. Night is comin' quick."

Erik turned to his brother. They met eye to eye exactly. "I can't wait to kill that bastard," he said quietly. Lachlan said nothing, but Erik knew he agreed with him. Erik turned to the rough men behind him, laughing and flirting with the village girls. "Pack up yer things at once!" he growled, making the women jump in fright. "We're goin' now, and we attack at sunrise."

"Ach, man! The Almighty says that's the spirit!" Erik jumped and whipped around to where the voice had come from. Stephen, the mad Irishman, was sitting on a large rock, playing some odd tune on the bagpipes. Stephen was quite possibley the craziest man the four men had ever come across. He came from their sister island of Ireland, claiming he was sent by his Father, the Almighty. He had many a conversation with him, also. Midway through their first battle, as Erik and William sat crouched below their makeshift sheilds, Stephen turned to them and told them,

"The Almight says he can get me outta this mess, but he's pretty sure you two are fucked." He tossed his head back and cackled like a maniac. Although the men had been wary of him at first, he proved to be a worthy warrior after killing an assasin sent to murder William. Stephen had no wife, but he had one child: a grown daughter, married to a sailor in Ireland. He talked often of the things she did when she was young, and it was obvious he loved her very much.

A wife and a child….in all truth, Erik would love nothing more. Well, besides seeing that bastard Charles dead, but that was beside the point. He had never fallen in love with a woman, because frankly, there were none in Scotland that suited his interest. And with that bloody fool Edward installing prima noctes.. well, there was no point in getting married to a Scot. Until they won their rebellion against the Brits, Erik would just have to wait.

Like most of the men, Erik wasn't afraid of dying for his country's rights. He was proud to be figthting this war for their people, but deep down, he was quite nervous. This was the bastard that had taken the life of his father, the one man he looked up to and treasured deeply. The man who had taught him to fight and ride his black stallion. The one who sat with Lachlan, Brian and himself on many a night by the fire, telling them of his great war adventures. His pa was a great man; a kind, handsome spirit, who never turned down any beggar who would show up at the door of their castle. He gave to the hungry of his village, and always had a spare moment in his busy day for his loving wife.

Erik's fists clenched. "The soddin' bastard…" he muttered, his lefthand coming up again to stroke the mask on his handsome face. The English soldier had given him this as a reminder of him…he had laughed cruelly as the blood ran down the young Scot's face. Erik knew the man had no heart, no soul, no remorse for what he did to his family that day so many years ago. And now, Erik had no feelings of guilt for what he was about to do to his.

Meanwhile, across the sea…

Christine lay with Meg on their favorite hiding spot, a grassy hill facing the sands of the beach. Their hands were intwined by their heads, which were so close together their hair was in danger of being tangled. Christine had long ago undone her bun from this morning, and her unruly chocolate curls were splayed across the soft grass. Meg's blonde hair had also came down from her simple braid and now had pieces of hay stuck in it from where they had napped in the stables. Their voices were low and soft; the two best friends did not want to risk their conversation being heard.

"So it's really true then?" Meg whispered. "You're going to be married?"

Christine sighed. "Yes," she mumbled. "To Lord Denby, of all people. For protection, Papa says. But my God, he's so old! Just think of it Meggy….you'll be here with Raoul and all the handsome knights, and I'll be stuck with that stuffy old man until he dies." A tear formed in her sapphire eyes and fell slowly down her smooth cheek.

"Oh, Christine," Meg sighed, turning her head to see the girl that had been like a sister to her for years crying. "Don't cry, Chrissy. He's, what, forty and five this year? He'll be dead before you know it!" she proclaimed, a bright smile forming on her face.

A small giggle escaped from Christine's mouth before being quickly dimished by one purely sobering thought. "Dear God, Meggy, I'll have to sleep with him!" Christine gasped. "If that's not punishment for all my years of mischief and prankery, I don't know what is!"

Meg's face quickly became dour. "Goodness, I certainly feel for you now. Did…did Mama ever tell you about what happens in…in the marriage bed?"

"Of course, Marguerite. She gave us both that conversation years ago, don't you remember?"

"No, no, about what really happens…"

Christine smirked at Meg's now-crimson face. "Yes, yes, Meggy my dear…we are to 'lie back and think of England!'" She mimicked Antoinette's very formal and educational voice perfectly, causing both young women to fall into raging fits of genuine, hearty laughter. This continued on for quite a few minutes, until they could no longer breathe normally and had to gasp for air. The silly smiles, however, remained plastered on their faces as they reintwined their hands, the clasp stronger and tighter than ever.

"Chrissy?"

"Yes, Meggy?"

Meg rolled over onto her side to face her sister. "Your father…is he marrying you off to Lord Denby for the sake of England…or is it for something else?"

Christine was silent for a moment as she chewed on her lip, thinking. "You promise not to tell?" Meg made a cross over her left breast, signaling Christine to continue on. "Father is afraid."

Meg cocked her head to the side, confused. "Afraid? Why would the strongest and bravest knight in all of Britain be afraid?"

"The Scots," Christine sighed. "Father has been told that the Scots are planning to invade, and he figures that if I'm out of the picture by then, I would be safer. But honestly, I don't see why he just doesn't send me to Cedric's castle instead of selling my youth away to some fat old man."

Meg's brow furrowed. "Yes, yes, I thought so." She saw Christine's puzzled face and continued on. "Well, you see, I went to go see Raoul today…and yes, Chrissy, I actually talked to him this time! I didn't just stare." Christine grinned at that proclamation. Usually the poor girl would just gaze at the young, handsome knight with heavy hope in her heart. "Well, after he got over the initial shock of seeing me, we started chatting about his upcoming 'missions', as he so bravely calls it. Oh, Christine, isn't he just the best knight ever?" Meg sighed, causing Christine to snort.

"Oh, yes, he's just the bloody best."

Meg shot her a glare before continuing her story. "Raoul told me that there has been word of a Scottish invasion here, and that's why they've been training like mad…not that I mind, of course." Both girls giggled as they thought back to the last few weeks of their knight-watching. The men had been working very hard, and they were usually very shirtless, a fact that did not go unnoticed by the ladies of the manor. "Anyways, he mentioned that he heard your father speaking with a few of the knights, who said they would be more than happy to take you as a wife. But, Lord Daae was insistent on you marrying Denby for protection against the devilishly handsome brutes, and that's all I know."

Christine sighed. "I would much rather have a group of devilishly handsome brutes kidnapping me than having a marriage to that old windbag."

Meg smiled sadly and patted Christine's hand. "I know, dear. I know."

Inside the castle

"This is an outrage!" The sound of Lord Daae's muscular fist hitting the wood table vibrated throughout the room, making a good number of knights jump. Charles Daae was normally a very gentle man (or at least, as gentle as an English warlord can be), but many of the men gathered in the Great Hall of Daae Castle knew of his temper. The temper, which was brought on by two things: the safety of his men, or the safety of his children.

Cedric was off to the south with his new wife in the estate of Lord Henry of Plymouth, so there was no doubt about it that he would be safe for the next few fortnights at least. It was Christine that Charles was really and truly worried about. His only daughter had an irrational temper and a tendency to voice her opinions at the worst times, and marrying her off to Lord Denby would only prove to be a failure at protecting her. Charles knew his daughter. If he sent her to Denby's castle before the wedding, she would find a way to escape. If he waited until the ceremony, the Scots would have surely attacked by then, and God knows where that would leave them. In reality, either choice would prove to be a danger for the young lady.

"We need a plan," Charles continued, his voice not quieting in the least. "The Scots could attack any day now, and where does that leave us?"

John, a large and hairy brute of a man, cleared his throat. "We've been training for many a fortnight now, sir," he said quietly, though his voice still manage to boom a bit. "We knights are stronger than we've been in a while. We know how to take these Scots down."

Charles shook his head. "No. No, you don't." He began to walk slowly around the room, plucking a walnut out of a young knight's hand. "You see men, men who can be easily taken down, easily defeated with a little hard knock on the head." Charles brought the walnut to eye level, studying it. "I see a reign of bloody mad brutes who would do anything, anything, for their country and for their freedom. As Englishmen, we have taken their wives. Their families. Their homes. Their livings. They have absolutely no problem with killing us. They care not if we have families or wives or homes of our own. What matters is their gaining their freedom back. And to them, we are just bugs on the path in front of them, waiting to be smashed…" Charles slowly drew his fist together, crushing the walnut. "…and they won't give us a second thought."

"So what do we do, m'lord?" a voice shouted from the back. "You expect us to be killed? To have our entire life taken away from us by some bloody brutes who can't take the law as it is meant to be? Or do you expect us to fight and defend our honor as English soldiers?"

Charles slowly uncurled his hand, causing some of the walnut pieces to flutter to the ground. "I expect you to kill them," he said quietly. "Kill every last one of them, before they kill every last one of you."

An audible silence fell over the room. A few of the younger knights appeared to be scared out of their trousers, while the majority of the older ones simply looked shocked. They, kill all those madmen? From what the knight at Edinbourgh had sent back to them, the Scots measured at fifty, possibley sixty strong. Gathered in that room were thirty tops. They couldn't send for backup now, for by the time the message would reach London, it would be too late. The knights, looking around at each other, knew what they had to do.

They were going to fight to the death with those brutes. And it was going to be one hell of a battle.

A/N: So there you go! Not as long as the first, but I hope that this explained a bit more. Next chapter calls for a Scot-English battle! Oh, the death! The tradgedy! The bloody muscular men! Sigh…

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