Chapter Five. Thanks for the patience.
Chapter Five
"Will!"
He stopped on the stairs, barely feeling the weight of the young woman in his arms.
"Hamish? Or is it Andrew?"
"It's me, you glaikit cheil," a gruff voice growled.
"Ah, Hamish." He smiled in the darkness. "Was beginning to wonder about you." He carefully made his way down the stairs. "Where's Andrew?"
"Doing what you told him, no doubt." He shrugged. "Even if you didn't always order him about, the young lad knows what to do, Will. I wish he'd hurry up, though…I must show you something."
"What?"
A devilish grin crossed his face. "You'll see."
A pair of footsteps echoed softly across the stone floor, then stopped near the two men.
"Hello, Will."
"I knew you were there, Andrew," William stated. "Could hear you coming."
"Damn, and I thought I had you fooled," he snorted, knowing full well he couldn't sneak up on him. Even an insect couldn't sneak up on William. He nodded to Hamish. "Hello, Hamish. I hope the two of you had better luck than me; couldn't find the woman."
"My luck must abound in multitudes, then." William turned in Andrew's direction, showing him the bundle he carried.
"Jesus, you're good." He laughed. "So, we heading out?"
"Not quite; Hamish said he needed to show me something."
"That I did." He started off in the direction of the left wing; for once leading, and the other two following. They walked down a hall, turned left, then right, then left, coming to a large wooden door at the very end of the hall.
"Here 'tis," Hamish grunted, opening the large door, light bathing the three in a warm glow.
"Had to light the wall torches to see what was in here," he explained. "Aren't you glad I did?"
William's eyes widened. "Yes, very glad, my friend." This must be Debaye's study, for a large desk stood in one corner of the large room, the top piled high with papers and books. That wasn't what held his attention--the walls were almost covered in weapons, weapons of the highest quality…maces. Swords. Daggers.
"My God, the man has enough weaponry here to open up an armory!" Andrew said, his voice a mixture of awe and slight disgust.
"Indeed, Andrew…'tis enough weaponry to do what we need to do." William nodded to his friends, who plucked every single weapon off the wall.
"We have everything, Will," Hamish said, not bothered by the weight of what he carried. "And it looks like you have everything as well," he breathed, unfazed by the sight of the unconscious Marjory.
"She's quite pretty…for an Englishwoman." Andrew, not quite as strong as Hamish, was exerting himself with the weight; his face a slight reddish tint. "I'll trade you, Will…carry these weapons, and I'll carry her."
"Not a chance." He grinned. "I miss the feel of a woman in my arms." He was joking; then again, he wasn't. He truly missed the feel of a woman…his wife. There'd be no other for him. Marion…the grin left his face; the old familiar lump came back up in his throat. He swallowed hard to rid himself of it.
"Alright, men. Let us leave this life of wealth and luxury behind. Hamish, lead the way out. Stay on guard."
"Aye." He disappeared out of the room first, the other two following close behind.
The three made it out of the estate without incident, taking the same path: through the borders of the fields to the forests. He went to the same clearing, and was amused at his men. They had stayed in the same spot, unmoving.
"Men, we have returned." Low cheers erupted from the group. "I have obtained the girl, as promised. Hamish and Andrew obtained something more." He jerked his head toward the two, who stepped forward and dumped their loads on the ground.
"Weapons!" the group shouted.
"Aye, and much better ones than the rusty old things we confiscated from those Lanark Englishmen." William quickly glanced at Marjory, still limp in his arms. He was surprised she hadn't awoken; his men could be rather raucous.
"Toss your old weapons asides, friends, and look through these new ones. Select the one you feel is best suited to you. I need to put down my burden…" at this, his men laughed, "…and then I will tell you our next course of action."
He walked a little ways from the group, picking out a large pine with a gnarled trunk to lean the girl up against. He kneeled down, examining her. Physically she was fine. 'Twas a pity she couldn't be quiet like this all the time. William gathered she was headstrong and outspoken, from their brief conversation.
"Let's take a look at your wrist, now," he whispered, to no one in particular, gently cradling it in his hands. Very discolored, but not broken. Just out of place. He was shocked he hadn't broken it.
She moaned, and her eyes slowly fluttered open. Cold seeped through her bed gown, her robe, her slippered feet. Why was she so cold? Where was she?
Oh God, she remembered. William Wallace. She tried to fight…he took her from her home…now she was in the forests. And why was he touching her?
Marjory jerked her wrist away, as if she'd been scalded, and gritted her teeth against a fresh new wave of pain. "Don't touch me, you bastard."
He held up both hands in acquiescence. "Pardon me, mademoiselle, but I fear that I may have done you injury in our encounter of earlier. I was only trying to--"
"Help?" She laughed, an ugly laugh that was most unbecoming to her.
"Yes, 'help.' We Scotsmen have funny ideas about how to treat women--we actually treat them with kindness and respect. Now, let me mend your wrist." He reached for it again, and again she yanked back. Sighing in impatience, he spoke to her as he would a small child, each word carefully measured with patience: "Let me mend your wrist, or you may never be able to use it properly again."
Seeming to consider the fact, she slowly gave her wrist to the barbarian. He held it in one hand, the other rummaged around for something.
"What are you doing?" she asked him. William answered her naught; when finished, he held up a thick twig.
What in the world…Marjory was baffled. What use was a stick?
"Put that in your mouth, and bite down. Hard."
Ah. She saw immediately, 'twas to "catch" the pain. She didn't argue with him, but actually took the stick and placed it in her mouth, biting down on the bark.
"Good." He placed one hand on her wrist, the other on her palm. "Alright, Marjory, on my count, I am going to push this back into place. 'Twill be painful. One, two…" at three, he jerked the wrist to the side and pushed on the palm, a dull snap being heard as the bones came back into place.
The stick didn't help one bloody bit. The pain was almost unbearable, and tears streamed down her cheeks, staining them. God, she had never been in this much pain!
She spit the stick out, and favored the tender wrist, rocking back and forth, glaring at him.
"Je te deteste," she muttered.
William didn't catch on that he heard, only ripping a strip of cloth from his tattered cloak and tying it around her wrist. "There. That should do it." He stood, and smiled. "Now, what to do with you, since you're awake…"
Thoughts fluttered through her mind. Not a one of them good.
Her speech quieted…and Marjory grew even more afraid.
Consciously flattening against the tree trunk, she gazed on him with fearful eyes. "Please…don't hurt me. Don't take my virtue. Please…"
He looked at her in surprise. Did she honestly think…
"I cannot believe you would think that of me." His voice held a quiet, dangerous quality. "I am a Scot, milady. No matter what preconceived notions you have of me, I have never violated a woman. Not once." He shook his head, then retorted, "Even for an Englishwoman, you are heartless, cruel, judgmental, apathetic..."
"Not more so than you, you bloody Scotsman, you who would take the lives of my countrymen without so much as a backwards glance."
He knelt down by her, his bright blue eyes boring into her own. "Milady, you do not even attempt to understand."
Marjory's body tightened, and her breath caught in her throat at his nearness. His scent enveloped her, Scottish forest and musk. Undeniably male.
"I understand more than you'll ever know, Wallace." She spat on the ground near his feet. "Now get away from me."
"As you wish." He rose, and regarded her with an expression he couldn't even begin to fathom. "Milady." William nodded curtly, and walked back to his men.
Marjory didn't realize that she had been holding her breath, until she released it, breathing life-giving air into her lungs. She said nothing, for once having nothing to say. She could only stare hatefully at his back.
"Have any trouble with the lass, William?" Hamish teased upon his return. "You were over there for quite a long time."
"She kept me busy, for sure," he said, poking an elbow into his ribs, laughing. "I see that the men have found the weapons suitable, and to their liking?"
"Aye." The sharp clang of steel cut through the night chill. "Even I have managed to find something." He proudly held up a large axe--the head sharp and gleaming, the handle rough and gnarled with age. "You need to find something, Will. Most of the good weapons are already gone."
"My weapon suits me just fine," he lied, fingering the hilt of the rusty broadsword. In truth, he knew the decrepit sword would not last throughout one battle.
"You're a horrible liar," Hamish snorted, then let a small smile come to his face. "But a hell of a fighter. You need a new sword, Will…the one you have now won't protect you from decapitation." He jerked his head over toward the dwindling pile of weapons. "Go…pick yourself out something."
"No." His voice was curt, firm. He would not take a new sword; not with his men needing new arms more than he.
"You're so damn stubborn," Hamish sighed, and shook his head. "Very well. What is our next plan?"
"Lanark."
"Lanark? Um, Will?"
He sighed. "What?"
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't we recently flee from Lanark?"
"I wouldn't call it fleeing, but…"
"And now you want to go back there? You're insane."
"Heselrig deserves to die, God forgive me--" he crossed himself, "--for what he did to my wife. Also, Hamish, our town is in the hands of cruel men. It is unforgivable. The only way to give our town its' dignity is to free it from English rule. And the only way to do that is to go to Lanark, kill that bastard sheriff, and any other feckin' Englishman who stands in our way!" William's eyes blazed with unchecked fury; his friend stood there, said nothing.
He was right. As usual. Though this moment was seized by his friend's anger, William had a sound head on his shoulders. That was why he was the leader.
"Lanark it is, this." Hamish turned to the men, now brandishing enemy weapons. "Men! To Lanark!"
A deafening cheer sounded.
"…To Lanark!" A gruff voice--not Wallace's, she knew--shouted, and the men answered in turn.
Lanark? Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. That was in the middle of Scotland! A full three week journey north!
God, she wished her father were here. He'd have killed that bastard in a heartbeat. Be that as it were, he wasn't. Oh God…
There was no hope for escape. None. All she could was wait until her father paid the ransom--which she expected him to--or wait for the opportunity to escape.
Marjory's eyes narrowed, and she smiled to herself. Yes. All she needed was an opportunity. She just had to keep her eyes open…
