I wish to say, before I start this chapter, that I am grateful for all the reviews! It's nice to know that you all like my story as much as I like writing it for you. Enjoy this chapter, I had lots of fun writing it. J

Chapter Eight

The minute he and Marjory returned to camp, he pointed to the tree she was sitting by previously. "There. Sit right there, and don't move, or I'll have to do terrible things to you." William shook his head, and went toward the main cookfire, where Hamish was making short work of the roasted elk, and sitting with a few men.

"…and then, I punched William right in the face! He remembered who I was right away, of course." Hamish laughed.

"As I remember the tale right, at the end, I smacked you on the head with a rock." William said, stopping near him.

"Yes, young Wallace," Campbell said, smiling. "Was quite a fine display."

"Father," Hamish whispered, a pink blush tinting his face. "Did you have to mention that?"

"Of course I did." The men laughed.

"Hamish, may I talk with you for a minute…in private?" William asked, once the men ceased laughing.

"Of course, William. Excuse me, everybody; father."

"Bring my son back in one piece, young Wallace," Campbell teased.

"I promise, I will refrain from strangling your son," William said, walking away from the campfire, Hamish following.

"Is something wrong?"

"Yes, Hamish; there is. Do you see Marjory Debaye over there?"

Hamish looked over his shoulder at the young woman, her arms crossed; her face contorted in a vicious snarl. "Oh, yes…she's awake and angry at something or another. And they say to avoid redheads like the plague. Ha!"

"She's angry because I caught her sneaking away, when I was doing my rounds." His brow rose. "Weren't you supposed to be looking after her?"

"But she was asleep, William!" Hamish grumbled. "You also take a long time doing the rounds! And I was hungry! I thought she'd stay asleep."

"Apparently not, you big heap." William smacked him upside his head. "If you can't do a simple job I appoint to you, I am going to find someone who can. Understood?"

"Yes, yes…I understand. Jesus, man; you didn't have to hit so hard." Hamish rubbed his head.

"Consider it payback for all the times you hit me as a child." William nodded toward Marjory. "Now, go do your job."

"Alright, alright…" he started over to her, and stopped for a moment, turning back. "Try the elk. It's rather tasty." He belched--rather loudly--and laughed. "Compliments to the cook." William mumbled something he couldn't hear, and he knew it was because barely any meat remained. It was too good to just let go to waste, that was for damn sure.

Hamish sat down near Marjory, belching once more.

"Well, well, well…" he bellowed, arms outstretched. "If it isn't the little escapee."

Marjory glared at him. "Well well well…if it isn't the big, red-headed oaf."

"Back to your old self, I see…I knew you couldn't stay quiet for long. I'll be glad when we're finally rid of you."

"Believe me, I will shed tears of joy the day my father pays my ransom price, and I am finally rid of you brutes." Marjory turned away, her arms crossed.

"Alright, men; listen up!" William yelled. Everybody stopped what they were doing, and turned their attention toward their leader. "Resting is over! Gather up your belongings! Let's march!" The camp became a bustle of activity: fires put out, weapons gathered.

"…that means you as well, lass." Hamish rose, and motioned with his finger. "Come on."

"Fine, fine." She rolled her eyes and got up, gathering the blanket around her. "Here we go again, marching all bloody day long."

Hamish laughed to himself. For a woman, she sure had a mouth on her.


As each day passed, Lanark drew closer. Nearly three weeks passed, and this, by far, was the longest stretch of time Marjory had gone without changing clothes. Her nightgown, once a creamy white, was now a dingy gray. She abandoned her robe long ago, it being caked with moss and mud, and fashioned a makeshift one out of the blanket Hamish gave her. It kept her warm, though Hamish didn't fully appreciate her decimating his blanket.

"Well, you don't expect me to go wandering around camp in just my nightgown, now do you, you red-headed oaf?" This time, the endearment was less scathing, more humorous. During the course of these past three weeks, she was slowly warming up to the Scotsmen. I can't stay mad forever, she figured. As long as she was in this situation, she would try and make the best of it.

When they stopped in various spots to make camp, Marjory would fetch water from wherever she could, and even cooked a bit, though she never really cooked much of anything in her life; the servants were the main ones that did the cooking. Stephen and Hamish would tease her about it, and she would joke along with them. The three would have conversations about many things, and she was surprised at how intelligent they were, and how much they knew. She would stick near those two, steering clear of the other men, especially William. He acted as if she disgusted him, ever since the kiss the two shared. He didn't speak with her at all, only nodding hello every now and then.

The only one she worried about back at home was Adelaide. She would be absolutely sick, wondering what happened to her. The rest of the servants probably rejoiced. Needless to say, she wasn't very popular with Bramblebury's house staff. They were all Scottish, which always surprised Marjory, since her father hated them so much.


Right now, at this very moment, Adelaide was in her quarters, on her elderly knees, praying to a God she long abandoned, hoping that Marjory was alright. She didn't dare send anything to John; Marjory's father had enough to worry about with the Scottish insurrection. He didn't need to worry about his daughter, even if she was in the hands of Scotland's most vile brute.


After one more day's worth of travel and rest, they finally made their way out of the forests, and landed on the outskirts of Lanark. William held one arm up, signaling his men to stop. "Rest for a while, men. Hamish, Campbell, Andrew…I need to speak with you for a moment." He nodded toward a random individual. "Watch Miss Debaye." The man nodded, and kept a firm grip on Marjory's arm. She shook his grip free, and gritted her teeth. "I don't need watching. I'm not going to do anything." It would be foolish of her to. She was such a long way from home, and even if she tried to escape again, she would die. Right now, she was better off where she was.

The four: William, Hamish, Campbell, and Andrew, stood away from the group, conferring.

"The garrison is not far from here." William motioned toward an outpost, constructed from many logs that were sharpened on one end.

"How do you propose we get in, lad?" Campbell questioned. "It's not like we can just stroll on in."

William scratched his head. "Well, if I know Heselrig, he'll be standing watch with some of his men atop the watchtower. I'll go riding in, 'surrender,', which will give you and the other men enough time to get into position around the garrison."

"Yes, William," Hamish prompted. "And then?"

"Whichever English soldier is unfortunate to come across me first, they will receive a most unpleasant surprise." William refused to say what. "When I dispose of the first English solider, you and the men will come to my aid, and we'll kill every damn soldier that crosses our path. We'll retake the city of Lanark, and put it back into Scottish hands!"

"What about Heselrig?" Andrew whispered.

"Leave him to me," William whispered back, his pale blue eyes darkening with anger. "Heselrig will feel the fires of hell burning him soon enough."

Well well…the battle will soon begin. I want to prepare it very well…Chapter Nine will hold the battle to regain Wallace's hometown of Lanark…for pride and vengeance. Coming soon in future chapters...the introduction of Marjory's father, John William Debaye; the introduction of Edward "Longshanks", and the introduction of Robert the Bruce!