The Daughter Of A War-Chief
“Get yer hands off me!” Grace screamed as she thrashed about. The shelter was dull and grey, but seemed to be a nicest of the bunch, as it was the only non-tent part of the camp, as far as she’d seen.
“Calm down,” her captor muttered, trying to maneuver her into place.
“I said dinnae touch me!” she screamed again.
“It’s not like you’ll go in yourself,” he reminded her.
“What’s it to ye? Why do ye even care about holding me captive? Who am I to ye?” she raged.
“You will find out all of it soon enough, Miss. I am just instructed to get you in the house and there will be others who will come to speak with you later,” the guard replied, shoving her just enough of himself so that he could back away without her lashing at him.
The soldier had manhandled her gruffly, but otherwise she was unharmed, a fact she was strongly grateful for, for she had not expected to be treated with any dignity at all.
She wondered what might be in store for her, what appetite these soldiers might have and what fight she might have to put up in order to remain safe and unsullied.
The guard left her and Grace paced in frustration about the locked room. She had wanted to come and see Douglas at Fort Amswold, but this was not what she’d had in mind. The shock of this turn of events was more than she could have anticipated.
Nevertheless, she was here. She had arrived and hoped only that Douglas would learn of her captivity soon and she might have a refuge from the other men. Surely he would not stand for the treatment she faced!
The thought of him being so close and not knowing of her presence was crippling. To be this close was still too far. How had she not made a wiser choice in her quest? How could she have put herself in a position to be separated from him still when he was the only reason she had made this journey in the first place?
In addition, whose house held her captive? It seemed like the owner had a significant sense of pride in his position. It was not at all like what she had come to expect of Douglas and the underlying humility she had found in him.
Additionally, it was the only actual structure she had seen. The others had all been mere tents. Was this man in charge?
Now that she was alone, Grace had the perfect opportunity to spy on those who came against her. To get back at the ones who worked so hard to destroy her family and her community.
Working her way through a stack of papers, Grace saw that they were signed by...some scribbling. However, on one sheet, it seemed that the author was introducing himself. Grace read the letter written in English.
Major Dashfield.
That was the name of the man who now held her captive. This Major Dashfield was attempting to keep her for some purpose.
Again, the bile of fear rose in Grace’s stomach.
She heard footsteps at the door and the handle turned to reveal two other soldiers. “What the devil are ye on about? Let me out of here!” she yelled with force, stamping her foot.
One of the men remained stoic and expressionless, but the other had to try to conceal a smirk.
They would not cave to her orders because they took their major far more seriously than they took some silly girl. Grace felt foolish for throwing a tantrum. How strong was it to beg? Clearly she had to take a different stance if they would even consider her a threat.
This was not going as well as she had hoped.
“What is it ye plan to do with me?” she demanded in slow, deliberate English.
The one man remained silent but the smile-prone soldier sighed at her attitude. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Lady of Dunmore?” he replied, causing Grace to gasp.
They knew exactly who she was. They had been following her, preparing this trap when they realized she was coming to them. They must have had a spy around Dunmore who saw her leave the castle.
Had Douglas arranged this? Had he been pretending to feel for her all along just so that he might use this moment to betray her? The thought was too grim to bear, but Grace could not imagine any other possibility. He must have had a hand in this, must have been the one to conceive of the idea from the very beginning.
Grace felt the weight of it crush her soul. She had held to the thought that he might feel the same as she had and now all of that seemed most definitely a lie. How else could they have known she would come here from Dunmore?
“That got your attention,” said the man with the smirk. He was enjoying her suffering.
“Enough,” the other man said quietly. He moved toward Grace and the now broadly smiling man followed, and they placed their hands around her thrashing arms.
“Let go of me!” she screamed, abandoning all thought of bravery. It was useless. If she could hit, bite, kick, or do anything to shake them free, it would be worth it.
However, she was no match for two soldiers. Full-grown men--she had no chance at all.
Choosing the opposite tactic, Grace made her body completely limp so the men had to drag the full weight of her.
“Heavier than you look!” grunted the talkative man as he tugged her arm.They each draped her over a shoulder so that Grace’s body sagged between them.
They pulled her through a door and then another, until she was in a small closet with barred windows.
Obviously, it had once been meant for storage, but under Major Dashfield, had been turned into a prison.
“Is this where I’m to be kept?” she asked through the tears that choked her voice.
The smiling man gave a shock of a laugh, but the other remained stone. With that, they shut the door and turned a key from the other side.
Grace was locked in now.
It had been long enough that the sun was pouring in through the bars and that was Grace’s one small solace. At least she still had light. Warmth too, although it was frail warmth and she was thankful that when they had taken her horse they at least allowed Grace to keep the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
Hours passed, or what seemed like hours, as Grace wallowed with nothing to do, and wondered what shock might be next.
It came when she sensed that the sun was just beginning its departure. Nearly a full day she had been locked inside. Then again, Scotland in winter tended not to have many hours of sun anyway, so she reasoned that perhaps it had not been as long as it had felt.
However, footsteps were heard once more and Grace listened as the key turned in the lock. This time, the sight was far more imposing.
Before her loomed a large man with muscle tone that rippled through the fabric of his shirt. He was clearly a man of great pride. Behind him, Grace could see that he had thrown off a military jacket covered in gaudy medals.
This had to be Major Dashfield.
His height and thickly built structure were frightening enough, but Grace made the mistake of looking into Major Dashfield’s eyes. One was a deep brown, almost black. The other was a terrifyingly bright blue.
Grace had seen this contrast in cats before, but the man before her, one eye nearly black and the other nearly white, was no mere feline. He was a creature built to kill.
“And here she is. Our ticket to the destruction of the Jacobites. The first step in destroying the Clan MacGowan and the many others that will follow,” he said with a cruel smile and a rumbling voice.
Grace began to wonder if she had drifted into a nightmare slumber. How could this creature before her be real?
“I might imagine that you are wondering why we have kept you here. Why we captured you?” he asked.
Grace nodded, feeling her eyes growing dry from how widely she held them open.
“Well, you are, of course, lady of Dunmore. And as it happens, your father is the charge of Dunmore’s army. He is the war-chief, yes?”
Grace nodded once more, unable to take her eyes off the man before her.
“So you might be able to recognize that such a position makes you of great import. Great value to us. We have no...other designs upon you
. You have nothing to fear from a fort of soldiers who have scarcely seen a woman in a year. We want you only for your ability to mold your father to our will. You have my assurance on that,” he promised.
It was the first sense of relief Grace had felt since arriving, but it did not alleviate the terror she felt upon seeing this creature before her.
“I tell you all of this because I am wont to have you brought to dinner and I do not want you to fear the men you will see there,” he said.
Grace felt her stomach drop again. She would have to walk amongst the men. She would have to be seen by them. Would Douglas be there? Would she learn whether or not he had been involved?
Major Dashfield led Grace behind him and two guards, different from the previous, to her relief, came up beside her to ensure that she would not escape.
“Place your hands behind your back,” Major Dashfield ordered.
“Why?” Grace asked suspiciously.
In response, the creature held up a bit of rope.
Grace sighed and glared at him through narrowed eyes. When her eyes were like this, it minimized the full threatening visual of him. Nevertheless, she turned her body and gave him her wrists.
The rope burned, but she knew she would likely not have to wear it for long. After all, she was going to dinner, and how could she not have her hands available to her if she was going to eat with the men?
Unless they planned on spoon feeding her, a thought that brought back the dread of what might be before her.
Nevertheless, within moments, they had arrived at the open camp where the men were eating their dinner. In an instant, they all sensed the presence of a woman and turned to watch Grace as she walked amongst them.
Murmurs of her beauty were easily heard and quickly spread. They were not quiet, but they were not assaulting. Grace tried to block them out so that she could train her brain to remember other things and focus on trying to find Douglas.
She found that it was very difficult to search for his face in the crowd without accidentally making eye contact with other men whom she found to be far less desirable.
The two soldiers at her back pushed her forward despite her instincts to turn back and run. She had precious few options and this was a reminder of that.
“Sit here,” ordered the major in his deep voice.
Grace did as instructed and found her place, where she was no longer the center of attention, but could still be seen easily by any man searching for the presence of a female.
Still she was unable to find Douglas amidst the faces of Hanoverian soldiers. She wondered if he was too great a coward to face her if indeed he had been the one to turn her in like this. On the other hand, perhaps he knew nothing of her existence in the camp.
The worst option, even worse than the thought of him turning her in, was that they had been discovered. If one of the men had become aware of their frequent interactions and had become suspect, she dared not consider his punishment.
What if they had hurt Douglas as a result? What if she wasn’t really there to incite her father to doing their will, but in order to hurt Douglas?
The questions swirled in her mind as a plate was placed before Grace. It looked heartier than she had expected. A myriad of vegetables was before her, along with some fowl that had been rather exquisitely spiced.
The object, however, that most intensely gripped Grace was a knife with which to cut the meat.
“Give me your hands,” ordered one of her personal guards. Grace did as she was told, all the while subtly eyeing the knife before her.
The ropes at her wrists were sawn off with another knife, one carried by the solider, and her hands were freed. Yes, she would be able to eat with complete freedom.
Most importantly, she would be able to grab the knife without anyone ever even noticing.
The Return And The Reunion
Douglas raced on horseback through the woods, stopping frequently to check for any signs of the woman he loved.
Indeed, there were tracks heading south. Tracks that screamed of speed and urgency. He wondered what, this close to Dunmore, could have caused her to run at such a pace. Here there was no sign of being followed, no sign of a chase. It was clear that these were the tracks of a beast being urged on by a rider that wanted to go with speed.
Grace had been the one to set the pace. The poor horse must have been exhausted. However, it was a good sign. It showed that at least it was of her own will.
Douglas continued, but soon found the path becoming unclear. There were hastened footprints and signs of more riders.
If Grace had been among them, he was certain that at this point she was not alone.
His heart squeezed in his chest at the thought of her being chased or followed, that someone might have had poor intentions. He hoped only that he was wrong, that these were not her tracks. It was possible, absolutely possible, that Grace had not been present when this had occurred. It could have been anyone.
Yes, he would cling to that.
Breathing deeply, Douglas finally conceded that he was able to get no further information out in the woods. The trail had run out and there was little hope that he could find it again.
He started his journey home then. He was already halfway there, but it meant nothing to him until he realized he would not find Grace. Douglas decided that his best option was to get some rest, eat solid food, and return to search for her the following day.
About an hour after Douglas began riding, he met a scout from his troop in the road. It had not been expected, but the soldier was standing along the road in traveler’s clothing.
“Banner, what are you doing out here?” Douglas asked in confusion. He had not given this order. It made no sense to see the man in the woods under such a disguise.
“General, how are you? We haven’t seen you in such a long time,” the man replied.
“Yes, I have been…away,” Douglas said vaguely. “But who ordered you to come out here like this?”
“Major Dashfield. He has been sent back to us in your absence, General,” Banner replied.
Douglas felt his heart sink to the pits of his stomach. He hated Dashfield. The man was a constant source of demoralizing words. Any chance he had he used to cut down Douglas, or any of the men.
“Right then…” he replied.
Banner gave him a knowing look, understanding completely the hatred of Dashfield and the misery at being under his orders all this time.
However, it was what had to be done.
“And why did he send you out here?” Douglas asked.
“Well, I am under strict instructions of secrecy, General Warwick. I’m afraid I cannot tell you what my duty is. Only that I did it well yesterday and have further orders for today and tomorrow as well. I will return the following day,” Banner said.
“He has given you instructions not to even inform me of your task?” Douglas asked.
“I’m afraid so, sir,” came the reply.
Douglas grunted in irritation. “Well, then…”
There were moments that Douglas felt his words fail him. This was one of those times. It was senseless to expect anything more from Major Dashfield, but he had not ceased to hope anyway.
“Might you be able to tell me at least whether or not you have seen a young lady about? She has likely been riding on her own,” Douglas asked, understanding that it was a risk for him to do so.
“I cannot say, General,” Banner replied. Douglas felt unease from the response. The tone was such that Banner was implying he had no such recollection of a young woman. However, the words, taken literally, frightened Douglas with the thought that perhaps he really was under strict orders not to say.
It could be the work of Dashfield. All of this could be the work of Dashfield. Douglas was beginning to grow in his hatred toward the man. It had never been a small hatred, but this was becoming fierce.
Douglas was in charge at Fort Amswold. To be sure, he had been absent a significant amount of time lately,
but he had his second and third in command. Moreover, none of that was important anyway because, truly, it was common for him to be called away.
He had worked hard to gain his position and was therefore relied on for many things, including gathering information and learning about what might be happening around the country. He had a great many responsibilities.
They did not all require his presence at Fort Amswold.
Knowing that Major Dashfield had been sent to oversee him was an insult and left him angry. Nevertheless, he would return to the fort and learn what the major’s orders were and how soon Douglas might be rid of him.
“Thank you for your time, Banner,” Douglas said suddenly. The man looked at him with uncertainty, but he did not have time to respond before Douglas rode off.
Within two hours, Douglas had made it to Fort Amswold. His arrival sparked a series of murmurs among the men, who recognized that their former leader would now be challenged by the tyrant they all feared.
Despite their consideration of themselves as valiant soldiers, the sight of Major Dashfield was enough to strike fear into the heart of any man. He was greatly hated and none of the soldiers was happy to see him.
However, it was still interesting enough to spark rumors.
Douglas felt them swarm around him. Rumors abounded that he had been demoted, that he had abandoned them, or that he had died out in the woods somewhere.
He was continually shocked by the petulance of even these men.
Night had fallen and dinner was long over, but Douglas was still ravenous. He knew that he had to rebuild a rapport with these men and engage them in a way he had long since forgotten how to do.
Luck was on his side when Douglas spotted Richard heading away from a crowd of soldiers near his tent. Douglas followed him and was close before making his presence known.
“Lieutenant Holloway,” he greeted.
Richard turned at the familiar voice and his face immediately broke into a smile. “General Warwick,” he replied. “It is terribly good to see you. I think all the men will be utterly relieved by your presence. I am assuming that you heard about…” Richard trailed off. He did not want to bring himself to say the name of Major Dashfield, but he also did not want to cause Douglas further distress.
Loving A Highland Enemy: Ladies of Dunmore Series (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 15