LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND
The Loch- The Past
Kicked awake, Clarion looked blurry eyed up at four strapping Highlanders standing in a semi-circle above him.
“State yer business Highlander or die.” A shiny sword was brandished and pointed closely to his throat.
Out of habit, he reached for his dagger, but his hand came up empty.
“Are ye looking fer this?” Alec held the dagger aloft.
Clarion, pushed his hand on his chin, cracked his neck, and then repeated the action on the other side. After he was finished, he casually leaned back on his elbows and looked at the largest Highlander. He had burnished red hair and long ringlets of curls that twisted down his back. If not for the sheer size of the man, Clarion would have probably thought he was a lass. “Aye. I was, but now you’ve let me know where it is. Are ye going ta give it back ta me, or will I have ta take it from ye?”
Muir and Callum both snorted because Alec was skilled in not only swordplay but also hand-to-hand combat. He even defeated Morgan, God rest his soul, on more than one occasion.
Graham, on the other hand, didn’t make any response at all. He was too busy examining the strange contents in the bag at his feet. Pulling out a jagged piece of glass, he looked at it inquisitively, turning it this way and that. However, he lost interest rather quickly because it didn’t look like anything worth keeping.
Dropping the glass back down inside the bag, he searched for something that could tell him more about the man they found by the loch. If he wasn’t trespassing on Greystone land, they would have let him be. But with so many of Broderick’s traitors floating around these days, they didn’t want to take that chance.
Clarion’s body tensed as he watched the second largest Highlander rifle through his things. He had blonde hair and large hands that clumsily fumbled with his gazing glass. When he dropped it back in his bag as if it were of no consequence, Clarion’s hands itched, wanting nothing more than to ring his thick neck.
“Why do ye no tell us what ye are trespassing on Greystone land?”
Clarion looked unfazed by his question, giving nothing away. “Was I?” he asked, playing dumb. “I was only traveling through on my way home.”
Alec crossed his beefy arms across his chest. “Where might that be?”
“On the other side of the loch.”
“That does no tell us much,” Callum interjected.
“Well, I am sure ye do no know where it is so why waste my breath explaining it ta ye?”
“Well,” said Graham, looking up from the contents of the bag he was examining for the first time. “If ye do not, we will have ta assume yer course across this land is no accident and we will have ta kill ye.”
“I do no wish ta fight ye. So, if ye would be so kind as ta give me back my things, I will be on my way,” Clarion stated calmly.
“It would be a fight ye would lose,” Callum boasted. “It is four ta one.”
“Aye, but I will be the one fighting fer my life and when all is said and done, I will be the one left standing, not ye,” Clarion rebutted.
Muir laughed. “Not likely.”
“We will see.”
“Cease both of ye. We are no fighting this man, but ye…” Alec paused in midsentence and looked directly at the man on the ground, noticing straight away that although he may be just one man, he did not know what he true intentions were. “We will be taking ye with us back ta Greystone.”
Clarion thought about that for a minute. He was on his way there anyway, so whether he went with them or alone, his destination would still be the same. “Why?” he asked finally for the simple fact that he did not want to seem eager to go with them.
“That is no yer concern,” Callum added, squaring his shoulders back, trying to look formidable, although this did not exactly have the effect he might hope since he was the smallest of them all and was still recuperating from his wounds.
Clarion gave the Highlander speaking a doubtful look, but held his tongue. Now was not the time to get into fist a cuffs with a boy who still had not yet fully become a man. Besides, he had no wish to hurt the lad, but rather would prefer using them to get to the castle. Due to Morag’s dark magic, he had not been able to accomplish this feat yet, but with them, he may.
This line of questioning continued for quite some time, but as the night drew to a close and the first signs of the early morning sun began to lighten the night sky, the four Highlanders decided it was best to be on their way in the event the man was lying about being alone.
Taking a rope from one of his saddlebags, Alec handed it off to Muir. “Tie his hands.”
Muir obliged and with little care, he tied the Highlander’s hands in front of him, leaving enough rope to pull him along behind their horses.
“Mount up,” Graham said to the others. He tied the Highlander’s bag to his saddle and swung up on his horses back. Gathering the reins in his hands, he dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and set it off in a slow gallop toward Greystone.
Muir helped Callum and handed him the reins. “Can ye manage on yer own?”
Callum winced when he moved, but bit back the pain and said, “O’ course I can manage.”
“Are ye sure?” Muir asked again.
“Aye, I am sure, but Muir,” Callum said, almost on a whisper.
Muir looked up at him.
Callum inclined his head to the man a few feet away. “Do ye no think he reminds ye of our laird?”
Muir looked back over his shoulder. “Aye, he does have a resemblance ta him.”
“I wonder why that is?” Callum asked, frowning.
“I do no have an answer for ye.” Giving the man behind him one last curious look, Muir turned back around. “Hold on,” he told Callum and slapped the rump of his horse, which sent them both off in an unsteady trot after Graham.
Alec mounted as well, and after Muir gave the rope to him, he too mounted his own horse.
At a much slower pace, Alec travelled with the Highlander behind his horse and Muir was last, trailing behind to keep an eye on not only their prisoner, but also the surrounding area in the event that they were being followed.