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CHAPTERONE
Elaine McNally sat in the parlor of the farmhouse she called her home. With a small piece of chalk, she shaded the cheekbones of her brother’s face on the paper before her. She had not seen Angus for some time. Looking at the drawing, she silently wondered where he might be. Beside him, on one side, was a sketch of her younger sister, Rhona, and on the other was the best attempt she could make of herself.
A self-portrait was more difficult than capturing those whom one could see even though her brother had always told her she had talent as an artist. Drawing was the only thing that had brought her any solace since Angus had left. Having to care for her younger sister and consistently drunk father, despair for the future seemed to be Elaine's constant state of mind.
“Look, Elaine,” Rhona beamed, holding aloft the small cloth doll in her hand. “I made Lucy a scarf.”
“My goodness,” Elaine replied, holding her hand out to take a closer look. “Did ye sew that yersel?”
“Aye,” Rhona said proudly.
Elaine regarded the scrap of material that Rhona had carefully folded and stitched that now sat around her doll’s neck. “Well, then ye are a very clever wee lass.”
Rhona bashfully rolled her eyes at the praise. “It’s just a piece o’ cloth, Elaine.”
“It may well havebeena piece o’ cloth, Rhona. But now, ye have made it intae something pretty. Ye must nae diminish yer talents.”
“I dinnae ken what diminish means,” Rhona shrugged.
“It means…”
The searing sound of a door slamming open pierced the air, followed by the cries of several men. As the intrusion continued, Elaine's heart thumped in her chest as she heard the splintering sound of pottery and items being knocked to the floor in another part of the farmhouse. She looked at Rhona, who ran to her side, horrified.
“What’s happening, Elaine!? What’s happening?” she cried.
Elaine could not answerfor she did not know. There had previously been attacks on their farmhouse. With their father owing money across the lands, many angry farmers had invaded the house, demanding repayment. Times were hard, and people needed to eat. Angus had taught Elaine to use the sword from a young age, and her skills had proven useful in deflecting attacks. With her slender figure, soft brown hair, and green eyes, one would not think of her as a warrior. But Elaine was sick of fighting her father's battles. And this time, instead of reaching for her sword, she was more determined to protect her sister. Besides, there was clearly more than one of them.
“Find him,” she heard a man say. “He’s in here somewhere.”
Elaine stood and pushed Rhona behind her, moving them both closer to the corner of the room. Clearly, they were after her father. Maybe if they stayed quiet…
“We mustnae make a sound,” Elaine whispered. “Pretend ye are a little mouse, Rhona. Can ye do that?”
Rhona looked up at Elaine with a terrified expression, the fear in her eyes nearly breaking Elaine’s heart. Her little sister did not speak but only nodded that she understood.
As they searched the house, more doors burstopen. Elaine heard thumping footsteps charge up the stairs and held her breath without realizing it. Her father was still in his bedchamber, drunk as usual from far too much ale the night before. She wouldn't be surprised if he was still sleeping and hadn't heard anything. These days, he was either drunk or sleeping anyway.
“He’s up here,” one of them called out. “I’ve found him.”
More stomping footsteps made their way up the stairs. Elaine guessed there were at least two or three men.
Muffled yelling followed, and a great scuffle against the floorboards was heard above them. While terrified of what might be happening to him, she couldn't really sympathize with him. With his selfishness, he had put them all in danger. Without Angus, the farm would have perished. Angus and Elaine had tried to provide for their family, but their father had drunk his way through any savings they had, as well as what little money they made.
Heavy footsteps and scuffling moved across the floorboards. Elaine followed the sound from the ceiling with her eyes. The voices were becoming clearer now, and she could hear her father’s growling tones.
“Let me go! Gerroff me! Let me go! Ye have nae right tae come intae my house.”
“Stop struggling,” one of the men barked. “The laird wants tae see ye, McNally, and whether ye like it or nae, yer coming with us.”
“What?” her father retorted. “I’ve done naething tae the laird. Ye cannae just come in here and take me prisoner.”
“Aye, well. Maybe if yer son hadnae sneaked intae the castle and tried tae steal what ye sent him tae steal, ye wouldnae be in this mess.”
The rowdy group dragged William McNally down the stairs, and by the sounds of their voices, were nearing the front door.
“I dinnae ken what yer on about. I havenae seen Angus for ages.”
“That’s because he’s dead,” one of the men barked callously.
