The Captive Heart

Only then will my men and I be paid.'

'Sir Udolf is not my betrothed husband,' Alix said, struggling to keep calm. 'I am wed under Scotland's laws and in Scotland's Holy Catholic Church to Malcolm Scott, the Laird of Dunglais. It is his heir I carry. Please, sir, I beg of you, allow me to pass and return to my home.'

'For the sake of your unborn bairn, lady, I advise you to come quietly,' her captor said. 'I am a man of my word, and I gave it to Sir Udolf.' He reached out again for her bridle, and Alix again lashed out at him, but this time he grabbed the small riding whip from her, yanking it roughly from her gloved hand and flinging it to the earth. Then, grasping her horse's bridle, he leaned over and clipped a leading rein to it.

Alix opened up her mouth and screamed at the top of her lungs. Her cries were of no use, for her captors led her away nonetheless. She continued to shriek until she could cry out no longer and her throat was raw with her efforts. Then they rode in silence, and they rode swiftly, putting as much ground between the laird who would be pursuing them shortly and themselves. They did not stop the day long, only slowing now and again to give their horses a chance to catch their breaths. Alix was hungry and very thirsty by the time they finally came to a halt.

They stopped in a deep hollow even as the sun set. She was lifted from her horse, and to her embarrassment her legs gave way beneath her. The captain of the raiders caught her and set her down carefully in the grass. He gave her a drink from his own water bottle and handed her an oatcake to eat. Alix was exhausted and fell asleep shortly after she had managed to swallow down her small nourishment. She was astounded to be awakened while it was yet dark, and protested.

'There's a good bright border moon rising tonight, lady,' the captain told her. 'The horses are rested enough to go on, and so must we.' He pulled her to her feet. 'Your mare has been watered and grazed for the past few hours. We must be on our way.' He helped her to her horse and boosted her into her saddle before she might protest further. 'We'll get to Wulfborn by midmorning if we leave here now,' he said.

Alix had always preferred riding astride when she could. As part of the queen's household she had been forced to ride sidesaddle when she was with her godmother, but when she was not she rode astride. She was relieved she knew how, for it made the pace they were keeping easier for her. A full moon was just rising as they began their journey again. Soon the bright moon made it almost as bright as daylight. But it was cold and slightly damp. Alix was glad she had her cloak with her. It helped some, but she was still chilled to the bone. Where were Colm and his men? Why hadn't they caught up to the raiders by now?

The Laird of Dunglais had already heard the shouting in the courtyard of his keep when his little daughter burst into the hall screaming his name.

'Da! Da! Some men have taken Alix!'

The man-at-arms who had accompanied Fiona back to the keep ran into the hall. 'My lord! My lord! The lady has been stolen by raiders. Tam remained to defend her and allow her retreat, but when I looked back I saw them reach her and lead her away. Tarn can only have been killed, for he would fight to the death to defend the lady.'

'Fenella!' the laird called out. 'Take care of Fiona!' And Malcolm Scott, hurrying from his own hall, called out to his men and for his stallion. 'Bar the gates and lower the portcullis,' he instructed the few men who would remain behind. 'Open to no one but me no matter what they say to you. Do you understand me?' And when he was assured that they did, he mounted his horse and rode from Dunglais Keep, a large party of men accompanying him.

Led by the man-at-arms who had been with Alix and Fiona, they reached the spot where Alix had last been seen. Noting the trampled grass, the laird could determine that it had indeed been a large party of raiders. Now they had to discover in which direction these strangers had gone. At first the riders had gone in one direction. East. But then after several miles it appeared as if they had broken into two groups. The laird stopped to consider. One group had turned northeast while the other had gone south. Malcolm Scott considered carefully before turning northeast, but night set in quickly as it was late October. They were forced to stop.

'We'll rest here until moonrise,' the laird said, 'and then continue onward.'

And when the moon arose they moved out again, until suddenly, to their surprise, they came upon an encampment of men, all sleeping but for the watch, who had little time to cry out before the laird's men were upon them.

'Which one of you is in charge?' the laird demanded when all the sleepers had been roused and stood before him. No one spoke. With a sigh the laird stepped forward and yanked one of his prisoners to him, pressing his dirk to the man's throat. 'Who is in charge?' he asked again. The man in his grip shook his head, and so Malcolm Scott pressed the sharp tip of the dirk into the flesh beneath it, drawing a small bubble of blood. 'You have taken my wife,' he said in a cold, hard voice. The dirk pressed deeper, and the flow of blood grew just slightly. 'Now, who is in charge? Fail to answer me this time, and I'll slit your throat and move on to someone else until I have gotten my answer. Or killed you all. You understand me?'

The man's eyes bulged with fright as he looked into the laird's merciless face, and with a small whimper he pointed to another man among the prisoners, gasping out one word. 'Him!' Then, as the laird released him, the man fell to the ground, soiling himself in relief, although he still wasn't certain they wouldn't all be killed.

The Dunglais men grabbed the man pointed out to them, dragging him to where the laird stood and forcing him to his knees.

'Where is my wife?' Malcolm Scott asked in a soft but deadly voice.

'I don't know,' the leader of the raiders said, yelping as one of the laird's men hit him a fierce blow. 'My lord, I swear I do not!'

'Do you deny taking her?' the laird asked. 'Lie to me, and I will personally see you suffer a most painful and drawn-out death.'

'Nay, my lord, we were part of the band that took her, but we do not know where she has been taken,' the man said. 'We are Douglases from near Jedburgh. We were contacted by some of our English kin a few months back. They told us the wife of an English lord had been taken and he wanted her back. When the time was right they would send for us. We joined with our kinfolk yesterday and took the woman. We were then paid for our trouble and told to go home. But we don't know who this English lord is. I swear to you, we don't!'

'But I think I may,' Malcolm Scott said. 'I am the Laird of Dunglais, and rest assured I will inform the king of this treachery. Do you Douglases have no loyalty except to yourselves? Do you always betray your fellow countrymen?'

The Douglas captain flushed angrily, but he held his peace except to say, 'You are free, my lord, to inform that puling brat who is our king. We Douglases care not!'

'Take their horses and the coins they were paid for their perfidy,' the laird said coldly. 'I will have something for my trouble before we ride after my wife.'

'But we're miles from home!' the Douglas captain protested. 'And we earned that coin fairly, my lord. How are we to feed our families if you steal from us?'

'You purloined from me something far more precious than a handful of coins. You took my wife who is with child. While you are walking, consider the sin of disloyalty,' the laird snapped. 'And the coin you earned was hardly acquired honestly, stealing my wife to deliver to some English lordling!' Reaching out, he cut the purse from the Douglas captain's belt, hefted it in his hand, and smiled at the weight of it. 'Aye, this will compensate me somewhat for my trouble.'

While the laird had berated the Douglas captain, his men gathered up their horses and were ready to depart. Malcolm Scott mounted his stallion, and without a further glimpse at the Douglas clansmen, rode off with is own men and their newly acquired beasts. As they rode towards Dunglais, the captain of his men-at-arms spoke up.

'Why do we return home, my lord? Should we not go over the border after our good lady?' The captain's name was Dugald, but he was called Beinn, which meant mountain, by all who knew him, for he was a giant of a man standing six feet six inches tall with a massive head covered in russet hair, and limbs like tree trunks.

'I am certain I know who has absconded with my wife,' the laird explained. 'She will be safe once she has reached her destination. He will not harm her. We will get these scrawny beasts safely back to Dunglais, and then tomorrow we will cross over the border to retrieve my wife. We can hardly go raiding with a herd of horses now, can we?' He grinned at Beinn, who grinned back.