The sobs finally slowed down and ended as she drifted to sleep.
* * *
Marion woke up abruptly. She heard voices of men. She took a quick glance towards the road and saw a band of six men moving along the road.
“Ye’re such a dobber!” she heard one of the men yell and slap one of the other men on the back.
Oh no. I am in Scotland. They must be Highlanders!
Marion tried shifting herself behind the tree without making a sound, but in vain. They had noticed her.
“Oy! There’s a bonnie lass, sittin’ over there, she is,” she heard a rusty voice say.
3
A New Ally The border of Scotland, 1522
All the drowsiness of Marion’s mind was gone in an instant, and she sprang to her feet. But before she got a chance to grab her bundle with the leftover food and tartan in it, a tall, scruffy-looking Scottish man, named Bill, with ginger beard and hair pulled it from her reach.
She turned around to grab Bells, but another man had taken the horse by the reins. Bells didn’t like this strange man, and she reared and pulled back. Marion quickly yelled,
“Let her go!”
Laughter broke out as the men rounded Marion. Bill, the man with the ginger beard, was digging through her bundle, clearly disappointed that there was nothing of value in it. The other man was still holding Bells, who had calmed down a bit and was looking nervously around with her ears moving rapidly.
An older man, Connor, small and skinny with long, tangled hair and sharp eyes stood further away, holding three horses by the reins. Two of the men, still sitting on their horses, looked at the last man, who had dismounted and was making way towards Marion and the other men.
Marion took a few steps back, pressing her back against the tree. Each of the men were quiet, as if they were waiting for something. Her heart was pounding so fast she thought it was about to burst out of her chest. She had never been this scared in her entire life—after all, she had heard about the barbaric ways of the Highlanders. But she wasn’t going to let any of them see how terrified she was.
“What do we have here, a young lass? And an English lass fer that matter,” said the man, Jack, who was walking towards Marion.
He reached Marion and she looked up at his face suspiciously. He was very tall, with curly dark brown hair and a serious face. His shirt was dirty and ripped at the seam, and Marion was wondering what the red stains on the shoulder were. Maybe blood?
“What is a young English lass doin’ all the way in Scotland by herself?” Jack asked.
“I am heading up the road, to visit my relatives,” Marion lied, hoping they would let her go if someone was waiting for her.
To her surprise, the whole band of Highlanders burst into humorless laughter. Even Jack, the man standing in front of her, flashed a crooked smile.
“Up the road, eh? Lass, there’s nothin’ up the road fer days. Ye must be lost,” Jack said, eyeing Marion up and down, which made her suddenly feel like he could see through her clothes. She felt the hot rush of her blood racing to her cheeks, hoping the men wouldn’t notice it. Reflexively, she tightened her cloak around herself.
To look at a high-class woman in such a way! Marion felt disgusted and her breathing suddenly became shallow, like she couldn’t take a deep breath to reach the bottom of her lungs.
Her heart was pounding and she had no idea what to do. The men had surrounded her, she was all alone, and they could do anything to her. They could kill her. They could shame her in the most unimaginable ways. She was terrified and all she wanted to do was to get on Bells and ride as far away from these smelly men as she possibly could. But she was rounded by the men, one of them still holding onto Bells’ bridle.
“I… I am in Scotland looking for my parents. I found out I am adopted and wished to find my real mother and father. Sir, you may be right, I may very well be lost, as I don’t quite know where to start. The only clue I have is the blue tartan in the bundle one of your men took from me. I’d appreciate him giving me my bundle and horse back, so I can carry on,” she said with a shaky voice, turning to look at Bill, the ginger-haired man who was still holding onto the bundle.
Jack turned around with a blank face, reaching out his hand towards the ginger man, who murmured something and walked closer, handing the bundle over.
“This tartan? Ye havenae much to go on, dae ye?” he said, pushing the blanket back in the bundle and handing it over to Marion. “Let’s take her to the Laird, he will ken what to do with her,” he continued, this time speaking to his crew.
The ginger-haired man, Bill, stepped closer. He was now so close to Marion that she could smell his breath that stunk of alcohol. She twitched her face while he whispered, “Jack, don’t ye reckon we should have a wee bit of fun first, eh?”
A flush of fear and shame filled Marion and blushed her cheeks. Suddenly, she wasn’t afraid anymore, she was outraged, offended. She didn’t think twice, and it happened like a reflex, she spit in his face.
Bill backed up, taken by surprise. He wiped his face on his dirty sleeve. “Ye may be English, but ye act like a whore!”
Marion took this opportunity to turn around. She was
