The men were exhausted. They had brought up the reinforcements but the number was dwindling. More from wounds than from loss of life, which was favorable. But the fact still remained that they were rapidly losing the upper hand.

Justin glanced around the fields, surveying for possible weak points and overlooking the copper and crimson blood that stained the grassy ground all around him. The McKinnon men had yet to arrive. A messenger that had been dispatched the day before had brought news that they were only another day's ride away. It was but a shred of hope yet he clung to it, knowing that it might make all the difference if they were to have nearly one hundred angry Scots on their side.

Just then, he heard screams. Several men had fallen, but he couldn't make out if it were his own or the enemy's. He ran towards the sound, wanting to help, if it were indeed his own kinsmen. He searched for the location of the pitiful noises. The wailing cries that were piercing his ears. He wove through a mix of clashing swords and horses. Dodged several blades and ran through the maze of bodies.

Suddenly, they surrounded him. Pressed in on him. Eight or nine men with broadswords drawn. They had appeared from nowhere, seemingly intent on one thing. Making sure that he didn't leave the field alive.

The feeling of his own impending death was sapping his ability to think and in those last few moments, a flash of images assaulted his mind.

Lindsay and him as children, playing in the stream behind the holdings. The young girl giggling as she taunted him with a frog.

His mother laughing merrily as he stood before her covered in mud from head to toe.

His father teaching him the proper way to feather an arrow.

He and Ethan playing with wooden swords when they were but seven summers. Elise to the side mocking them while Lindsay stood silently to the side disapproving of the violent caper.

His grandmother stirring another noxious brew in a large black pot over the fire, pretending to ignore everyone and everything.

Lindsay guiding his hand as he spread ink over a piece of parchment, creating his first likeness and discovering his talent and passion for paint.

He and his father riding into battle side by side a years before, something akin to pride shining in the man's eyes.

His mother lying on her deathbed, smiling softly and reaching for his hand as she whispered her final goodbye.

His father throwing his dagger to the ground after having murdered one of his own men.

The images quickened his breathing, giving him strength and a sense of vengeance so powerful, Justin felt it might tear him apart. He gripped his sword tightly in his hand, ready to do what he must. The men, not realizing his new taste for blood, foolishly advanced.

***

Opening his eyes, Justin found himself, not in the midst of battle, but staring up at a thatch roof.

Absently he wondered if he might ever be free of the dream. It had begun upon his return home. Probably, before he had been too tired to actually dream. Now, under the shelter of his grandmother's home, the visions attacked him each and every night. Confusing and twisting his mind.

Taking a moment to bring his breathing back to normal, he listened intently for recognizable sounds. The clank of a wooden spoon hitting the side of an iron cauldron told him that his grandmother was cooking. He held onto the sound, using it to anchor him in reality, so that he might not slip back into the dream world.

As his eyes roamed around the room, memories of the previous night, crept into his mind. He had spent the better part of the evening laughing and spending time with his dear old friends, Ethan and Edward. He had stayed up into the wee hours of the morning, conversing with Melanie. Yet the encounter with lord Brian the previous afternoon was foremost in his thoughts.

He hadn't been able to shake the feel of the man once, no matter how hard he might have tried. It was as if he had been branded. Marked by his leader. He still felt the invisible marks on his torso and he moved his hand to cover the skin there. Justin wondered if lady Melanie could ever invoke such a reaction from him.

But it was not Melanie that was in his thoughts as his shaft grew hard and his fingers trailed further down, imagining skin upon skin. Warmth. The glow and utter relief that had come with his release. He had never felt so good in all of his life. Or so guilty.

"Justin!" his hand stilled over his stiffening organ as he heard his grandmother bellow his name. Quickly and understandably, his excitement dimmed and died.

"Yes, grandmother?" he asked, his voice shaking with the control it took to answer her.

The cheerful woman stuck her head through the doorway and grinned down at him. "Get up you lazing boy! The meal is going to get cold."

Justin grumbled as he sat up and stretched. Though he was used to sleeping on the ground, it seemed even more difficult to do when he was under his grandmother's roof. The pallet of blankets on the dirt floor did little to disguise the hard earth beneath and his backside was suffering greatly for it. Still, it was home.

He pulled on his overshirt and breeches, then made his way to the second room. Where the first room, separated into two parts for their sleeping quarters, left only enough room for he and the older woman, the next room was larger and consisted of a fireplace, basin and a small wooden table with three stools surrounding it. "Good morning to you."

"And good morning to you." She kissed Justin's forehead as he took his place at the table. All he could manage to do was stare blankly into the empty bowl that had been placed in front of him. "Justin, my dear...you are far too quiet. What has you so troubled this morning?"

Justin looked up at his grandmother as she bustled around the small cottage, preparing their morning meal. She seemed to have her mind focused solely on the gruel in the pot that hung low over the fire, but her words said differently. He should have known better. The woman had always had the uncanny ability to read a person's thoughts, whether you wished her to or not.

"I am not troubled." He lied outright. More precisely, it was not his troubles that were keeping him so silent. It was his sleep-hazed mind that had him muted. Troubles only kept his mind occupied while he sat staring off into nothingness. Yet, he knew she would see through the half-truth. He could only hope that she would leave it be.

Being one to never let things go, Deborah pressed the issue, albeit by a far different tactic. "Yes well...I hear you are courting a young woman. One of young Lindsay's maids, I believe."

Justin sighed. The woman would have made a fine fighter. Her sharp whits along with her ability to find a weakness and turn it to her advantage, would have put her in high demand in time of conflict. For all of her amazing skills, Justin still disliked her using this particular game with him. "What of it?"

"Nothing of it," she placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's just that...I worry for you, sunshine."

Sunshine. He smiled softly at the woman. It had been her name for him as a boy. Now it made his insides warm with the bittersweet memories.

Then it hit him. So that was her plan. To make him soft and then tack his backside to the wall until he gave her the information she wanted. "I know you do grandmother," he replied sweetly and with a sincerity that he felt, but wasn't necessarily above using against her.

Her eyes sparkled. She knew that he was on to her but she was not one to surrender the game so easily. "I only want you to be happy. I want to see you settle down. Give me great-grandchildren before I die."

Justin hid a grin. That had to be her most used, and most effective, form of manipulation. The angle of her age. Before he could work up a stinging counter attack, someone else beat him to it.

"Die? Old woman...you are going to outlive us all." Justin looked up, shocked by the new presence. Lord Brian stood, smirking at them from the doorway, waiting to be invited in.

"Milord! Come in! Sit!" Deborah cried happily as she patted down her mass of silver curls. The tall man ducked through the doorway and nodded at her before taking his seat beside Justin, who stood in the presence of his lord.

"Justin," McKinnon nodded, indicating that he should sit.

"Lord Brian." Justin stared at the man from beneath his lashes. Brian however, to Justin's disappointment - or perhaps relief -, barely spared him a glance.

"Lord Brian was kind enough to stop by occasionally and help me with the heavier chores and such, while you were gone."

"Very kind of you, sir. I thank you."

"Deb has done more than enough to repay me. I need no further thanks." Justin observed an easy filial smile ran between his grandmother and their lord.

"Yes, well, the food is ready." Deb called out, serving the stone-grey gruel into their bowls.

Brian began to protest. "I had only thought to check on you this fine morning. I have no time to eat."

"Nonsense."

"I...I have already eaten!"

Justin suppressed a giggle as he watched McKinnon fight the battle that he would most assuredly lose.

"A big, strong man like you? Surely, you have room for a bit more. Besides...you need to keep your strength up."

Grimacing as if in pain, Brian conceded and slowly began to ingest the liquid, lumpy substance. After several heaping spoonfuls, Brian's gaze met Justin's and the two shared strained smiles full of laughter. They were suffering together. A torture that forged bonds stronger than any combat ever could.

Justin also laughed at the absurdity of it all. Their lord, the man that controlled nearly every aspect of their lives, was sitting in their humble home, eating what could only be described as stone soup and pretending to enjoy it for the sake of Justin's grandmother. Lindsay's father, the previous lord, had never even bothered to learn his people's names, much less share a meal with them.

After both men had finished every morsel, every drop of the meal, Deb finally allowed them to take their leave. Justin followed the taller man out of the cottage and together they walked towards the training grounds.

"I would thank you again for helping my grandmother while I was away." He fingered the small blade at his hip, distractedly. "She's quite difficult to take at times, but her heart is big. Almost as large as her mouth."

"You have that in common I think." The words had come out jokingly but with an air of sincerity. Brian shook his head, smiling. "But, as I told you before, she has repaid the debt that she was never required to repay in the first place. She helped me more than I could ever have helped her."

"All the same...it means a great deal to me that you were there. That she had you."

"Well...now she has you once more. I am no longer needed."

"And what if..."

"Yes?"

"What if I were to need you?" Justin turned his head away. Where had that come from? Yet he knew he was asking an honest question. Brian had already proven to be a good man and formidable opponent in the fighting arena. He was their lord, and Justin knew that there would be times when this man would mean the difference in his own life and death. But some hidden part of him wanted to admit that there was an underlying meaning to the innocent query.

"Do you?"

"Need you?" McKinnon nodded. Justin sought to find a proper response. "I need you as all of your people need you. Our survival depends greatly on your decisions."

Brian stopped in his tracks and looked more deeply into his eyes, searching for something in the depths. When he was satisfied with what he saw, he turned and began to walk again. Gone was the relaxed leader that had smiled and laughed with him moments before. Now his face was expressionless. "Young Winterberry, you needn't worry. I'll be there for whatever you might need. Just as I would be for all of my...people."

"Thank you milord."

They had reached the training grounds and Brian stopped to survey the men that were already jousting and wielding their swords in training. "I would like you to do something for me, thought, Justin." Justin stared at the man's hard profile and waited patiently while Brian seemed to be mulling something over in his mind. "Watch Garrick. Make sure that he is unaware of the attention. But do not let him out of your sights."

The young man hesitated only a moment before he nodded solemnly. "Of course."

"You will report to me after the evening meal."

"Aye, milord." Justin called to Brian's back.

He was pleased that Garrick's actions the day before were not going to be overlooked. At least, he hoped that was McKinnon's reason for wanting Garrick under watch. Surely he couldn't have guessed the truth. Surely. If he knew, then Garrick would already be dead. No, McKinnon hadn't a clue. He believed that the grisly warrior had gotten confused. Disoriented. Had confused the training field for the battle field that they had only just returned from and Edward had simply been the unfortunate victim of the confusion..

Justin, however, wouldn't even dare to believe that it had been a mere accident. McKinnon needn't have asked him to watch the man. He had already made his mind up to do just that. His instincts were still extremely sharp and he wasn't about to have his back turned on a suspected enemy. Also, he had his own plan for the man and it wouldn't do to get himself killed before he could put that plan into motion.

His eyes riveted to the towering storm cloud that was Garrick and once again his fingers brushed lightly over the dagger at his hip. Justin put all other thoughts aside. Friends, family, betrayal, love. Nothing mattered beyond that point. His mind was set, his mission clear. And God help anyone that got in his way.