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It was several days before they deemed me fit to get out of bed and allowed me to pace around the limited space of my quarters. It was a relief to finally be able to stretch my legs and work out my stiff muscled, but you could hardly call it freedom. The door was locked, and the window was too high up for a safe jump. I had little at my disposal to serve as an aid, save perhaps the bedclothes, a table leg or the metal wash basin.

Besides, despite my imprisonment I was being well treated. The nursemaid came twice a day bearing a hot meal and changing the dressings on my wounds, which were healing astoundingly well. I soon regained my strength, but my flesh was still tender, and I found heavy breathing difficult and somewhat painful. The bullet had pierced my right lung, which would take the longest to heal, though healing it was, something that does not often happen in most mortals.

On one sunny day Lady Annette even took me out for a walk about the castle and the courtyard, arguing with her brother that I would never get better if I did not get some fresh air and sunshine. Being outside did feel good, but it also gave me the temptation to escape then and there, breaking out of the gates and rushing off into the forest. I quickly decided against it though; I was not yet fully healed, and would not have gotten far even if I had escaped.

I decided instead to remain until I had regained my full strength, or I was faced with a grater threat. I paid close attention to my surroundings as I was lead through the castle, noting the kitchen, private chambers, and nearest exits, as well as any arms hanging on the walls –knowledge that would prove valuable in the end.

And every moment I was in sight, the Comte’s son had his eyes upon me, attracted, fascinated and terrified of me all at once. I tried my best to keep away from his gaze, for in that cold fire I knew he was plotting something. He would have his way with me… I didn’t even give him the satisfaction of a smile.

* * *

On a cloudy day nearly two week after my capture there was great commotion down in the courtyard and the sound of several horses approaching the gates.

“Mon seigneur est arrivé!” came the cry of a guard, sounding more excited than he had in days.

Curious, I went the small window and looked down on the courtyard. The gate had been opened to admit four or five riders and an open wagon. The head rider, an older man on a black horse, was being greeted by several guards and members of the household. This would be Armand and Annette’s father, the Comte de Savine.

I felt strangely relieved to see that the true master of the house had returned. From what I had been told by Annette and the servants, Miquel de Savine was a just man, but not exceptionally forgiving. He was a man respected more than feared, though rumors of his wrath were not exceptionally pleasant. What his judgment on my case would be it was hard to know, though I doubted he would just wave the matter aside.

Yet he would have other matters to tend to as well. As Annette had suggested, there was little doubt that he would not be happy with his son when he learned what had transpired in his absence. If anything, I hoped that it would give Armand something else to worry about. Anything to keep me from his roaming eyes and plotting mind.

Armand was there to greet his father as de descended from his horse. As far as I could tell from my standpoint, the Comte seemed in a pleasant mood, and his son was plainly courteous. But even as I watched their gestures a pain rose to my chest, along with a feeling of foreboding. There was much more at work here, and much more to come.

I continued starring even as they walked toward the house and out of sight.

* * *

“Mon sieur,” said Armand de Savine to his father as he followed the Comte into the hall of the castle, where servants were rushing about in preparation for dinner. “There is something you must see…”

Miquel de Savine hardly heard him, marching toward a corridor. “There was quite a commotion when I came through town,” he stated in an evidently displeased tone. “They say that five farmers were driven from their homes last month… and that they were being held here. I suppose that you must know something about it because I certainly do not?”

He glanced back at his son before starting up the stairs, and Armand did not like the look of it. “That is what I must speak to you about,” he replied, trying to remain as calm as possible. “You see…”

The Comte’s mood was far from calm, however. He turned around abruptly, startling Armand so that he nearly lost his balance. “Oh, I see,” he nearly growled at the young man and pointing a finger toward a nearby window, indicating the dry countryside. “I see crops withering in the fields. I see people starving because they cannot afford the food they need. Now what do you have to say for yourself?”

Armand lowered his eyes and clenched his fists to keep from loosing his own temper. He and his father had never seen eye to eye on subjects such as these. “They would not pay their dues, he stated. “They deserved some punishment…”

“Mon Dieu, Armand!” his father roared. “You know as well as I that it has been a bad year for crops.” He thrust a finger at a nearby window, indicating the dry fields beyond the castle walls. “They have mouths to feed, including ours!” He continued on up the stairs. “The entire province is in crisis. We’ll all be scrounging for food before long if the weather doesn’t change.”

Following him, Armand did not reply, not wanting to say anything rash. He had been going over this meeting, what he would say, in his mind for weeks, and now it was all going wrong.

“Alors,” his father picked up as they reached the top of the stairs, “what have you done with them?”

The younger Savine tried to break the news to him gently. “You see, mon sieur, I would have them released, if they had not escaped…”

The Comte stopped again. “Quoi?” he asked, suppressing a laugh, out of disbelief more than humour. “And how did they manage that?”

Armand was surprised at his father’s reaction, having expected him to take it much more seriously. “Not alone,” he told him. “A woman –a girl- somehow managed to sneak inside, knock out the guard, release the prisoners and act as a diversion as they got away.”

Savine listened, skeptical. “A girl?

“Oui.” He suddenly got excited. “One of the guards shot her, straight through the breast with a bullet,” he explained, indicating the same loca- tion on his own chest. “And she is still alive!”

Though he could see that his son was quite agitated, the Comte suddenly sobered up. “How is this?” he asked.

“Je ne sais pas!” Armand exclaimed in reply. “A bullet passed straight through her body and it had healed, father! It is some act of God, or of the devil…” He lowered his voice. “I swear she works some witchcraft.”

Miquel de Savine simply starred at his son, seemingly in disbelief. It was a crazy tale, yet… “Who is she?” he asked, trying to sound rational. “One of their daughters? Someone from the village..?”

“Non, mon sieur,” Armand replied. “She is a foreigner –Scottish, she says. Though how she arrived here, I do not know…” He paused to think, and looked up to see his father continuing down the hall. “She speaks French,” he added, rushing after him, “quite well for a foreigner and a young woman. Though what a young Scottish girl was thinking in trying to save some peasant farmers she had never met before, I cannot begin to fathom.”

The Comte stopped at the door to his study. “And what does she say?” he asked.

Armand did not seem to understand. “She… said that it was better that she be killed than they.” Yet, she lives, he added in thought.

Savine contemplated this for a moment, stroking his thick graying beard. “And how is she now?”

Again, his son was surprised, but replied, “Miraculously well. Annette insisted that we do all we could to help the girl, but it seems that she has done most of it herself.” He gave his father a moment to process that before adding, “She has caused no further trouble,” …something which had begun to trouble himself.

“Can she walk?” his father asked bluntly while opening the door to his study.

Armand nodded. “Yes…”

“Bon. She shall join us for dinner then,” he stated, then entered his study and shut the door behind him.

In the hall, Armand de Savine let out a frustrated sigh. This was not going as he had expected at all…

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