He was only ten, yet he wanted to kill a man.
Colin’s pulse thrummed in his ears as the soldier’s grip tightened on the back of his neck. He tried to unwrap the man’s fingers with his own, but was already weak from struggling. Next to him, his little brother, Roddy, fought like a hen ready to be plucked, the tips of his shoes scraping the stone floor. His spindly legs kicked furiously at the giant holding him off the ground, but even as they connected with the man’s shins, the soldier never flinched.
The Englishman holding Colin spat as he spoke. His breath reeked of onions and ale. “Hit him again! Make him scream loud enough to force the traitor out of his rat hole.”
Roddy’s captor smacked him hard on the side of his head, making him scream. Colin stood helpless, unable to be the man his father expected him to be while he was gone.
“Leave him alone!” Colin dug his nails into the man’s leathery skin and was answered with a resounding slap to his face. Boiling with fury, he never felt it.
“Do that again and you’ll end up like her!” The soldier swung Colin around to face his mother’s body lying in a pool of her own blood. Her shoes were missing and her stockings were torn, one in a bunch around her ankle. Blocked by his father’s reading chair, he couldn’t see her face, but he knew it must’ve been streaked with tears. He tried to erase the images that burned behind his eyes of what the men had done to her before they killed her, but her muffled cries still rang in his ears.
The other soldier jerked Roddy by the hair, prodding him to let out another howl. The men shared a wicked smile.
“That should fetch us the cockard,” one said.
Colin wasn’t sure what they meant until his father, who was supposed to be in Yorkshire fighting for England’s true king, burst into the room. The sleeve of his uniform was soiled and torn, the lace hanging from his cuff like a long-legged spider. When had he returned?
“Let go of him!” His da lunged toward the soldier.
In a single heartbeat, the man pointed his pistol at Da. He jerked his head toward his comrade. “Get his weapons.”
The other soldier tossed Roddy aside and tugged Da’s dirk and pistol free.
“So you decided to crawl out of your hiding place after all. You’re a bit too late for your wife, though. Trista was her name?”
Da’s face fell as his gaze moved from him to the blood seeping across the stones behind them. “Don’t want that to happen to your boys, do you, Blackburne?”
Da’s eyes narrowed, his tightened jaw worked back and forth. His hand instinctively reached for the weapon on his hip that wasn’t there.
The soldier cocked his pistol and steadied it at Da. Colin could tell he was fighting the urge to leap forward and rip their throats out, but the pistol pointed at his chest kept him back. With hatred in his eyes, Da uttered the words, “Let them go.”
The ping of his mother’s beloved lantern clock, a wedding gift from his father, traveled across the room from the mantle, marking the passing of another hour.
“That’s not the way this works. You’ll answer to Fairfax first, and then we’ll see about your lads.”
A blade pressed against Colin’s throat. The sharp sting of an open wound made him freeze. Da’s eyes widened and a flash of panic disappeared from his features as soon as it came. “I’ll do as you say. But if you lay another hand on my sons, you’ll have to kill me, and you won’t get the information you need then, will you?”
Colin’s pulse thrummed in his ears as the soldier’s grip tightened on the back of his neck. He tried to unwrap the man’s fingers with his own, but was already weak from struggling. Next to him, his little brother, Roddy, fought like a hen ready to be plucked, the tips of his shoes scraping the stone floor. His spindly legs kicked furiously at the giant holding him off the ground, but even as they connected with the man’s shins, the soldier never flinched.
The Englishman holding Colin spat as he spoke. His breath reeked of onions and ale. “Hit him again! Make him scream loud enough to force the traitor out of his rat hole.”
Roddy’s captor smacked him hard on the side of his head, making him scream. Colin stood helpless, unable to be the man his father expected him to be while he was gone.
“Leave him alone!” Colin dug his nails into the man’s leathery skin and was answered with a resounding slap to his face. Boiling with fury, he never felt it.
“Do that again and you’ll end up like her!” The soldier swung Colin around to face his mother’s body lying in a pool of her own blood. Her shoes were missing and her stockings were torn, one in a bunch around her ankle. Blocked by his father’s reading chair, he couldn’t see her face, but he knew it must’ve been streaked with tears. He tried to erase the images that burned behind his eyes of what the men had done to her before they killed her, but her muffled cries still rang in his ears.
The other soldier jerked Roddy by the hair, prodding him to let out another howl. The men shared a wicked smile.
“That should fetch us the cockard,” one said.
Colin wasn’t sure what they meant until his father, who was supposed to be in Yorkshire fighting for England’s true king, burst into the room. The sleeve of his uniform was soiled and torn, the lace hanging from his cuff like a long-legged spider. When had he returned?
“Let go of him!” His da lunged toward the soldier.
In a single heartbeat, the man pointed his pistol at Da. He jerked his head toward his comrade. “Get his weapons.”
The other soldier tossed Roddy aside and tugged Da’s dirk and pistol free.
“So you decided to crawl out of your hiding place after all. You’re a bit too late for your wife, though. Trista was her name?”
Da’s face fell as his gaze moved from him to the blood seeping across the stones behind them. “Don’t want that to happen to your boys, do you, Blackburne?”
Da’s eyes narrowed, his tightened jaw worked back and forth. His hand instinctively reached for the weapon on his hip that wasn’t there.
The soldier cocked his pistol and steadied it at Da. Colin could tell he was fighting the urge to leap forward and rip their throats out, but the pistol pointed at his chest kept him back. With hatred in his eyes, Da uttered the words, “Let them go.”
The ping of his mother’s beloved lantern clock, a wedding gift from his father, traveled across the room from the mantle, marking the passing of another hour.
“That’s not the way this works. You’ll answer to Fairfax first, and then we’ll see about your lads.”
A blade pressed against Colin’s throat. The sharp sting of an open wound made him freeze. Da’s eyes widened and a flash of panic disappeared from his features as soon as it came. “I’ll do as you say. But if you lay another hand on my sons, you’ll have to kill me, and you won’t get the information you need then, will you?”
