Christel and Ian had almost reached her small cottage when Ian quickly reigned in his horse. Bidding her to stop with his hand, he brought his index finger to his lips as he glanced at the surrounding trees, warning her to keep quiet.

She looked around but saw nothing but woods and thicket. Ian rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, but urged them to move forward. They had not advanced more than fifty feet before nine men let out a piercing cry and began to drop from the trees. The group formed a small circle around the couple and demanded them to dismount. Ian looked at Christel and told her to stay. Her eyes darted back and forth between the rebels surrounding she and Ian. The last thing she wanted was for the young lad to be harmed in any way by trying to protect her. She scanned the men, most of them were dirty and their looks were leering. Her stomach convulsed. They were disgusting and vile but Ian meant a lot to her. She climbed down from her horse and told Ian to do the same.

“Are ye a pansy, then lad?” Spat a balding man came as he came forward and Christel cringed away from his retched breath and rotting teeth.

Ian made a move to raise his sword. “No!” Christel yelled, she did not want his young blood on her hands. “Dismount Ian,” she commanded softly and watched as the boy struggled with his duty to protect her and his willingness to die trying to do so.

He finally understood that he alone had no chance against the men and dismounted. “Ye are not to touch the lady!” he yelled at the men as they quickly disarmed him of his sword and dirk.

“Ye’ve quite the nerve, lad, to make demands of us.” The bald man glanced back in Christel’s direction. “Besides, she’s nothing more then a peasant wench. She’s not one noble bone in her body.” He sneered at Christel and turned his back to the boy. “Bind him, I’ll take care of the wench.” He gave her an evil smile and began to walk to where she stood frozen from fear.

She found her legs, turned and ran into the woods. She dodged low-hanging branches as best she could, but still they whipped and sliced at her face. Christel didn’t dare look back. She could hear at least two men breaking twigs and branches as they chased her. The woods broke out into a clearing, which made her running easier, but also less difficult for the rogues that chased her.

Christel felt the force of a heavy body hit hers from behind and she fell to the ground face first, her chin scraping against the rough grass, all her breath rushed out of her and she fought for air. Rough hands lifted her and then threw her back on the ground, this time on her back and she saw that it was not the balding man that had given her chase. This one was younger, maybe ten and nine, with long blonde hair, which was covered in dirt and bits of grass. He had dirt smudges on his face and as he grabbed her hands in front of her, straddling her across the waist, with his knees on either side, she could see dirt caked under his fingernails.

She struggled to get up and catch her breath, but the lug wouldn’t budge. She coughed and sputtered and he laughed looking down at her, struggling and gasping for air. He bound her hands with a piece of twine and stood up, allowing her to sit up and catch her breath.

Once she was able to breathe normally, he yanked her to her feet, she tried to pull away but his grip was unyielding and she had no choice but to follow him. He didn’t bring her back to the road where they had been captured, he brought her deeper into another part of the woods. Christel fought against his hold, her mind running rampantly on what he was going to do to her.

“Ye know, Angus was hoping ye would hae a wee bit of coin left on ye from ye’re trip to the square. He was also hoping ye would be more than a lowly wench too.” He stopped and pushed her back against a large tree, the bark biting into the thin material of her dress.

He brought his face close to hers and continued to talk, his breath flowed into Christel’s nostrils and she had to fight the urge to vomit from the stench emitting not only from his mouth, but his whole body in general.

“’Tis a pity for ye, that ye are only a wench. No one will care what happens to ye.” He ran a dirty finger down her cheek and across her lips.

She spat in his face and turned her face away. He caught her jaw in a grip that caused pain to spike all the way to her ears. He brought his mouth hard down on hers and she began to gag as she struggled with a new fierceness in her. Her knee came up hard and caught him between the legs and he doubled over, howling in pain. Christel looked around, she didn’t know which way was which, she didn’t know where to run. But it didn’t matter, he caught her foot and she fell to the ground again. This time he wasted no time and brought her to her feet and rejoined his group of outlaws on the road.

Christel looked around for Ian but couldn’t see him. “What did you do with the boy?” she asked frantically, still searching the road and nearby woods for any sign of him.

“’Tis not any of your concern,” answered the bald man, and then, “gag her.” He ordered the man that caught her in the clearing and the man ripped a strip of material from the hem of her skirt and used it to gag her.