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irwinwe

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"Avenge to no success, Cameron" the leader said.  "You know the Whigs will overcome the Jacobites eventually - better weapons, better intelligence, more money.  In the grand scheme of things, Cameron, does your life really matter?  One recalcitrant will - does it's absence really matter?  Tell me...are you enough to compel your men to avenge?"

Alexander's aura changed drastically, and Atalanta had a feeling he was hiding true feelings behind a mask.  He was going to play them.  She watched him as he smiled widely and donned an arrogant facade. 

"I am the son of the Laird of Lochiel, and many say I am the best warrior in the clan.  My death would rouse not only the Camerons, but also the MacDonalds, men who, with us, 'ave shared Eilean Munde for years because of wha' men like yu 'ave done.  And if ye think supreme weaponry will earn ye immediate success, then think again, sir.  Ye seem tae forget tha' we 'ave the highlands on our side.  We know her moods, her dark grey anger and her elusive mist.  We know how to disappear and appear again like ghosts while yu are cornered in your organized rectangles.  Ye call us savages, and aye, we are tha', and we fight like them.  So it would be...ah...intelligent, as ye say, tae watch your words." Alexander finished, baiting him.

"Damn you Cameron" the man said as he lifted his own pistol and cocked it, pointing it directly at Alexander's chest.  

"Do it" Alexander interrupted, as he slowly continued to slip the dagger down to this hand.  "Pull the trigger, man, because when ye do, ye will give my men impetus to end your treasonous onslaught once and for all.  So kill me then, ye stupid fool.  At least ye'll 'ave won something 'afore yu yourself are killed by one of my avengers."

"You have a sharp tongue for a man held at gunpoint, Cameron" returned the leader through clenched teeth.   

"Aye, no fear, resolute and courageous, and that's why it would give me no pleasure to kill you.  I could end this once and for all, mind you.  But nay, if I did that, you'd die thinking you'd won, you'd die thinking you'd had the last word, you'd die thinking you are a hero, ridiculously loyal and stubbornly proud, and Cameron, I cannot allow that."

Alexander said nothing, just elevated his clenched chin and stood cold as a glacier, except for the one arm that was adeptly but subtly inching the dagger into his palm's grasp.  The leader of King William's men continued to speak, reveling in the sound of his own voice.

"Nay that is not nearly good enough.  I want you broken.  I want you subservient.  I want you giving up and suffering and on your knees begging...whipped...and bloody."

The man took a pause to chuckle sickly.

"I hope those scars on your back have healed from where we whipped you last time.  Because if they have not, I'd hate to see what they'll look like before we're done with you.  And then, by the time you've given your soul to us, we'll have gathered the men we need to take on your savage kin, and we'll drive your damned souls into your useless Scottish soil...your religion...your king...and your cause...along with them."

Alexander stood silent as a snow-covered glen, eyes green ice, jaw twitching in seething fury just as the creek trickles beneath it's frozen surface, wanting to break through, knowing it must be held back.  It took every fleck of steel in his will to control the fury he felt and to carry on with precision as he knew he must.

It was a wonder the invaders did not feel the Cameron tension that circumnavigated them, for Alexander and his brothers were not the only ones who silenced a rage. Atalanta also seethed in silent anger from her darkened corner of the hallway. She had heard everything, and now she was certain that this half-brother of hers was undeserving of this ill-treatment. He was a Jacobite and a Catholic, and as was evident by the invader's blatant accusations, he had suffered much because he had refused to renounce these beliefs. Pride welled inside her as she at last realized that she had found her true family. She had always suspected that she was very unique amongst her Campbell peers. But not until she discovered that she was a Cameron did she realize why. The Camerons were men above all men. They did what was right as opposed to what was easy. That meant Alexander Cameron, her half-brother, would die before he would surrender his cause. Fear suddenly pricked her. Oh God, what if they shot him? What if they took him prisoner and dealt him a death by one thousand thrashings? What if he really did die? But no, surely he was too great a man to suffer such a fate, was he not? Someone had to do something.