Free One Man's Love by Karen Ranney Page A

the barracks chambers, the only concessions to its function the series of manacles mounted high in the wall and the bars over the window.
    A gaol was a necessity in a fort this size. Allowances had to be made for those who did not easily accustom themselves to military life. Disobedience was severely punished in His Majesty’s Army. But most of the discipline meted out was for other infractions. Men who were systematically trained to kill, as soldiers were, did not easily discard that fierceness of temper after battle.
    The prisoner he visited was not, however, a private who had taken a bottle to his roommate or a captain who had challenged another man to a duel for the honor of a lady. Instead, it was a grizzled Scot with a glower that could melt the bars of his cell. A slim manof short stature, his wrists were manacled to the wall a few inches above his head.
    Alec could almost feel the hatred directed at him, Hamish’s eyes were so filled with it.
    He glanced over his shoulder at the guard stationed inside the door.
    “Give me the keys,” he said sharply, then frowned at the look of surprise on the other man’s face. As a lowly lieutenant, he’d had to obey any order given him with quickness, respect, and above all obedience. It appeared, however, that both Sedgewick and the men under his command had not yet learned that lesson.
    “Do you have a problem obeying me, Sergeant?” he asked curtly.
    “No, sir,” the other man said, handing the ring to Alec.
    Alec heard the door of the gaol close behind him as he stared at Hamish MacRae. Hamish had been kind to the young boy he’d been, had taught Alec the basics of the bagpipes. But it had been James with the talent and the wind for the instrument.
    Hamish looked at him contemptuously, a glance at odds with his current pose of being manacled to the wall.
    “So you’re the new commander of this eyesore,” he said.
    “I am,” Alec said sharply, walking closer to the old man.
    “Have you come to gloat, then? If so, you’ve found a poor target for it. I’m an old man and I’ve seen too much to regret my passing.”
    Alec raised an eyebrow at Hamish. “Is it a trait of the Scots, this eagerness to martyr yourselves?”
    “Is it a trait of the English, to push us toward it?” Hamish glared at him from beneath bushy eyebrows, not unlike a trapped badger.
    “If I let you go, will you promise to obey the law? Or is it your story that you don’t know about the Disarming Act?”
    “That English law? About as worthless as anything else you English have given us.”
    “That’s the problem with martyrs,” Alec said, disgusted. “They only see themselves and their ideals. They rarely care about those who must pay the price for their martyrdom.”
    “You English have taken my country and my kin. You’ll not have my pride.”
    Alec reached up and unlocked the manacles from the old man’s wrists before stepping back. Hamish lowered his arms, rubbing his wrists while he glared at Alec.
    “You’ve a hostage to your obedience, Hamish MacRae of the Clan MacRae,” Alec said curtly. “I’ve made a trade for you.”
    “I’ll not agree to a trade,” Hamish muttered.
    Alec ignored him. “Your pipes will be destroyed, and I suggest you find more acceptable attire,” he said, glancing down at Hamish’s kilt. “Your hostage’s safety depends upon your willingness to obey.”
    “I’ll not go,” Hamish said stubbornly.
    “You haven’t a choice,” Alec said.
    “Who have you taken?”
    “Leitis,” he said, tensing for the old man’s reaction.
    But Hamish only closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them a moment later, he turned his head and spit on the floor. “That’s what I think of an Englishman’s threat.”
    Not one word of concern for Leitis. Not one thought for his own niece.
    Alec called out for the guard. When he entered the room, Alec motioned to Hamish with a jerk of his head. “Get the old fool out of here,” he said, “before I