“She is gone?” Commander Anton Evans paced the halls of Dunkeld House. A small mason building adjacent to the cathedral where his men had recently ended a Jacobite uprising. He had taken up residence in the run-down house waiting for his betrothed to arrive. He had servants brought in from the town, and a few key members of his garrison stayed in the house with him, although all of the men came and went as they pleased, the ungrateful lot. After the battle he had suffered no casualties from his garrison, and he was quite proud of the damage he had wrought upon the Scottish rebels. Even killing one high ranking clansman himself. And now that little slut, Pearson’s headstrong daughter, was ruining the afterglow of his victory. She had up and disappeared. Regardless of where she was or how she got there, he was determined to bring her back, own her, and break her. “How the bloody hell is she gone!?” he asked to no one in particular.

Pearson’s most trusted footman Richard had shown up in Dunkeld two days previous, and thinking his betrothed was safely ensconced at the Inn in town, Anton had waited before summoning the man to his quarters for an update. He was the highest-ranking British officer left in this hell gone town, and he demanded to be treated with the respect his title afforded him. Only this time his social identity took a great hit. He was shocked to find out the waif had disappeared. Right from under that sniveling footman’s nose.

“My apologies, Commander, she fled or was taken, somewhere between Stirling and Perth. The carriage we were in suffered the loss of a wheel. The girl was safely locked in when we left her. But when the driver and I returned to fix the wheel, the door had been ripped from the hinges, and well, she was gone.”

“SHE WAS GONE!” Anton bellowed. Just like that the little slut disappeared, making him into the biggest fool in all of Scotland. Evans had spent his entire life around women like Ella Pearson. Women who liked nothing more but to make strong men, like him, look foolish in the eyes of their peers. Women who may be small in stature, but had oversized ideas about their role in society and in relationships. His mother was such a woman. Constantly making his father look and feel foolish in front of his men and their servants. Making him a cuckhold, and flaunting her affairs throughout society, all the while leaving his father no choice but to hide his face and retreat from society. Anton would not suffer the same sad fate. He would not be made a fool by a woman the likes of Ella Pearson.

“You’ve seen Ella Pearson, right man?”

“I have, sir,” the footman replied, flinching as Anton raised his voice.

“She is the size of a mouse. You mean to tell me you think her capable of ripping the door from a coach carriage?”

“Sir, had I not seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it, but what I tell you is true. The door was ripped off and the girl was gone. However, there is the possibility she did not abandon you of her own free will.”

“Explain,” Evans said, pacing again and losing patience. He hated theatrical drama and this pasty footman seemed to thrive on it, as he was taking his sweet time getting the point of the matter.

“I found a series of letters, Ella, er, Miss Pearson wrote to her sister while we were traveling,” Richard said, handing the letters to the Commander. “If you take the time to read them you will see, it appeared she had come around to her pending nuptials. Mayhap she didn’t run, and she was taken against her will.” Anton took the letters from the man and after barely a moment flipping through the correspondence, he threw the lot of them into the fire. He didn’t have the time to read lies the girl had put on paper, as a way to further trick the idiot footman.

“Alright, alright. As absurd as it sounds, I will try my best not to doubt you. And you say you circled back to check the path from whence you came? You know a foolish girl trying to escape her fate could only know to try and get back to England, but if she were taken for ransom she could be being hidden in any of the caves or glens around where your carriage went lame.”

“Yes, sir, her footprints headed south, we tracked them for a bit, and it did look like there were more than one set, but then it rained, and we lost the trail. We couldn’t find her anywhere and the driver and I both searched for more than half a night and day before deciding to come straight to you. My apologies sir, but I would’ve told you sooner except you kept us waiting in the inn for near on two days.”

The last dig the footman offered did nothing but anger Anton more. Who was a lowly footman to challenge how he spent his time. A commander is very busy by design, but that was neither here nor there.

By his count he figured Ella had a five-day lead on any search party he could send for her. Even if she had survived that long in the elements, it didn’t mean she was still alive. He also had to consider that any Jacobite retreater could have come upon her and decided to take the girl as his own, killed her, or tried to ransom her off for gold. He should just leave her to her fate, but the idea that she’d run from him caused him to seethe. Curse the little bitch for this. He walked over to the door of the parlor leading to the kitchen where his men liked to hang around hoping for a look up a kitchen maid’s skirt.

“Peters, Smith, and Stewart come here at once!” he shouted, listening to the clamoring of cups and plates as the men ran down the hall toward him.

“Sir, what can we do for you sir?” Peters asked.

“I need you, Smith, and Stewart to scour this blasted countryside and located my missing betrothed. Along the way I want you to round up any Jacobite scum you come across and bring them back to me in chains. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir!” Peters answered. He really did like the young man’s tenacity at taking orders, unlike the other soldiers in his garrison who were only there for the pay and possibility of an elevation in status, Peters seemed to really enjoy the fight. Peters, who was the most senior of the lot and the most vicious of his soldiers, is who he would trust to take the lead on this mission.

“Also, can you send some of the other men in here to clean up this mess?” Anton asked.

Peter looked at him quizzically. “Mess sir?”

“Oh yes, I must have forgotten,” Anton replied. Unsheathing his sword, he slowly walked over to Richard, and placing a hand on the man’s shoulder he thrust his blade through his middle. A look of shock and pain crossed Richard’s face before Anton removed his sword and the man fell to the floor. “Yes Peters, do have someone come clean up this mess.”

“Very good sir,” the soldier said before taking his leave back to the kitchen to carry out his commander’s orders.

Anton’s anger ebbed away at killing the idiot who caused him to lose his bride, but he knew that he wouldn’t be satisfied until Ella was found, captured, and brought back to him.

He would marry her, if it was the last thing he did, but he was smart enough to know it wouldn’t be his last action. No, he would marry the little bitch, that much was true. He slammed his fist down on his desk in frustration. She was making a fool of him, and that could not be tolerated. Once she was his, he would show her what it was like to be used and made to look the fool. He would take her maidenhead and continue to take his pleasure with her until he grew bored. Feeling his frustration ebb with the formation of his plan. Once I’m done with her I’ll simply get rid of her, he thought. She’ll be of no use to me or any other man. Once he was through there would be no point in keeping a useless piece of chattel around. She would learn there were consequences to crossing Anton Evans, and he would take his time teaching her. Smiling to himself, he was pleased. She would pay with her life.