Hector Sutherland may have been the patriarch of a large family, but not one of them loved him. He was a greedy, ruthless, capricious man whose only loves were power, riches, and the eldest of his four daughters, Mairi. Despite the cruelty of his nature, he was not ugly. Indeed, he was a fine-looking man with gray-streaked black hair and dark gray eyes.

Mairi could almost twist her father around her little finger, but not quite, for his cruelty knew no bounds. She was like him, in looks, not in personality, being brown-eyed and dark-haired with shapely, almost masculine features but with a feminine cast.

She was tall and strong, and from a distance could have been mistaken for a man, but she had feminine wiles aplenty. She had to suffer the attention of the other bandits, though, who made very free with their roaming hands all over her body. Her father always struck out if one of them tried to go any further than a caress though.

In some ways, he was very protective, and he had never struck her, unlike the others.

Her brothers and sisters were terrified of Hector, and her mother cowered every time he came near, for his method of discipline was cruel in the extreme. He used his fists, a wooden rod, a leather strap, and the sheer force of his brutal personality. The most trivial of infringements could result in a dozen or more strokes of the lash, even for little Sam, who was only three years old. Often one of the older children would have to hold him down under pain of being beaten themselves. Mairi often pleaded for mercy for them, but it never came.

Mistress Donella Sutherland had already suffered three miscarriages on account of his violence, but she thanked God for them because she had no wish to bring another life into the world to suffer as much as the family she had. She had often thought of smothering the little ones in their sleep and jumping off the high walls of the Sutherland house, but she had never had the courage.

Now, the oldest of her sons, also called Hector, who was twenty-one, was growing up to be just like his father, violent and abusive, especially after a few drams. There were signs that the other two, Alec and Bearnaird, who were twenty, were going the same way too.

Every night Donella Sutherland prayed for deliverance from her husband's wrath, but God had either been rendered deaf or was ignoring her pleas. She thanked him that she was at least too old for childbearing any more. She had nine living children and had endured one stillbirth as well as all the miscarriages.

When Hector came in with plunder from neighboring farms, he was always in a state of high excitement, and these were the times Donella dreaded the most, for then he used her body in the worst way, and clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her screams. Donella tried to acquire some milk of the poppy during those times both to numb her pain and put her to sleep.

But her husband, for all his savagery, was not stupid. Hector took livestock, crops and sometimes even women from the farmers, but he left them enough to live on so that they could always sustain his and his family's needs. His 'estate' as he liked to call it, stood on the plateau of a low mountain with almost sheer sides, almost impregnable from attack by the forces of the two lairds in the valley, and the others, whose land was more distant but in just as much danger.

Despite this, it was heavily fortified and inhabited not just by the Sutherlands, but by any outlaw who proved his worth to them, so the large compound, made up of four different houses, could hold about forty men if need be, and enough sheep, goats, and pigs to feed them all. If they needed more, they simply went on a raid and took what they wanted, and because they never struck in the same place twice in a row, it was impossible to guess their next target.

Everyone knew there had to be a secret entrance to the stronghold, but no matter how anyone searched – and there had been many searches – the entrance had never been discovered, so an ambush by stealth was impossible.

The garrisons of all the lairds had tried to attack the fortress, but Hector Sutherland had been alerted by a spy beforehand. No one knew their identity. He had kidnapped a farmer and his family and held them hostage, threatening them with death unless the soldiers backed away. They did, but the father of the family was murdered anyway, and his head thrown down to the army below. That had earned Hector Sutherland and his three oldest sons a death sentence, but until they could be wrenched from their stronghold, they were as safe as they could be. Even a siege was impossible as long as the entrance to the place was unknown.

So the Sutherlands ruled, and that was the fact of life which had been all but accepted in the region. Short of posting a guard on every farm in the valley, which would have required more manpower than they had, it was impossible to do anything to stop them, so they continued to terrorize the community whenever it suited them, which was often.

Many of the farmers were now laying aside a portion of their harvests and livestock as tribute, to pacify them and safeguard their families from harm, but it did not always work. The Sutherlands were power-hungry and bloodthirsty. Not only was violence a means to an end, but an end in itself. They enjoyed it.

Mairi Sutherland had never been seen in daylight by any outside eyes. She emerged only at night and even then was swathed in dark clothing that completely covered her face.

She emerged from the secret entrance in darkness and did not light her lamp till she was a hundred yards away from it – since she knew the path like the back of her hand. She had no desire to waylay or rob anyone. She simply needed a breath of fresh air outside the compound to enjoy the wide-open space, the sigh of the wind and the pleasure of her own company. Sometimes if it was dry, she went to sleep and woke up just before dawn with dew on her face and a feeling of dread in her heart that she had to go home.

Like all the others, Mairi was terrified of her father, even though she knew that she was his favorite. That could always change, though, because he was a changeable, temperamental man, likely to explode at a moment's notice. How she hated him!

One day when her father was sleeping off a particularly bad hangover, Mairi found her mother sitting by the kitchen garden, weeping silently.

Donella knew that Mairi treasured her place as her father's favorite, not so much for herself, but for the tiny bit of protection she could give the others. She did this by distracting his attention from everyone else, and only her mother knew the emotional cost of this.

Now she sat down by her mother's side and looked into her prematurely lined face. She took her worn hand and kissed it, then Donella leaned her head on her daughter's shoulder. They sat silently for a moment.

"I hate him," Mairi hissed out. "I hate him wi' everything that's in me, Mammy. My soul is black wi' it."

"I do too." Donella nodded in agreement.

"An' I am goin' tae dae somethin' aboot it," Mairi said grimly. "I am goin' tae kill him, Mammy."

"But ye cannae dae that!" Donella protested.

"An' why not?" Mairi demanded. "He beat Rose this mornin', an' she is only five years old, Ma! Is one o' us gaunnae hae tae die afore he stops?"

"He is the only one puttin' food on the table," Donella pointed out.

"Aye – stolen food! He takes the bread oot o' the mouths o' other wee bairns tae feed his ain. Then he beats them half tae death for nothin'."

Mairi sat, breathing heavily, then added, "I will find a way tae make money, Mammy! An' then I will take yon horsewhip in the stable, tie him tae a tree, an’ whip him tae death – an' I dinnae care if I die an' all!"

She paused, and when she spoke again, it was as if the words were coming from the throat of a demon.

"Mammy, when I lash him, I want tae look straight intae his eyes, an' when I give him the last stroke o' that whip, I will pray tae God tae pit him where he belangs – in the deepest, darkest dungeons o' hell wi' the murderers an’ rapers o' women an' wee ones. An' I swear by the blessed virgin that the last hand that touches him will be mine an' the last face he sees will be mine – an' I will be smilin'."