Chapter twelve
It had been three days and she hadn't returned his letter. To her, she needed a break from all of them for a while, even Philip.
Sighing, Monica tossed stones into water and watched the ripples die slowly. As much as she enjoyed painting fear in the faces of the ladies, pain still stung her somewhere, one she hated to admit when she saw them. It all reminded her of the image years ago.
When her small figure hid under the King-sized bed, Forland Carlovette aimed a rifle at her father, snarling out words that were drowned by her muffled cries.
Still, she had prayed for the last Duke of Anfield not to shoot him, one prayer she knew was impossible to be answered. And within a split of a second, Forland had pulled the trigger.
She still laid there, shivering under the bed and blocking her ears as a child she was, watching the man who gave birth to her crumple to the ground. The image made her smile in nostalgia. Then she tossed another stone into the water.
It only took days to convert Kilmarnock to English property, given the other empires were too cowardly to do anything about it. All the King of Scotland did was to write a letter. Was that supposed to change anything?
And afterwards, the residents were driven out or chose to die. Some snuck into Wales, others Ireland, and here she was in England.
Monica tossed the sixth stone in the river before her and sighed again. And now it was do or die. Getting Kilmarnock back was one thing above all, not because it was home, but because it was her father's. Maybe it was a sin to find gold in the duchy. If not, maybe she could have still been happily dining back in Scotland.
Coming back to reality, she watched the last set of ripples wear off, almost as easily as trust did. Coming to think of it, it was impossible to imagine those men were once friends. And her mother's heart belonged to Forland despite her marriage to Maitland. That made her scoff.
It was funny how one man could change everything. And funny how his son was going to suffer for whatever he had done.
Philip…
As much as she did not want to, someone had to pay for Forland's mistake. What better person than his only son.
She reached for his letter in her pocket and read it for the millionth time, trying to force herself to go back on her word and let Philip be. He was just too innocent.
Dear Monica,
           I deeply apologize for my mother's behavior, and I will help you no matter who stands against me. It's all about doing what is right. However, inorder for that to happen, I'll need you to tell me the entire truth. Because I am sure there's something you all are hiding from me. Something I need to know. You'll need to trust me and open up to me. Why don't we see again, and maybe have our own dual in sword practice.
                                                      Take care,
                                             The English lad.
Oh! So he was now playing anonymous as well. She had smiled at it. He was too young for what she had planned to do, too beautiful. Innocent.
And now her fantasies were just about to be destroyed. She realized that when she heard noise from behind her. Then she turned.
Young males stalked to the river with fishing lines and hooks, ready to fish for dinner. She smirked knowingly when they gawked at her, "What? Never seen a beautiful woman?"
They seemed to find her question very amusing as they exchanged glances among each other.
"Well you are a pretty sight," One of them flirted.
The Scottish tilted her head in thought, her smile never leaving her lips, "I am dangerous too."
Well that was even more amusing.
The men laughed out mockingly, something she found plainly offensive.
Reaching around to the back of her hip, she retrieved a pen knife and flung it down to the foot of the last man. The blade dug a shallow wound on the bridge of his toes, fixing itself into it.
The victim wailed, glancing around at his friends in confusion as he bent to squeeze his leg in pain.
The others pulled out their swords and faced the lady who smiled in excitement.
"Who's laughing now? Drop your knives, I like using my fists to beat up men like you."
The one in front obeyed first and clenched a fist as he pounced towards her.
She smiled.
***
Miriam opened the door with frustration on her face. Who had been knocking like…
She sighted a uniformed man with a smile on his face right before her.
"Good morning ma'am," he bowed, "we seek Monica Maitland."
The woman frowned and looked behind him, checking for who made him say "we." A carriage just parked there in front of their yard, making her anxiety increase even more.
As she glared back at the soldier before her, she asked, "She is my daughter. And you are…?"
Just then, the carriage doors clicked open and a pair of fair, feminine legs dropped from them. Miriam studied the neatly dressed lady who walked as if the world rested on her shoulders. Her blonde hair dangled in smooth curls to her back and her grey eyes searched the surrounding, disgust clearly written in them.
As the lady sighted her, a fake smile creeped up her face.
Elizabeth!
***
Monica threw a fist to the man's nose, sending him staggering back in anger. She smiled while her eyes travelled to all of them. The first one still nursed his foot, one or two lay on the grass with  broken jaws, two others had bleeding noses. But somehow, she wasn't satisfied. Her victims were supposed to beg and regret. Still, they had this adamance to accept losing to her. So with the little strength they had left, they struggled to stand with their swords in their hands.
Monica tilted her head, realising she had to go more brutal than bleeding noses and broken jaws.
Retrieving both her swords from their sheaths, she formed a stance and faced them.
"Who are you?" Asked the one with the bleeding foot.
Her smile beamed even more while she replied, "Oh you can call me Monica!"
Flinging her swords repeatedly, she approached them, ready to do anything to them except to kill. Not as if she cared, but they needed a chance to see her sometime in future and fear her. There was nothing better than power.
And so, Monica clinked her weapons with all six men one by one, finding it difficult to notice she was outnumbered.
The prevailing noise apart from the slashing of their weapons came from the waterfall by her side. The river she once stood by flowed against a rocky substratum, splashing violently through the rocks and finally surrendering down to a waterfall. Beyond that, the water continued peacefully in a straight, narrow lake.
"You said no weapons," the tallest man brought her gaze back from the water to them.
At that,she frowned and stopped fighting, her hands on her hips, "Why would you ever believe any beautiful woman you find by the side of a river? Especially someone like me."
They ignored her question with groans from their throat, ready to resume the fight. However, she dashed away, throwing her swords down to the grass.
"Fine," she squared her shoulders and raised both fists, bouncing on both her feet in a position she forced to be threatening, "No more excuses for being weak. Let's make this fair and square."
Dodging a hit from one, she grabbed his arm and shoved him over her shoulder, then stabbed the one behind her with an elbow.
She raised a leg and kicked the last three. These men were mere residents, that she realized. Beating them up was like fish in a barrel. But that was just the beginning. As she turned around, a larger number of male scumbags came along to join in the fun. This was one thing she did not put up for. Where did they even come from?
Enough questions, now it was time to run! Something she hated to admit.
Monica rushed to one of the many trees around them and jumped upon the potruding root. Next, she bounced off it and reached for its nearest branch above her. The waterfall looked pretty from this view, she smiled.
But there were still scumbags at her feet. Slowly, the Scottish pulled herself up to stand on the branch of the tree, no matter how unsteady it was for her to. At least it kept her away from the men hovering around her below, ready to pull her eyes out as ancient artifact. That was what she would have done if she had the chance.
But then, the waterfall! Her eyes  cringed in fear while she faced the body of water again, realising her biggest nightmare had just begun.
The branch she happened to be upon hung directly above the body of water. It was either she fell off it down the whole length of the waterfall, or she preferred drowning in a sea of men.
Well she could easily climb down…
Just until she turned around and saw her opponents trying to climb the tree to reach her.
Plan B.
Monica pulled out a dagger from her boot and faced it to them, trying to scare them off. But they kept coming, mainly because they knew if there was someone under a real threat here, it was her! And by God, they were going to make sure she fell off that branch.
It was now that true fear gripped her heart, when last did that happen? When her fear became visible on her face as good as light, her opponents pushed to increase it. Who's strong now?
She staggered upon her narrow stand, turning back and forth to analyse the waterfall and her opponents.
Water…
Angry men…
She tried to pick between two risky chances. With a final frown and sigh, she studied the men smirking at her and chose not to give them such satisfaction.
In the end, she chose the water.