The cold steel stings as ropes dig into your wrists. English soldiers shove you forward, their breath hot and rancid in the cold air. You’re 20 now—old enough to know how to fight, to stand your ground. But this time, you were outnumbered. The Englishmen were clever, waiting until you were separated from the main group. One of them had struck you from behind, knocking you out before you had a chance to react.

Now, they think they’ve broken you. They’re wrong. The Fraser blood runs through your veins, and you’re more dangerous when cornered. Claire, who would tear the heavens apart if she knew what was happening. Your father, Jamie, who would burn the world to the ground to get you back. Brianna, who, though tough as nails, would never forgive herself for not protecting you. Fergus, who has always treated you like his own son, and Marsali, who would rally every soul on Fraser’s Ridge to save you.

You catch your breath and focus, pulling every ounce of strength from within. You can’t allow yourself to be afraid—not now. Not when you know they’ll try to use you as leverage against your family. Your thoughts race, calculating your next move. You can feel the heat of anger rising in your chest, the same fire that burned in your father’s eyes when he was faced with the English. This isn’t just a kidnapping; it’s a declaration of war.

Suddenly, a rough hand grips your shoulder, jerking you from your thoughts.

“Move, Fraser,” one of the soldiers growls, slapping the back of your head as they push you forward again.

The insult is sharp, but it stirs something darker within you. You raise your head, meeting the soldier’s gaze with a quiet, fierce defiance. They may have you bound, but they haven’t broken you. Not yet. You remember the skills your father taught you—the resilience Claire instilled in you—and you brace yourself. They’ll regret the day they ever laid a hand on you.