Cardigan Bay, Wales
1759

Darkness. He couldn't see it. He felt it. Like a heavy shroud. Resistance had been a mistake. He knew that now—when he could force his mind to think. It was difficult. He opened his eyes. Saw nothing.
Was he blind?
Was he dead?.. No. He could smell. Damp, salty air, and sweat. And he could hear. The gentle, hissing sound of water passing by.
What could have saved him? He didn't know. It didn't matter. It was too late. He had already been dragged into the boat; oars now splashing in the slow deliberate rhythm of rowers sweating at their well-practiced work as he was being rowed out into the blackness of the night.
He slumped like a limp sack of wet grain against the bulwarks in the bow. His head ached. He was aware of the rowers only by sound, not by sight. But he didn't recognize the sound. He strained with the effort to force his eyes open and keep them from rolling up into his forehead. He welcomed the oblivion of sleep, but he knew he was awake. In the brief moments of focus, there were faint flickers of light.
Was it a lantern? A candle? It came and went, like a relentless dream. His eyes would start their rise once more as he passed from semi-stupor to semi-consciousness and back again. His head ached with each repeating cycle.
Was Elrood here?
His mind cleared momentarily—long enough to show he wasn't dreaming. This was real.
Was he in a boat?
Why?
The motion of the sea was peaceful, like his cradle at Berwyck Manor. When he felt its gentle rise and fall, he calmed. Then, his grandfather's angry face loomed over him in the darkness like a thundering cloud. He opened his eyes again. He was sure it was a lantern. But he did not know how far the rowers had rowed, how long he had been in the boat. Nor was he aware of other men, there, in a similar state to his own.
But he knew exactly what had happened.