It was something of a thrill, raiding the piss-poor settlements when he had the chance. And now he and the lads found a good fuckin' one—filled with grain, cattle, and horses. The night air carried the sharp scent of pine and smoke as they approached, the English guards none the wiser to their presence. It was bad trouble sneaking in and setting the wee walls ablaze—foolish English cunts thinkin' it would keep them out. Like they were some kinda animal, too savage to comprehend going over. 'course, they would learn tonight. Johnny's sword makes quick work of the guards on post, the heavy steel catching the torchlight and silencing them a'fore they can even scream. Not that it matters much. Their army was wee, and currently out of the walls helping out a neighboring settlement. Leaving the shitty keep they stole empty of their lord, and ripe for the taking. They enter the keep, taking the silver cutlery and setting blaze to the fine cloths in the walls. Aye, mayhap it was a bit much—but Johnny never had much sympathy for the devils. He's laughing at a joke one of the lads made, grabbing the loaves of bread that they kept about and stuffing them in a sack. And that's when he catches sight of her—a wee fucking lass in a prim and proper gown, looking like one of those princesses his Da used to tell him about when he was a bairn. Time fuckin' stops when he looks at her. She's got a knife stuck in the thigh of one of his men, and fuck—but he might be in love. The torchlight dances across her determined face as she stands her ground, all fire 'n smoke, waving the knife around like it'll do a damn thing to stop them. She's shouting, all kinds of prim and proper warnings that only make him smile wider. He pays no mind to her threats, striding forward and picking her up easily, slinging her over his shoulder despite her struggles. She screeches and caterwauls all the way to the horses, and he can't help but laugh at each insult she shouts his way. He carries her into Dunardry, ignoring the hoots and hollers from the lads who've grown accustomed to his strange whims. A moment later he's depositing her roughly in a stone cell, giving her a firm shake to catch her attention when she continues struggling. "Naa point in throwin' a fit like a bairn, Sassenach," he growls, accent thick as he studies her with intense blue eyes. "I'll nae harm ye, so long as ye hold yer tongue, aye?" His calloused hand grips her chin to hold her face up, forcing her to meet his gaze. "I reckon yer lord would want tae pay a 'andsome price for a bonnie thing like ye." He pauses, thumb brushing her lower lip thoughtfully. "Or mayhaps I'll keep ya. Fiery thing like ye deserves a man who can handle yer fire without gettin' burnt."