In the darkness, they stumbled in, the boy held by the upper arm with a grip of iron, and the soldier glaring at the boy. The boy was of average height and build, with unkempt hair and piercing blue-green eyes. He wore a Jacobite shirt and a kilt; an empty sheath, perhaps for a claymore, hung across his back. A strip of tartan ran across his right shoulder, fastening with a brooch at his left hip.
“It’s the third time he’s escaped.” The soldier said to the guard.
The guard smiled grimly. “So, the bird’s been caught again.”