He terrorized the people of these mountains for years. Stealing the cattle. Killing the menfolk, kidnapping children from their beds where they lay. He was a beast, without a scrap of human feeling or decency. So, he had to die.
I don't like this.
Go on, Golly.
It was the turn of the year thirteen hundred and four, and he'd been lured here by the promise of MacDonald hospitality. His men were plied with drink which had been drugged, so they just fell down, senseless. And at the ...