“Dinna even think of it, Willy,” Da said seriously. “Ye canna help her now, son. The Campbells are already on their way, ye’d never make it in time. It’s too dangerous, interferin’ with their business.”
Everything clicked into place in Will’s head in that moment. He would have to choose, between love and honor, fate and family, and right and wrong. He loved Isobel and believed that fate had brought them together, but it was wrong for him to go after her, to abandon his family and the promise he’d given to marry Fiona. Honor dictated that he keep his word and let the law handle things that were out of his realm, but was it really right to leave a woman at the mercy of a bloodthirsty and frightened clergy, bent on wiping out a people who may not have ever existed in the first place?
The decision was quick and painless for him—he chose love, fate, and the wrong side of the equation, and he’d never felt more free because of it.
Pushing past Da, he ran back toward the house, ignoring the cries of his father, his path clear ahead of him. As soon as he reached the barn, he rushed inside, grabbing Arth and climbing onto his back, not bothering with a saddle or reins. The black horse whined in surprise, bucking slightly as Will kicked him in the sides, pulling on his mane to direct him toward the mountain.
Breaking out into the open, the horse turned and bucked some more, startled by the sudden arrival and demands Will was giving him.
“Stop, Willy!” Da was running toward the house as well, his hand outstretched. “Dinna do this!”
“If it were Maw, ye’d already be halfway up the mountain,” Will said calmly, stopping Da in his tracks. “I tell ye now, I love Isobel Delaney more than I have ever loved any person on this planet, in a way that I canna describe. Ye canna stop me, even if ye cut my legs off and tie me down. I will find a way. I dinna need yer permission, Da.”
Da looked at him with wide eyes, a new sense of understanding in them, as if he’d never truly realized that Will loved Isobel. After a second, he gave a curt nod, motioning for Will to wait a second longer. Disappearing inside the barn for a moment, he returned holding Will’s bow and arrows, as well as a sword. “Be safe, son,” he said simply. “God speed ye, wherever ye may go.”
Taking the bow and quiver from him, Will slid the weapons onto his back before grasping the pommel of the sword in his hand. “Per mere per terras,” he said, feeling for the first time that the family motto meant something more than just honor to him. It was a prayer of protection, one that would follow him no matter where he went.
“By sea and by land,” Da repeated, smiling tightly.
Kicking Arth once more, Will spurred on, not looking back as he made his way over the hill and onto the mountain path, moving so quickly it felt like he was flying. The horse, to its credit, obeyed his every command, galloping up the incline with little effort it seemed. Trees flew past them, the storm growing closer overhead, until it finally broke, raining down on them in sheets of cold moisture.
The sound of hooves hitting the ground matched the chanting in his head, as he thought Isobel’s name over and over again, hoping he wasn’t too late. The Campbells would most likely take her into the Lowlands, to stand trial. Surely, there was a bounty on her head, if she had evaded arrest this long. It would be a very public trial and execution. If he didn’t reach the hut in time, he would have to guess which prison they were taking her to. Then there would be the issue of breaking her out . . .
Where would they run once he had her? The Americas seemed most likely. It would be difficult, getting onto a ship, but once they were there, they would be safe from their foes in Ireland and Scotland. It would be a waste of time and too costly for anyone to track them there. They could have a life together, without the fear of always being followed.
After what felt like a lifetime of rushing, the hut finally appeared around the bend. A breath of relief escaped him as he saw the light from a fire in the widows, all seeming calm and normal.
Then he heard the screaming. It was a horrible sound, like the howling of a dying animal. Shadows moved inside the house, blocking out the light and throwing into sharp relief the forms of several men.
Rage filled him as he leapt from Arth, running toward the house, sword in hand. When he reached the front door, he kicked it in, desperate to help Isobel and save her from the Campbells.
There were five of them surrounding her, pressing her face up against the wall, their hands traveling over her body with roughness and cruelty. The back of her white dress was ripped clear down to the waist, her back bleeding in some places where they had dug their fingernails into her. At first, Will thought they were trying to rape her before they go into the witch business, but then he realized they were actually searching for a mark from the Devil. It could be anything from a mole to a birthmark, but it would prove to the clergy that she really was the witch they were looking for.
The commotion they were making halted as the turned and looked at Will, surprised. Isobel was sobbing, unable to see what was happening, her arms held out by two of the men. There was a third who had been inspecting her back, while the other two kept guard. All around them, disaster sat, everything in the house strewn about and showing signs of a struggle. Sheila was laying on the floor on the other side of the house, some blood on the edge of the head. Looking closer at one of the guards, Will saw gore in his hairline.
Brandishing his sword, Will growled, launching himself into the fray, hacking and chopping at the men as they tried to fend him off. Rage fueled him forward, bloodlust almost taking him over completely. Stabbing one of the guards in the shoulder, he turned and punched the second as he bore down on him. In a few moments, he had cut both of them several times, blood washing the ground around them, and the other men abandoned Isobel, drawing their own weapons.
Exhaustion threatened to get the better of Will, his legs burning from riding bareback for so long. His arms were sore not only from the ride and carrying the sword, but from fighting. He’d been cut a few times himself, his blood mingling with that of the Campbells on the floor. Every now and then, he would catch a glimpse of Isobel crumpled on the floor, though, and he would find more strength to bear down on his enemies.
Despite all the odds, Will realized he was winning. He had caught the men off guard and they’d already expended their energy on Isobel, fighting her and holding her down. There was no holding back his jabs, either. At least one of the men had a cut deep enough to make him bleed to death if he didn’t get help soon.
One man grabbed him from behind, wrapping his arms around Will’s neck, choking him. The arrows in the quiver had spilled all over the floor, his bow forgotten until it was pressed against him in that moment, and he buckled, falling just close enough to grab one of the darts. Shoving it backward, he felt it slide into the man’s face, the sickening squelch making him flinch. The man, screaming, instantly let go, clawing at his face. Sucking in a deep breath, Will looked back, seeing he had put the arrow in the man’s eye. There was no time to be surprised or stop to watch him, though. Another man was bearing down on him and he rose to fight once more.
Stabbing his sword into the stomach of the man, he yanked it free, kicking him in the face as he bent over in agony.
“Get out, now!” Will roared, spinning around to take on anyone else who might be coming toward him. They were all on the ground though, nursing various degrees of wounds.
The group, cursing him, stumbled from the house, clutching themselves, blood dripping from several of them. The sound of their horses riding away wasn’t enough for Will to know they were gone, though, and he ran out after them, blinking through the rain to make sure they really were gone. As soon as he was satisfied, he went back in, dropping his weapons on the ground.
“Will!” Isobel was crying, tucked into the corner by the hearth, her dress falling off her shoulders.
Going to her side, he gathered her in his arms, settling onto the ground and rocking her. Horror and relief washed over him. He’d been there just in time—he ha
d saved her.
“I tried to fight them off, but there were too many of them,” she sobbed. “I tripped and dropped Sheila and they grabbed me so fast, I didn’t know what to do.” Tears soaked into his shirt, her hands trembling as she clutched him tightly, shaking like a leaf.
“Dinna fash, love,” he said softly, stroking her hair. “I’m here.”
She pulled away then, staring at her hands in confusion. “Will . . . ye’re bleeding.”
The statement didn’t make sense to him for some reason, his head fuzzy and heavy. Isobel suddenly sounded like she was far away, her words garbled as she ran her fingers over him, her face swimming in front of him. The last thing he remembered before passing out was the shrill sound of her voice, calling his name.
“Will!”
Fourteen
There was a strange light over his head. It was blurry, and hurt him to try and sit up to look at it, but he knew instinctually that it wasn’t like any light he’d ever seen before. It twinkled and moved like magic, waving across him as if it had wings. Everywhere the orb touched began to feel better, the pain in his body slowly seeping away. His headache disappeared, the cuts along his arms stopped stinging, and he thought he heard Isobel’s voice whispering something softly. Eventually, he drifted back to sleep, not sure of what he’d seen or heard, but positive that whatever it had been, it was good.
When Will woke fully, he could instantly tell that a large amount of time had passed since he’d first gone out. The entire hut had been cleaned and reorganized, the blood that had covered the floor not even leaving a stain on the flagstones. A fire burned in the hearth, a pot of soup warming nearby, and the front door had been put back together, the broken logs held together with twine.
Even more surprising, his body felt fine. There were little signs that he’d been in a fight, such as cuts that were still healing slightly, but overall, it was as if he’d not just had a five against one brawl. The memory of the light tugged at him, but he pushed it aside as a mere dream.
“Ye’re awake!”
Looking over at the door again, Will saw Isobel standing in the entryway, a basket of vegetables from the garden in her hands. She was wearing her usual brown dress, her hair pulled back, everything about her completely normal, as if she’d never been assaulted.
“How long was I out?” he asked, sitting up carefully. There was no pain anywhere, though. The fact alarmed him. Had he been sleeping for weeks? Had Isobel been caring for him instead of running? She needed to get out of here, before anyone else arrived to take her away.
“Two days.”
Mouth popping open at her answer, he stared at her in shock. Two days? How had he healed so quickly? He remembered the fight and all the wounds he’d acquired. He should have had scars and been limping for a month, not feeling and looking like new in just two days.
“Ye mustn’t have been as hurt as I originally thought,” she said offhandedly, guessing what he was thinking.
“I suppose not,” he agreed slowly, trying to reevaluate his recollection of the battle. When he came back with the same memories, he wondered if maybe he’d hit his head, and that was why he didn’t remember correctly.
She brought him a bowl of soup, warning him of its heat, and settled onto the pallet beside him. His stomach growled in response and she laughed, adding another spoonful to the bowl.
“Ye need to eat,” she said softly when he didn’t immediately slurp it down. “Yer body needs the nourishment.”
“I ken.” Frowning, he looked over the hut, thinking about everything that had happened to them here. “Isobel, we need to go. It’s not safe here.”
“We?” There was some amusement in her tone. “And where do ye propose we go? Back to yer family, so someone can come raid their home and hurt them, too?” She sounded frustrated then, like she’d been thinking of that very thing herself, but it was the look on her face that made him smile. There was hope in her eyes because he’d said he was going with her.
“I was thinking somewhere more like the Americas, actually. Ye should be safe there. I dinna think any witch hunter is so dedicated as to cross continents.” He did sip the soup then, taking care to not burn himself. Watching her closely, he chuckled at her surprise.
“Ye really think so?” She sounded like she thought it was a good idea, an excitement to her voice that he’d missed hearing.
“Aye. We need to go soon, though. Today, if we can. I dinna want to be here when the Campbells come back with twice as many men.”
The statement made her face pale and she bit her lower lip, looking toward the feebly patched together door. He knew what she was thinking; there was no way they could survive another attack.
“Ye worked so hard to fix this house,” she said eventually, tears shining in her eyes. “I’m sorry I cause ye so much strife, Will. I didn’t mean to, honestly.”
“Spending time with you is no strife,” he assured her. “I would do it all again without a second thought. Besides, I’m the one who should be apologizing to ye, for everything.”
Smiling, she breathed out slowly, looking around the space. After a moment, she rose, heading to the small chest that still rested by the door. Opening it, she began to walk around, gathering her few items and placing them inside. She left some things, like the items that were too big to fit or didn’t hold any sentimental value for her. It only took a couple minutes before she closed the lid and set Sheila on top of it.
“That’s everything. We can go as soon as ye’re ready.”
Will glanced around the space then, a strange sense of sadness filling him. Heather still hung in one of the windows, drying. The small, makeshift table pushed up against the far wall, next to the hide that had made up her faux wall before the roof had been fixed. She’d left her basket that she used to gather vegetables, the pot of soup, and a few used up candles. There hadn’t been much to begin with, but seeing the hut this empty made him feel like it was the end of a chapter in his life.
Looking up, he stared at the rafters freshly crafted and put in place. The thatch was good and thick, made to withstand the rain and snow. The only comfort he had in knowing he’d done the work was the fact that Isobel had lived under the roof for a short time and that someone else would maybe be able to use it in the future.
Draining his bowl, he stood as well, handing the dish to her and gathering the blanket he’d been sitting on. As he folded it up, he smiled at her. “Let’s go.”
****
Will stood on the edge of the moor, looking out over the space, the wind howling around him. Brush stung his legs, tears leaking from his eyes in the strength of the gale. Just ahead, a woman with long white hair stood, her face hidden behind the mane. Clapping her hands repeatedly, she screamed and cried, her voice encircling him, roaring in his ears. The long black dress she wore didn’t move in the air, her entire form remarkably still in the storm.
“William MacDonald!” She screamed his name over and over again, lamenting and crying, pulling her hair and rubbing her face when she wasn’t clapping.
Starting, Will woke suddenly, seemingly still able to hear the banshee’s cries on the wind as it blew past the two of them. Making the sign against evil, he laid back down, making sure Isobel was covered, and tried to go back to sleep. Unfortunately, he soon found his mind racing, unable to rest any more in the freezing cold night. The storm had relented, but wind now took its place, leaving Will and Isobel clinging to each other under their one blanket and tartan.
They had made it quite far that first day, slipping into the Stewart lands without any incident. Within another two days or so, they would arrive at the ocean and hopefully find a way to get on a ship. It would be a while yet before they made it to the New World, but they would at least be safe from those who would be searching for them.
Once more, he thought he heard the cry of the banshee from far away and he swallowed, hard. It was only his imagination, he knew that, but the superstitious side of him prickled at the very thoug
ht of his own imminent death. They said that when the banshee cried your name, you died within the next day, no matter what.
There was no way he was going to die so soon, though. The only possibility was that the Campbells would somehow track and catch up with them, but that was highly unlikely. They’d gone into different clan lands on purpose. It would be more likely that Da or someone would catch them first, since there was a road nearby that went straight into the heart of their little town.
Shrugging away his uneasiness, he put the thoughts of the supernatural from his mind, nuzzling his face into Isobel’s hair. Sighing in her sleep, she pressed against him, her hand tightening around the arm he had rested over her side.
The next morning, they broke camp, leading Arth down the road. The horse carried the box of items and the blanket, as well as Will’s weapons. It would have been nice to ride, but Isobel didn’t seem to mind walking. Every time he checked to make sure, she insisted that she had walked the whole way from her home in Ireland, it wasn’t going to kill her to walk now.
They came across their first traveler early in the morning. It was a man from the MacDougall clan, traveling to the north for reasons he didn’t share.
“MacDonald, eh?” he asked, riding beside them. Will suspected he just wanted some company for a time and that they had simply been in the right place at the right time for him.
“Aye,” Will confirmed. “From the valley between the Campbells and the Camerons.”
“Really?” The man seemed surprised and interested all at once. “Verra good ye aren’t there now,” he said, grinning. “With what’s happenin’ and all.”
“What do ye mean?” Stopping, Will looked at the man fully, trying to gauge just how reliable a source he was.
“I passed through the Campbell lands not two days ago. Apparently, there was a brawl with a MacDonald man and one of the Campbells died. There looked to be another that was going soon after him. The man had an arrow in his eye, if ye can believe that. Said he’d been ambushed up on the mountain while hunting. Three others confirmed the story for him.”
Taken Away (A Swept Away Saga Origins Story): A Scottish Highlander Romance (The Swept Away Saga) Page 10
