The Crusader's Heart

by Kate Forrest

  When they reached the gate, two guards approached.

  “No one leaves until sunrise,” the men said in unison.

  “We’re already behind,” Alex said. “My two brothers and sister had to travel ahead. It’s important we catch up to them.”

  “Brothers and sister, aye? Then why’d they sound English?”

  Alex and Robbie exchanged looks. The bishop had sent English warriors after Isobel.

  “We can all speak English,” Alex said, with a perfect English accent. “Now, let us pass. Our father has called us home on urgent business.”

  “Who are ye?” one guard asked.

  Alex didn’t see any reason to lie. “I’m Alexander MacKinnon.”

  The man nodded. “I’ve heard the chief is unwell, but I didn’t know ye had any brothers, MacKinnon.”

  “Oh, aye,” Alex said, deciding not to elaborate. If he added too much, the tale would be harder to spin.

  “Then why’d they go north?”

  Alex frowned. The Maclean’s keep was on a little peninsula that jutted into the Sound of Mull. No matter what direction you needed to go in when you left, unless by boat, you had to go south.

  “By boat?” Alex asked, not understanding.

  “Nae,” the man said. “They left before the curfew, but they were acting strangely, so we had a scout follow them a ways. They cut north, toward Craignure.”

  “Damn, my brothers have a poor sense of direction and probably took too much drink at the feast.” Alex shook his head and laughed. “Well, we best catch up to them.” He nudged his horse forward, and Robbie did the same.

  “Ye may pass,” one guard said, waving for the gates to be opened. “We hope yer father is well, MacKinnon.”

  “Thank you,” Alex said, nodding his head as the gates opened before them.

  Alex and Robbie rode out at a slow canter, again trying not to raise suspicion. Once the keep was in the distance, Alex spoke first.

  “We’ll ride north, in the direction of Craignure, and hope the Maclean men spoke the truth.”

  “It’s our best chance,” Robbie said. “The English are a surprise.”

  “Aye, I didn’t expect that. Perhaps King Stephen is already involved in this,” Alex said.

  “I heard of King David’s passing. I know the bishop is trying hard to win a place in the English king’s court.”

  “Let’s make sure he does nae succeed by using the Rood.” And let’s get Isobel back alive.

  They hastened their pace as they cleared the peninsula and started the journey northbound. I’m coming for you, Isobel. Don’t give up, lass.

  Chapter 19

  Isobel awoke to darkness. She realized immediately she was on top of a horse, riding through the night with two strangers: one at her back and one on a horse ahead of her. The back of her head throbbed. She tried to reach up to touch it, to see if she was bleeding, but her hands were bound and tied to the saddle. She could not move them.

  Think, Isobel. She didn’t remember much before blacking out, but she heard the men’s voices. They sounded English. Alex had anticipated the bishop would send more men. Perhaps they were here to take the Rood. Do they have it? She was not wearing her cloak, but that didn’t mean they weren’t in possession of it.

  She inhaled deeply, trying to calm her racing pulse, but the air around her smelled of rot. She took another breath and found the smell’s source: the rider seated behind her. Bile rose in her throat, but she fought against it, trying to suck in the fresh air that blew in her face as they rode. She sat in front of her abductor, his arm wrapped around her waist.

  She tried to lean forward so she didn’t have her backside pressed up against his body, but every time she inched forward, he pulled her back against his chest with a laugh. Isobel gave up protesting, deciding to conserve her energy for a more opportune moment. When they let their guard down, she’d be ready.

  They rode for what seemed like hours in the dark, and then finally dawn filtered into the sky, giving birth to a new day. With the rising sun, Isobel could finally tell they were going northwest, along the coastline.

  She wasn’t sure what the English fiends had in mind for her, but she needed to prepare for the worst. She was outnumbered and weaponless. Her best chance at survival was keeping her captors busy until Alex could find her. She knew he would come for her, if only to fulfill his obligation to David. The thought of the late king brought a tear to her eye, but she fought to keep more from coming. She would not cry in front of these men. She would show no weakness.

  She struggled against the bindings around her wrists, trying to uncover her hands, but her captors had wrapped a plaid tightly over her. No doubt the plaid was used to conceal her bindings so the Maclean guards would not know she was being taken against her will.

  “You won’t be getting out of those bindings, Lady Isobel,” the man behind her said. “I tied the knots myself, and I assure you they are tight.”

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked. The direction did not make any sense. To get back to England, they needed to go southeast.

  “The Rood is going back to England, but your journey will likely be of a shorter duration.”

  Isobel took his meaning plainly. They would kill her.

  “We can do with you as we like, but if you beg, I may let you join us. I am sure the bishop and my master could punish you well enough, but they won’t enjoy it as much as I will.”

  The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Suddenly, she was back in the forest outside of Stirling being attacked. She played out the scene in her head, remembering every detail of her chase through the woods that night, knowing how very differently that night could have ended if she hadn’t carried her sgian dubh. If only she had it now.

  “You were careless with the Rood. Leaving it sit out on the chair, as though it were of no importance. I cannot see why the Scottish king entrusted it to you.”

  I didn’t leave the Rood sitting out on the chair.

  “Made the search easy on us,” her abductor continued. He fumbled with something at his side, and then stretched his arm out in front of her. “I knew this was it as soon as I looked at it. The bishop said it would be unmistakable.”

  There, in the palm of the English fiend, was her jewel-encrusted sgian dubh, sheathed in its matching jewel-encrusted case.

  He thinks it is the Rood! She could not believe her luck. The Rood, pray, was still safe at Duart Keep. He or his companion would realize the folly at some point, but at least she knew the men had failed in taking the precious relic.

  ****

  Alex and Robbie rode their horses hard, following the coastline northwest. They’d picked up the trail of the English riders just off the peninsula. With the short nights this time of year, it was already dawn, and they were gaining on them.

  “They’ll need to let the horses rest sometime,” Robbie said.

  “Aye. You can tell by the tracks their pace has slowed.” Alex knew they were close. Be strong, Isobel.

  ****

  After a few more miles, the English fiend yelled to his friend, “Let’s rest here.” The other man slowed his pace and rounded on them.

  “The boat is not much farther,” the man said, bringing his horse to stand beside them.

  Boat? Who would they be meeting by boat on the northwestern side of the island? Their plan did not seem logical, Isobel thought.

  “I need to take a piss, Watkin,” her captor said.

  Isobel cringed at his crude language, but she was happy to be given a break from riding. The other man, Watkin, dismounted from his horse, and then helped Isobel to the ground. As her captor dismounted, she finally got a good look at him. She was struck by his familiarity. While she did not recognize his voice, she recognized the tall dark-haired Englishman.

  He was in David’s court. She searched her memory, trying to recount the details. He was the personal guard of someone important, but who?

  The man in question strode off to relieve hims
elf, and Watkin took her to rest on a fallen log. He, she noted, was entirely calm and relaxed, as if kidnapping maidens and holy relics was an everyday occurrence for him. He was younger than his partner, perhaps near her own age of four and twenty. His hair was golden, and his mustache was well groomed. He did not appear to perceive her as a threat, for as she sat on the log he gazed up at the sky.

  She did not have enough time to act. Fear of the older man returning soon kept her from trying to flee. If her only captor was just the casual Englishman, she would take her chances and run. With the other nearby, she would not get far on foot.

  This isn’t the right opportunity, Isobel. Be patient, and you’ll find the right moment to act.

  While the man, Watkin, continued to gaze upward, Isobel looked around her. There, on the ground a few inches from her feet, was a small rock. Though small, it had a sharp jagged side. She could use it to work on the bindings at her wrists.

  She glanced up at the Englishman again; he still gazed up at the morning sky. She carefully bent, reaching for the stone. Her hands were bound together with her palms touching, as though in prayer, but she could use her fingertips. Just as she reached the small rock, she heard the Englishman cry out and ask, “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing,” Isobel said, as she clasped the stone between her fingers. “My shoe was coming off.” She carefully wiggled her foot, bringing it partially out of her leather slipper.

  “Sit up,” he said. “I’ll put the shoe back on.” Watkin knelt at her feet, and Isobel straightened, quickly concealing the stone between her hands.

  The Englishman gingerly held her ankle and pulled the shoe back onto her foot.

  “There,” he said, setting her foot back on the ground. He then resumed his post, standing a few feet away, and admired the sunrise once more.

  A moment later, the English fiend returned, and they all remounted the horses. Watkin helped get her situated in front of his companion. He carefully tucked a plaid around her, covering her hands and bound wrists.

  As they rode off once more, Isobel set to work moving the stone down between her hands to the point where the bindings started on her wrists. With the sharp edge of the rock pointed at the cloth, she turned her hands side to side. While her freedom of movement was restrained, it was enough to start wearing down the bindings.

  Watkin said they were close to the boat, so she did not have much time. She would work the bindings as much as she could, then hope her strength would be enough to break free.

  ****

  “This is where they stopped,” Alex said, noting the fallen log.

  “Aye,” Robbie said. “There are three sets of footprints and two horses.”

  “She was able to walk on her own,” Alex said, bending down to examine the distinct footprints of a lady. She is not dead.

  Alex and Robbie remounted their horses and took off.

  ****

  Isobel looked at the boat. The vessel was large enough for them and the horses, but no one else. She felt relief the Englishmen were not meeting up with more soldiers. She was a strong swimmer. Once she broke free of the bindings, she could jump into the sea and swim for shore. One of her captors would likely jump in after her, but not both. Someone would need to stay on the boat with the horses. That’s it. That is how I will make my escape. Or die trying. The sobering thought of drowning caused Isobel’s stomach to plummet. Do not think that way. Focus on survival. She took a steadying breath and glanced behind her, down the road she’d just traveled with the men. How close are you, Alex?

  “Don’t look for your man to come for you,” the English fiend warned. “Don’t look for anyone to rescue you for that matter. The Macleans would not let anyone out after curfew, and when they do, your man will take a boat back to the mainland.”

  “Is that why you came in this direction?” she asked.

  “Of course,” he said. “Why else would we go so far out of the way? Did you imagine we were meeting up with some big army? You aren’t worth such attention.”

  I may not be, but the Rood is. Once King Stephen gained possession of the Rood, he could use it to manipulate the young Scottish king, Malcolm. You have failed again, Bishop. But how many more attempts would there be?

  Perhaps he will send an army. Isobel did not underestimate what greedy men would do to gain power.

  She also did not underestimate these men. The English fiend intended her harm. She was certain he planned to kill her and do worse before the life went out of her. His fair-haired companion, though reserved, could have appetites just as dark.

  As the men prepared the horses for their journey on the sea, Isobel continued to work at her bindings. She lifted her wrists to check her progress; she was only halfway through the cloth. It may have to be enough.

  ****

  As Alex crested the last hill before the sea, he caught sight of Isobel and her captors. He held his hand up, and Robbie came to a stop beside him.

  “There,” he said, pointing to the boat and the people below.

  “Surprise attack?” Robbie asked.

  “Aye, I want to approach when they are away from Isobel. I don’t want them to use her as a shield,” Alex said.

  They backed down the hillside, out of view, and tethered their horses to the remnants of an old croft house. The farm had long been forgotten, but a sturdy stone wall remained. Once the horses were secure, they deftly snaked down the hillside toward the sea, keeping to the tall grasses to stay out of view. They made quick progress down the hill. When they reached the beach, they remained in the high grass not far behind Isobel. She faced the sea, and one of her captors stood at her side, watching his companion tend to the horses. After a few minutes, the Englishman by the horses called to the man beside Isobel. The man joined the other by the water’s edge. Isobel was now alone. This was the opening Alex and Robbie needed.

  “On three, we attack,” Alex whispered to Robbie, who sat crouched at his side.

  Robbie nodded in agreement.

  In seconds, they were on their feet, charging down the beach. He didn’t have time to speak to Isobel, but he looked at her as he ran by and he felt relief in seeing no visible signs of abuse. Her hands were bound, but she looked well. He focused once more on the assailants before him.

  With swords drawn, they ran through the surf and attacked the surprised men. The Englishmen reached for their swords, but Alex and Robbie got in the first hits. In nearly perfect coordination, they brought their swords down hard against Isobel’s captors.

  The sick thud of metal cutting through flesh sounded in Alex’s ears. He dislodged his sword from the man’s shoulder and stepped back in the knee-deep water. This time he swung low from his side to hit the captor in the thigh.

  The man’s scream of pain was drowned out by the crashing waves and cry of seabirds overhead. Though in pain and bleeding, the Englishman brought his sword down and deflected Alex’s hit. The Englishman then raised his sword and swung for Alex’s head, but, with a loud clash, Alex met him—his enemy’s blade waved just shy of his cheek. Sunlight broke from behind a cloud and glinted off the metal of Alex’s sword, temporarily blinding him. Alex held fast, leveraging himself against the waves in the wet sand. He felt himself sinking. I need to get out of the water.

  A large wave crashed over Alex and his opponent, with swords still joined in battle. As the wave receded, it took with it the Englishman’s footing, and he stumbled backward into the surf. Alex thrust his blade into the sandy bottom and fought the pull of the tide. His opponent rose from the water empty-handed. He dropped his blade!

  With his bare hands, the man lunged at Alex’s throat. Alex did not hesitate. With his sharp reflexes, Alex pulled his blade free from the sea floor in time to see Isobel’s abductor run through.

  ****

  Isobel raced up the hillside, away from the men, and crouched in the tall sea grass. She parted the stalks and looked down at the beach, yet she could not stand to watch. She kept her eyes shut after she witnesse
d Alex and Robbie deliver the first blows against the English. She saw blood and more and nearly heaved. She buried her face in her hands, which she’d freed from the bindings the moment Alex and Robbie took the beach.

  The sound of the waves crashing to the shore helped deaden some of the noises, but Isobel still heard every scream and clash of metal. Time hung suspended as she waited for the battle to end. Then, all she heard were the cry of the seabirds and the neigh of the horses as they ran away from the fighting men.

  “Isobel,” Alex called to her, and she finally opened her eyes. “Were you harmed?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, but her voice wavered. The sound of the ocean waves crashing on the beach faded and Alex looked blurry, as though she were seeing him through mist. She blinked and looked past Alex, her vision a little clearer. Robbie stood silhouetted in the distance; Watkin’s body lay at his feet. In the surf, a short distance from Robbie, the limbs and head of the other Englishman bobbed up and down in the water. She looked away, pressing her hand to her lips, a wave of nausea bubbling up inside of her.

  Alex knelt before her and scooped her up in his arms. He faced her away from the scene and sat her across his lap. Isobel felt like a cloth doll. Her arms and hands felt limp, and she made no attempts to move them as Alex situated her across his body.

  She laid her head on his chest, noting the rough feel of his aketon beneath her cheek. But there was something else. The padded wool of his war coat felt wet. Is it from the water? Isobel lifted her head; her cheek was cool and damp. Finding some strength in her right arm, she wiped the left side of her face, the side that had touched Alex. Her palm was coated in blood.

  She pushed away from Alex, her hands sliding over his blood-covered aketon, as she struggled to get away. She screamed as he tried to grab her. She needed to get away from the blood. She reached for the sea grass. The sharp stems cut into her palms, but she didn’t care. Her breath grew shallow and labored.

  “You are safe, Isobel. It’s all over,” Alex said in a soothing voice, but Isobel could still see the blood on her hand and feel the blood on her face.