Underneath the cloak, Isabelle could feel his hot breath on her cheek, and she covered over her mouth to keep the sound of her breath from reaching the soldiers’ ears. The footsteps kept coming. She could tell they were the footsteps of a sober man, or at least reasonably sober for they were steady and measured. That did nothing to help disguise her hiding place. She had hoped that all the men would be drunk and useless, but apparently, her father had forbidden some of them the drink, so that they could keep watch.
She closed her eyes tightly, hearing the breath of the man who walked by their cloaked form. She hoped that the shape of their bodies looked merely like a section of burned-out wall, jutting out from the side. Time slowed, and the soldier stopped nearby. His footsteps were moving in a slight circle, and she could tell that he was looking around him. Too bad it had to be a good watchman out on duty tonight.
She and Eamon stayed frozen, and her limbs began to ache with their cramped position. But in a few more moments, the footsteps moved on, and their sound began to fade as the man slipped around the other edge of the castle. Slowly, the two of them stood up, and Eamon removed the cloak from around his head. He kept his hands on Isabelle’s arms. She pointed towards the trees where they had left Aine, and he nodded back to her. They clasped hands again and moved quickly and quietly towards the woods.
To her relief, they were soon atop Aine and riding back towards the river. Isabelle’s heart was in her throat, and she clung tightly to Eamon. With each beat of Aine’s hooves, she worried that her father’s men would come upon them in the dark. She and Eamon did not speak the rest of the way back. She knew the men’s fate was laying heavily upon him, and she was racking her mind to think of a solution. Under torture, what could the men reveal? She hoped they would say anything to help spare their lives, but that did not always mean her father would fulfill that end of the deal. Had he not burned a tavern down for no real reason except to exert his own power and importance?
It was a quick ride, and she found herself in Eamon’s embrace again when he pulled her from Aine’s back. She laid a hand on the horse’s soft nose and whispered close to her face. “Thank you, Aine. You have proven yourself to be most capable. I am glad that nothing befell you.”
She looked up to see Eamon watching her. The dawn was soon breaking, a light of yellow on the horizon threatening to soon fill the sky, and she could see his face perfectly. “Ye talk tae horses too then?” He asked, his eyes full of interest.
She smiled. “Yes. I think they can understand in some way. I have a soft spot for the animal world. It is something my father always detested in me.”
Bringing up her father brought to mind the horrible news they had to reveal to the rest of the group, and their brief moment of connection was broken. Isabelle felt disappointed. They had experienced something dangerous tonight, and it united them. She wished she could sit down with him again, alone, and talk everything over. The two of them walked solemnly back towards the center of their camp, where the fire was just a pile of glowing embers.
Isabelle listened, but she couldn’t hear any snores of the men or the steps of any of them on guard. She walked up to a few of their mats and blankets, which had appeared to contain the men, but none were to be found. Her heart began to race. Arya. Where is she? She looked back at a worried Eamon, and she began to dash around the campsite. Where could they be?
Eamon was silent, but his expression was grim, and he looked about him as well. No one was around. It was as if the camp had been totally abandoned, for blankets were still there and a bottle or two. Isabelle felt a growing horror, and she couldn’t breathe. Dear sweet Arya, could she be lost to her forever? Could her father’s men have somehow come and taken her and the rest of the men? They would have no mercy on a woman, of that she was absolutely certain, and she dreaded what would come next.
She looked around, her chest heaving as the breath rattled through her lungs. She tried to think of something, anything that would help her get her dear friend back when a hand clamped over her mouth.
Chapter Fourteen
Lord Cutler stood unsteadily, his mind still reeling from wine, unable to remove the grin from his face. He had been given two gifts, and finally, after all his troubles, he was being rewarded. The two bloodied men sat in the castle’s main hall, their faces leaned back against the blackened stone wall, breathing hard.
He walked before them, pacing to and fro like an animal ready to charge, but first assessing what he had. “So, you two are from The Scots, are you?”
They did not answer. He did not expect them to. They had been through a bit of a bloody battle. And, people were always stronger when they thought they could put up with torture. “Did you really think you would be able to escape once you got so close to the castle? My men are everywhere, and they are much better trained than you Highlanders.” He paused and faced them. “I thank you for the return of two of our muskets. We lost them at Drumnadrochit, so now I know that you were there.”
He knelt down and put his face next to one of the men, growling into his ear. “It was you and your kind that began the riots, yelling out words of dissent into the air. It was because of you that I lost ten men and a lot of my weaponry. Drumnadrochit will pay for what it has done, but the one who has incited this treasonous behavior will pay the highest price.”
The men followed him with their eyes, but words did not escape their lips. Cutler stood up straight again. He walked towards the fire, a sword in the flames, glowing orange with heat. He smiled. “I already know where the village of The Wanderer is. I can ride there any day I please. But I would like something from you first.”
He walked back to the men, sword in hand, holding it towards them. “Where has he gone, as he is on the move, trying to draw me away from his home? Where are The Scots? I know they are close by; I can feel it in my bones!”
His voice had reached a crescendo, and he yelled these last words up to the broken roof the castle and out into the night sky. The men said nothing. Cutler grinned. “Well, I suppose we will have to play my little game in order for me to get information out of you.”
He placed the tip of the sword on one of the men’s shoulders, and they cried out with pain as the heated metal seared through their clothes and into their flesh. He waited a moment before releasing it.
The man was breathing roughly, but he still did not speak. “I see that my torture is not enough, and neither was the beating my men have given you.”
He turned to the other man and laid the blade upon him as well. The man’s screams were music to his ears. Such beautiful control. They would be sharing their story with him soon enough. Once he released the blade, he roughly picked up one of the men, until the man stood wavering before him, his hands and ankles bound. His breathing picked up.
Pity for one so young. Cutler removed his sword from its sheath and plunged it into the man’s flesh. That made the other man cry out. The stabbed man crumpled to the ground, once Cutler let go of his collar. He turned to the other man. “So, it took the murder of your friend to get you to open your mouth? What is your name? Where are they?”
He narrowed his eyes at the young man and held the bloodied sword aloft. “Or will it take further torture to open your mouth, Highlander?”
The man clenched his jaw. “Kill me if ye so desire. What good am I tae my people if I betray them?”
Cutler grinned. “Ah, do not worry. You will do much good. If nothing else, then you have given me a Scotsman to play with as I choose.
* * *
An icy chill moved through Isabelle’s heart. She tried to scream, but the hand only pressed tighter over her mouth. This is it. This is when I am going to die. She felt heady with the fear of it. It could not be over. Not yet! She pulled on the arm, but it was thick and strong. She felt the lips of the man come close to her ears, and she closed her eyes, wanting this nightmare to be over.
The man simply said, “Shh…lass. I need ye tae keep quiet.” She knew the voice. Her eyes s
napped open, and her heart calmed. It was Sean. The hand on her face relaxed, and she turned to look into The Wanderer’s face. She was about to speak, but Sean pulled her out of the light of the fire and towards the woods. She was not afraid any longer, but she was angry that he couldn’t think of any other way to keep her quiet. What in the world was the man thinking?
Once they were behind a clump of trees, he turned back to her. She put her hands on her hips and said, “I should slap you, you know, for giving me the greatest fright of my life! Where is everyone? Why did you have to clap your hand over my mouth like a kidnapper?”
Sean chuckled. “Lass, are we nae true kidnappers? Nae, I suppose nae. Ye have just been out riding with my brother. That is a new and interesting kind of freedom.” Sean eyed her suspiciously, and Isabelle blushed under his knowing gaze.
At that moment, Eamon arrived, his mind searching this way and that until he spotted them. He growled, “What in the bloody hell are ye doing, Sean? I almost died of a heart attack, wondering what happened tae Isabelle.”
Sean turned a stern face towards his brother. “We had tae protect ourselves in some way. With all of ye gone and nae word from Gareth or Donovan, once dawn broke, we knew we had tae get out of sight until someone returned. We are waiting in the trees.” He motioned above, and sure enough, if she squinted her eyes enough, she could spot the dark wool and the muted kilt colors of the other men. They made no sound.
Eamon replied. “I see.” He brushed his hand over his chin, and Isabelle knew he was attempting to find the right words to say.
“Sean, where is Arya?”
“Do not worry. She is with Dirk in one of the branches.” Isabelle’s heart calmed.
Eamon finally broached the subject. “Brother, Isabelle, and I found Cutler’s camp.”
“Ye did?” Sean’s eyes were wide with interest. He slapped a hand on Eamon’s shoulder, and Isabelle stepped out from between them. “Where is it? Where are the men?”
Eamon swallowed. “They have been taken. We heard the soldiers bragging about it outside the castle. Cutler has Gareth and Donovan.”
Sean knelt to the ground and yelled out, despite his earlier warnings to keep quiet. Isabelle could hear the scrambling of the other men as they descended from the trees. Sean said in a low voice, “Then it must mean certain death for them.”
Eamon was silent, and Isabelle stepped in. “It could mean that for my father is a ruthless man, but I have hope that he will wish to use them to get information about you. He will need someone to guide him to you. He would certainly spare your friends for that purpose, and then once we meet them, you can battle them as you originally intended.” Her words floated out into the space created by the circle of men. They watched her for a moment, almost warily, and did not respond.
She saw Arya enter in from behind the branches, and Isabelle lunged forward to grab her hand. Sean stood up, struggling as if a heavy weight was upon his chest. “It is a possibility, lass. But, I think they only need one man for that task.” Isabelle’s heart sank, and she couldn’t think of anything else to say. She drew back, embarrassed for her attempt at hopefulness. Sean was right. Her father would be just as ruthless as that, and might even slaughter the next man in front of their eyes when they met him in battle.
* * *
Lukas was grim. “What do we do, Eamon? What plan is next for us? Surely the man will do anything to save his own life. Under torture, he may have revealed our location. Should we nae leave as soon as possible?”
Sean was looking down, and Eamon felt for his brother. He had a whole new life now, and this new group he had become a part of was not really his to lead. I think his heart hurts for his men, but he also feels he has let down his wife. Eamon moved forward to touch Sean, and Sean recoiled a little. Eamon’s heart fell. There was nothing he could do now. Sean certainly blamed him for what happened to his men. It had been Eamon who had sent them forward.
Sean said, his eyes flashing with fire, “We have lost my men. They would most definitely now have told them of our whereabouts. We must return back tae the village and remove The Scots tae a new, safe place before Cutler gets there or finds us first.”
“Aye, brother. I am in agreement.”
Isabelle stepped forward again, and Eamon watched her, afraid of what she might say next. She was intelligent, but she did not know that this was not the time for ideas from those who were connected to the enemy. He moved towards her, hoping to stop her from her next words. But she plunged forward. “Is there no other way we could send word to your family, sir? To send us all to the village would be foolhardy. Even with our group plus The Scots number, you could never defeat him.”
The words echoed harshly into the silence of the forest. Eamon grabbed onto Isabelle’s arm. “Another time, lass. We will think of it. Shall we ride, brother?” He tried to speak softly and calmly. He knew that Sean’s mind would be elsewhere as he worried for the safety of his wife. But Isabelle’s expression turned stony.
Sean nodded. “We must pack up now. We ride towards my village.”
“We have tae stop along the way. The journey is too far. We can stop at the tavern where ye found us,” Lukas replied.
“Brother, we will nae go after yer men?”
Sean shook his head. “If it is as ye say, they could have been killed already, but even if they were nae, we have nae the numbers tae go against Cutler. We have nae gained forces from Drumnadrochit. Even Gareth and Donovan would understand that the priority is tae save those at the village.”
Eamon turned away. He said nothing to argue against his brother. He and the men, with Isabelle following behind, wandered into the campsite to clean up their packs and get the horses. It was silent work, and they were soon on their way back towards where they had come from.
Eamon was afraid this was unwise. He thought that Isabelle’s idea had merit. But his brother in this state was not to be argued with. He was the leader, and it was his men whose lives were at stake. Eamon reminded himself that he had only come to be an assistant.
He could feel Isabelle’s anger in the way she clung to his back. There was nothing he could do about it until they stopped again. A light rain had begun to fall as they rode back towards the village, and it added to the heavy tension in the air. Gareth and Donovan could now be dead, and they rode off away from them. Was that wrong? It was for the greater purpose, but could they have at least tried to fight through the soldiers’ fort? He knew they would have been slaughtered, but it still felt wrong with each mile they moved forward.
He let his mind go blank as the day passed, and he and his men clung to the reins, riding as hard as their charges would allow. Soon, he felt Isabelle’s arms loosen a little, and he could feel the shape of her head lolling against his back. He smiled. So the tigress sleeps from wild adventuress to fiery fighter to sleeping lamb. He himself was feeling the fatigue begin to weaken his eyelids, and he hoped and prayed for the tavern to soon make its appearance, or else he would slip down from Aine’s back and onto the cold, wet ground.
That thought jolted him awake, and he narrowed his eyes into the mist, trying to focus, searching for the outline of the old tavern. In the matter of an hour, it appeared, and a more welcome sight Eamon had yet to behold. “Oy!” he cried, and the men followed his lead as he wandered towards the stable. The mist had grown thick and heavy in the darkening light.
“We have come at the right time, men, for the mist was making it hard tae see. We near that ominous dark forest.”
Sean nodded grimly. “We stay a night, and then we are gone at first light.”
“Aye.” Eamon allowed Dirk and Harold to handle the horses with the inn’s stable boy, and he, along with the women, entered in through the door. Two fires roared at opposite hearths, and Eamon realized just how hungry he was. He had not slept the night before, nor had he eaten since the evening previous. His stomach had now become an aching hole, and their prospects were growing bleak in his mind. The mist had not helped to quell
his unease.
The group of travelers clumped at a table in the corner, and the two women, looking wet and slightly bedraggled, wrapped their woolen tartans about them and kept their voices low and quiet. Eamon looked at Isabelle, but he could tell she was avoiding his gaze. He did not have the energy to speak to her about it right then, but it bothered him that she was angry with him. He was only trying to make the situation easier.
The men drank and ate heartily, and in a little while, the mood seemed a little lighter. Lukas said, “I much prefer tae stay in taverns than out in the woods. And this one has some of the most comfortable beds.” Lukas laughed as he eyed a few of the maids wandering about the room, serving drinks.
Eamon grinned and drank the rest of his ale. Finally, he felt as if there was some hope. Sean still looked miserable, but with his men nearby, always ready for a laugh, it would make the evening much merrier. Suddenly, Isabelle stood up, and Arya did the same. She looked at them all with her violet eyes flashing, and said, “We are for bed, gentlemen. If you will excuse us. I assume the innkeeper will be able to show us our room?”
Taken by her Highland Enemy: He was running from his past; she was fighting for her future... Page 12
