Taken by her Highland Enemy: He was running from his past; she was fighting for her future...

by Kendrick, Kenna

  She smiled. “Father, you are so serious. I simply mean it is not every man because if I am to take over for you, and I am a woman…”

  Lord Cutler paused in his scrunched expression before bursting into laughter. “Daughter of mine! You are wise and clever, more so than I have given you credit for.” Isabelle unclenched with relief. “There will be a public trial tomorrow to find the man or men who killed the soldiers. They will be flogged and executed, and the village warned. I want you by my side, Isabelle.”

  Isabelle chewed on her lip. If she was to take so public a role with her father, then how could she slip away if she needed to meet Eamon? She would think of something. The tannery would be their place to send messages. She could send Arya if she needed to. But her father’s eyes would constantly be on her. There would be no escaping him.

  “Of course, Father. I would be happy to. Now, will you allow me to go to bed? If I am to display myself so publicly, then I need to get my rest, do I not?”

  Lord Cutler smiled in the best way he knew how. She didn’t understand why he was so willing to believe that his daughter had made so drastic a change in opinion in merely two days, but she was grateful for his ignorance. He nodded, and she left the room, returning to Arya, who opened one eye and then the other after making sure it was her mistress who entered.

  Isabelle sat on the bed, her mind whirring with ideas for how to get to Eamon and help him connect with the villagers. She wasn’t sure that there was any way to save the men of Drumnadrochit, but she would have to try. “What is it, mistress?” Arya asked, sitting up in bed as well.

  Isabelle slid under the blanket and laid her hands on the top, smoothing out the wrinkles. “Arya, I have an idea.”

  “Oh, no. Not another one.”

  Isabelle laughed, in spite of the gravity of the situation. “Come now, Arya. You know you secretly love our little adventures. And besides, one day, you are going to find something you really like as we continue my tiny rebellions. You will run into someone you wish to continue meeting or find something you wish to continue doing.”

  Arya crossed her arms. “Is that so? Apart from kissing stable boys and sweating through my nightgown, fearing your father’s arrival, I do not see how that could be true.” Isabelle watched her blonde friend stew for a moment, brushing her hair out of her face while she watched Isabelle.

  “Well, were there not some very handsome stable boys?” Isabelle’s grin was infectious, and Arya couldn’t help but smile again.

  “Fine. That is true, but not all of them were! Go on, tell me your plan.”

  “My father intends to execute the men who killed the soldiers in the square tomorrow.”

  “Yes, I assumed so.”

  “But this time, he wants me by his side. He wants me to watch as he enacts his so-called justice.”

  Arya’s eyebrows lifted. “Truly? He thinks you wish to see such a display?”

  “You know how he wishes me to become like him and begin to take over leading the men. The King knows about his plans, and while I wouldn’t be working in an official capacity, I would still be allowed a group of men created for dubious purposes.”

  Arya nodded. “Well, if the purposes were not so dubious, I would say I was impressed. For a woman to be given that kind of position is incredible. So unheard of.”

  Isabelle sighed. “I know. It is totally bewildering why my father thinks that I am the person to do so. I suppose I should be honored in some small way, but you know that I cannot do it on principle. Regardless, I must allow him to think that I am interested, for a time.”

  “Then, you will be able to work on your other plans ever more secretly.”

  “Right, but that means that for a time, and tomorrow especially, his eyes will be on me. However, I have a plan. I told The Scots that I will be sending and receiving messages by way of the tannery. In the morning, I want you to go there with a message. I hope that Eamon will be wise enough to collect it as soon as he arrives in the village. He has nothing to fear. My father does not know his description.”

  Arya smirked. “You doubt your Highlander’s decisions, do you? I hope for your sake that he does go to the tannery.”

  “Yes, me as well. I do not doubt him, but I know not what will occur once he arrives. Let me write the message quickly for you now. You can take it to the tanner in the morning.” Isabelle moved to a small side table at the corner of the room and took up ink and paper. She scribbled the words hurriedly. After the conversation with her father, she felt on edge and knew she would get no more sleep that night.

  She took the paperback to bed and read aloud, “Create a distraction that my father will not be able to resist dealing with. Then, I will tell Lord Cutler’s daughter to go behind the stables for her own safety. You will meet her there and kidnap her.”

  “Pardon me? Mistress, you cannot be serious!”

  Isabelle leaned forward. “Arya, you know me better than that. I would do anything to get out of my father’s grasp and stop his tyranny. I will offer myself up to be taken, and then my father will be distracted once more as he hunts for me.”

  “But won’t he know it will be The Scots that have taken you?”

  Isabelle thought for a moment. “No, I think I will keep that a secret for now. Eventually, I will tell Eamon to let him know, so that the chase begins anew, and it will be farther and farther from The Scots’ home village.”

  Arya said, “How will you tell him that? You will be yourself, not the boy this time. Will it not be strange for a kidnapped woman to tell her captor to not tell her father where she is until a very specific time?”

  Isabelle laughed. “Perhaps you are right.” She leaned back and thought some more. “But he knows of Lord Cutler’s malice and hatefulness. Surely he would understand if his own daughter did not approve of his actions and wish to be free.”

  Arya laughed. “You have an answer for everything, Mistress. Well, as long as you are certain, I shall deliver the message.”

  “Thank you. I am forever in your debt, you know.” She folded the paper and handed it to Arya.

  Arya grinned. “I shall remember that you know. The next time you ask me to kiss someone to get them out of the way.”

  Isabelle smiled and lay back against the pillow. Morning could not come soon enough because not only would she escape her father, but she would finally get to spend time with Eamon Wilson as a woman.

  Chapter Eight

  Sean, Eamon, and the men stayed hunched down in the forest abutting Drumnadrochit. They hid their horses further back, tying them to the trunks and hiding them behind heavy foliage. They did not want the extra worry of them making sounds as they approached Cutler’s men unseen. The river was between them, and Eamon watched the flowing waters with concern. At least at this section of the river, it was lower than the rest. They had followed along its path for a few miles before they found the right spot.

  Eamon turned to Sean. “First, I will rush tae the tannery tae see if there is any message, and then we will see if we can find any villagers tae join our cause. But ye will remain here.” Sean wanted to protest, but Eamon had to be vehement. “We cannae have ye go, for ye may be recognized. Donovan or Gareth can stay with ye. We will return.”

  Sean nodded, albeit grimly. “Be careful, Eamon.”

  Eamon nodded and led the way, his sword in hand. Behind him followed Dirk, Errol, Gareth, Lukas, and Harold. He was confident he had the best men with him, and he felt a little bit lighter that he would not have to worry about Sean. Lukas sidled up to him and whispered, “Ye sure about this plan, Eamon? I am with ye all the way, but with Cutler there in the light of day, things could get messy.”

  “Aye, but messy is what we wanted, I thought? We will enter the town and find a way tae speak tae those in charge. But first, if the boy has left me a message with the tanner, I need tae see it. It could change our course.”

  The men trudged through the knee-deep water, and it was shockingly cold. Eamon didn’t care. His mind w
as on his task, and with the dawn, he had grown ever eager to catch Cutler and be rid of the English vermin. To his side, Harold said, “Ye sure trust this boy, lad. I hope ye are right.”

  “So do I, Harold. And if I am, then we can have more riches than we have ever dreamed of.” The men laughed quietly as they made it to the other side of the river and walked past the outer edge of the town’s stone wall.

  “Sheath yer swords, men. I realize we dinnae want tae look like we mean tae attack. We wish only tae act as drifters, asking innocent questions tae the townspeople.”

  He could hear the movement of metal as they filtered in through the entrance of Drumnadrochit. It was a small town, but it was busy. His eyes searched for the tannery. He hoped the spy had some good news for him. He was trying to be confident for his men, but he had no idea what he was about to do. He clenched his jaw and tried to keep doubt from ruining his own morale.

  “Tae the tavern, men. I will meet ye there.” The men left him alone. Off in the distance, he spied the tannery. But he could smell it first, and that’s what had drawn his eye. Amidst the other varying smells of the town: cooked meats, smoke, and refuse, he could smell the sharp scent of urine as the man worked to seal his animal skins.

  Eamon tried to keep his pace calm as he walked to the man. He turned one way and then the other, his dark eyes searching for any Englishmen watching him. But he was in luck. He ducked inside and surprised the wizened old man.

  After the man took a breath, he said, “Och, lad, ye must be here for that message of yorn.”

  “Aye, sir. I have come for that very purpose, but how did ye know?”

  The man reached inside of his work smock and pulled the message free. “I was told tae keep watch for a man of yer description. I wish ye luck, young lad. I wouldnae wish tae get betwixt lovers and the plans they make taegether.” The man grinned, and Eamon could spot a few missing teeth.

  Eamon’s mouth was open to reply, but he just laughed instead. “Thank ye, sir. I will let ye know if I have a message tae send back.” He tore open the letter and glanced over it, his heart beating with a new fervor.

  “Kidnap Cutler’s daughter?” he whispered aloud.

  “What was that, boy?” The old tanner asked, stretching his head forward to get closer.

  “Oh, ‘tis naething.” He pocketed the note. “Thank ye. I am much-obliged tae ye.”

  “Ye are most welcome.” He saw Eamon turn away towards the center of town, and he called out once more.

  “Boy, I would be careful when going that way! I can tell ye are nae from these parts. That way, an Englishman has come tae divvy out justice tae the villagers who killed his men. They are next tae the tavern, but the supposed execution comes soon in the main square.”

  Eamon nodded tightly. “Thank ye again. I will be on the watch.”

  The tanner returned to his work, and Eamon walked forward. The spy had told him to kidnap Cutler’s daughter. He was incredulous, but after each moment that passed, he thought about the brilliance of the plan. That would keep Cutler on their tail, and with such few men, they could ride hard and fast. They could move him as far away from the village as necessary and then try to do battle. The only problem was, he needed to speak to his men first.

  He had watched the path they took towards the tavern, but they had seemed to have no trouble. He hoped he wouldn’t find them slumped behind the tavern wall, their throats cut. But then he remembered. Why should Cutler know about him or these men at all? He most likely knew nothing of Eamon’s existence as a brother to ‘The Wanderer’. That thought strengthened him as he edged closer to the center of town, where a large crowd had begun to gather.

  He slid up to the crowd and watched as a tall, dark man, dressed in English garb, spoke to the gathered masses in a loud voice. Eamon could barely see him above the swelling crowd. He whispered to the man next to him, “Who is this man? Why has he come?”

  “He gives his name as Lord Tiberius Cutler. He comes for revenge. A few British soldiers came the evening before. They got drunk at the tavern, and an all-out brawl occurred because the soldiers were beginning tae rough up some of the townspeople. So some of the men killed the soldiers in the fight. Cutler wishes tae find those men and kill them now.”

  Eamon nodded and then left, slinking back towards the entrance to the tavern. He was comforted by the openness of the townsperson. That meant others might be just as willing to talk to him and perhaps even join their fight. He pushed his way inside the low building while Cutler’s voice rang out in the square. He had no wish to watch an execution, but the faster he moved, he might be able to prevent it. Once he was in, his eyes watched over the crowd until he spotted his men crammed into a side table. He walked over, and Lukas pushed a pint in front of him.

  Eamon was hesitant, but Lukas said, “Good tae keep up appearances, lad. What was the message?” He pushed the note across to them to avoid speaking too much out loud. The tavern was noisy, but who knew what eyes and ears were watching?

  Lukas nodded solemnly in agreement. “Then, what shall we do?”

  Eamon leaned forward over his pint. “I propose we begin a brawl of our own. We may perhaps even get the chance tae take weapons from Cutler’s men. We must spread out around the circle and call out tae Cutler, defying his words.”

  The men nodded in agreement and finished their pints in one swig. “Come. There is nae much time. We must hurry, or else we will be too late. We cause the distraction, grab the girl, and then we are gone. Keep yer hoods up—dinnae stop. Always keep moving. We will meet behind the stable as the note says. If ye have the opportunity, grab as many weapons as ye can find.” They stood and moved toward the back exit. Their movements were not noted, and so Eamon was hopeful as he raised the hood on his jerkin and left, separating from his men to mix with the crowd.

  This bloody plan better work. Boy, ye better nae be steering me intae a trap. Once he had pushed himself a few people deep, he saw a Scotsmen being bound in the center of the circle. Eamon could see Lord Cutler, and then amongst his other men, he saw a woman whose face stopped him in his tracks. She stood tall, up to the shoulder of her father, dressed in English garb as well, a fur wrapped around her shoulders, her long, dark hair braided down her side. He blinked his eyes in surprise. This Sassenach was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

  This is Cutler’s daughter? He was paralyzed for a moment at the strangeness of the scene. Despite her parentage, the woman looked pained at what was going on before her, standing amidst all the chaos. It was an almost laughable juxtaposition. Once he saw the look on her face, he was confident that she would accept her kidnapping, although he could not consider not kidnapping her now. And, if he admitted it to himself, it would not be so unpleasant after all, not with a beauty like that.

  He yelled out, “And who gives ye authority over us, Lord Cutler?” Once the words were uttered, he slid away and hid amongst a new section of the crowd.

  Another voice yelled out, “Aye, our men outnumber ye! We could take ye ourselves afore ye murder our people!” Cutler looked around in a fury, speechless for a moment.

  “Who dares to defy English orders and English justice?!”

  A new voice called out and then a new voice, and then the multitude of Scottish throats opened to cry out as well, their resolve clear as they were energized by the words. Eamon pulled back from the crowd once more as they grew restless.

  He was surprised but pleased at the reaction. Cutler was attempting to yell them to move back, and soldiers pointed their weapons at the villagers, and yet they yelled in anger at the Englishmen, their voices growing louder and louder with each moment. Eamon saw his chance. He scrambled out of the way of the growing crowd and kept his hand on his sword as he rushed towards the stable.

  His lungs were screaming for breath as he found his way behind the large building, at least partly safe and away from the angry crowd. Their voices still carried over the roof, though, and he knew he had to move quickly. His other men were
there before him, a couple of them clutching muskets, and out from inside the stable came two women—one petite with light blond hair, and the other, the dark-haired woman from the crowd.

  * * *

  Isabelle could not believe her plan worked. She could hear the result of it behind her, and her heart was racing with fear of what would happen next. An angry crowd was unpredictable, and Eamon had started all of it. She was satisfied that he had done what she’d asked, but a little frustrated at his execution. This was a bit too much. She had expected something a little smaller and tamer.

  Soon she saw him, in the bright light of day, as she stepped out of the stable with Arya. Once the crowd had begun to go wild, Isabelle slipped through it, Arya at her side. Now she stood looking at Eamon with her clear, violet eyes. Despite having only seen him in shadows before, she could have picked him out from anywhere amongst the other dirty, ill-looking men that surrounded him.