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

by Kendrick, Kenna

  Now he would have to pass his skills and duties to one of his men. Certainly not Martin. He almost laughed at the thought. It would have to be someone else. But who? The weight of the decision laid heavily upon them. He cared nothing for the prisoners who lingered awaiting his word as he sat in front of the heat of the fire, thinking only of the future. He would let them wait until he decided how to make their end.

  He was disturbed by Martin, who entered in, bowing obsequiously before him. Cutler knew he might have to get rid of the man. He was becoming overly desirous of Cutler’s praise. And with his lack of ability to fight, Cutler wasn’t sure why he’d kept him on for so long. Perhaps he should add Martin to the chopping block tomorrow and tell the King it was for lack of following orders. He smiled at the thought while Martin cleared his throat and began to speak. “My lord, what shall we do with the prisoners? The soldiers are getting restless. When will we be moving on tae find the rest of The Scots? When is the execution?”

  Martin looked like he was about to continue, but Cutler held up his hand to silence the silly man. “So many questions, young Martin. Why must my authority be so questioned?”

  Martin sputtered, his face turning red at Cutler’s slow, menacing words. “It is not that, my lord. The men simply asked me to ask you.”

  Cutler nodded. “I see. Yes, we must move on soon. I could send them out early, but I thought they would enjoy seeing the execution?” He turned an amused glance in Martin’s direction, who seemed to calm a little.

  “Yes, I am certain they would, my Lord. What would you like me to tell the prisoners?”

  “Tell them they shall be executed the next morning.” He spied the growing dawn out of his thin window. “I would prefer to spend this coming day at rest. The men can also rest. We have long journeys ahead of us as we try to bring the rest of these Highlanders to justice.”

  Martin bowed, backing out of the room. “Yes, my Lord.”

  Cutler leaned back and closed his eyes. Perhaps it was time for a little sleep after all.

  * * *

  Isabelle was roused from sleep again by wet footsteps on the stairwell. When she opened her eyes, there was a bit more light in the room, and she knew that dawn was approaching. But she could not remember how long they had been in the room, and so she could not mark their time. She squinted up tiredly to see the gloating face of Martin, who was standing in front of the bars.

  “Lady Cutler, your father has sent me to inform you and these other men about the execution that will take place.” He barely glanced in their direction. Isabelle did not stand nor look at Martin with any real interest.

  “I see. When will it be?”

  “He wishes to take the day to rest. The execution will take place the next morning. You have one more day.” He said the last words with emphasis, staring deeply into her eyes, seeming gleeful to be in his position.”

  “Fine,” she said dismissively, and Martin seemed to stew with anger at her lack of fear.

  He attempted to stand up straighter. Isabelle said, “Why do you hate me so, Martin? What have I done to you that would make you so desirous of seeing your old friend upon the chopping block?”

  Martin spat, “We were never friends. You never wanted that, no matter what we could have been together. I found your father’s favor on my own without you. But just think what we could have become, you and me, carrying on your father’s legacy together. We would have been the strongest pairing underneath the King and Queen, of course.”

  Isabelle was taken aback. “I never knew that, Martin. I never knew of your desires for power, or for me. It was not as if you had told me, and I rejected you.”

  His face was even redder now. “No, but I could see it in your behavior, always fighting back, taking it for granted that you had been given such a father. You do not know what you had. Now you have thrown it all away. At least I might have a chance at being the heir to your father’s legacy.”

  Isabelle laughed from her seat on the ground. “I should not think so, Martin, but you may ask him if you are so certain.”

  Martin tried to speak, but Isabelle was pleased with how angry his eyes were, his whole head looking as if it might pop off and blow away in the breeze. He spun around, walking to the stairs. “No one shall grieve your loss, Lady Cutler, not even your father.” Then, he was gone.

  Isabelle sighed into the darkness. That had been at least some entertainment, and he had tried to cut her deeply with his last words. Yet what he had to say was not news to her ears. Donovan said suddenly, “He is a miserable bastard, isnae he?”

  The other two of them laughed, grateful for at least one more day.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Eamon was at a small creek, allowing Aine a bit of rest and water. The men were doing the same. Hardly any words were spoken. The men had ridden too long and hard and had barely stopped at all. Yet they would soon have their victory, for the Fort was slowly coming into view. It was afternoon, and Eamon wondered if he was too late. He knew that Sean could not have reached the Fort much before he and his men would, especially not with all their materials and wealth weighing them down.

  But what would he do if he was too late? How would he be able to face Rose after his failure to save Sean? He pushed that thought aside as he sat atop Aine once more. “I am sorry, my girl, but we must keep riding,” He whispered down by her ear and rubbed her neck. The other men followed him, and he slowed their pace just a little since the Fort was just ahead of them. Lukas rode alongside. “Soon, we will have tae hide, lad, tae make a plan of attack.”

  “Aye. But I dinnae ken where. We may have tae wait until night. My brain is so foggy I can barely think straight.”

  “Aye. The same with all of us. And now that Cutler is back in the Fort, he will have more men at his disposal.”

  Eamon had not thought of that in all his preparations. “Aye, ye are right. Damn. Have we any hope, Lukas?”

  Lukas chuckled. “Nae much, but we have been looking for some bloody excitement for too long. We need tae take our chance now while we still can.”

  Eamon was lightened by his friend’s words. “Come, we shall reach the Fort by the evening, and then we will decide what tae do.”

  As they rode, Eamon was grateful for a few clumps of trees that surrounded the Fort, even as it faced its open side to the sea. They would have to hide, deciding what to do next. He knew that the men would probably be residing in the dungeon, and so they might be able to find a way to get below, open the bars, and fight their way to escape. He had to hope that the soldiers would not be expecting any sort of raid since they assumed that The Scots had disbanded and most likely did not know of Sean’s capture.

  He kept his mind on plans as the Fort edged closer and closer, and the sun neared the horizon. He began to slow Aine’s pace as they neared the patch of woods closest to the Fort. They could see soldiers atop the Fort’s walls as they hid behind the trees. As the men dismounted and crept towards him, he said, “We shall approach at nightfall, tae see if we are too late.” The young man of The Scots grinned.

  “That is just what we ken how tae do. Ye should leave it tae us tae find out what we need. I will take myself and a few others. We are quick, unseen. Ye and the others should sleep. Rest yer bodies for the battle ahead. I will find ye the word that ye need.” Eamon looked at Lukas. Fatigue had settled over his body, he wanted so desperately to agree to it. Lukas nodded at him in agreement.

  “Aye. We agree.”

  “Good. The other men will stay behind and rest as well.” They set up a small camp and lit a fire while the evening light remained, in order to try to keep it as hidden as possible from the soldiers’ sight.

  He said to Lukas, “I feel like there is still time. Cutler is a showy man. Ye saw him. He would want tae make the execution as dramatic as possible. He would do it in the light of day, with an audience. I have a feeling it will be either outside of the Fort on the front area, or it will be up on the rooftops, open for view.”


  He nodded. “Aye, I think yer right. Get some sleep, lad. Ye will need it if ye plan on doing any fighting with yer sword.”

  “I thought we had a few guns.”

  “Aye, just a few, but we dinnae have much gunpowder. In the end, we will have tae rely on our bows and swords.” He grinned. “But that should nae be a problem.”

  Eamon said, “I want tae stay awake until I see them gone tae the fort. How could I sleep when they might nae be able tae succeed?” But the fatigue was too much. He saw the evening darken and a few small shapes head towards the fort. He fell into a deep sleep, forgetting all that was at stake.

  * * *

  In a few hours, he was awoken roughly by Lukas. He blinked his eyes that were heavy with sleep. He was angry. The rest had done little more than tire him further. “What is it?”

  “They have returned!” Lukas’ voice was light and energetic. The young man from before crept towards him, and Eamon sat up to meet him.

  “Eamon, the execution has nae yet taken place! There is time!” Suddenly, Eamon snapped awake. Perhaps it was the fear of failure that was exhausting him, but now that hope still lingered, his brain fired into action.

  “When is it tae happen? Have ye heard?”

  “Aye, aye,” the young man said excitedly. “We heard them atop the battlements. They are preparing the place. It will happen tomorrow morning. They have three prisoners tae execute.”

  “Three?” Eamon looked at Lukas with confusion. “I suppose Cutler has nae murdered Donovan and Gareth after all. That is strange, is it nae?”

  Lukas nodded when the young Scots man said, “Nae. From what we gathered, one of the prisoners appears tae be a woman. They were discussing how tae make the execution quicker and less painful for her.”

  “A woman?” Eamon wracked his brain for who it could possibly be. “Perhaps a Scotswoman that they took captive from Drumnadrochit?” The rest of them shrugged in reply. It was a possibility, but Eamon knew that it didn’t sound like Cutler’s sort of thing. He would only want to execute those who he could get a show out of. Eamon was certain Cutler wouldn’t consider dramatically executing an unknown Scottish woman for some small matter beneath his notice and not worth his time.

  He shrugged with the rest of the men, knowing that there was not much time left to make their plans, but the thought still nagged at him. He thought about Isabelle. Perhaps she told her father of her ventures in hanging up pamphlets around the country. Calling for war? Calling for rebellion? That was treasonous, but Eamon could not imagine a father executing his own daughter. Punishing her certainly, but not putting her head atop a chopping block for an audience to see.

  It was callous, heartless, and cruel. Eamon’s fears grew as he realized that those were the exact words that described Cutler. If anyone was capable of murdering their own child for the sake of their country, then it was Lord Tiberius Cutler. He tried to shake the feeling that Isabelle was the third prisoner, but it wouldn’t leave. He had to try to focus on something else.

  Lukas tapped him on the shoulder. “Eamon? Are ye with us? We must plan, lad!” Eamon looked at the men and women that surrounded him, ready to hear his words, ready to fight. He nodded. It was time.

  “Aye. I am ready. We must make our plans this evening before the first light. I have an idea, but I am nae sure how to put it taegether.”

  Dirk and Errol said in unison, “Tell us, lad. What have we tae lose now?”

  Eamon grinned. “Well, I thought we might try a trick of Cutler’s. It could get us killed and executed in the same way as the three prisoners, but if we succeed, the revenge will be very sweet indeed.

  “What is it?” The young Scots asked, their eyes eager.

  “I think we should find a way tae get into the Fort without being seen, and then, just when the time is right, we set it on fire and burn the place down.”

  * * *

  Isabelle was roused by a slight sliver of light that had made it through a tiny crack in the dungeon wall. She was squinting her eyes at it, for it had seemed an age since her eyes had last seen a room full of light. It is dawn. The time has come.

  The words in her mind were ominous, but they no longer scared her. The battle would finally be over. The waiting would be ended. She would finally find peace in death, for she had done what she thought was right, and that was the end of it. The loss of Eamon was still painful, and she wished for freedom if only to see him one more time, but it did her no good to think wistfully.

  Sean and Donovan roused next to her, squinting as well as they spied the light coming through. “So, taeday is the day, then?” Donovan said with no malice or fear.

  “Aye. It will finally be over. Ye ken, I think waiting in this cell is about as bad as we will have tae experience. Once death comes, surely we will feel more comfortable.” Sean’s attempt at humor lightened Isabelle’s heart. She smiled.

  “How very Scottish to keep humor when all hope is gone. I find it refreshing, truly. If I was stuck with a few Englishmen in here, then we would all soon descend into despair.”

  The men laughed, their throats hoarse from lack of water. “Well, we aim tae be the best prison mates one can have.”

  Isabelle kept smiling, but then her thoughts turned to the morning ahead. “Do you know what they will do to us?”

  Donovan was grim. “Well, I can hazard a guess. Yer father has done a fair few things tae me, but none of them would kill. Burning, chopping, and the like, but I cannae for the life of me think of an execution method that he would be pleased tae enact.”

  Isabelle nodded. She knew what it would be. She had never seen her father do it before, for he had never forced her to watch the proceedings in the past, but she knew now. “I think I know what will happen. Shall I tell you, or do you wish to keep it as a sort of surprise?”

  Sean chuckled. “Hmm…what a thought. Would we like tae ken our method of execution or prefer tae have one last bit of excitement in our lives before the end?”

  There was a silence, but then Donovan nodded. “Aye, I would like tae ken.”

  Isabelle began slowly. “Of course, this is only a guess, but it is based upon what I have heard my father do in the past for other prisoners. I do believe we will have our heads removed from our bodies.”

  The words were sent out into the dank air, and she watched the faces of the men as they digested this news. The sliver of light was showing on both of them, and Isabelle could see slight movements in their mouths. “That should be quick then, should it nae? I confess I am almost looking forward tae it.” Isabelle wanted to hug Sean for his attempt at lightening all their spirits before it was all over.

  No one could respond because they heard the thud of footsteps and the clanking of metal keys as someone descended the stairs and entered into the dungeon. It was Martin, looking a little less pleased than when he’d spoken to Isabelle the night before. “Hello, Martin,” she greeted him cheerfully, and that only seemed to fuel his ire. Good. “You do not seem well today. Has something happened to upset you?”

  Martin grumbled, and Isabelle was satisfied. If nothing else, she could at least unseat Martin before her death. It would be her last good deed. Perhaps her father would decide to add him to the execution list. She chuckled morbidly at such a thought.

  “What causes you to laugh, Isabelle? For you have nothing to be happy for.”

  “Not true, not true.” Sean and Donovan stood up behind her as Martin fidgeted with the keys in the lock. “I have the chance to breathe a lungful of fresh air outside of this dungeon before I take my very last breath. Now that is something to look forward to. It will give me great pleasure. You have no idea what it is like to breathe such horrid, dank air for longer than a few moments.”

  Martin said nothing and swung open the door so that the three of them could exit. He pointed to the stairwell. “Walk up. There is someone at the top who shall take you to your execution.” Isabelle led the way, feeling a little lighter, and it felt good to move her legs on the stairs
as she ascended. She had predicted rightly. The air was growing less heavy and fresher with each step as they rose upward, walking the path of death.

  Once they found their way to the top, Isabelle looked up to see her father’s smiling face. It shocked her a little, and she almost fell back onto Donovan behind her as she saw it. It was like the face of a demon, happy that it had done its work in tempting a soul to evil and demise. She felt the fragile hope and joy in her heart falter for a moment. He will actually take pleasure in this, she thought with sadness.