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

by Kendrick, Kenna

  Lukas nodded solemnly. “I cannae say I have ever done anything so brash as this. I cannae tell if it is brilliant or bloody foolhardy.”

  Eamon grabbed him by the shoulders. “Ye are a good man, Lukas. We will protect ye. Once the cry for the fire rings out, get lost in the sea of soldiers. Find yer way down and try tae meet up with the others. If they proceed tae lock up the prisoners, while they put out the fire, we will spring them free and follow upstairs for a battle.”

  “Aye. I understand.”

  “But, remember, we are only battling tae escape and tae end this search for Sean. So the only people who need tae die are those who prevent us or those who were involved with Cutler.”

  “And his wealth?” Lukas smiled wryly even as he was heading into the brink of danger.

  “If we have the time, grab what ye can, but nae at the expense of yer life. Dinnae be an idiot.”

  He smiled at his friend. He prayed to the Almighty that he would not lose him. He had lost too much already, and he couldn’t bear the loss of his best friend as well if they were not to succeed. “Go, Lukas, go! Godspeed, my friend.”

  Lukas laid a firm hand on Eamon’s shoulder, and with a quick glance, he was gone, his English musket jangling as he ran upstairs. Dirk, Errol, and Eamon leaned by the window of the small room, straining to hear when the cry of fire came.

  Eamon’s heart sped furiously as he heard Cutler describe the crimes of each of the victims. His voice was loud and taunting, and he imagined how angry he would feel like one of those on the man’s execution list. Cutler was far too smug and satisfied with his catch as if the three victims were animals he’d proudly collected in his trap.

  “How could a man execute his own child?” he said aloud, but there was no answer, for he could hear Lukas’ loud voice in a very faulty English accent crying out “Fire!” from overhead.

  He grinned as he heard the outcry from above, and the three of them slid out of the room, searching for the stairwell to the dungeon. They spotted a stairwell far to the side, and hearing the rumble of soldier’s feet ahead, they slid near to it, ducking behind the main staircase, blending perfectly into the shadows.

  Soldiers flooded into the main hall, their yells increasing as they rushed to find the source of the flames. Then, he saw the three prisoners being hurriedly escorted back down the dark stairwell. Just as he’d predicted, the soldiers were bringing the prisoners back down to be locked once more in their prison.

  Once the soldiers returned up the stairs, they joined the crowd, calling to put out the flames. To his delight, he heard one soldier say, “The fire is burning the entire fort! We will not have the strength to get away in time! Hurry! The fire has been lit in all areas of the castle!”

  Once soldiers were out of view, Eamon motioned to his men, and they descended the steps to meet with the utter gloom of the dungeon. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the heavy darkness with only tiny streaks of light, but once they did, he could see the forms of three standing figures behind the iron bars.

  “Sean, Donovan, Isabelle?” He called out to them, and he saw one of the figures burst forward against the bars.

  “Eamon? Is that ye?” Sean’s voice was light and hopeful but amazed.

  Eamon grabbed onto the bars. “Aye, brother! It is I! We dinnae have time, but we have tae set ye free. Then we are gone, flying back tae yer village tae escape Cutler’s hand!”

  Sean laughed, and Donovan did too. It was only Isabelle who remained silent, and Eamon tried his best to keep his eyes from her, but he couldn’t resist.

  He saw her come slowly into his view, her eyes wide and wet with tears. “Eamon, is it really you?”

  He was gruff and terse in response. “Aye, lass. I have come, although I didnae realize that ye would need rescuing.” He didn’t give her time to answer.

  “Come. We need tae pry these bars free.”

  “You cannot. The soldiers have taken the keys.” Just then, as if the heavens had heard their plight, a solitary figure rushed down the stairwell, breathing heavily with his hurry to get down. Eamon heard the welcome jingle of keys in his hand.

  * * *

  Isabelle thought she was in a dream. She had been about to see her friend Donovan lose his life by the ax, but then cries of fire had filled the air. She’d turned with confusion to see a heavily bearded soldier crying out for everyone to fight the flames. Everyone froze for an instant before an outcry rose as people rushed to the stairwell to see where the flames had begun. Isabelle turned to her father, who looked stunned for a moment as he saw he’d lost control of the crowd.

  Then he yelled, “The execution has to continue! We cannot be swayed! Someone is here to stop us!” But none of the soldiers listened, and even the axman dropped his ax and ran for the door. Since they were close enough to her father, Cutler grabbed two men and Martin and told them to run the prisoners back down to the keep, to lock them up and keep them there until the fire was out.

  He grunted with dissatisfaction that his show had been ruined, and Isabelle felt smug in victory. As she left the battlement, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the bearded soldier disappear from view around a corner. Something wasn’t right. This seemed planned somehow, but who could it be? The MacManus’ come to supply them aid? Surely not, but who?

  She, Donovan, and Sean were trudged back to their gloomy cells and locked once again inside while the soldiers rushed back upstairs. She sighed, relieved that the execution had not yet happened but also frustrated that they would be forced to wait again in agonizing anticipation of their deaths.

  They were silent as they waited in the darkness, each of their minds whirring, wondering who was responsible for the fires that were seemingly consuming the castle. She feared for an instant that they would be swallowed inside the flames with no way to get out, but she knew her father well enough that he would not give up his chance for a showy execution. He would save them from fire if only to kill them later.

  Like her father had been reading her thoughts, she heard sets of footsteps on the stairs. She figured the fire was not as bad as they originally thought, and they would be taken up to the chopping block once more. A voice called out into the darkness as the figure moved forward. She could not see him until he stood in a sliver of light. The voice and the recognition of his voice made her draw in a breath sharply.

  It was Eamon. Now, she knew it was a dream. The man she had pined for and longed to see again had come. He called out each of their names in turn, and she thought perhaps that she had died already, and this was the afterlife, forever longing at the last minute for one’s beloved to come to the rescue.

  But then Sean plastered himself up against the bars of the cell and called back Eamon’s name. Eamon, Dirk, and Errol were just on the other side of the prison door, and Isabelle was dumbstruck. Donovan and Sean laughed, overjoyed at the sight of their rescuers. As for her, her eyes filled with tears as she stepped closer to get a better view of Eamon’s face, her Eamon’s face.

  “Is it really you?” she whispered, wondering if she had even said it aloud.

  She must have done so, for she heard his gruff reply, and a pang was sent straight to her heart. Even though he was there, he was still angry at her. They tried to pull open the doors, but they would not budge. Isabelle told him about the keys.

  Then, she heard the happy clinking sound as a man descended into the dungeon, and once he arrived, he stopped short, his eyes wide with fear. In his surprise, he dropped the keys to the floor. He looked like an animal about to be captured by wolves. By his small stature and wordless fear, Isabelle could tell it was Martin. He tried to lean down to pick up the keys, but Eamon stepped forward, his dagger at the ready.

  “Take those keys, and ye shall wish it was yer execution day, lad.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Martin trembled, saying, “Bloody Scots. You shall never get away with this! I shall tell my superiors, and they will be down in an instant.”

  “Not
if the flames are burning them into ash as we speak,” Dirk said with humor, and Martin swallowed.

  “That fire was ye?”

  “Aye, and if ye value what little life ye’ve got, boy, I suggest ye run upstairs and try yer fate against the fire.” Martin backed away slowly, watching them all.

  “You shall all die, as well. There is no escape!”

  Isabelle thought of an idea. If it didn’t work, then they had nothing to lose, but if it did, then it could mean the difference between life and death. “Martin, if we have the ring of keys, we can exit through the escape door just over there.” She didn’t point, but to her satisfaction, Martin turned in the direction of a door she did not know existed.

  “How did you know about that?” he said, his brows creased in a fury.

  “I did not, but you have just alerted me to it.” She laughed lightly, and Martin growled, but Eamon’s dagger against his neck made him turn and give tail to the room, leaving them all behind.

  Donovan said, “Brilliant, lass!”

  Eamon grunted in agreement. “The men should be down soon if that bastard has anything tae do with it. I am glad it was he who came down here with the keys and not the pair of armed soldiers.”

  “It appears we have had good luck today,” Isabelle joked, but Eamon did not reply as he swung open the door and allowed the three of them to get out. Sean wrapped Eamon in an embrace.

  “Brother, I—”

  “No time!” Eamon said loudly, and all of them pushed into the darkness, searching for that door. They would have to feel for the keyhole and try each key, which could take too long, but after a few tries, Eamon was successful, and the shift of the lock as it opened was like music to Isabelle’s waiting ears.

  Once the heavy door swung open, there was a small passageway, but then it opened up into the light of the waning morning. Breathlessly, they rushed through it and headed out from the castle, taking shelter in a nearby grove of trees. Isabelle still couldn’t believe it. She was in the light of day, free, and not about to lay her head on the block for the shining ax to separate in two.

  She looked at Eamon, so happy to see the outline of his handsome face in the light, but he was peering out towards the men. In the air, smoke had begun to curl and lift, and she watched with satisfaction as she could see and hear soldiers yelling and scrambling to put out the flames. “What did you do?” she asked Eamon warily.

  He kept his eyes forward and his tone level. “We lit fires in each of the side rooms that lead out to the outside of the castle. Only a few us were meant tae stay and fight. The rest should have escaped. God, I hope they did.”

  Isabelle laid a hand on his arm, and she could feel him tense underneath her touch, but he did not move his arm. “I am sure they will. You were very brave, Eamon. Thank you.”

  “No time for thanks, he said rudely and turned to his men. “The only thing we can do is tae either wait or return tae the camp. The fire is raging inside, so nae soldiers are walking out intae our grasp.”

  Dirk and Errol were not pleased. “But what about Cutler? Ye said he must die.”

  “Aye, so he must, and so must all his men, but we cannae enter the castle again, nae when my brother’s fate is so precarious. I cannae take a chance again.” Dirk nodded in understanding.

  “Aye, ye must keep them safe. Let us return tae the camp.” The men stood to leave, but suddenly, they heard the rushing of a pair of feet heading towards the woods, the person’s breathing coming hard and fast. The men returned to their hiding position, crouching below the bushes and shrubs, hiding behind tree trunks as they waited and watched.

  Isabelle covered her mouth to stop crying out when she saw who it was. It was her father, armed with only a sword in hand, running away from the fort as fast as he could.

  Isabelle was amazed at their luck. After all the bad things that had happened to her in the past, now the fates were on her side for once. Her father was right there in front of them for the taking. In a flash, Eamon jumped out, racing towards Cutler’s running form, and jumped towards him, tackling him to the ground. Isabelle was frozen as she watched the scene unfold before her, like a dream.

  Cutler yelled out in surprise as he fell, crushed under Eamon’s weight. Isabelle tensed, knowing that even though her father was older, he was still wily and would not be defeated easily. Eamon groaned in shock and pain, and Isabelle watched with horror as he rolled over in agony. Eamon had a blade sticking out from his side, and she saw her father slide the blade out where he had burrowed it. He wriggled out from under Eamon’s body. “Bloody useless Scot!” Cutler spat down on Eamon’s face and began to run further, a bloodied dagger in his hand.

  Eamon’s eyes were squinting in pain as he rolled around, gripping his side, blood pouring out from the wound. Isabelle felt like she had left her body and was looking down on herself as she watched her father get away from Eamon’s grasp. She didn’t think about anything except that Eamon could now be bleeding to death. Her body picked up the bow and arrow that was lying by the men, and she pulled an arrow taut. Her father was quick, but in his growing age, he had gotten slower. She didn’t even think about what it meant as she squinted her eyes and aimed the arrow towards her father, following him as he ran.

  She let go, and the arrow sang through the air, finding its mark and sinking into her father’s flesh, causing him to fall forward onto the ground. The blood was pulsing through her brain as she tried to come to grips with what had just happened. Isabelle stood tall with her bow drawn, and her chest was lifting quickly as she took in sharp breaths. She had just killed her own father, and she felt no sadness at the loss. Instead, she felt relief, a wave of sweet, refreshing relief, and then she spotted Eamon groaning with pain, clutching at the wound in his side

  Her heart was in her throat, and she cried, “Eamon!” as her legs propelled her forward toward him over the rough forest floor. Once she reached him, she knelt down by his side, but he had fallen back unconscious, and his face was pale. “No, no!” she cried again and was soon surrounded by the other men.

  Sean looked down at his brother, his hands trembling as he touched around the wound. “My God, my brother. He cannae die!”

  They heaved Eamon’s body up, and Isabelle cried out, tears in her eyes, “There is too much blood lost. He cannot ride!”

  “Nae, lass, there is hope. We need tae get away from here and tae a fire. Are there any horses?” Sean turned desperately to Dirk and Errol.

  Dirk spoke up, “Aye, they are hidden further back in the forest.” The four men helped to carry Eamon deeper into the woods, searching back and forth to make sure no one else was about. Passing too near to her father’s body than was comfortable, they edged around the woods and found Aine and the other horses. Aine was scared at their arrival, but Isabelle rushed to pet her nose to give her a little comfort.

  “Everything will be all right, my girl. But you need to help your master now.”

  Sean heaved Eamon atop Aine with the help of the other men, and Isabelle climbed up behind him. “Wait, lass, ye are nae strong enough,” Sean tried to stop her with his hand holding the reins.

  “I think I have proven just how strong I am, Sean. Now, help me lead the way!”

  Dutifully the men did as they were told, and Dirk and Errol led the way towards their spot in a new patch of woods opposite the fort. Isabelle clung to the reins, feeling the heavy weight of Eamon leaning on her chest, but she was energized by saving him. Despite the lack of any real sustenance or restful sleep, she felt stronger than she ever had, and the ride seemed to last only a few minutes as they let the sound of the cries in the fort die away behind them.

  As they arrived, the men, groaning and breathing heavily from his weight, helped Eamon down and carried him to a spot by the fire. Isabelle jumped down near him and threw more sticks on the waning fire, hoping to help it roar into quick life. She unsheathed Eamon’s sword and laid it into flames. “What are ye doing, lass?” Sean asked, leaning over Eamon’s unconsci
ous form, staring at the blood-soaked section of his shirt.

  “We need to seal the wound before he loses any more blood.” She placed a hand lightly on the side of Eamon’s pale face. “Do not leave me, Eamon,” she whispered, and the men began to set up camp as she waited for the blade to heat. Sean helped her find a comfortable resting place for Eamon’s head. Isabelle lifted the bloodied shirt, gasped at the wound, but then pressed a hand against it, hoping to staunch its continual trickle of blood. A tear fell down her cheek and landed on his chest. She wished her tears were like an elixir of healing, which would bring him back to life. Eamon was still breathing, even if it was very shallow, and that gave her hope.