His heart was tightening with fear. “Will he be all right?” He knew it was not a fatal wound, but he had seen the amount of blood his brother had lost. He had seen many wounds fester into death. The trail of Sean’s blood would surely lead Cutler straight to them now. Perhaps that was the purpose the archer had, instead of dealing a killing blow. But hopefully, the Cutler men would be crushed against the MacManus walls.
Isabelle smiled. “All will be well. I am amazed that the arrow did not go as deep as it could have. My father’s archers are the best in England.” She paused. “They must have been very far away for it not to go as deep as it would normally have.”
“Is there nothing that would keep yer father at bay? Is there nothing that would help tae save my brother and his family from ruin and death?” He couldn’t help the emotion that threaded through his voice. As he watched Sean’s quiet form, he feared that he had let his brother down so greatly once more and that he could never regain his brother’s trust.
Sean shifted and then seemed to slump into unconsciousness. Eamon sat up, his eyes moving across his brother’s body quickly. “What is it? He sleeps?”
Isabelle responded as calmly as she could. “Yes. It has to do with the blood that he lost. Once he is mended, he will be well. The short sleep will do him good.” At that moment, Arya entered in with warm water, herbs, and cloths. Arya and Isabelle rubbed and cleaned the wound as best they could, while Eamon watched from afar, trying to think of a plan.
Isabelle turned to Eamon. “I am afraid that your brother will need the wound to be sealed or else fresh blood will pour out anew, and he could weaken further. If we cannot find a healer soon who could stitch it for him, we will have to sear the wound with fire.”
Eamon clenched but nodded. It was not that he was not used to such injuries, but to see it in his big brother and to feel like it was his fault made the situation seem far worse. He turned to leave. “I shall rush and find the man myself if I have to question everyone on the laird’s land. He was just about to run through the door when a MacManus man returned with an elderly man. “Here is the healer, Wilson. Ye are lucky that our laird has such a compassionate heart. If we lose men because of yer selfish folly, and ye dinnae die yerself, then we shall handle that well enough for ye.”
Isabelle put her hands on her hips. “How dare you speak that way when a man could be upon his deathbed, and you bring him a healer to help him survive? You should be ashamed of yourself!”
The MacManus man threw her a scowl and seemed about to retort, but then he simply stamped out of the room, and Isabelle smiled at Arya with smug satisfaction. The older man walked unsteadily to Sean’s side and began a series of humphs and grunts as he peered at Sean’s leg. Isabelle pushed to stand next to him. “Could you sew it for him, sir? Or will he need to seal it?”
The old man looked over his spectacles at Isabelle but addressed Eamon when he said, “This is a fiery Sassenach, is she nae? Pretending she knows aught of medicine and yelling back at my kinsmen?” Despite his harsh words, his tone was light and joking.
Eamon merely replied, “Aye, sir. Tell me if ye can do anything for my brother.”
The healer grunted again. “Aye, so I can.” He pulled out a cloth bag and rolled it out across the bed, grunting as he pulled out a few items. He passed a needle to Eamon and said, “Heat this in the fire, boy, and return it tae me.”
Eamon did so, and Isabelle watched with interest as the man pulled the arrow from the leg, only to find the blood rushing forth as he did so. Isabelle hurried forward and placed a cloth on the wound, pressing down hard against it. “I shall hold it for you, sir, until you are ready.”
“Deferential ye are now. Good. That will do.” Eamon returned with the needle, and the man nudged Isabelle out of the way while he worked. Isabelle stood by Eamon’s side, and she curled her hand into his. Eamon felt stronger with her beside him. All he wanted was for Sean to wake and to be there by his side while they defeated Cutler once and for all.
It was a quick enough procedure, and the man rolled up his cloth bag once more and left the room, calling back to them. “Keep the wound clean.”
Isabelle took a dry cloth and wrapped it around the stitched skin, tying it tight. “Now, all we need is to find a way to wake him once more. We will leave him to rest a little while and see if there is any news below.”
“Aye,” Eamon said, hoping his voice sounded strong, but knowing that inside he felt weak and scared. He did not want to leave the warm room where all had been settled and where there was hope for Sean’s recovery.
“Arya, will you watch over him? Try to wake him, and find broth for him to eat. That will strengthen him well enough, I should think.”
Arya nodded and left the pair of them as they descended into the main hall. Once they were there, Laird MacManus called Eamon to his side. “Eamon Wilson, I want ye tae sit with me and tell me more of yer plight with Cutler. We have heard naught yet, but my men can see smoke in the distance. Their eyes are watching for horses. Here, take some sustenance, will ye?” He pushed forward bread and wine, and Eamon took it gratefully.
He pointed to Isabelle standing nearby. “Can this woman join us as well?” MacManus turned towards Isabelle, his brow furrowed. “And who is this, lad?”
“This is my captive. She is my leverage against Lord Cutler. She is his daughter.” MacManus nodded. At his frank words, Eamon surprised himself and tried to make his tone less sharp and cold. He hoped desperately that Isabelle did not take him seriously, for he knew that he would do nothing of the sort, not least of all because she did not wish to return to her father. But his greatest reason was to keep the woman whom he loved more than anyone else in the world. He could not lose his chance at happiness by letting her go unless she did not feel the same way. Isabelle sat down next to them and began to eat.
MacManus watched Isabelle and looked her up and down. “I see. Ye have played a dangerous game, have ye nae, Wilson? All in the name of what? Protecting yer brother and his band of villagers? I think ye might regret it in the end.” MacManus narrowed his eyes. “Especially if my men are tae suffer for something that is nae their matter.”
Eamon leaned forward. “But, sir, Cutler will be everyone’s problem as he burns and rampages along the way as he tries to find us. He has revenge tae wreak upon the village of Drumnadrochit as well, which I am sure he will complete once he turns back toward home. Who knows what else the man will do once his ultimate mission is complete?”
“Or perhaps he will leave Scotland, once he has completed that mission. I know I have given ye safe haven, Wilson, but I dinnae like the sound of this. I didnae like the sound of this before, and I dinnae like it now.”
Eamon wracked his brain for any way he could convince the MacManus clan to help them. Or at least still allow them the protection of his walls. “What of Cutler’s wealth? Would that be of any interest tae ye, laird?”
The larger man leaned back, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes flicked to Isabelle for a brief moment, and Eamon’s stomach clenched at the thought that the man would ask for Isabelle as his price. He hoped and prayed that was not the case. Laird MacManus said, “What wealth?”
Chapter Eighteen
Eamon’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “The man carries his wealth with him wherever he travels. It is his badge of honor. He and each of his men carry a portion of it upon themselves. Money, gold, and more besides. Once Cutler is defeated, then ye may have some of the wealth. We can split it between all of us. Ye may ask the lass. She knows of her father’s worth.”
“Aye, is that so?” His eyes returned to Isabelle, and to Eamon’s relief, they were not eyes of lust but merely of curiosity.
Isabelle nodded. “Yes, sir. It is his way to prove that he cannot be defeated. There is more wealth than many can imagine, for he was paid handsomely by the king for his services.”
MacManus frowned. “It feels right, lad, tae steal from an unscrupulous English soldier, but it doesnae fe
el right tae steal from the King. If he finds out what we have done, then we will lose our heads for certain. Not after Culloden and what I had tae do tae keep my land and my clan intact.”
Eamon’s shoulders sank. He was out of ideas. He looked at Isabelle helplessly. She stared back, but her eyes were unreadable. What was he to do? Sean was wounded upstairs, and the rest of the men here were unlikely to help him fight. He would have to come up with some sort of agreement with Cutler. Even the thought of it left a bad taste in his mouth.
“I understand, Laird,” Eamon said in response, his voice betraying his disappointment.
“But ye may use my walls as protection, lad, for as long as ye need. But if the man bursts in, it shall be ye on the front line. And if there is any wealth that has nae been given tae the man directly from the King, I shall take that as yer recompense.”
Eamon felt a flicker of hope. “Agreed.” He stood and motioned to Isabelle to follow him. “Thank ye, Laird. I hope it will be over in but an instant.”
The two of them rushed up the stairs through the castle to Sean’s room. “We need tae see out over the hills tae see if yer father rides near.” He clasped onto her hand and pulled her quietly out onto the battlements. The wind was whipping around them, and Isabelle’s hair was flung into disarray. They stared down at the valley. The dark trees stood to the west, and Eamon could see nothing for an instant as his mind focused on the green hills below. He hoped that Cutler did not yet head towards the forest and the village but would wait to fight them here at the clan walls.
Then, Isabelle said, “There! He rides along the walls!” She clung tightly to Eamon’s arm, and if the moment had been different, Eamon’s heart would have swelled with love and affection. But now it was time to act.
“We go and speak tae him, lass. We find a solution!” He was about to leave the battlements when he saw the group of men separating, running around the walls of the village, lining themselves up. Isabelle gasped.
“Eamon, we must hurry. They will send fire arrows into the village to burn it down if they cannot get inside. I will have to give myself up. I know that I will!” Tears began to spring from her eyes, and Eamon clutched her face with his hands.
“Nae, lass. Dinnae say such things. We must find some other way!” They entered the small room to see Sean sitting awake and Arya sitting beside him. “Brother, how do ye fare?”
Sean grumbled, “A lot better now that an arrow is nae digging intae my leg. What goes on below?”
“He has eaten some,” Arya added helpfully.
“We have come tae the MacManus’ for aid. Cutler’s men have arrived, and they are splitting up, ready tae fire intae the village tae burn it down. We have tae go and meet him, tae think of a way out of this. The MacManus’ have given us their walls for protection, but they dinnae want tae use their men for aid.” Sean was solemn as he brought himself to his feet.
“I will go tae meet him. I am glad he has nae set himself onward tae the village. I will make the agreement.”
Eamon rushed to his brother’s side. “Sean, no! It is I who came tae protect ye! And ye are injured!”
Sean shook off Eamon’s embrace. “I am the leader of this clan. Mine and your men’s lives are at stake and the lives of the MacManus clan. I cannae let them die for me. Nae when they have naught tae do with what happened. I cannae let Cutler ride tae the village tae get my family. Perhaps he will be satisfied with just me.”
He limped towards the door. Eamon’s eyes scanned the room, and he opened a side cabinet to pull out clothes for Isabelle. “Here, put these on. Wearing them will at least give ye some time so that yer father does nae guess ye are inside.”
Isabelle held up the clothes reluctantly. “But he cannot even see me, Eamon. What is the purpose of this?”
“We have nae time, Isabelle. If he breaches these walls, he needs tae think that ye are just one of the men! It is important. Please do it!” Eamon fled the room.
Isabelle started trembling with fear as she dressed in the clothes. He will know. As soon as he sees me, he will know! She wanted to burst into tears, but she tried to savor her last few moments with Eamon while he thought she was just Isabelle, not a woman who’d betrayed him. Eamon left the room, and she agreed to meet him below with Arya. “He will know, Arya. He will curse me once he sees who I truly am!” Tears were in her eyes, ready to fall as Arya assisted her to dress. She cooed and soothed.
“Mistress, the man is in love with you. One can see it from a mile away. He will not leave you once he sees who you are. There will be a time when he will be angry, for certain, but he will understand. You need to trust in him.”
Arya’s soft words calmed Isabelle for a moment. Did Eamon truly love her? Could he ever, once he knew that it had been her plan all along to be kidnapped and to fall into his world? If he did love her, then all their problems would be solved, once her father was taken care of. She could stay with him in Scotland and be happy forever. For a moment, hope flickered in the distance, and Isabelle was happy. But then the two women heard yelling from down below, and the cold memory of what was at hand flooded into their minds.
Arya said, “Let us go, Mistress. Perhaps we can think of something to help the Scots.”
Isabelle thanked her friend. “I do not know what I would do without you, Arya. You have been both friend and guide.” She squeezed Arya’s hand, and the two of them rushed down the steps out into the yard in front of the castle. Men were gathered around the walls as she could hear her father’s voice low and rumbling, making its demands.
“My men have you surrounded. We will burn this area down and kill all within it unless you surrender The Wanderer and The Scots to me. If you do not, you are obstructing the course of His Majesty’s justice! As we are here to avenge the death of his nephew!” The words coursed through the MacManus stronghold and Isabelle had the sense that they were bouncing from the walls and back again.
She closed her eyes. They had nowhere else to go. This was the end of the fight. Sean stood at the front of the gate next to Eamon and called out as loud as he could muster. “Ye shall have me, Lord Cutler. The Scots ye cannae have. For those with whom I ride are nae Scots! The Scots have disbanded long ago. I dinnae know where they reside!”
Isabelle looked at Arya with confusion. What is Sean doing? As Sean moved forward, Isabelle could see Eamon pull on his arm, shaking his head. Sean pulled away, said something to his brother, and the small door next to the gate was opened, and Sean slipped through. Isabelle stood back, surprised. Her heart raced. Was that it? Surely not. She could hear her father’s laugh of victory as Sean exited the door and Eamon’s cry of defeat.
As the horses’ hooves began to sound in retreat, she heard her father yell, “Fire!” and she looked up to see arrows flying through the air, lit at the tips, and staying aloft for a moment before raining down upon the village to the cry of the people inside. “No!” she screamed, and as everyone went into a frenzy, attempting to put the flames out, Isabelle pushed to the front of the gate.
Arya tried to claw at her mistress, but Isabelle was too quick. This was her chance, and she pushed through Eamon’s men who were standing guard and was nearly hit by a running MacManus man. She couldn’t think about what it meant to leave Eamon. She knew only that she had to go in order to stop her father if she could. Her return could appease him for the moment. Isabelle finally made it to the front gate, but before she pushed through the door to leave, she turned to see Eamon by her side. She took a breath, dreading what would come next.
“Nae, dinnae—” he started but then stopped once she turned around and faced him, dressed in the male garb he had selected. He took a step back from her, and she watched his eyes take her in. Isabelle’s heart broke at his pained expression as he recognized her.
“It was ye, then? All this time?” he asked softly, confused. His eyes were hard, yet questioning, searching her face for the answer.
She wiped a tear that had sprung loose and met his gaze. Eamon
: wonderful, kind, generous, fighting, Eamon. He was lost to her now. All of her hopes were gone in but a moment as she stood before him, ready to leave. There was no reason now why she should not tell him the truth.
“Yes, Eamon, it was me,” she whispered before plunging through the door, leaving Eamon and everything she’d hoped for behind. Her heart screamed at her choice, but she moved forward decisively, hoping she could at least save him for now. That was what really mattered. If he would remain alive, and she could help that happen, then that was what she must do.
Eamon felt like he’d been struck in the heart. There she was, or he was, the spy! How could he have been such a fool? Isabelle had played him well and truly, and he had let it happen. The love he had for the woman was all a charade. Who was she really? He blinked in surprise, quieting the sounds around him.
He forgot where he was for a moment, but a strong bout of yelling brought his attention back. His eyes flickered to the flames that surrounded them. He found Arya’s eyes as his mind came back to attention. “Mr. Wilson,” Arya cried tears in her eyes, coming forward to grasp onto his shoulders. “Are you all right?”
Taken by her Highland Enemy: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Deceitful Lassies Book 2) Page 15