“Here they are, men! The scum of the Thames,” laughed a fire-headed brute boisterously. “There be nae mistaking them. They’re English!”
“P-please. Just let us pass. I am taking my lady on a journey,” begged the coachman. Flutters of fear rippled through Isabel’s bones.
“Yer lady? Why, ye cannae be more than a laddie. How’s a laddie got himself a lady?” the man mocked.
“Truly, we mean no harm. We just wish to reach the highlands for a rest,” he continued.
“Aye, so it’s a rest ye want? Than a rest ye shall have!” he called, pulling the coachman off his seat. The twenty or so men with him all laughed with the same fearless abhorrence.
“Wait!” Isabel shouted, pushing herself quickly from the coach. “Leave him. Allow him to return, along with my maid. You can take me to your leader, I care not. But please, have honor, men. Take me and allow them to leave. I am the daughter of a wealthy man. You shall have a great ransom if you take me. Taking them will give you only more trouble than it is worth.”
The group of men seemed to consider for a moment but turned to the brute that led them before they would answer.
“I will take ye to me Laird, and I will let this man go with one of the horses. But the other horse, the grand little princess carriage, they come with us. So does your maid. That is, if she’s bonnie. I suppose I had best nae commit until I see whether she be a bonnie lass. Little maid! Little maid!” he called.
Charlotte timidly stepped from the carriage.
“Aye, right bonnie enough she is! Men, get the boy and a horse. The rest are comin’ home with us!” he ordered. The men cheered and got to work.
Isabel stood with Charlotte close by her side.
“Please, do not worry. I will ensure you get home safely,” she promised again without the certainty held in her voice.
The Scotsmen released the coachman to ride back to English quickly, this time without a store of food for his beast. Then they loaded up the coach and led the remaining horse onwards with the two girls walking in tow. A band of eight brigands carried the rear.
“Aye, the rich lass has an ass I’d love to get me hands on,” commented one of the men while the other seemed to hold his gaze at Charlotte’s overdeveloped chest that spilled from her uniform. The men were not subtle in their conversing or the directions of their eyes. Now and then they would jeer at the girls if they began to slow.
“Faster, faster, that’s it! Dinnae stop!” called one man in a voice to imitate an amorous woman. Isabel felt the blush rush to her cheeks. While she had no experience of such things, she had heard the servant men speaking crassly of women’s calls in the night.
“My lady, where are they taking us?” asked Charlotte again. Her voice carried tears on the brink, and her eyes had remained filled with fear for the entire walk.
“To their leader, Charlotte. I shall appeal to him and have you returned home. Do not worry,” she said once more. With every plea not to worry, Isabel became less stable and Charlotte less convinced of her own safety.
“See that lassies? That be yer new home,” said the brute in charge once a village came into view. A grand home stood in the center of it all and surrounding was a wide, colorful meadow.
“See that, Charlotte? It is truly beautiful. A place of death would not be so beautiful,” she said, suddenly relieved.
“Miss, you say that, but I am a servant. Servant girls are warned about men. It isn’t death I fear. It’s…h-him,” she said, looking to the gangly beanstalk who could not keep his brown eyes from her figure.
Isabel sighed. She had no reassuring words left to say. Instead, she plodded forward, knowing she would soon find her mission completed and she could either return home or face her own death knowing she had at least returned the agony which she felt towards the loss of her brother.
They entered the village, and the people watched as the band of men led the girls and loot to the shockingly large castle. Isabel had heard from James that the highlands held stunning works of architecture and grand castles, but she had never imagined this towering, magnificent work.
“Sit yer buns here,” the main brute said, gesturing to a marble bench at the top of the staircase and before the main doors to enter. The doors were made of oak and had a clever latch to prevent intrusion.
Isabel eyed the men with the carriage as they pulled down her trunk. They did not open it, however, being too distracted by the uncomfortable English girls, one in a grand, taffeta mourning gown, and the other with a gown that could not contain her chest. The men made grotesque gestures with their hands as a rude invitation and spoke loudly and explicitly.
At last the doors opened once again and the brute gestured for them to enter.
“Me Laird wishes to see ye,” he said, leading them through a corridor and into a great hall with a large table and important looking men sitting in each chair. Their kilts were all of the same tartans, representing their loyalty to the clan.
“Thank ye, Cormag. Now please excuse us. We have to speak to these girls, and then we will not long be calling for ye as well,” said the man at the head of the table.
Isabel watched him. He commanded the respect of the men in the room. His burgundy hair was thick and seemed to leave droplets of stubble across his chin. He had large, round blue eyes that gave a distinct impression of innocence.
Isabel knew those eyes to be liars. This was Edan, the killer of her brother.
His lies are more than just skin deep. He could fool anyone with those eyes, but I will not be tricked, she thought, again promising herself to be strong.
“Uncle, shall we pause for a moment in our previous discussion and address the issue of our newest arrivals?” Edan asked Callum sitting to his right. They had been conversing about Cormag in his absence and how to handle the situation of his guilt without placing the whole clan in jeopardy with the English nobleman, the Duke of Gordon. The distraction of the beautiful young women before him was all too welcome. He noticed especially the lady in mourning with her hair falling out of its captivity in little white-blonde ringlets.
“As ye wish,” Callum spoke heavily, his eyes nearly slits at the sight of the English women.
“Who are ye?” Edan asked coarsely.
Dinnae notice her, she’s a trespasser, a bonnie trespasser but that doesnae excuse it, he thought to himself.
Isabel spoke up, knowing Charlotte would be unable to answer and not taken seriously even if she tried. “We are from London. My father is a merchant trader. He has fallen ill but was called upon by the Laird from the Clan Gunn to provide him with small weaponry. As my father was ill, I offered to bring the product. We do not wish you any harm. Our coachman merely got us off our intended route,” she lied smoothly, knowing the story would protect her from suspicion once they opened her trunk.
“And where is yer intended route?” inquired Edan, unsure whether or not he believed her words.
“Dornach,” she replied, unsure where Dornach actually was.
“Dornach? That’s awfully far north. Ye wish to travel all that distance in a country where ye are overwhelmingly hated?” he challenged.
“To be honest, I don’t know where Dornach is located, merely that I am sent there,” she replied, appealing to their assumptions that she was an ignorant and naive female.
“And ye be in mourning?” he asked.
“Yes, L-Laird. My mother. She passed from a severe fever. The same which my father now has,” she said. Her lies dripped believably, but the gentle tears she brought forward were the seal on the lie. It was a true saying that no man could deny a woman once her tears began.
“Well then, if that be so, what is it ye wish from us?” he asked.
“Simply that you would let my maid return with a horse, and preferably a guide as well. One that will not touch her. I wish for her to leave in the morning when there is full light ahead,” Isabel requested.
“Only that? What of yerself?” he asked.
“What
is it you would offer?” she inquired in return.
“I dinnae believe yer story in its entirety. Give me time to learn the truth and then I will make me decision,” he replied.
Chapter 4
“I said be calm, Charlotte!” Isabel growled through clenched teeth as they waited in a small room with a single bed. Guards were posted just beyond the door.
“But, miss-”
“Be calm!”
Charlotte stayed quiet. After a few moments, the door creaked open and the Laird, Edan, stepped through in his kilt and flowing white shirt. A little leather braid wound through the top to tie it at his chest, but he left it undone, revealing wisps of red hair on his chest.
“Come now, lassie. I’ve found a guide for ye. Yer miss will stay here, but ye’ll be on yer way going now,” Edan declared. His hand invited her to step through the door to freedom.
“No!” Isabel snapped. “I told you, she must leave in the morning when the light will last the whole of the journey.”
“We’ll nae have any stowaways, lass. She’ll be going now or not at all. It’s up to ye to decide,” he said with a sigh. It was clear that he did not have time for this and his mind was distracted elsewhere.
I simply cannot force her to stay and yet, what if she is fearful in the dark with a strange man? What if her fears come to pass? Isabel questioned.
“Alright then, she may go, but what is my guarantee that she will face no harm?” Isabel asked.
A smirk tugged at Edan’s mouth.
“Foul-mouthed the guide may be, but I dinnae think me sister is planning to corrupt anyone’s virtue tonight,” he responded smugness and a show of irritation at being questioned.
Isabel and Charlotte breathed a united sigh of relief when a brunette beauty with the same wide, innocent eyes came into the doorway.
“Dinnae be so sure, brother, she’s got quite a set of tits, that little maid. Perhaps I might give ‘em a good squeeze just to be sure they’re genuine,” Caitriona laughed. Her hair swished revealing gentle red highlights in the dark brown.
Edan cracked a real smile.
“Ignore the beast, she be dirtier than most men, but she isnae going to harm ye and ye can be sure that she’ll keep away any who might,” he promised.
Isabel sighed and gave Charlotte an awkward hug. Women of her stature did not generally hug their maids, but as captives, it seemed the right thing to do. She looked Charlotte in the eyes with a genuine, it’s all going to be alright, expression. Charlotte responded with a slight nod that she understood, though her face still betrayed her fear.
“Fare ye well then, and Caitriona, be careful with the lass. Ye dinnae need to terrify her any more than necessary. And keep away from Cormag,” Edan added the last part as a clear warning. His sister nodded sternly but with a faltering question in the flick of her eyelids. She assumed it was because Cormag was quite a brute about women, but something in Edan’s tone left her with a sense of distrust for the fierce clansman.
With that, Caitriona and Charlotte left through the doorway. Edan remained, watching Isabel. She sat tall, properly, with solid posture and facing forward, yet the gentle fidgeting of her hands let him know that she was, indeed, nervous. Her green eyes would not meet his despite sensing the blue gaze on her face. Finally, she had had enough.
She wrenched her head to face him. “May I help you in any way?” she asked with forced irritation.
Edan’s smirk was back.
“What be yer name?” he asked gently, running a hand through his burgundy hair as he tended to do when he was nervous and trying to hide it.
Isabel wavered. She did not know whether or not James had mentioned her to his friend.
“Elyse,” she glibly lied.
“Elyse. There’s a bonnie name. Have ye any friends in our part of the world, Elyse?” He spoke slowly, tasting the name on his tongue.
She doesnae look like an ‘Elyse’. Too fair, indeed. And those eyes, I cannae stop looking at them. God help me, he thought.
“No, I do not. As I said before, I do not know this land very well. Only that my father has many business acquaintances here. He is a wealthy merchant,” she lied, improvising as she went along.
“A merchant, aye? That’s good business in these times. What does he sell? And why does he need it from Dornach?” Edan pried.
Isabel faltered again, unsure where to go next. She decided honesty was the best lie.
“I do not know. I am not a merchant, just a young lady. So how am I to know things and affairs of business? Other than that, he sells weaponry. What is it you really want to know from me?” she challenged. Feigning ignorance was the easiest tool, but it left her feeling insecure. Then again, Isabel thought that insecurity and anxiety were a natural reaction in being held captive, so perhaps it was on her side after all if they showed.
“I dinnae ken whether I believe ye or nae. I’ve never heard of a wealthy merchant sending his lass on such errands. Are ye sure ye be telling me the truth?” he asked.
“As I said, my father is extremely ill, and we just lost my mother. I am his only child and, therefore, it fell to me to go on the journey,” she declared slowly as if speaking down to a four-year-old to whom she had already explained many times.
One of Edan’s eyebrows raised in apparent offense at being so disrespected.
“In that case, yer wealthy merchant faither will be paying to get his daughter back. I am sure Caitriona will learn where the little maid is going and will tell me how to get the ransom request to yer faither,” he promised.
Isabel’s blood ran cold. How had she not thought about that?
He will learn that I am James’s sister and clearly assume that I am here for revenge. That means I must act quickly. Where are my trunks? Or will they feed me soon and I can take a knife? How can I accomplish this? Isabel worried.
“Where are my trunks?” she asked confidently.
“My men are searching them for prizes. And, of course, they have taken the weapons. We cannae allow a prisoner to defend herself. Surely ye understand, it isnae anything personal. Just a precaution,” he said as if reading her mind about wanting the weapons.
“Will you be feeding me any time soon? I am rather famished. I am sure most of what you have available to me will be completely inedible, like that atrocity, haggis, or something. Nevertheless, I am in need of food,” she said.
“We dinnae waste haggis on English brats like ye,” he said harshly in response to her offending his favorite dish. “I’ll be having soup brought to ye shortly.”
“Soup?” she whined. “I would truly love some potatoes with pheasant, or some other foul.” The reality was that she needed anything that could be eaten with a knife.
“Great, potato and pheasant soup it is,” he replied before exiting quickly and shutting the door. Isabel heard the lock turn and the guards outside mumbling with the Laird.
Soup. How am I meant to stab him with a spoon? she wondered.
A half hour later, it was not pheasant and potato soup that was brought to her, but a barley and cabbage broth. To Isabel, it tasted like Scottish waste. The large, wooden soup spoon was more like a ladle that barely fit in Isabel’s pert mouth. She was angry and bitter that her thinly thought-out plan was so quickly failing her.
Edan entered the room a few moments into her dinner. “How’s yer pheasant?”
“Lovely,” she replied with disdain. She followed by casting a sarcastic eye roll in his direction just to assure him she was unimpressed. “Do you think that perhaps next time you could pluck him first?” she added, just to give a dramatic insult.
“Clever. Ye be quite a wit, lass,” he responded with a dry tone to let her know that he wasn’t remotely affected by her robust attitude.
“And ye be quite a cheat, lad,” Isabel mocked with a very poor attempt at mimicking Edan’s accent.
For a moment, he glared at her in the doorway. A twinge in his lips showed that he felt some emotion after all and finally he co
uld not hold it in until he began to laugh hysterically. The twinge had become a full, wide grin and staccato laughs produced from his belly.
Isabel blushed with humiliation. Why should she care what he thought? She was here to kill him, and he didn’t even know it. If anyone was a fool, it was him. And yet, she was a woman, and her pride had been wounded. She didn’t want to admit that it was so fragile, but in moments like this, it nearly tore her down.
The Highlander's Secret Maiden: A Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 29