Page 1 of The Highlander's Illicit Bride
CHAPTER ONE
Heart pounding, Isolde sat up in her bed at the sound of men shouting and heavy boots running past her bedchamber door. Something was happening. And judging by the sound of it, something serious.
Isolde knew her father’s men had battled a rival clan recently and had been well pleased to have achieved some significant victory over them. Had they come back seeking vengeance?
Isolde slipped out of bed and threw a robe over her shoulders. Moving slowly and cautiously, she reached the door and pressed her ear to it. The voices were muffled but she was still able to make out what they were saying.
“He’s bleedin’ gone,” one gruff voice said.
“The laird is goin’ tae have somebody’s hide fer this,” said another.
“So long as it isnae mine,” said the first. “I’m thankin’ God ‘twas nae me in the cells guardin’ him. Anybody who was is goin’ tae have hell tae pay.”
There was only one prisoner in the dark cells that Isold knew of. One that would warrant that kind of reaction from her father and panic amongst his men. And he’d escaped. She knew it!
“Come,” said the first gruff voice. “We should probably help search for him.”
“Or just be as far away from him as we can,” the second man said. “They say he’s a savage, that one.”
She listened to them retreating and felt her stomach lurch. Her father’s prized possession had escaped and because of it, the corridors of the castle were swathed in chaos. A bolt of excitement crackled through her veins. This was the moment she had been waiting for. Dreaming of. This might be her opportunity to escape the fate her father had chained her to, the marriage he was trying to force upon her, and give her the chance to build her own.
Dashing around her room, Isolde quickly ran to the chest that stood against the wall on the far side of the room and threw it open. Digging furiously through the contents, she pulled out the clothing she’d long ago secreted in the bottom when she’d first began formulating her plan. She’d dreamed of it often but never dared hope it would come to pass. As she listened to the chaos erupting within the castle, she knew it was time.
Isolde pulled on the pair of breeches and dark tunic she’d stolen from the castle’s laundry room. After that, she slipped into the soft boots she’d also procured. Those, she’d had made to ensure they fit and didn’t rub her feet raw when she wore them.
Throwing some spare clothes and a small purse of coin she’d managed to collect into her pack, a pack with herbs and ointments, and a dagger she had prepared, Isolde cinched it closed then slung it over her shoulders. Grabbing a thick cloak, she ran to the door and pressed her ear to it again. The sounds of men running and shouting had faded. The corridor sounded empty. Easing the door open, she peeked outside to confirm the guards normally posted outside had gone. Slipping into the corridor, she closed the door behind her, then dashed down the hallway, her soft boots’ whisper quiet on the stone beneath her feet.
Hearing voices up ahead, Isolde slipped into the shadow alcove near the archway that led into the western wing of the castle and listened. Her blood ran cold at the sound of her father’s voice, tight and furious. There was an edge to his tone, dark and ominous, she had only heard a few times before in her life and it always precipitated something terrible. And she was getting the feeling this would not be any different.
“What in the bleedin’ hell happened?” he demanded.
“We dinnae ken, me laird,” said a man, his voice flustered. “We’re still tryin’ tae figure?—”
“Where is he?” her father roared.
“We dinnae ken, me laird. Laird Cameron’s cell was found empty,” the man replied, his voice shaky. “The door had been opened and the man guardin’ the cell was dead. There was blood everywhere.”
He had been taken in the last battle and if he managed to get away, he would surely rain down vengeance upon her father for his capture and that of his brother, who was being held elsewhere. She had never spoken to the man, but she had heard how every warrior feared him. They said he was fierce—perhaps the fiercest warrior in all of Scotland.
She had seen him from afar, hiding in the dungeons, and could confirm he was a handsome man, but that was all she knew about him. Isolde had been curious and had wanted to visit the cells and meet the man herself. She’d wanted to take his measure and see why his name inspired so many different feelings, from fear to lust, but feared incurring her father’s wrath if he discovered her down there.
“How many did he kill?” her father asked.
“Two, me laird.”
Her father fell silent for a long moment and Isolde held her breath. When he was that angry, a sudden silence usually precipitated an explosion that shook the very walls of the castle. Her body tensed, she crouched in the shadows of the alcove and braced herself. But when her father spoke, though his voice trembled with barely controlled rage, he didn’t scream. He didn’t lash out. Shockingly, to her, he managed to keep his furyin check. It was something he never seemed able to do with Isolde.
“Get the men and find him,” her father said.
“How many men should I take, me laird?”
“All of them! Take as many men as ye bleedin’ need. Dae ye understand me?” he hissed, his voice crackling with rage. “Struan Cameron cannae be allowed tae escape. Find him!”
“Aye, me laird. It’ll be done.”
“See that it is.”
Isolde waited, listening to the sound of their boots ebbing before she moved. When the corridor sounded empty, she peeked around the corner just to be sure. Pulling her cloak around her a bit tighter, she slipped out of the chamber and made her way back through the castle once more. The sound of her father’s voice, a faint echo now, drifted down the corridor to her, sending a chill rushing up Isolde’s spine.
