Page 19 of Taken By her Highland Enemy

Chapter Ten

Eamon fumbled to think of a response quickly before his men got themselves concerned any more than they already were. He called out gruffly, “Leave it tae us, lass, as I said.” He gave her a severe look, and she quieted, but the shadow of a smile played across her lips.

He had never met a woman who openly defied men and wanted to take part in her own kidnapping. It was madness. The men grumbled in reply, and Eamon placated them by saying, “We will sleep on it. Make our plans in the morning. It has been a long day. We need the rest.”

They dispersed, rolling out their blankets and skins to lie on under the stars. He charged Donovan with providing cover for the ladies, and he laid his back upon the hard ground, his hand under his head. Despite his fatigue, sleep wouldn’t come to him just yet. The future of his men and his brother’s village laid heavily upon his shoulders. When he had started this plan, he had such confidence and direction. Now, everything seemed jumbled and confused. First, the MacManus men had left them in fear, so their numbers were too low to fight against Cutler.

Then, the plan had changed once he arrived in Drumnadrochit, and he had ended up with two women in tow and no idea what to do with them or how to use them to fight Cutler. He would have to speak to Sean, but his brother was growing ever colder. He was constantly questioning his decisions, and he seemed on edge. It could simply be about their former distrust, but certainly, there was more to it than that? Eamon also feared that the men would see his weakness, that he did not know what they were supposed to do.

The thought niggled at his brain, but he turned to the side when he heard a slight rustling. He could spy the figure of Isabelle, laying down on the ground, lit lightly by the pale moonlight. What a mysterious creature she was. He could not think what had possessed him to kiss her in the woods as he had. He was no stranger to kissing women he had just met, but to kiss the one he was kidnapping and without any warning!

It was like he had been compelled to do it, and even though he felt an idiot for doing so, he didn’t regret it. It was the most sensual and intoxicating kiss he had ever experienced. He could still taste her lips, and he wanted more. That lilac smell had awoken something in him as their mouths fought to capture one another.

Why did she kiss me back? At the passion of his kiss, innocent maids would have tried to fight him off, fearful that he was about to take their virtue. But instead, she had fallen into it instantly, as if she’d been waiting for him to do it all along, and as if she’d done it before. He would have said it was a trap, but nothing had befallen him then and there. No dagger between the ribs as Sean said that female fighters were wont to do. That new thought fought for prominence in his mind. Why would a woman kiss a strange man who had kidnapped her and brought her to an unfamiliar place? It was totally nonsensical.

His mind twisted and turned, and it kept him awake for many hours, but eventually, fatigue took over, and he fell into a deep sleep, the image of a pair of violet eyes flashing in his consciousness before the darkness took him.

* * *

Isabelle’s breath was growing steady, and even as she laid back against the ground. She was tired from the day’s events, yet she didn’t want to fall asleep just yet. She wanted to stay awake, look at the stars, and think endlessly about the way Eamon Wilson’s mouth had felt against her own. A frisson of excitement welled up in her every time she replayed the scene in her mind.

His strong hands on her back, pulling her towards him, his slick, warm tongue exploring her mouth, and the earthy, wild smell of him. It filled her core with heat, and she knew she would not be able to contain her desire for long. She wanted him, and she feared that with each passing day, she would fall more and more in love with him.

“Mistress! Are you awake?” Arya whispered towards her in the dark. They had been placed in the center of the men, but the man called Donovan had been respectful enough to leave plenty of space between the women and the others.

She tried to keep her voice low, but she was grateful for the sound of the wind rustling the leaves in the nearby trees and the crackling of the fire as it slowly died off. One man was walking sentry around their circle, but he was too far away to hear any proper words. “Yes, are you all right, Arya? I hope you do not mind coming with me on our little adventure.”

Even in the dark, Isabelle knew her lady’s maid was rolling her eyes. “Mistress, what will we do next? Surely this Eamon man means to find the boy again. How will he find him when he does not exist?”

“Have you brought the clothes, Arya?”

“Yes, but,”

“Then, I will propose to meet him somewhere along the way. But I have to think about it. We shall see. We will just have to wait and find out what happens next in all this excitement.”

“You are enjoying this tremendously, are you not?”

“A night under the stars, free from all constraints? Well, most constraints. Yes, I certainly am. And yourself?”

“Well…” Arya began.

“I knew it. That Donovan is quite handsome, is he not?”

Arya giggled and tried to stifle it. “He is extremely handsome, but it would be very unusual for a kidnapping victim to flirt with one of her captors.”

“Unusual, perhaps, but it does happen,” Isabelle said, smiling towards the dark form of Arya.

“What do you mean? What has happened?” Arya groaned, and Isabelle bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud.

“I will tell you later, my friend. But it is excellent news, and I shall lie awake all night thinking about it.”

“You mean thinking about ‘him’. Oh, Mistress, I do hope you are wise. I know that I cannot order or instruct you, but I do hope you are doing the right thing.”

“You are quite correct, Arya. Now, take my instruction and go right to sleep. We must rest for who knows what will happen tomorrow?” Normally the statement could have been taking in a dire, despairing way, but Isabelle said it cheerily and laid back with a smile on her lips, thinking about the fine figure of Eamon, wondering when he would chance to kiss her again.

* * *

Lord Cutler spat, blood mixed with dirt and sweat on his forehead. He raised a fist to the air, having just alighted from his horse after a hurried ride from Drumnadrochit to Urquhart Castle. They had rushed across the river to avoid the large area of the Loch. “These Scottish bastards! They shall receive my fury tenfold, once I regain my men. How many have we lost, Martin?”

---