Page 20 of Taken By her Highland Enemy

Martin was trembling, his former confidence shattered after the event. Cutler appraised him with scrutiny. “We have lost ten men, sir. It was a brutal fight. These Highlanders do not stop with their brutish acts.” Martin looked almost like he was going to cry, and Cutler was disgusted. He looked around from his stone perch on the castle walls to see his other men either injured or merely fatigued from their day of battle against an angry crowd.

Many of their weapons had been pilfered as the crowd swelled upon them, and Cutler refrained from calling for the slaughtering of the entire village. The King would not look too kindly upon that, especially since it would appear that he had lost control of his men and his fighting. They hadn’t even had enough time to burn anything down. He looked at the men who stood before him, dirtied or hurting, and he wanted to spit again. The men he’d gotten from Fort Augustus were proving ever more useless, and he hadn’t brought enough men to pick up the slack they left behind.

And, he’d heard that The Wanderer and The Scots were on the move, and he’d lost valuable time and energy dealing with those blasted villagers. Now that they’d gotten safely away, he remembered that Isabelle had suddenly disappeared. He had scoured the village as best he could with his men, fighting the villagers off, but she was nowhere to be found. He had called his best man, Norring, and ordered him to find her, while the battle raged around them.

He had yelled, “Bring two men with you to search the surrounding areas for my daughter. I care nothing for her lady’s maid, but I want you to find my daughter wherever she may be. You have my full permission to do whatever you must do to get her untouched and unharmed back to me!” Norring had nodded and run off with his men, their swords at the ready.

“Where is Isabelle?” He grabbed Martin by the collar and pulled him close to his face. “Where is my daughter, you idiot! You are completely useless to me!”

Martin hung limply in his master’s grasp. “I do not know, sir. It was all so muddled. No one has seen her or her lady’s maid, but I am certain Norring will find her, sir.”

Martin sputtered out the words as best he could while hanging slightly off the ground. Cutler dropped him in anger. “Where could she have gone? Perhaps some of those bastards have taken her. What if she is left in that cursed village?”

Martin stammered, “We searched everywhere. She was not there, sir!”

Cutler growled at Martin, and the trembling man was silent. Then, he called out, “Make camp!” and moved away from the men. His course had steered so much from its original direction. He stomped away to the crumbling main hall of the castle, thinking about what he was to do next. His only goal had been to catch The Wanderer and The Scots in their entirety and wipe the Scottish earth with their bodies. Now, he was busy planning revenge doubly on Drumnadrochit and finding where in the hell his daughter had gone. With useless Martin, his plans were falling to pieces like sand through his fingertips.

* * *

The next morning, Eamon felt decidedly better. He had gotten some rest at least once dreams, and memories of Isabelle had abated and left him in peace. His mind was clear and ready for action. He would send the scouts.

He moved back towards the fire and began to light a new one. They would need to send the scouts as soon as possible and begin a search for new food for the camp. As Eamon sat tending the fire, Sean wandered up behind him. “Brother, have ye thought more about our plans?” His voice was hesitant.

“Aye, so I have. I shall send the scouts as soon as they’re ready. They will bring us information about Cutler as well as get a message to the boy and Cutler about his daughter’s whereabouts.”

Sean nodded. “I agree. Scouts are the best option.”

Eamon smiled. “Thank ye. I was beginning tae think ye doubted me entirely.”

Sean lowered his voice. “It is the stress of everything that has me so low. I will have the men practice their fighting taeday. Perhaps it is my blade that itches tae be drawn and plunged intae English flesh.” Sean made a stabbing motion, and behind Eamon, Isabelle walked up, her arms crossed.

“An uncommon goal for a Scotsman, I am sure. But I hope you do not mean to plunge anything into our flesh, sir.” At the light, merry tone of her voice, Eamon swung around. For a moment, he was paralyzed once more. It was as if he had dreamed of a vision and forgotten that she was actually a real woman, flesh, and blood. Once he saw her again, her beauty sent tingles through his veins.

Eamon worried that Sean would reply with vehemence or coldness, but to his surprise, Sean smiled. “A quick-witted Sassenach, brother. What a surprise. It is too bad that the men of your nation are not as intelligent. Perhaps that would help them tae avoid all that flesh-plunging?” Isabelle laughed, and Arya smiled next to her.

Eamon was incredulous. What sort of a kidnapping venture was this? Why were captives and captors getting along, smiling, and laughing? This was absolutely ridiculous. Eamon gave Sean a dark look, and then turned back to make a retort to Isabelle and Arya, but they were already off, having walked away, and looked deep in their own conversation. He turned back to Sean, whose arms were crossed, with a grin spread across his face, making him look like the cheeky older brother he had known and loved not many years before.

“What is it? Why do ye look at me so?” Eamon demanded, feeling the heat under his neck as he watched Sean’s amused glance.

Sean leaned forward and whispered. “I have nae desire tae plunge the flesh of those Englishwomen, but I have a feeling that ye might. Well, just one of them.”

Laughing, Sean backed away, calling to the other men to begin sword practice. Eamon stood still, his fists clenched. One thing he had enjoyed about being away from family was that others could not see so deeply into his character and secret desires. A brother was a different story. They knew one another from infancy and would be able to sense what one’s heart truly wanted underneath it all. Sean had always been that way, and perhaps that was why he had been even more hurt at Eamon’s departure all those years before. Maybe he had sensed it.

Eamon wasn’t sure what to do next. Sean had just seen to the heart of him and laughed at the truth of it. At least he hadn’t told the other men. Despite Eamon’s anger, Sean was right. He was very much interested in “flesh-plunging” as Sean had so indecorously put it, and he knew that it would be his undoing if he allowed thoughts of and desires for Isabelle to get in his way.

He stomped towards the men as they began to fight one another in the open glade. He knew he would have to send Gareth and Donovan as scouts, for they were the best ones and the most used to such work, but he feared their willingness, after Gareth’s frustration the previous evening. Eamon was pretending to be a clan leader, and with nothing to help guide him, he was not doing a very good job.

“Gareth! Donovan!” he called out, and in a few moments, they stood before him, their reddish hair gleaming in the sunlight, and the breath moving fast in their chests. “I would like ye both tae be our scouts. We need information on Cutler’s movements, but we also need tae get a message tae him that his daughter is with us if he is willing tae make a bargain tae have her returned. Send it however ye like. See if ye can find any word on the spy. We will expect ye tae return at first light tomorrow.”

“And we should return tae the village as well?” Gareth asked, the irritation from yesterday gone. Eamon was relieved.

“Aye, see if any of them can join us.”

Donovan and Gareth were soon off on their horses, riding away towards the direction of the main section of the river. Donovan often remained silent, Eamon noticed, and he watched Eamon with a wary eye, but at least he did what he was told. Almost as soon as they’d left, Isabelle approached him, and she shaded her eyes as she watched the men ride away. Sounds of swords clanging echoed in the background as the remaining men practiced their skills.

“Eamon, I wished you had asked me my opinion before you sent off the scouts.”

Eamon crossed his arms and smirked. This Sassenach was ever-amusing. “I am certain ye do wish that. Ye seem tae think that somehow this kidnapping was all yer idea.”

Isabelle did not answer him on that score. She merely stepped a little closer and whispered, “But they could be in grave danger.”

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