Page 29 of Taken By her Highland Enemy

Chapter Fifteen

After Isabelle and Arya left for their room, Isabelle finally had a chance to speak to Arya. She was walking up and down in the short quarters, throwing her arms up now and again. “I thought he was different, Arya. I truly did! But he practically shushed me in front of his brother, even though we had shared that moment finding the castle. We were so close to danger, and yet we escaped!” Her eyes were glassy as she looked off into the distance, lost in that memory for a moment.

But soon enough, her stern expression returned. “He pushed aside my idea in front of his brother. You saw him! And it was a fine idea. What about Gareth and Donovan? We leave them to die!”

Arya remained silent. Isabelle rushed to her side and sat next to her on the bed. “I am sorry, my friend. Do forgive me. I know that you had some hopes for Donovan.”

Arya nodded. “I know it is foolish, mistress, and I should never have thought anything about it. But he was so kind and gentle in the brief time we spent together. No man has ever treated me thusly. And now you are right. We have left him to die a slaughtered man!”

Arya groaned and lay back on the bed. Isabelle bit her lip, trying to think of how to comfort her friend. “Arya, there is still hope. I told them that it is so. My father would need someone to guide them to our camp. So in some ways, we were wise to leave, but to go so far! They have given up hope for their retrieval.” Her shoulders sank. “It is true we do not have the men. I just…” her words were lost on her tongue.

Arya sat up, her energy restored for the moment. “Mistress, why do you not go and speak to Eamon? Tonight.”

“In his room?” She could feel her heart flutter, and her breath increase.

“Yes. It is long enough that you have waited for him. Go and confront him. Then you can decide what to do with your feelings, which simply hang in the balance, waiting for him to do what you want him to do.”

Isabelle nodded, thinking over the idea. It intrigued her, and she wanted to with everything in her, but she feared his reaction. What if there was truly nothing, and everything she had kept buried in her heart and at the back of her mind was not reciprocated? Did he really feel that her ideas were not valid, that women were useless? But there had been something at Urquhart, she knew it.

The way they both spoke to Aine, the way she’d felt safe and warm in his embrace under her cloak, and the way she had impressed him with her knowledge of the use of a bow. She wanted him with all her heart. She wasn’t sure of what their future would hold, but something in her strengthened. She patted Arya on the arm.

“Thank you, Arya. I will go. Far be it for you to encourage such a bold action. Wish me luck.” Isabelle winked at her young friend, feeling confident for the moment.

Arya smiled and slid under her sheets. “At least you can have this chance with your man. Time is a precious thing, Mistress. Do not rush back.”

Isabelle nodded, feeling her hands tremble as she reached for the door. She would find his room and slip inside, meeting him when he returned. She was certain he would still be downstairs with the men. She opened the door and crept into the hallway, looking one way and then the other. She could see the light and hear the merry tone of the voices down below and hoped that Eamon was still there. How humiliating would it be to wander in on him while he slept?

She crept down the hallway. She knew which room was his, for the innkeeper had pointed out all the rooms to her as he opened it up for the two of them. She stood in front of his doorway, and then with a deep breath, opened it and closed it harshly behind her. Isabelle breathed out with relief, for the room was empty. She walked to the hearth and sat in front of it, wondering what to do next.

Then a thought came to her. What if he feels the way that I feel and something happens between us? Her body yearned to be in his embrace again, feeling his soft, yet strong lips on her own, but she did not know what came beyond that. She had only read of the goings-on between men and women, and it had always been spoken of in whispers and in dark hiding places. She knew nothing of what pleasures were beyond that dark veil.

She began to realize her own innocence, and her palms began to sweat. Oh, what shall he think of me being here in his room like a wanton woman?

Her chest tightened, and she feared she would be sent back to her room in tears. She was about to stand up when the door opened, and Eamon came over to the hearth only to see Isabelle Cutler sitting in his chair, her arms crossed.

“Isabelle? What are ye doing here, lass?”

Isabelle observed his expression for a moment. He was bemused, but he was not angry. Her muscles slowly started to unclench. But then she remembered. She was meant to be mad at him.

“Eamon Wilson, I am angry with you, and I have come to tell you about it.” She straightened her chin and tried to look as stern as she could. She crossed her arms so that he could not see her trembling hands.

She stood to face him, and he hesitated for a moment before putting his hands on his hips and grinning. “Is that so, lass? I knew ye were angry. One could tell from a mile away.”

Isabelle scowled, but that only seemed to increase Eamon’s mirth. “Why do you laugh?” she asked.

He stepped a little bit closer, and Isabelle’s breath caught in her chest. Her arms fell to her sides. “I laugh because ye entertain me, lass. Come and tell me why I have angered ye.” His dark eyes were watching her closely, and she felt lost in their inky darkness. For a moment, she could not speak.

“Because,” she began slowly, “you pushed me aside when I spoke in front of your brother. Did my idea have no merit? Am I not to be listened to?”

Eamon moved a hair’s breadth closer and lifted his hands so that they laid softly on the sides of Isabelle’s arms. “Listen. I am sorry for what I said tae ye. I didnae mean tae be rude. It is just that ye are the victim of a kidnapping. Do ye nae think it strange that a captor would take the advice of a captive?”

Isabelle was stumped for a moment. He was right. She kept forgetting to act like a proper captive. She kept getting confused because she felt like they’d known each other a long while since she knew of her own deception of acting as the boy.

Eamon continued. “My brother is grieving. He must do as he pleases, for this whole thing was set up for his benefit. He is the true leader of the group. I only come as his aid.”

Isabelle nodded. She felt Eamon’s rough hands begin to move up and down on her arms, and the motion made goosebumps lift on her skin. “I understand.”

“Good.” Eamon smiled again, and Isabelle’s anger was fully dispelled as she melted into his gaze. He moved his hand up to her chin, and pressing on it with his thumb, parted her lips gently. Her heart felt like it was going to burst, it was moving so quickly, knowing that she wanted him to kiss her more than anything else in the world but fearful of the repercussions. Isabelle closed her eyes as she saw his mouth move closer to hers. But then, someone knocked on the door, and the spell was broken. Isabelle pulled back quickly, and Eamon watched her for a moment before opening the door.

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