Page 41 of Taken By her Highland Enemy

Chapter Twenty-One

Eamon and Lukas decided to return to the forest to Eamon’s chagrin. They were moving slowly now, their minds wondering what could have happened to the group that had been there but had suddenly disappeared like mist into the night. They slowed at their old camp, but Eamon did not get off his horse. He could not stay any longer in this woods, which held their fate in its hands, filling them with dread.

“Lads, I cannae stay another night in this forest. I say we return tae the village, find the remaining Scots and return to fight Cutler with what numbers we have.”

The men nodded from their horses, feeling the same heavy spirit as Eamon. Harold said, “But we dinnae know where they could be. Where do we go from there?”

“I do,” said a soft voice in the quiet from behind Eamon. At first, he did not know where it came from.

“Do ye, lass?” Eamon turned to try and face her.

She stammered out, “I believe I do. There is only one place where Lord Cutler would go if he would not complete his duties here.”

“Where?” he cried, but he knew once he’d asked. “The Fort. Am I right?”

She nodded in the silence, and he ground his teeth together, ready to meet his fate.

* * *

Her father and his men did not rest overnight. They rode and rode, and Isabelle was wavering between the sleeping and the waking world. She began to feel a heat pulse through her body in waves, and when she woke intermittently, she had to wipe the sweat from her brow. It felt eternal, this ride towards death, and she almost wished for it to happen because waiting for it was worse than the actual act, at least she felt it to be so.

At times, she thought she glimpsed Donovan riding nearby, but she couldn’t decide. His horse was far, attached to another soldier, and she fell back into darkness once she spotted his face. What if it was possible that her father had kept him alive? Perhaps there was some mercy in his heart?

Then, she realized that he would only add to the number of executions on that day, that fateful day that her father would decide. She had not seen him since that night when he sent her to her fate. He had been busy, yelling and bustling about with his men, leading the way towards Fort William over the silent green hills, under the bright sunlight, and under the faded stars. Eventually, she saw the familiar façade of stone that had housed her for months since their arrival in Scotland.

She closed her eyes, feeling weaker by the moment. She had barely been given water and food, and any breaks they had, they only took time to relieve themselves. Hands pulled at her arms, and she felt herself being pulled down to the ground. She hadn’t yet opened her eyes, and she didn’t want to. She knew what was inside of that stone, and she could not bear to think of it. But the thought of Sean and his own fears made her open her eyes. They had arrived at twilight, and she could see the torches blazing proudly into the night, and she wished fruitlessly to be given a comfortable bed and a warm meal.

Instead, without seeing her father’s face, she and Sean were taken inside the Fort, drawn into the dungeon, and pushed inside together. A few moments later, a third body was thrust in between them, and she pulled away in shock.

“Donovan. It is you!” His bruised and bloodied face looked back at her pitifully. What would Arya think of the man she had formed an affection for?

He nodded in return. “Mistress. I see ye are here with us now.” His voice was raspy and weak, and she could see a few scars on his body. Her heart ached for what her father had done. She wanted to rage at the world for putting her into such a family. How could her long-passed mother have ever thought to be with such a man!

She simmered with anger and despair at the same time, not knowing which emotion to feel more strongly. Despite her fatigued state, the fact that they had slowed and finally were sitting at rest, allowed her to sit and think about how she had arrived here.

Sean touched his hand to Donovan’s shoulder. “It is good tae see ye again, lad. I had nae hope of ever seeing yer face. And Gareth?”

A sound was emitted from Donovan’s throat, and Isabelle looked away, knowing that it was a mix between a cry and a scream. “He has fallen. That bastard Cutler has run him through with a heated blade!”

His voice was turning thick with sadness, and Isabelle could feel the emotion in the room as he cried out into the space of the dungeon. Sean was silent and nodded mournfully for his friend. Isabelle felt the need to apologize for her father, but why? What he had done was unforgivable, and she would no longer pretend that she and he had any ties. She would not take on his great debt to mankind or the pain he had caused. It was not she that had done so.

He had gone his own way, forged his own path, and left sense and decorum behind a long time ago. She wanted to weep for the fact, but she realized the fruitlessness of that act. Why should she shed tears for a man who had not a moral bone in his body?

Soon steps were heard clambering down the dungeon steps, moving furiously towards them in the dimness of the lower rooms. She knew it would be someone to tell them of their fate. To her surprise, it was her own father’s face that appeared on the other side of the iron bars, smiling at the two men who sat pitifully on the floor, tied up and weak.

He did not look at her, and she knew why. He was angry at her betrayal. She knew he had hope for her to take over, but now it was all lost. She looked down at her dirtied boots, wondering what he would say next.

Smugly, Cutler said, “Have ye naething tae say about the other members of The Scots? Ye know I have heard that the leader of The Scots happens tae be yer wife. Is that so?”

Sean was silent, and Isabelle could see that his mouth had turned into a grim line. “It is nae true. I have naething tae do with The Scots anymore.”

Cutler trailed his finger along the iron bars. “Do you not believe that I could make you tell me the truth? The man next to you knows to what extent I will go to get what I desire.”

Sean turned slightly toward a silent Donovan. “I will tell ye naething because I have nae information that ye wish tae hear. Do with me what ye will. I am the one who is at fault for the death of the King’s nephew. It is I ye wish to kill.”

Cutler looked like a spoiled child, not getting the treat that he thought he deserved. But then his expression turned into a wide smile. “Have it your way, Highlander. You know, I prefer executions much more so than torture. Torture is well enough, but with executions, you can really add a dramatic flair to someone’s final moments. It makes it all worth it.” He chuckled into the darkness of the cell, and Isabelle wanted to wretch at the way her father had truly become a devil. Had he always been so? If he had, how could she have ever spent any time desiring the good opinion of this man?

Her father walked away into the gloom, pausing at the stairwell before ascending into the light of the Fort. “You know, Wanderer, even after your death, I will comb this rugged land with my men until I find the rest of The Scots. I have a feeling they are not far away. Do not think you save them by your death. You only cross one more number off my list.”

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