Page 44 of Taken By her Highland Enemy

He couldn’t think of that now; he had to ride on. His fingers were blistering as he held tightly to the reins, and he knew Aine was tiring, but they couldn’t stop. Not yet.

* * *

Cutler sat by his roaring hearth, his eyes stuck on the orange of the flames. He did not sleep. It had been almost a day since he’d brought his prisoners to the Fort, and they laid in the belly of the stone structure, awaiting his judgment. He was drunk again, wanting to revel in the time he let them wait. He was certain that their minds were filled with fears of death and the horror of what was to come.

At least for Isabelle, he would work hard to make it a quick end. He felt no remorse in her death, yet there was no reason for her to suffer more than was necessary. Despite having to execute his own daughter, Cutler knew it was necessary to keep him in power and to help the country. If the country swelled into dissent because of his daughter’s doing, then she had to die for her treason. However, it did nothing to quell his disappointment at her acts. He had no one now to take over after he was gone. He hoped that the blood connection meant that there was a power and strength in his daughter that she would be able to continue his work.

Now he would have to pass his skills and duties to one of his men. Certainly not Martin. He almost laughed at the thought. It would have to be someone else. But who? The weight of the decision laid heavily upon them. He cared nothing for the prisoners who lingered awaiting his word as he sat in front of the heat of the fire, thinking only of the future. He would let them wait until he decided how to make their end.

He was disturbed by Martin, who entered in, bowing obsequiously before him. Cutler knew he might have to get rid of the man. He was becoming overly desirous of Cutler’s praise. And with his lack of ability to fight, Cutler wasn’t sure why he’d kept him on for so long. Perhaps he should add Martin to the chopping block tomorrow and tell the King it was for lack of following orders. He smiled at the thought while Martin cleared his throat and began to speak. “My lord, what shall we do with the prisoners? The soldiers are getting restless. When will we be moving on tae find the rest of The Scots? When is the execution?”

Martin looked like he was about to continue, but Cutler held up his hand to silence the silly man. “So many questions, young Martin. Why must my authority be so questioned?”

Martin sputtered, his face turning red at Cutler’s slow, menacing words. “It is not that, my lord. The men simply asked me to ask you.”

Cutler nodded. “I see. Yes, we must move on soon. I could send them out early, but I thought they would enjoy seeing the execution?” He turned an amused glance in Martin’s direction, who seemed to calm a little.

“Yes, I am certain they would, my Lord. What would you like me to tell the prisoners?”

“Tell them they shall be executed the next morning.” He spied the growing dawn out of his thin window. “I would prefer to spend this coming day at rest. The men can also rest. We have long journeys ahead of us as we try to bring the rest of these Highlanders to justice.”

Martin bowed, backing out of the room. “Yes, my Lord.”

Cutler leaned back and closed his eyes. Perhaps it was time for a little sleep after all.

* * *

Isabelle was roused from sleep again by wet footsteps on the stairwell. When she opened her eyes, there was a bit more light in the room, and she knew that dawn was approaching. But she could not remember how long they had been in the room, and so she could not mark their time. She squinted up tiredly to see the gloating face of Martin, who was standing in front of the bars.

“Lady Cutler, your father has sent me to inform you and these other men about the execution that will take place.” He barely glanced in their direction. Isabelle did not stand nor look at Martin with any real interest.

“I see. When will it be?”

“He wishes to take the day to rest. The execution will take place the next morning. You have one more day.” He said the last words with emphasis, staring deeply into her eyes, seeming gleeful to be in his position.”

“Fine,” she said dismissively, and Martin seemed to stew with anger at her lack of fear.

He attempted to stand up straighter. Isabelle said, “Why do you hate me so, Martin? What have I done to you that would make you so desirous of seeing your old friend upon the chopping block?”

Martin spat, “We were never friends. You never wanted that, no matter what we could have been together. I found your father’s favor on my own without you. But just think what we could have become, you and me, carrying on your father’s legacy together. We would have been the strongest pairing underneath the King and Queen, of course.”

Isabelle was taken aback. “I never knew that, Martin. I never knew of your desires for power, or for me. It was not as if you had told me, and I rejected you.”

His face was even redder now. “No, but I could see it in your behavior, always fighting back, taking it for granted that you had been given such a father. You do not know what you had. Now you have thrown it all away. At least I might have a chance at being the heir to your father’s legacy.”

Isabelle laughed from her seat on the ground. “I should not think so, Martin, but you may ask him if you are so certain.”

Martin tried to speak, but Isabelle was pleased with how angry his eyes were, his whole head looking as if it might pop off and blow away in the breeze. He spun around, walking to the stairs. “No one shall grieve your loss, Lady Cutler, not even your father.” Then, he was gone.

Isabelle sighed into the darkness. That had been at least some entertainment, and he had tried to cut her deeply with his last words. Yet what he had to say was not news to her ears. Donovan said suddenly, “He is a miserable bastard, isnae he?”

The other two of them laughed, grateful for at least one more day.

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