Page 49 of Taken By her Highland Enemy

Soldiers flooded into the main hall, their yells increasing as they rushed to find the source of the flames. Then, he saw the three prisoners being hurriedly escorted back down the dark stairwell. Just as he’d predicted, the soldiers were bringing the prisoners back down to be locked once more in their prison.

Once the soldiers returned up the stairs, they joined the crowd, calling to put out the flames. To his delight, he heard one soldier say, “The fire is burning the entire fort! We will not have the strength to get away in time! Hurry! The fire has been lit in all areas of the castle!”

Once soldiers were out of view, Eamon motioned to his men, and they descended the steps to meet with the utter gloom of the dungeon. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the heavy darkness with only tiny streaks of light, but once they did, he could see the forms of three standing figures behind the iron bars.

“Sean, Donovan, Isabelle?” He called out to them, and he saw one of the figures burst forward against the bars.

“Eamon? Is that ye?” Sean’s voice was light and hopeful but amazed.

Eamon grabbed onto the bars. “Aye, brother! It is I! We dinnae have time, but we have tae set ye free. Then we are gone, flying back tae yer village tae escape Cutler’s hand!”

Sean laughed, and Donovan did too. It was only Isabelle who remained silent, and Eamon tried his best to keep his eyes from her, but he couldn’t resist.

He saw her come slowly into his view, her eyes wide and wet with tears. “Eamon, is it really you?”

He was gruff and terse in response. “Aye, lass. I have come, although I didnae realize that ye would need rescuing.” He didn’t give her time to answer.

“Come. We need tae pry these bars free.”

“You cannot. The soldiers have taken the keys.” Just then, as if the heavens had heard their plight, a solitary figure rushed down the stairwell, breathing heavily with his hurry to get down. Eamon heard the welcome jingle of keys in his hand.

* * *

Isabelle thought she was in a dream. She had been about to see her friend Donovan lose his life by the ax, but then cries of fire had filled the air. She’d turned with confusion to see a heavily bearded soldier crying out for everyone to fight the flames. Everyone froze for an instant before an outcry rose as people rushed to the stairwell to see where the flames had begun. Isabelle turned to her father, who looked stunned for a moment as he saw he’d lost control of the crowd.

Then he yelled, “The execution has to continue! We cannot be swayed! Someone is here to stop us!” But none of the soldiers listened, and even the axman dropped his ax and ran for the door. Since they were close enough to her father, Cutler grabbed two men and Martin and told them to run the prisoners back down to the keep, to lock them up and keep them there until the fire was out.

He grunted with dissatisfaction that his show had been ruined, and Isabelle felt smug in victory. As she left the battlement, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the bearded soldier disappear from view around a corner. Something wasn’t right. This seemed planned somehow, but who could it be? The MacManus’ come to supply them aid? Surely not, but who?

She, Donovan, and Sean were trudged back to their gloomy cells and locked once again inside while the soldiers rushed back upstairs. She sighed, relieved that the execution had not yet happened but also frustrated that they would be forced to wait again in agonizing anticipation of their deaths.

They were silent as they waited in the darkness, each of their minds whirring, wondering who was responsible for the fires that were seemingly consuming the castle. She feared for an instant that they would be swallowed inside the flames with no way to get out, but she knew her father well enough that he would not give up his chance for a showy execution. He would save them from fire if only to kill them later.

Like her father had been reading her thoughts, she heard sets of footsteps on the stairs. She figured the fire was not as bad as they originally thought, and they would be taken up to the chopping block once more. A voice called out into the darkness as the figure moved forward. She could not see him until he stood in a sliver of light. The voice and the recognition of his voice made her draw in a breath sharply.

It was Eamon. Now, she knew it was a dream. The man she had pined for and longed to see again had come. He called out each of their names in turn, and she thought perhaps that she had died already, and this was the afterlife, forever longing at the last minute for one’s beloved to come to the rescue.

But then Sean plastered himself up against the bars of the cell and called back Eamon’s name. Eamon, Dirk, and Errol were just on the other side of the prison door, and Isabelle was dumbstruck. Donovan and Sean laughed, overjoyed at the sight of their rescuers. As for her, her eyes filled with tears as she stepped closer to get a better view of Eamon’s face, her Eamon’s face.

“Is it really you?” she whispered, wondering if she had even said it aloud.

She must have done so, for she heard his gruff reply, and a pang was sent straight to her heart. Even though he was there, he was still angry at her. They tried to pull open the doors, but they would not budge. Isabelle told him about the keys.

Then, she heard the happy clinking sound as a man descended into the dungeon, and once he arrived, he stopped short, his eyes wide with fear. In his surprise, he dropped the keys to the floor. He looked like an animal about to be captured by wolves. By his small stature and wordless fear, Isabelle could tell it was Martin. He tried to lean down to pick up the keys, but Eamon stepped forward, his dagger at the ready.

“Take those keys, and ye shall wish it was yer execution day, lad.”

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