Page 50 of Taken By her Highland Enemy

Chapter Twenty-Six

Martin trembled, saying, “Bloody Scots. You shall never get away with this! I shall tell my superiors, and they will be down in an instant.”

“Not if the flames are burning them into ash as we speak,” Dirk said with humor, and Martin swallowed.

“That fire was ye?”

“Aye, and if ye value what little life ye’ve got, boy, I suggest ye run upstairs and try yer fate against the fire.” Martin backed away slowly, watching them all.

“You shall all die, as well. There is no escape!”

Isabelle thought of an idea. If it didn’t work, then they had nothing to lose, but if it did, then it could mean the difference between life and death. “Martin, if we have the ring of keys, we can exit through the escape door just over there.” She didn’t point, but to her satisfaction, Martin turned in the direction of a door she did not know existed.

“How did you know about that?” he said, his brows creased in a fury.

“I did not, but you have just alerted me to it.” She laughed lightly, and Martin growled, but Eamon’s dagger against his neck made him turn and give tail to the room, leaving them all behind.

Donovan said, “Brilliant, lass!”

Eamon grunted in agreement. “The men should be down soon if that bastard has anything tae do with it. I am glad it was he who came down here with the keys and not the pair of armed soldiers.”

“It appears we have had good luck today,” Isabelle joked, but Eamon did not reply as he swung open the door and allowed the three of them to get out. Sean wrapped Eamon in an embrace.

“Brother, I—”

“No time!” Eamon said loudly, and all of them pushed into the darkness, searching for that door. They would have to feel for the keyhole and try each key, which could take too long, but after a few tries, Eamon was successful, and the shift of the lock as it opened was like music to Isabelle’s waiting ears.

Once the heavy door swung open, there was a small passageway, but then it opened up into the light of the waning morning. Breathlessly, they rushed through it and headed out from the castle, taking shelter in a nearby grove of trees. Isabelle still couldn’t believe it. She was in the light of day, free, and not about to lay her head on the block for the shining ax to separate in two.

She looked at Eamon, so happy to see the outline of his handsome face in the light, but he was peering out towards the men. In the air, smoke had begun to curl and lift, and she watched with satisfaction as she could see and hear soldiers yelling and scrambling to put out the flames. “What did you do?” she asked Eamon warily.

He kept his eyes forward and his tone level. “We lit fires in each of the side rooms that lead out to the outside of the castle. Only a few us were meant tae stay and fight. The rest should have escaped. God, I hope they did.”

Isabelle laid a hand on his arm, and she could feel him tense underneath her touch, but he did not move his arm. “I am sure they will. You were very brave, Eamon. Thank you.”

“No time for thanks, he said rudely and turned to his men. “The only thing we can do is tae either wait or return tae the camp. The fire is raging inside, so nae soldiers are walking out intae our grasp.”

Dirk and Errol were not pleased. “But what about Cutler? Ye said he must die.”

“Aye, so he must, and so must all his men, but we cannae enter the castle again, nae when my brother’s fate is so precarious. I cannae take a chance again.” Dirk nodded in understanding.

“Aye, ye must keep them safe. Let us return tae the camp.” The men stood to leave, but suddenly, they heard the rushing of a pair of feet heading towards the woods, the person’s breathing coming hard and fast. The men returned to their hiding position, crouching below the bushes and shrubs, hiding behind tree trunks as they waited and watched.

Isabelle covered her mouth to stop crying out when she saw who it was. It was her father, armed with only a sword in hand, running away from the fort as fast as he could.

Isabelle was amazed at their luck. After all the bad things that had happened to her in the past, now the fates were on her side for once. Her father was right there in front of them for the taking. In a flash, Eamon jumped out, racing towards Cutler’s running form, and jumped towards him, tackling him to the ground. Isabelle was frozen as she watched the scene unfold before her, like a dream.

Cutler yelled out in surprise as he fell, crushed under Eamon’s weight. Isabelle tensed, knowing that even though her father was older, he was still wily and would not be defeated easily. Eamon groaned in shock and pain, and Isabelle watched with horror as he rolled over in agony. Eamon had a blade sticking out from his side, and she saw her father slide the blade out where he had burrowed it. He wriggled out from under Eamon’s body. “Bloody useless Scot!” Cutler spat down on Eamon’s face and began to run further, a bloodied dagger in his hand.

Eamon’s eyes were squinting in pain as he rolled around, gripping his side, blood pouring out from the wound. Isabelle felt like she had left her body and was looking down on herself as she watched her father get away from Eamon’s grasp. She didn’t think about anything except that Eamon could now be bleeding to death. Her body picked up the bow and arrow that was lying by the men, and she pulled an arrow taut. Her father was quick, but in his growing age, he had gotten slower. She didn’t even think about what it meant as she squinted her eyes and aimed the arrow towards her father, following him as he ran.

She let go, and the arrow sang through the air, finding its mark and sinking into her father’s flesh, causing him to fall forward onto the ground. The blood was pulsing through her brain as she tried to come to grips with what had just happened. Isabelle stood tall with her bow drawn, and her chest was lifting quickly as she took in sharp breaths. She had just killed her own father, and she felt no sadness at the loss. Instead, she felt relief, a wave of sweet, refreshing relief, and then she spotted Eamon groaning with pain, clutching at the wound in his side

Her heart was in her throat, and she cried, “Eamon!” as her legs propelled her forward toward him over the rough forest floor. Once she reached him, she knelt down by his side, but he had fallen back unconscious, and his face was pale. “No, no!” she cried again and was soon surrounded by the other men.

Sean looked down at his brother, his hands trembling as he touched around the wound. “My God, my brother. He cannae die!”

They heaved Eamon’s body up, and Isabelle cried out, tears in her eyes, “There is too much blood lost. He cannot ride!”

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