Page 51 of Taken By her Highland Enemy

“Nae, lass, there is hope. We need tae get away from here and tae a fire. Are there any horses?” Sean turned desperately to Dirk and Errol.

Dirk spoke up, “Aye, they are hidden further back in the forest.” The four men helped to carry Eamon deeper into the woods, searching back and forth to make sure no one else was about. Passing too near to her father’s body than was comfortable, they edged around the woods and found Aine and the other horses. Aine was scared at their arrival, but Isabelle rushed to pet her nose to give her a little comfort.

“Everything will be all right, my girl. But you need to help your master now.”

Sean heaved Eamon atop Aine with the help of the other men, and Isabelle climbed up behind him. “Wait, lass, ye are nae strong enough,” Sean tried to stop her with his hand holding the reins.

“I think I have proven just how strong I am, Sean. Now, help me lead the way!”

Dutifully the men did as they were told, and Dirk and Errol led the way towards their spot in a new patch of woods opposite the fort. Isabelle clung to the reins, feeling the heavy weight of Eamon leaning on her chest, but she was energized by saving him. Despite the lack of any real sustenance or restful sleep, she felt stronger than she ever had, and the ride seemed to last only a few minutes as they let the sound of the cries in the fort die away behind them.

As they arrived, the men, groaning and breathing heavily from his weight, helped Eamon down and carried him to a spot by the fire. Isabelle jumped down near him and threw more sticks on the waning fire, hoping to help it roar into quick life. She unsheathed Eamon’s sword and laid it into flames. “What are ye doing, lass?” Sean asked, leaning over Eamon’s unconscious form, staring at the blood-soaked section of his shirt.

“We need to seal the wound before he loses any more blood.” She placed a hand lightly on the side of Eamon’s pale face. “Do not leave me, Eamon,” she whispered, and the men began to set up camp as she waited for the blade to heat. Sean helped her find a comfortable resting place for Eamon’s head. Isabelle lifted the bloodied shirt, gasped at the wound, but then pressed a hand against it, hoping to staunch its continual trickle of blood. A tear fell down her cheek and landed on his chest. She wished her tears were like an elixir of healing, which would bring him back to life. Eamon was still breathing, even if it was very shallow, and that gave her hope.

Her eye was on the blade as it heated in the blaze. In a few more moments, it would be ready. “Sean, help me! Hold him steady.” Sean nodded, and he leaned on Eamon’s shoulder, gripping onto his brother tightly. The other men were sitting nearby, watching with grim faces. The other men still back at the fort battling the flames, and the soldiers battling against her father’s men might die, but she could not let Eamon die.

This was her last chance to prove to him that he meant everything in the world to her and that her betrayal was not meant to hurt him. There was a slight chance that he would never want to speak to her again, even after he survived, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he would remain alive. That was enough if she could have nothing else. She pulled out the blade slowly from the fire, feeling a strong heat emanate from its blackened tip.

Sean moved aside the clothing that was beginning to stick to the deep wound, and after taking a breath and lining it up, she placed the blade along the gash and heard the searing of skin melting against heated metal. In a moment, Eamon was awake, groaning loudly. Dirk and Errol rushed to his side to cover his mouth.

Isabelle pressed the blade against the wound for a little longer, gritting her teeth at having to listen to Eamon’s pain, but then it was done. The searing had stopped, and she dropped the blade away to the side, looking at her handiwork. The wound was pink and angry but sealed. She grinned at Sean. “It is done. It looks perfect. All we need is a bandage if we can find it.”

She turned to Eamon, who had sweat on his brow, and he was huffing and puffing with the pain, his eyes closed. She wasn’t sure if he was totally awake until he grunted out, “What in the Bloody Hell was that, lass? What are ye doing?”

Sean chuckled. “On the brink of death, and yer still a bastard. Ye had better speak nicely, lad. This woman just saved yer life. Ye almost bled all over the Scottish countryside and got yerself killed.”

Eamon laid his head back down, continuing to groan loudly, breathing through his clenched teeth, and Isabelle allowed herself a smile. He was talking, and he was angry, but at least he was talking to her, and he was alive. He kept breathing heavily, and Isabelle stood to search for something nearby that could serve as an effective bandage. Eamon said, “And where are the men?”

“Have ye forgotten so soon? Ye wanted tae leave them behind, but we came across Cutler in the woods, leaving his men tae perish in the flames while he made his escape.”

“Ah, aye, I remember that now, but he is dead, is he nae? I saw him get an arrow through the back.”

The men chuckled. “Aye, he is as dead as they come, and did ye nae see who killed him? His own daughter, this Sassenach here, who has bloody good aim and a strong stomach to boot. She has saved us all.” Isabelle was focused on searching the men’s bags for a piece of clean clothing.

“Och, I see,” Eamon said softly. Isabelle finally found a piece of gray cloth, seemingly clean, and she turned around to bring it to Eamon when she saw all of the men’s eyes on her, smiling in her direction. She blushed without being able to stop it.

“So, we have ye tae thank for the death of yer father, I suppose?” Eamon said, struggling to get the words out as he sat up a little.

“Well, it had to be done. I had the weapon at hand, and I had a shot, but there are still plenty of soldiers to be defeated in the castle.” Her voice was soft, and she timidly moved forward and motioned for Sean to help her wrap the cloth tightly around Eamon’s torso. His face was angry, but he did not fight her as she made a tight knot on his stomach.

“So ye can use a bow,” he said softly.

Isabelle smiled and then lifted her eyes to him, feeling that sweet tension of attraction build between them again. He was teasing her. “I told you that. Whether you believed me or not is a different story.”

Eamon was about to reply with another angry answer when they all turned to the sound of hoofbeats heading in their direction and stopping suddenly, and then they heard the stamping of human feet. There were about five redcoats and a few of her father’s men standing in a line, weapons at the ready, with a bearded redcoat standing in the center, looking an awful lot like Lukas, battered, bruised, and furious.

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