She rushed away to her horse and muttered a goodbye to the other men before rushing down the hillside back towards the main road. There was a good moon tonight, but still, it could be a dangerous journey. She was glad that she had thought to bring her horse. Once at the main road, she mounted and paused for a moment, looking back at Eamon’s tiny camp. No light showed from there, so she was content that they would be safe and hidden for the time being. She nudged her horse into a canter and clopped away. Fate was in a precarious balance. They had been saved once by the actions of the Augustus men, but would they be saved again?

She hoped her idea of banding with the villagers would be enough to defeat her father, but she could see her father beginning to think anew. He had said nothing, but she was certain that his mind worked towards a new plan. It would most likely now not be a brash battle to the death, where men were slaughtered openly and left to bleed on the fields. She had a feeling that he would be painstaking in his efforts to find The Wanderer and make him suffer first before killing him.

An hour later, Isabelle slowed her horse’s gait. Her face was sore from the rush of cold air in the March evening, and she was anxious to get to the room her father had gotten her in the town, while he dealt with the villagers. She knew Arya would be waiting for her by the stables. I hope she has not been found!

She worried for her friend, but then her smile widened at the sight of Arya talking to the young stable boy in the dim light of the building. She was surprised at the hour, but she knew Arya had ways of distracting. She got a little closer until Arya spotted her, and then Arya said loudly. “Boy, will you take me somewhere a bit more…private?”

She pulled him towards her. The young man agreed happily, and they moved out of the stable and into the darkness. Isabelle took her chance. She rushed inside and hurriedly replaced her horse in its stall. She tried her best to move quickly as she unsaddled him, but she knew that the sounds were loud. There was no time to brush the horse, and so once she put the saddle on the wooden wall, she scurried out into the night, grateful for the cover of shadows.

“Arya!” She called forward, hoping that the young man was not taking too much advantage over her young friend, and Arya scurried towards her and motioned her to move out of sight around the other side of the stable. The two of them then ran towards the town inn, where they were staying. Her father’s men would hopefully be asleep by now, or, if not, too drunk to notice anything unusual.

Isabelle whispered, “I am glad you are safe. You take risks, Arya! What if the boy wanted to do more?”

Arya grinned. “I have given him his kiss. He is satisfied for now. We never have to see him again.”

They found the back door to the tavern and moved hunched over in the darkness, their eyes and ears straining to find anything that would bar their way. But they were in luck. They rushed through the backdoor and up the stairs. Luckily, it was a busy town, and people were often coming and going from the inn at all hours, so those who were not her father’s men would think nothing of seeing them.

Soon, they arrived in their room, and Isabelle laid back on the bed, sighing. She began to pull at her chest when she heard a knock at the door. “Isabelle? I want to speak to you!”

Her eyes wide with fear, Isabelle motioned to Arya to help her undress. “Father? It is late!” She called, hoping to gain just a bit more time.”

He grumbled from the other side. “It does not matter. It is urgent. I will enter.”

“One moment, Father!” She cried desperately. Arya was busy loosening the straps around her chest, and Isabelle was removing her trousers. “I am not yet decent!”

In a few harried moments, Isabelle slipped her shift over herself and moved her fingers through her hair hurriedly, so as to make it seem she had been abed. She rushed to the door and opened it. Behind her, Arya kicked the men’s clothes under the bed.

Lord Cutler stood outside, partially dressed, his hands behind his back. She could tell he had been drinking a little. “Father? What is it you wished to speak to me about?” She yawned. He peered into the room to see Arya abed.

“Get a robe, daughter, and come to my room. We must be alone to speak of these things.”

Isabelle nodded warily. “Certainly.” After taking her robe in her hands, she followed after him down the hall. She mentally prodded Arya to lock the door after her. In an inn of drunken men, a woman’s safety was in danger.

They entered into his own room, and she stood in front of his fire, hoping to warm her hands in case her father touched them. “You look flushed, Isabelle. Have you been awake?”

He asked the question lightly, and not accusingly, so Isabelle was not afraid to answer. “I have been feeling a little ill, and so I had trouble sleeping.”

“That maid of yours should make you a draught of something.”

“And so she has. I will ask her to make another to soothe my mind.”

He sat down in the chair in front of the fire. “Sit. I come to you because I need to speak to you about things you may need to deal with in the future.”

Isabelle was surprised and taken aback by her father’s slight change in attitude towards her. When she was very young, she had been a nuisance. When she got older and began making complaints about his behavior, she was trouble; and now that he thought she was changing, he was a little kinder. It seemed he was happy to finally have a true heir.

Isabelle couldn’t deny the satisfying feeling that gave her. Her father was finally looking her in the eye and not with anger or frustration. It was strange, but it awoke something in her that she’d tried to repress long ago. The desire for a father’s love. But it cannot be, Isabelle. He is doing the wrong thing. You must fight against him.

Her throat was thick as she replied, “I understand. What is it you wish to discuss?”

He folded his hands. “I have told you of the man who is posting papers around the villages and towns asking for another rebellion. He must be executed as soon as I can lay my hands upon him. Do you not think?”

She nodded and looked down at her hands, unable to meet his eye for the moment. Even the whipping of the English soldiers had been difficult enough to bear. With a public execution, she wasn’t sure what to do.

“Well, there are a few other things that are occurring. Apparently, The Wanderer and The Scots are on the move, and I cannot quite understand whether they flee or they are in search of me. My men heard it from the innkeeper here.”

She nodded again and returned her gaze to his. “What is it you ask of me, Father?”

“I wondered what you thought of it all. I think that I must change the game now.” He grinned, and her heart fell.

“Once these Drumnadrochit Highlanders here are dealt with, I think I will send word for there to be a discussion. A way to make peace. When they send their envoys, then I will take them and threaten to kill them until The Wanderer comes for them.”

“But why? Why not simply fight them in a battle?”

He chuckled. “It is too easy, and it will be over too quickly, daughter. These men need to suffer for what they have done. These lands are now fully under our jurisdiction. We must treat them as subjects of the King, as well as teach them how to be proper subjects. They are still in their infancy. Lessons need to be learned.”

Isabelle nodded, and he looked pleased. “What if The Wanderer comes himself instead of sending a representative? What will you do then?”

“Hmm…that would not be as much fun. I think he will want to play my little game. Every man wants to protect themselves if they can.”

“Not every man, father.”Not Eamon. He fights for honor and for his brother. The words sprung out of her mouth before she had a chance to pull them back. Her father’s kind face was suddenly gone, and he was staring at her now with that same fearsome expression he used on everyone else.