Page 7 of Taken By her Highland Enemy

Chapter Four

Dougal furrowed his thick eyebrows and said, “What is this, Wanderer? What do you mean?”

“I mean that a Lord Cutler, a nobleman sent by the King, comes to this area tae kill the Scots and me in return for what we have done in the past. The King’s former proxy was killed as well as his nephew, Sir Henry of Shefford, as you know. He comes for revenge, and he will leave nae survivors. We have been told of his coming by my brother and his spy.”

Dougal sighed, but his face remained lined and furrowed. “He comes for ye, lad? And in so doing, he may pass by our clan along the way?”

“Aye, laird, and that is one of the reasons why I call upon ye. We plan tae meet him on his journey so that he will nae find the village nor meet with yer clan lands. But we hoped ye might send men with us as reinforcements.”

Dougal nodded, his lips pursed again.

Eamon waited, looking at Sean, but Sean did not look his way. After a pause, Dougal said, “I would like tae give ye more, but many of my men are gone, collecting taxes from the other parts of our lands. I can only spare ten men at this time.”

Sean smiled. “Thank ye, laird. That will be enough. They are well-prepared tae battle with the British?”

Dougal chuckled. “Aye, they have nae reason tae nae wish an Englishman dead, I can tell ye that. Come men, let us eat, and we will discuss yer plans for battle.”

* * *

Isabelle knelt down behind a section of tall grass in the dark, her heart in her throat. It had been so close tonight, but she was able to nail a few more of the posters to the surrounding trees, closer to village areas, and she had made contact with another spy. Her breasts were aching as they had been pressed hard against her skin so that she appeared more like a man. It had been a busy evening, and she was ready to return to her tent and become herself again.

But some of the men were still awake and roaming about the camp. She tried to quiet her breathing as she waited for a chance to run to her tent. She couldn’t get caught by them. Her father would fly into a rage, and then who knew what he would do to her once he had her in his grasp?

She turned her head back to the camp, and it looked silent for a moment. She could see Loch Ness glinting in the moonlight beyond the tents. The men were simply keeping watch over the area by night. There was a far worse reason why she couldn’t get caught by the men. They might take her for themselves for the evening, threatening to reveal her secret to her father if she did not comply. She would never give a man the chance to take what was not theirs to give, but if she was overpowered, she shuddered to think of the consequences.

In the space of silence, Isabelle stood and ran through the tents, searching for the marker of red ribbon she left on her own tent. They were all the same canvas, and by the dim light of the moon and the fireplaces, she knew it would be hard to find hers and Arya’s tent once more.

There was another crunch of footsteps from the men, and she laid her back flat against the canvas of one tent away from the sound, hoping it wouldn’t make too many ripples in the fabric alerting the occupant inside. The footsteps passed behind her, and she saw the flash of red she had left tied around the tent stake, and she rushed behind its canvas flaps. Inside, Arya was standing pacing around, her blonde hair flying about her. “Mistress! You’ve returned!” She reached out for Isabelle and grabbed her by the arms as if to see if she was real.

“Yes, Arya,” Isabelle breathed, trying to keep her voice quiet. She began to undo the buttons on her waistcoat and said, “Help me, please! I have spent too long in these cloth trappings!”

Arya tsked and helped Isabelle undress and put on her white shift. “I wish you would not take so many risks, Mistress. I keep thinking about what would happen if you were caught, or if your father came looking for you in the night! What could I possibly say?”

Isabelle laid down on the straw mattress on the floor. “You would say what we’ve discussed in the past. That I must have left while you were sleeping, and you were preparing to come and let him know.”

Arya nodded but looked sorrowful, and Isabelle felt guilty. She had been asking her dear friend and lady’s maid, Arya, to help her for many years in her tiny rebellions. Arya had dressed her, covered and distracted others for her, and helped her to remain hidden as she enacted whatever it was she decided to do. It was a true friendship, but Isabelle knew that Arya was still quite young and had not the heart for breaking the rules. Isabelle knew that she was putting Arya into impossible situations.

Sadly, she had no other option. Until she could find a way to rebel openly, she needed Arya to help her. She turned on her side to face her young friend as she laid on her mattress. “Arya, I am sorry to make you worry, but I think you’ll be happy. I put up more posters, and I made contact with the Highlander’s spy.”

“You did? How is that possible?”

Isabelle laughed lightly. “It must have been divine intervention. I was in the middle of nailing a poster to a tree, and a Scottish rider was going by. He stopped to ask me about the posters and who I was with. Once I explained, we were amazed that we both had messages for each other. Eamon, the Highlander I am in contact with, is at the MacManus clan. He is trying to get enough men to fight, but he has only been able to find 26. They plan to move towards the camp tomorrow.”

Arya said, “But your father, he has more than 30 men, all armed with muskets and ruthless hearts.”

Isabelle nodded. “I told the spy as much. Surely we can think of something. Perhaps Eamon can orchestrate a sort of meeting beforehand in order to make terms?”

Arya was grim. “You know your father would never agree to terms.”

Isabelle sighed. She had felt hopeful after meeting Gareth, the Scot, but now, it all seemed to darken before her. Had she just led Eamon into a bloodbath? But what else was she to do? Without him knowing, her father would have slaughtered his brother and all of The Scots.

Despite the somber tone of their discussion, Isabelle smiled at Arya. “I have hope. These Highlanders are brave, and they persevere.”

Arya smiled back lightly. “I don’t think I understand you quite well, Mistress. It could be that these nightly wanderings and rebellions are getting to your head. You are an Englishwoman, and yet you wish to fight for the freedom of Scottish people, even at the cost of getting caught. Not only that, but I think you might be falling in love with the Highlander you meet with! Your face is all aglow with admiration and concern for his welfare. This cannot be just for the Scottish in general.”

Isabelle sighed and laid back. “It’s not love, Arya. It can’t be. At least not yet. He does not even know who I really am. But there is something about him that calls to me. He is strong, brave, fearless, and he wishes to save his kinsmen. That is honorable, is it not?”

Isabelle’s eyes were eager as she watched Arya’s reaction. Arya sighed and then said, “Yes, it is honorable. But I do wish you wouldn’t get yourself hurt in more ways than you need to be. What would your father think if he heard you speaking thus about a Highlander?”

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