Page 4 of To Win a Highlander’s Heart

He was trying to intimidate her with his presence. Well, it didn’t matter. She would hit her target regardless.

The noise about them silenced, until Isolde could hear only the sound of her own breathing. She sighted the end of Ewen’s arrow in the target and with a burst of confidence slowly released her grip. In the same instant, Ewen’s foot came out and tapped hers, sending her arrow off target. Instant outrage filled her. In the span of a heartbeat, she plucked another arrow from her quiver and stepped farther away, letting the arrow fly, then another after that. But this time, Ewen lunged straight at her, knocking the third arrow in a wild arc, well away from the target. Isolde fell to the ground with a thump. Ewen fell on top of her.

“Get off me!” She pushed Ewen’s big body away and wiggled out from under him before gaining her feet.

A cacophony of noise filled the courtyard—from jests that she had been beaten, to those protesting that Ewen had cheated. But two sounds rose above the others. A cry of distress sounded, then a second bellow of rage.

Isolde looked to where her brother and sister-in-law had stood next to the targets. Sarah lay upon the ground, clutching an arrow in her lower abdomen. John knelt beside her with an arrow protruding from his shoulder.

A cold chill came over Isolde. She twisted towards Ewen. “Look what your cheating has caused.”

He features hardened. “I wasn’t the one firing the arrows.”

With disgust, she raced to John and Sarah, tossing the bow and quiver to the ground before dropping to her knees beside them. “What can I do? How can I help?”

“My baby. Please, someone help my baby.”

Isolde reached for Sarah’s hand as the pregnant woman groaned in pain.

Her brother’s face contorted with rage and pain as he looked to Isolde. “You’ve done enough.” He slapped her hand away. “Get away from Sarah. Get away from me. In fact, get out of this castle. You wanted your freedom. Take it. Leave with the clothes on your back. Nothing more. I never wish to see you again.”

John tried to scoop Sarah up in his arms but when that failed because of his own injury, he motioned for one of his men to lift her instead. John followed behind as Sarah was carried to the castle. When Isolde accompanied them, John paused to rake her with another icy glare of hatred. “Get her out of here. And someone fetch the midwife.”

“Nay!” One voice cut through the noise. “She has been wronged by a cheater. Do not force her to leave.” Maribeth, Isolde’s maid protested, coming to Isolde’s side.

But her plea fell on deaf ears as her brother once again shouted, “You shot the arrows, Isolde. You threaten the life of my child. In turn, I will threaten your life by disowning you.”

Isolde knew her brother was serious. She’d seen that look on his face when they were children and she’d bested him in competition. The thought gripped her around the throat as she fought to swallow. Quickly, she snapped up her quiver, slinging it over her shoulder, then her bow, and headed for the still-open gates. Without looking back, she raced across the drawbridge and into the wilderness beyond Scorrybreac Castle.

*

Clutching her bow in her hand, Isolde ran. Dedication. Bravery. Daring. It had all been turned against her. All her dreams shattered about her with each footfall across the moors she knew so well.

She headed to the south, running from an invisible monster that would only follow her wherever she went. Ewen had cheated, but she would bear the burden of the events of this day. Her life as she knew it was over. All her dreams were dead.

Her breath caught in her throat as she pushed herself to run faster. Tears streaked from her eyes, caught up by the wind. She tripped, staggered, then went down hard on her knees. Her bow slipped from her hand. And in the next moment eight men in bright red coats surged forward, from out of nowhere. She’d been so distracted that she hadn’t even noticed their approach. They grasped her by the hair, caught her by the sleeve, dug their nails into her flesh. “Where are you going in such a hurry?” A young soldier with auburn hair narrowed his gaze on her.

British soldiers. “Release me.” Isolde struggled against their grip. “You’ve no right to detain me.”

“We can do whatever we want, little lady,” another young man at her elbow said as his mouth stretched into a brief, taunting smile.

Her heart pounded in her ears as she stretched her hand out, hoping she could touch the end of her bow. These men were too close to shoot with arrows, but she could bash them in the head with the wooden limb of her bow.

“Cease.” A voice came from off to her right.

Isolde turned towards the sound, as the men holding her relaxed their grips, to see an older man in his forties holding a pistol in his hands. As he strode towards her, he lowered the weapon. “Bind her,” he ordered his men. “Then take her to my tent.”

Isolde continued to fight as they bound her hands before her. She kept struggling even when they lifted her onto her feet. When she refused to move on her own, they lifted her by the arms and carried her still writhing and kicking into the tent she had been too distressed to see before. Inside the shelter, they forced her onto a wooden crate then left as the man with the pistol entered.

He set the pistol near the door and studied her through narrowed eyes. “Were you going to attack us with your weapon?”

She remained silent.

“It seems rather imbecilic for Laird Nicolson to send a single archer to defeat his enemy.”

At the mention of her brother’s name, Isolde tensed.

The man’s eyes narrowed. “So you know the laird of whom I speak?”