Page 49 of To Win a Highlander’s Heart

“Attack the English? We haven’t been able to do so for a year.” The earlier shadows returned to John’s features. “Why did you come here? I’m certain it wasn’t because of Brea’s leg, for you didn’t know about that until you arrived.”

Orrick reached out and enfolded Isolde’s hand in his larger one. He moved closer. For a moment she felt as if they were joined in an intimacy more complete than the one they had shared in the night. The Nicolson part of her merged with the MacLeod part of him and the two of them were reborn as one, even without her brother’s blessing or that of a minister. “I come to ask for your sister’s hand in marriage.”

With an effort, Isolde pulled her gaze away from the man at her side and watched as a barrage of emotions flickered across her brother’s face—surprise, shock, anxiety, then fear. Why would he fear her marrying a MacLeod?

Or was he afraid of her marrying anyone other than that fool Ewen MacPhee? Her connection to Ewen had been severed as far as she was concerned by the man’s deliberate cheating. She owed him nothing.

“I must say, I am surprised that anyone would have you, Isolde.” He shrugged. “If that is what the MacLeod wants, and if you are willing, then what can I say beside ‘aye’? You have my blessing.”

Instead of relief, she felt a sharp pain. She lowered her lashes to hide her eyes. Her brother still knew how to hurt her with his carefully chosen words. I’m surprised anyone would have you. He might have given his approval, but it was not given out of love. And suddenly, she wanted to be gone from Scorrybreac. Even the wilderness was preferable to her brother’s home. “Thank you, John,” she forced out. “We will be leaving now.”

“Nay.” The word erupted violently from him. “Nay,” he said more softly. “First we must go to the chapel and tell Mother and Father the news.”

She frowned at her brother. They’d had a memorial marker made and placed in the chapel after their parents had died, their bodies lost at sea. The marble memorial was that of a winged angel sitting on a stone chest that had been engraved with their parents’ names. Both she and John had gone to the chapel and sat on the chest beside the angel and talked to their parents, telling them everything. It made sense that he would want her to do so now, yet she didn’t miss the slight tremor that shook her brother before he set his chin a little higher.

Isolde frowned. Or was she imagining things that weren’t there? With a sigh, Isolde nodded. At least she could introduce Orrick to her parents in the only possible way at the memorial.

“Come with me, Orrick and Isolde, but your men should remain here. We won’t be gone long.”

Graeme frowned. “We should come with you.”

“All is well, Graeme. This will only take a moment. Besides, no harm can come to us in a chapel.”

Reluctantly, Graeme nodded, but continued to frown as John escorted them out of the great hall and down a long hallway that led to another door that would take them outside. The chapel was not connected to the main keep, as it had been added after the main structure had been built. Torches lit the way as the same twelve guards accompanied John and the two of them down the hallway.

While they walked, Orrick leaned close and whispered, “If the English have been watching Scorrybreac, then we must assume we’ve been observed arriving at this castle.”

“Agreed,” Isolde whispered back. “Be on guard.” In the next moment, John stopped unexpectantly and spun around with a sword in his hands.

“It’s a trap!” Isolde cried, but her warning came too late.

Before Orrick could reach for his sword, Watt surged forward, jamming the hilt of his sword into Orrick’s solar plexus with such force that it robbed him of air as he stumbled back, separating him from Isolde.

She lunged forward, but not before a gate dropped from the ceiling in front of and another behind Orrick and slammed against the floor. Time seemed to still as Isolde’s heart thundered in her ears. She had trusted her brother and look where that had gotten her. She should have known something wasn’t right. There had been one clue after another since they’d entered the castle, but she hadn’t wanted to believe what was before her eyes. Her hand moved to the hilt of her sword.

Graeme and the others must have heard her cries because footsteps sounded behind Orrick. Perhaps they could help free the two of them.

Behind her, the door to the outside slammed open, crashing with violence against the wall on the other side. In the narrow hallway, the English soldiers rushed in. Isolde only got in one swipe before they were on her, knocking the sword from her hands. Lieutenant Collins forced his way forward, dragging his damaged leg. He grabbed Isolde’s injured arm and hurled her to the ground with such bruising force that her bow flew from her hand and out of her reach.

“This time you’ll not get the chance to make a fool out of me.” He grinned at her wolfishly, ready to exact his revenge.

Chapter Seventeen

Orrick’s breath was still caught in his throat and pain radiated across his chest, but if he didn’t get out of this trap now, he, Graeme, the men, and Isolde would all be killed by the English and the Nicolsons. Orrick kicked out ferociously against the metal bars, feeling them give just a little.

“What are you doing? Stop that,” a man with a bushy beard said, drawing his sword and poking it through the bars.

Orrick jumped out of range as he looked up at the ceiling. The gates had been hastily installed, which was to his benefit. As the man withdrew his sword to thrust it once more, Orrick drew back and kicked again. Four times they played the game of thrust and retreat before the iron grate fell away, releasing Orrick. Graeme and his men battled their way through those who had imprisoned Orrick, but he didn’t wait for them. He had to catch up to Isolde.

In that moment, all of Orrick’s reserves about fighting evaporated. The person he was before leaving for the West Indies pulsed through his blood, heightening his awareness to the threats around him as he surged forward. He scooped up Isolde’s bow, then raced out the door, hoping he wasn’t too late to catch sight of her. The English wouldn’t punish her here at Scorrybreac where she still might have sympathisers. Nay, they would take her somewhere they controlled the situation.

He and Graeme and the men had to hurry to escape the castle as well. Even as MacLeods, the Nicolson men might turn on them as they had Isolde. Orrick ran through the courtyard and into the bailey where his thoughts were confirmed. The Englishmen retreated through the open gates with a blond-haired female. Isolde was gagged and her hands were tied before her as she rode on a horse in front of Lieutenant Collins.

Orrick sent out a shrill whistle. Even in a stall, Phoenix would escape when Orrick used that particular whistle. And just as he expected, a few moments later, Phoenix emerged from the stables, except that instead of charging, he was led out by John Nicolson and several of his men who also brought the other MacLeod horses.

Orrick’s hand moved to the hilt of his sword. If he had to, he would fight his way out of this castle. His brow furrowed when he noticed none of the Nicolsons had their weapons drawn. As they came closer, Orrick could see deep lines around John’s eyes and mouth. The look was not nervousness. It was worry.

Orrick stood with his feet apart and his hand on the hilt of his sword, but he did not draw his weapon. If John wanted to talk, he would hear him out. Quickly. “If you are here as a friend, release my horse. If foe, then prepare to die.”