Page 51 of To Win a Highlander’s Heart

The only man left standing stared at her, his long face pale and his eyes filled with fear. Instead of fighting her, he held out his hands, pressed together at the wrists, for her to tie. “Don’t hurt me. I’ll stay quiet. You can leave here and no one will be the wiser.”

He might be a torturer, but he was certainly also a coward. Isolde removed the soldiers’ cross belts and tied the stooped man’s hands, then gagged him with a strip of fabric torn from the man’s own cloak. Then, just to make certain he stayed silent, she hit him in the head with the hilt of her confiscated sword. She tied the other men up as well, and with an effort pulled the man who had fallen down the stairs back up into the tower chamber before shutting the door. None of them would be missed for a while.

It gave her time to figure out what to do next. She would never be able to fight her way through the whole English company. Not by herself. So instead of going down the stairs, she climbed to the top of the tower. On the roof, she stayed low so as not to be seen, and peered over the side. All around the tower, Lieutenant Collins’s men had set up their tents, leaving no open space for her to make her escape.

Below, she counted seven and fifty men milling about, and those were the ones she could see. There would be more in the tents or off on patrols who could return at any time. Isolde pressed her lips into a thin, flat line. She could wait until dark to try to make her escape. Except that someone might come up to the tower to relieve the other guards, or Lieutenant Collins might come himself to check on the progress of her torture. She wouldn’t put it past him to do so. He enjoyed watching others suffer.

Nay, she couldn’t take the chance of waiting. Even if she silently eliminated anyone who entered the tower, one by one. Eventually they would grow suspicious that no one came out, and again she would be more than outnumbered when they attacked.

Her best option was to take her chances sneaking out, finding a way past the men and the tents, until she could disappear once more into the wilderness. Had she known what the day might bring, she would have stayed in bed beside Orrick a little longer this morning. She would have embraced him one last time, savouring the feel of his chest pressed close to her own. She would have given him one last kiss, not a kiss filled with fire, only tenderness so that he might know how very dear to her he had become.

He had asked her to marry him. And for the rest of that night and into the morning, the thought that they would actually join their lives had filled her with both trepidation and joy. But now she knew there would be no marriage. No further merging of their bodies. No future for her other than that of a woman alone, but not quite as lonely as before. For she would keep her memories of Orrick close to her heart.

At a sound in the distance, Isolde’s heart stilled. Hoofbeats. A sea of green and blue mixed with a familiar red and green. A surge of hope so powerful moved through her that it stole her breath.

Could it be Orrick and his men along with her brother and his men? Or was desperation making her see and hear things that weren’t there? She dropped her gaze to the Englishmen below. If it was only her imagination, then why were the Englishmen racing to gather their weapons?

Isolde lifted her gaze to the distance and saw more clearly the man she’d feared she would never see again. Orrick.

She tightened her hand on her sword and charged back into the tower and down the stairs. She would do whatever it took to fight her way back into his life.

Chapter Eighteen

Isolde. Orrick had to get to her before something terrible happened. He kicked his horse into a faster gait as he caught sight of her blond hair. She battled four soldiers on her own with only a sword, and others were gathering their weapons preparing to confront not only John, Graeme, and their small army, but also Isolde. Somehow she had managed to get herself free of her bonds. Orrick allowed himself a momentary smile. And regardless of the odds, she would fight for her freedom.

At the end of the English encampment, Orrick turned to John and Graeme. “Alba gu brath,” he said. Scotland forever. “Take the men and subdue the English with their warriors. I’ll get to Isolde and keep her safe.” On Phoenix’s back, Orrick shot forward, through the tents. Nothing would keep him from finding Isolde.

“Isolde,” he called out, wanting her to know he was there, that she was not alone in this battle. The moment he entered the encampment, he’d lost sight of her so he listened instead for the sound of battle in the distance where he had seen her last. Men challenged him as he progressed. The round targe on his forearm warded off the men’s strikes at him and his horse. From atop Phoenix, Orrick had the advantage. He could easily strike the English soldiers down or kick them with his boots, sending them tumbling into each other. By the time they regained their footing, he’d passed by.

All around him the screech and clangour of steel, the grunts of mutual exertion, the noisy inhalations and exhalations of the men battling sounded. Time slowed, allowing Orrick to see each move before it was made, to decipher the manoeuvres of his opponent, to position himself to better advantage. He’d learned all that in the West Indies. The last part of him that had died in that foreign land was reborn. He had only truly begun to live as he wanted and he would not die anytime soon, God willing.

He was a MacLeod. He was born to be a warrior. He believed in courting peace whenever possible, but he could and would take a life if there was no other way forward. And he would do whatever it took to find Isolde and keep her safe.

*

The sword fell from Isolde’s hand as a heavy blow bashed against her head. She had no time to call out to Orrick. She’d heard him calling her name. She had no time to run. Instead, she fell to the ground beside her sword. She tried to reach out for the weapon, but it was hastily kicked out of her reach.

“I’ll not give you a chance to attack me again,” Lieutenant Collins’s voice cut through the dizziness crowding her thoughts. He bent down beside her, intending to tie her hands.

Isolde kicked and writhed, desperate to get away, to find her way to freedom even as the lieutenant’s hands grasped her own, binding them with a heavy cord.

“Quit fighting me and this will go a lot easier for you,” the lieutenant said with a scowl.

“Never.” She dug her fingernails into the vice-grip that held her until she drew blood. The man grunted, then brought his hand down against her cheek with angry force. The impact sent her senses reeling. Black edged her vision. She drew several short, sharp breaths through her nose, trying desperately to stay conscious. When she could gather her breath in her lungs, she cried out, “Orrick!”

“Damn you, little wench!” Lieutenant Collins yelled.

He hit her again. But this time, Isolde drew on reserves of strength to stay conscious. She’d not make it easy for the lieutenant to exact his revenge. She had to give Orrick time to find her.

In the next moment, Lieutenant Collins’s lips pulled up in a grin as he forced a foul-smelling piece of linen into her mouth. He tied the cloth securely behind her head. The need to gag overwhelmed her, but she pushed it aside and lashed out against her attacker. He might have tied her hands and silenced her, but he had not won the battle.

Lieutenant Collins yanked on her arm and hauled her to her feet, then he propelled her towards a waiting horse. He tossed her onto the horse’s back before mounting behind her. Kicking the animal into a run, he headed away from the encampment and towards the cliffs near the coastline.

At their rapid pace, Isolde could do nothing but grasp at the horse’s mane with her fingers and hold on. Her captor seemed unimpressed by the steep cliff off to their right and the loose path beneath the horse’s feet as he encouraged his mount to greater speed.

Fear roiled in Isolde’s stomach, but she lifted her chin as they skirted the cliff’s edge. Ahead of them, a craggy rock formation rose, forcing the lieutenant to veer inland to go around it. The crumbling rock beneath the horse’s hooves forced the animal to slow its pace, and with it, afforded Isolde a little more time to come up with a plan of escape.

As though reading her thoughts, the lieutenant gripped her more tightly around the waist, pulling her hard against his front. “There will be no escape for you. I’ve waited a year to exact my revenge on you and I will not be denied a second time.”