Page 6 of To Win a Highlander’s Heart

The girl, who was said to be an orphan, hadn’t been missed until nightfall. Orrick and his brothers had done a search in the darkness for several hours, but had failed to find her. At first light, Alastair and Tormod had headed west to search the shoreline. Callum and Graeme had headed north towards the rivers and streams, while Orrick had headed off alone to search the vast territory to the east. Other members of the household searched closer to the castle grounds.

Though the situation was urgent, Orrick took a moment to take in the spectacular landscape surrounding his home. According to legend, the flat-topped summits before him were created after a visit from Saint Columba to Skye. The holy man was not well received by the then chief of the MacLeods, who lived in a fort on the shores of Loch Bracadale. While Saint Columba preached a sermon about messengers from the Lord not having a place to lay their heads, the skies blackened and the ground shook, culminating in a mighty crash. When the world around them settled, those at the sermon left the church to discover the tops of two local mountains had been struck off, creating a bed for Saint Columba to sleep on and a table for him to dine at. The story was just one of many involving the MacLeods of Skye.

Right now, it was a little girl who needed a warm place to sleep and a table to eat at. Orrick could only imagine how scared the four-year-old child was out there, alone, in the wilderness. He encouraged his horse, Phoenix, into a quicker pace while he kept his eyes trained on the tall grass for anything out of the ordinary. The girl had been described as blond, and wearing a brown dress, which would make finding her that much harder since she blended in with the landscape. He would find her regardless. He had to.

*

From high atop the summit of Healabhal Beag, Isolde took in the breathtaking view of the Black Cuillins and Loch Bharscavaig. Much had happened to her since she’d left her brother’s castle fourteen months ago. She’d worked for Lieutenant Collins for two months. After feeding him useless information for weeks, he’d once again threatened her brother and she’d been forced to reveal the many late-night trips to Orbost where Dugald MacTavish met with Sir James Campbell of Auchinbreck. She’d followed the man to his meeting location and had overheard plans to raise men in favour of Bonnie Prince Charlie and the Jacobite cause. Two days later, both men were arrested and imprisoned at Dumbarton Castle.

At the news, her body had gone numb and the breath had stilled in her lungs. If a man was measured by his actions, then surely a woman was as well. She had betrayed her country. She had betrayed her people. The lieutenant had threatened her brother’s life if she didn’t cooperate. But she knew from experience her brother was a man to be reckoned with. At least from Lieutenant Collins’s constant threats, she knew her brother had not succumbed to the arrow she’d hit him with. Sarah and her child he’d never mentioned and Isolde feared the worst. Her brother had survived then, and John would continue to do so in the future because in order to protect him, Isolde had had no choice but to disappear, to vanish somewhere no one would ever find her.

And she had. For the past year, she’d made a life for herself in the wilderness surrounding MacLeod’s Tables. Healabhal Beag was the higher of the two peaks that marked the edge of the MacLeods’ vast territory to the east. In all the time since she’d lived at the base of the mountain, no one had ventured anywhere near her since she’d escaped the English. Her days as an informant were at an end. Now, she focused on survival.

She’d only taken twelve arrows with her from Scorrybreac. Though using those twelve, she’d taught herself how to keep the arrowheads sharp, how to replace the shafts using tree branches and fish scales to smooth the wood, and she’d learned how to fletch the arrows with feathers from the birds she hunted for food. As of late, she’d also started experimenting with making her own arrowheads from slate like ancient people used to before they discovered copper and steel. Every time she used an arrow, she made certain to retrieve it, as she would today.

Isolde surveyed the land before her with her bow in her hand and quiver at her back. She’d come to hunt. She needed to find something other than the rabbits, squirrels, and birds that had sustained her all summer and fall, if she were to make it through another Highland winter in isolation. She’d climbed partially up Healabhal Beag to determine where the Scottish red deer were grazing this morning, as well as survey any English activity in the vicinity. Lieutenant Collins’s company had turned to the south a few months after her escape.

She’d seen no signs of them or any other troops since the leaves had fallen from the trees. No doubt they’d moved on to warmer climes for the winter, which suited her needs perfectly. She was free to hunt and live without constant fear of discovery. But she needed to find food if she were to be able to remain hidden in these hills. If she could fell one red deer from the wild herd, she would be well supplied with meat for the coming months.

Isolde inhaled the icy scent of the earth as it mixed with early morning sky. Overhead dark clouds gathered, threatening snowfall later in the day. She had to hurry and accomplish her task before the snow fell and the animals sought shelter from the cold. Bringing her gaze back to the landscape before her, Isolde caught movement to the west. A large herd, with several males bearing five- to six-pointed antlers, grazed amongst numerous females on the grass, willowherb, and brambles that still remained after last night’s frost. Having achieved her goal, Isolde started her descent, hoping the animals would remain while she hiked down from the summit over the next couple of hours.

She was nearly to the base of the mountain when she stopped. An odd feeling came over her, something she hadn’t felt in months. She swallowed. It almost felt like someone or something was watching her.

She looked about her. Nothing moved and only the usual sounds of the wind and the sea in the distance came to her. She shrugged off the sensation and continued her climb down when another ripple of movement caught her attention. Something much smaller than the red deer surged through the tall grass. She stopped and concentrated on the sight until she could make out the unmistakable stripes of a family of badgers. She groaned as she hurried down the remaining slope. Badgers could complicate her hunt if she didn’t hurry.

Silently stalking through the grass with her bow at her side, Isolde heard a noise off to her right. She froze, concentrating on the sound. Careful to make no noise, she reached for a bow from her quiver and strung it. Blood pounded in her ears. Had she missed something while surveying the territory from above? She was prepared to fight the English single-handed if she must. For she was done being their spy.

She’d practised her skill with a bow and arrow every day, despite the memories of her last day at Scorrybreac. She knew her brother lived, but what about her sister-in-law and the babe? She’d not been able to find any information on either of them since she left.

Forcing the memories aside, Isolde crouched down, pulling her handmade hooded fur cloak tight around her, not wanting to alert anyone that she was closing in as she moved carefully towards the sound. The noise came again, louder this time. She was close. Preparing to strike, Isolde pulled the string of her bow back and stood, ready to fire. And came face to face with a man. He was not English, but Scottish.

Orrick MacLeod.

Her breath caught at the sight of him. He was taller than she remembered, and thick with muscle. He wore leather armour across his chest and upper arms. And in his hands, he held a bow with an arrow pointed directly at her head.

He stared at her, breathing hard. Orrick’s brow rose from what she imagined was a persistent furrow, giving him a look of surprise. “You are not a wee little lass.” His eyes sharpened on her face. “What are you? A witch?”

A wee lass? A witch? What was he talking about? Had the youngest of the MacLeod triplets gone mad since she’d last seen him six years ago? She’d been a lass and he a lean-muscled, tall lad when they’d met at the Highland games. He’d smiled at her for a heartbeat until the other lads nearby had teased her about her quiver and bow.

“Girls can’t compete.”

“Girls can’t shoot an arrow.”

“Go home to your mama.” The boys had taunted her. Orrick had joined in their laughter and turned away.

“What are you doing on MacLeod land?” he asked, his voice hard. His dark brown hair caught the wind, lending a certain fierceness to his stony jaw. “Are you human or beast?”

Over the last fourteen months, her clothing had deteriorated and she’d been forced to create a full-length cloak from rabbit pelts sewn together with sinew. And granted, her hair had become a wild tangle despite her attempts to tame the thickness with a comb she’d fashioned from animal bone. But she was clean. She bathed almost daily in the nearby creek during the warmer days. Now, as the days grew cold, she limited her bathing to sunny days despite the frigid chill that often hung in the air.

He stared into her face as though trying to see past her outward appearance. “Who are you? What are you doing out here alone?”

“I’m . . .” The word caught in her throat. It had been a year since she had spoken a word to anyone. She tried again. “I’m hunting.” The words crackled from a throat that felt raw. How had speaking become such an effort?

His eyes narrowed. “Hunting on another man’s property is punishable by hanging.”

She frowned. “You’d have to . . . catch me . . . first.”

Orrick’s lips thinned and then eased as if no longer seeing her as a major threat. “There is something familiar about you.”