Highlander Enchanted(41)
She waited to see if he would awaken then knelt beside him and witnessed the blood matting the back of his head. Shifting forward, she spotted the gnarled tree root his head had smacked when he fell.
“May God have mercy,” she whispered, horrified by the thought she had killed him, even if unintentionally, even if in defense of herself. “Richard?” She shook him.
He did not move.
Tears welled, and she dropped the knife. She had broken a commandment and committed one of the greatest sins in Christianity. If her soul was lost to her, why did it have to be lost because of him?
Aware of how sinful it was to resent the man she had slain, she crossed herself and bowed her head to begin praying for forgiveness.
The whinny of a horse, followed by the rustling of someone leaping from its back, reminded her she was likely to have a much larger issue. Isabel rose and turned, expecting to find Richard’s men waiting to confront her.
But the men before her were of a completely different make entirely with faces painted red, well-worn clothing, trappings and boots, and wild gleams in their gazes. They were armed. One of them was halfway to her when he stopped.
They appeared curious, if not surprised to find her there. The leader, a burly man with a huge beard and a curved sword, studied her.
“English?” he asked. “This far north?” He looked past her to the Richard’s unmoving form.
“We were … I was … this …” They will hasten my journey to the lake of fire, she thought. Squaring her shoulders, she decided to face him head on. This never worked with Richard, but these Highlanders appeared to favor displays of strength over tears. “If you have any wisdom in your bushy head, you will know better than to raise a hand to me.”
The red-faced man appeared startled and then laughed. “Ye speak with the fire of a Highland woman. Are ye certs yer English?”
“My name is Isabel de Clare, sole heir to the seat of Saxony, distant cousin to his lordship the King of England. I am, without a doubt, English.”
“I doona care who ye are, lass,” he said, smiling broadly. “I care who’ll pay me gold t’ransom ye. Is there someone who’d pay me no’ t’kill ye?”
“Most certainly,” she said without hesitation. Would her uncle pay ransom to these heathens after he had been so quick to trade her to Richard? She was not about to let her doubt and hurt show when dealing with a man of the same mold as Cade.
She sensed the bushy bearded man debating what to do with her and refused to lower her gaze or back down.
“Verra well, lass,” he said. “I willna kill ye. Who is he?” He motioned to Richard with his sword.
“This man was supposed to be my escort and attacked me. I was forced to defend myself against him.”
He appeared impressed, or perhaps amused, before turning to motion to a younger man who had not yet begun to fill out. “Tie ‘er! Leave ‘im!”
“No, wait!” she said, disturbed. “Should you not give him a proper burial?”
The man’s bushy eyebrows twitched. “You doona think me letting ye live is enough?” he challenged, a flash of hardness in his gaze.
“I mean no disrespect.” She released her breath, recalling the savagery of the Highlanders. “May I at least pray for his soul before I leave?”
He snorted but motioned towards Richard in what she took to be permission.
Isabel knelt beside him. With some anger, she realized she was getting exactly what she deserved for taking a life – enslaved by the wild men of the Highlands. She said a quick prayer over Richard’s body and asked God to send his men back when it was safe so they could bury him.
When she finished, she rose and presented her hands to the barbarian awaiting her. Whatever happened to her, she had to appear as strong as she was scared inside.
Chapter Fifteen
Cade had little time to think let alone confront his cousin over the next few days. With Lady Isabel gone, he was left alone to manage the household and failing where she had succeeded. Between housing and feeding the MacDonald clan, training with the few warriors they possessed and tending to duties around the keep, he had not stopped to sleep except when too exhausted to move.
He had hoped the activity would keep his thoughts from Isabel, from the guilt in his gullet, and the growing sense he had wronged her and her brother’s memory by letting her go.
Exhausted, he rubbed the beard he had not had a chance to shave.
He leaned away from his bed, where the elderly MacDonald lay listlessly, and glanced at Niall. His cousins were present, as was Father Adam. The three made up his advisors, the only men he truly trusted to guide him as the leader of their people.
It was quiet and tense, with both his cousins fidgeting and Father Adam wide awake for once. The priest clutched two missives.
“Read it t’me again,” he said to Father Adam.
“Laird Duncan of clan MacGomery orders ye t’turn out the MacDonald’s, the enemy to his kin and clan,” Father Adam said.
Cade dwelt on the command given to him by the laird whose generosity had given his clan a home, even if temporarily. He was disappointed in the man who had taken mercy on his people only to turn out his own neighbors. This was the fourth messenger to be sent, and this one was much less patient than the others. He could not afford to thrall this messenger and recognized he had to make a choice this day.