“Each time I was easily repelled because of where the castle sits,” her father went on. “They have the advantage of seeing anyone who dares try to approach, and the wily Margaret has learned how to stop a ship and sink it. We will be invincible when we have that castle, and it will make it worth all the wasted time and trips to that convent.”
Their conversation faded as they moved onward, and Isobel stood still, struggling to control her breathing and against the desire to sob and the need to drop to her knees and curl into a tight ball. Her throat ached with sadness and hot tears coursed down her cold cheeks, but she maintained her feet and silence, and for that small victory, she gave thanks to God.
Wasted time.That’s what her father thought of her. Never had she been more heartbroken than in this moment. She felt worthless and sad, yet she burned with anger. She clenched her teeth against the melancholy and pity. She wasnotworthless, and not simply because a castle was attached to her.
Shivering from the fear of the unknown and the horror of what she now knew, she waited until utter silence permeated the air, and then ever so slowly, she crept from her hiding place and made her way to the door. Maria had told her the best path to take to get to the woods, which would bypass the guards and hopefully give her a sufficient lead on the men her father would undoubtedly send to pursue her once they realized she was gone.
She figured she had until morning to put as much distance as possible between herself and the castle. She was counting on the fact that her father, nor stepmother, nor anyone at Innis Chonnell, cared for her. As such, they would not come to see to her or even bid her good night. Taking the little comfort that thought offered, she pulled the plaid around her that Maria had given her, and she gripped the dagger in her hand as she set off down the rocky path that led into the dark woods.
Dry leaves crunched under her feet, and she held her hands in front of her for fear of running into a limb. The moon shone high in the sky, but she could not see past her nose as the thick trees cast shadows everywhere. An unnerving quiet blanketed the woods, making it seem as if she were the only living creature there, yet she knew she was not. Maria had warned her of the wolves, and she had the most disquieting sensation of being stalked. She glanced around her, the beat of her heart increasing so that it sounded like steady clapping in her ears.
It was foolish to run, given she could hardly see, but she found herself doing so anyway, racing ahead blindly toward the mountain pass that Maria told her would be at the other end of this path. Her breathing sped up with her running so that in between thetat tat tatof her heart, her breath whooshed in her ears. The sounds distracted her so much that she felt she could hardly concentrate on running whenwham! She was on her back with the air knocked out of her and staring up at the starry sky, trying to determine what had just happened.
A dull ache sprang to life in her head, and as she sat up, dizziness rolled over her. She put her head between her knees and breathed deeply. The smell of soil, leaves, and myrtle filled her nose. Her forehead tingled then, and she let out a yelp as she swatted at what she thought was a bug only to have her fingertips graze something warm and sticky. Struggling to control the fear she knew was overcoming her, she brought her fingertips to her nose and sniffed. Blood. She’d cut herself.
She glanced up, and the moonlight caught the branch above her in all its thick, gnarled glory. As she placed her palms on the ground to push herself up, she frowned. Heaven above, she’d dropped her dagger! An owl hooted somewhere above her, and it was as if the owl had given a signal to the creatures of the forest to come alive. Bird calls came from the sky, and the croak of frogs seemed to come from very near. Even the wind picked up and whistled around her as she patted the freezing ground in search of the dagger.
She had to find that weapon. Moving to her knees, she swept her hands in a wide circle around her, desperation seeping into her blood and sending it rushing in hot waves through her body. Over and over she brushed the ground, branches and rocks scraping her fingers and the pads stinging with tiny cuts. Finally, she moved her hand over the ground again, and it met with cold, hard steel. A cry of relief came from deep within, and tears sprang to her eyes.
As she reached to wipe the useless tears away, a low, menacing growl sounded to her left, then her right. Sheer black fright coiled through her as she scrambled to her feet with the dagger in hand. The growl from the right grew louder and became a low howl. She feared moving and causing the wolf to pounce on her, yet she feared staying still just as much. Her body prickled with unease all over, like a thousand bees had swarmed on her at once. The growl to her left became louder, and as she stared into the darkness, yellow eyes glowed back at her. A desperate wish to survive sent her forward without thought, half running and half stumbling.
Behind her, the howling wolves gave chase, and she got no more than ten steps before the snap of sharp teeth grazed her right leg. A scream ripped from her throat right before a deep voice yelled, “Duck!”
She complied immediately, too afraid to worry that she’d been found.
Chapter Nine
Graham threw his dagger at the closest wolf and hit it true, taking the creature down immediately. Four more stood behind that one, and fear for Isobel sent him racing toward her, heedless of the danger to himself. He whistled loudly and made a motion to Cameron and the others to attack the wolves, but as he did, a large wolf jumped out of the darkness toward Isobel. Graham lunged in front of her, and the wolf fell on him, sinking its teeth into his shoulder.
Isobel screamed and pain lanced through his body in sickening waves, but he brought his sword up into the belly of the clinging wolf and gutted the creature. It fell at his feet with a thud. He jerked on his sword to release it from the first felled wolf, and another sprang from the black night. Just as he turned to attack, a dagger flew by his head, so near that the whisper of steel slicing through the air tickled his ear. The dagger struck the wolf in its chest, and the beast dropped to the ground, howling and growling before dashing off into the darkness it had come from.
Panting, Graham looked around at his brother, men, and the fallen beasts. The blood roaring in his ears lessened, but not the pain in his shoulder. A hand came to his wound, and when he glanced to his right, he was shocked to see Isobel gingerly touching the gaping cut with what looked like deep concentration.
“I’m sorry I threw the dagger so near,” she said. “I’ve never thrown one before.”
“Yethrew the dagger?” he asked.
She nodded. “Aye. I just learned how.”
“Ye’re a quick learner,” he said, his chest squeezing when that shy smile came to her face. Then she cast her gaze downward, her cheeks growing pink.
Praise must truly embarrass her.She was so different from any of the lasses he had known. They had all longed for praise and had become mulish when they did not get it.
He glanced at the wolf she had killed and back at her. Three times now, Isobel had sacrificed her concerns for others. Once by coming to the cave to help him, then by abandoning her plan to escape during the battle with his uncle and saving Cameron instead, and just now by throwing her dagger, a weapon he was sure she would have rather kept hold of for her own protection, yet she had used it to defend him. He wanted to show her his appreciation, as well as let her know that she had earned a small bit of his trust.
He quickly retrieved her dagger while everyone stood silently watching. Marsaili, who had insisted on coming with them, though he had offered for her to stay back with one of his men for protection, helped Rory Mac lead Cameron’s and Graham’s horses toward him and Isobel. Graham walked back to Isobel and stood until she glanced away from her feet and met his eyes. Dirt streaked her beautiful face, and a cut slashed across her forehead.
Before he could mention it, she said, “Ye need to cleanse yer shoulder and seal the wound.” It was said so matter-of-factly it was as if she had done it before.
He was curious how she knew the healing arts, but there was no time to ask her about it now. Instead, he held the dagger out to her. “Thank ye for yer help.”
Her eyebrows arched high, but she quickly took the dagger. “I can hardly believe ye are thanking me or that ye are giving me back my dagger.”
“Neither can I,” he admitted. Then, feeling suddenly as if he had revealed something of himself he had not intended, he said in a gruff voice, “Ye’ll be verra sorry if ye make me regret the gesture. Do ye ken me?”
The small smile that had been on her lips disappeared. “Aye,” she said dully. “I ken ye.”
She sounded as if he had hurt her, and it twisted his insides, which only irritated him further. He could not allow himself to be overly concerned with her feelings.
