The Highlander's Heart (9 page)

David Campbell leapt onto the boat. “I’ve lost a lass and I need yer help to find her.”

“Ye’ve lost a lass?” asked Dain.

Isabelle stood behind the four men, effectively hidden from Campbell’s view.

“Aye,” barked Campbell. “She is an Englishwoman who was separated from her traveling companions. We need to spread out, search the city. I have already asked at the gates, but no one has seen her leave. Och, who knows what trouble she might be in.”

“What does she look like?” asked Hamish.

“She’s young, excellent figure, wearing a green gown and a brown traveling cloak. She has long black hair and is too beautiful for her own good.”

Beautiful? Did he say beautiful?

“She’s English, did ye say?” asked Finn.

“Aye.”

“Green gown, black hair, good healer?” asked Gill.

“Aye, dinna stand there, get moving. We need to… Wait, how did ye know she was a healer?”

Dain, Gill, Finn, and Hamish turned to look at her, then stood aside, revealing her to Campbell.

“Isabelle!” Campbell’s jaw dropped.

Gill and Finn began to laugh, making it difficult for Isabelle to take the situation seriously. How could she possibly end up back with David Campbell? Served her right for attempting prayer as a course of action. Clearly she was not on the favored list. No doubt even the angels took amusement in her predicament.

“Good morn to you,” she said, smiling in spite of herself. Perhaps it was fate. She was destined to be Campbell’s lover. But no. It could never be. Now she had to tell Campbell she was leaving to his face. The smile faded from her face.

“How did ye find my brothers?” asked Campbell.

“Brothers?” It was in keeping with her perpetually rotten luck. “I did not know they were your brothers. Master Hamish was injured so I stopped to help.”

“I see.” Campbell was silent, his face growing grave. Campbell’s brothers also said nothing, looking back and forth between Isabelle and Campbell. “Ye left,” Campbell finally said.

“I must return to England. I have no other choice.”

“Ye had a choice.” Campbell looked out over the river, his face a frozen mask.

“Please let me explain.”

Campbell raised a hand to stop her and shook his head. “No explanation is necessary. We need to be on our way for we have a long day of travel ahead of us. If I can no longer be o’ service to ye, I will bid ye farewell.”

Isabelle opened her mouth to try to say something, but what could she say? Perhaps it was best to simply leave. “I never meant for any of this to happen.”

Campbell nodded and continued to look away.

“I thank you very much for all your help.”

Campbell nodded again.

“Farewell, Sir Campbell.”

“Good day to ye. Ready the boat, men. We leave immediately.”

Dain helped her back to the shore. “Good luck, mistress,” he whispered.

“Thank you,” Isabelle answered in a small voice.

“Be wary o’ Captain Erskine. He cares to make a profit and naught else.”

Isabelle nodded an acknowledgment. Back on the river walk she looked up for Campbell, but he was fast preparing to sail and was much too busy to look back at her. If she did not know better, she would say she had hurt him.

Captain Erskine was waiting for her, accompanied by another man. The stranger was tall and thin with a slight slump to his shoulders. He looked her up and down in a manner she could not like. He spoke something to Erskine and handed him a bag that jingled like coins.

Isabelle flushed, though she did not know why. She stood tall; she would not allow their rudeness to intimidate her, yet she could not help but glance back at Campbell’s boat. Good to his word, the brothers were pushing off from the dock. He was leaving her. She told herself it was for the best. It was a lie not even she could believe.

“I can pay for safe passage, Captain Erskine,” said Isabelle, getting back to the task at hand. “The coin I showed you and two more once I am safely to Bewcastle.”

“Bewcastle is a long way from here, but this man can take you where you need to go.”

Something was not right about this. Prickling warnings slithered up her spine. “I do not understand you, Captain. Will you be able to take me to England or shall I find another captain?”

Captain Erskine merely smiled and gave her a mock salute before returning to his boat.

“Come along wi’ ye,” said the skinny man. He smiled, revealing several rotting teeth, and grabbed her hand like a vice.

“No! Let go of me!” demanded Isabelle, but found the man was surprisingly strong. “Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere ye can work for a living.”

“Work? Whatever do you mean? Unhand me!”

The man began to walk forward dragging her behind him. Despite twisting and pulling she could not get him to release her.

“Ye’re a bonnie lass. Ye’ll bring in a fair fortune, I wager.” The man turned to stare lewdly at her breasts.

“Let me go!”

“Or what? Ye have any man to come for ye? Nay? Dinna worry, I’ll help ye find a man willing to pay the right price.”

“You mean to… to
sell
me?”

“Aye, that’s it. Ye’re a smart lass, now dinna kick up no trouble.” He continued to pull her along the river walk.

“Stop! Unhand me!” Isabelle screamed as loud as she could.

The man spun around to strike her, but Isabelle managed to twist herself free.

“I am the Countess of Tynsdale,” she declared. “You will leave me be.”

“I dinna care who ye are, Duchess,” the man snarled. “I paid for ye and ye’re coming with me.” He lunged at her, but a blur of a man jumped from a passing boat and knocked the man to the ground.

The man scrambled up, blood dropping from his bent nose. “She is mine!” he screamed.

“Nay,” said Campbell in a cold, low tone. “She belongs to me.”

Campbell did not spare her a glance, but grabbed her hand and ran down the walk, Isabelle racing to keep pace. He came astride his boat that was slowly moving down the river.

“Dain, catch!” Campbell lifted her up and before she could protest, tossed her over to the boat, and was caught neatly by Dain, who appeared almost as shocked as she.

“Have a care, man!” exclaimed Dain.

Campbell jumped onto the boat himself and glared at Isabelle. Dain wisely stepped away, and Isabelle too wished she could go elsewhere, with Campbell regarding her with such menace.

“I will ask this once, and I want an honest answer.” Campbell’s calm voice was in stark contrast to the murder in his eyes. “Who are ye?”

He had heard her. Isabelle had hoped if she revealed who she was to the evil man at least she would be spared being sold into slavery, if only because other parties would pay more for her. Should she lie now to Campbell?

“I am the Countess of Tynsdale,” said Isabelle in a small voice.

“Ye’re
married
?” Campbell exclaimed.

Isabelle nodded slowly, the poisonous truth creeping between them like a specter. Too late she realized keeping this a secret had been a horrible mistake. Campbell’s jaw clenched, in his eyes she saw betrayal. No one spoke, the only noise the lapping of the waves against the hull.

“Explain yerself.” Campbell cleared his throat. He would not speak until he had a full command of his voice. “Why did I find ye on the road alone?”

“My horse bolted and I became separated from my guard and was lost.”

“How can I believe ye? Ye’ve done naught but speak falsehoods.”

Isabelle took her signet rings from her pocket and showed them to him. He studied one, then the other, his face turning gray and frozen, like chiseled stone.

“Why did ye not tell me immediately who ye were?” Campbell spoke in French. A test, she realized, and one she was not sure she wanted to pass.

“I feared you would return me back to my husband,” she responded also in French, the language of court in both England and Scotland.

“Ye are running away from him.” Campbell spoke English once more, his face a stone mask of disapproval. “Why did ye no’ tell me ye were married when I asked?”

“You asked if I had a husband in Bewcastle and I do not.”

“Nay, only the lover ye are running to.”

“No, it is not—”

“Save yer breath, my lady. I understand now, but I winna be part of yer wicked schemes, though ye tried to tempt me wi’ yer charms last night. Ye shall go back to yer husband where ye belong, and I do believe I will ask a hefty ransom to pay for all the trouble ye caused.” Campbell stormed off to another part of the boat.

Isabelle collapsed in the stern, her shaky legs unable to hold her as the boat softly swayed. Despite the sun on her face, she was cold. She wrapped her arms around herself and sat numb and still, unable even to cry. She was going to be returned to her husband, who would use her to gain control of Alnsworth, then kill her and terrorize her people.

But the worst part, the absolute worst, was that she had lost favor with David Campbell. He had asked her to be part of his life last night. Now, he could not stand to look at her. She had not realized he had touched her heart, but she knew now that it had broken.

It took several hours of rowing down the River Clyde before the banks widened and they could sail. Isabelle remained in the stern enumerating all the things wrong with her life until she was too depressed to continue. Yet the day was sunny with a cool, brisk wind, making for excellent sailing conditions. Isabelle had never before been on a boat and, despite her situation, found herself enjoying the gentle, rocking motion and the views of the bright green hills as they passed.

After several hours, Campbell moved back toward her. Isabelle’s pulse jumped, yet she could not tell by his hard expression what he was thinking. His brothers noticed his movement too, and while all hands remained busy, Isabelle knew she was being watched.

“I hear I am to thank ye for yer service to Hamish.” Campbell towered above her, glancing at her ever so slightly before looking beyond her to the green hills she had been admiring.

Isabelle stood to speak with him. “I did not do much.”

“Aye, ye did. And I appreciate it. I will see ye safely reunited wi’ yer husband.”

If Campbell was trying to comfort her, his effort fell well wide of the mark. “Actually, I’d rather not,” said Isabelle.

“It is where ye belong. Ye must return.” Campbell spoke with finality.

“But I—” A large swell rocked the boat and Isabelle, unaccustomed to life at sea, stumbled forward. Campbell caught her and pulled her close to him.

“Careful, my lady.” Campbell’s face was still an emotionless mask, but his green eyes shone bright in the sun.

“Hmmmmm.” The twins made teasing, humming noises, smiling at Campbell with wide grins. Campbell scowled and released her. Isabelle sank back into the stern of the boat, and Campbell spent the rest of the day looking important and much too busy to notice her.

They spent most of the day on the water, traveling down the River Clyde, then out into the Firth of Clyde where the water became choppy, and Isabelle found she had no natural talent for life at sea. After heaving a few times over the side, she was more than content to be ignored by Campbell, and continued to feel ill until they put into the more protected waters of Loch Fyne. Her only comfort was that Dain suffered the same malady, and kept her company leaning over the side of the boat.

They traveled up Loch Fyne, the brothers Campbell all taking a turn at the oars. At least her stomach was mollified, and they had not asked her to grab an oar. Isabelle leaned her head against the wooden railing, worn smooth, and warm in the sun. What was she to do? She needed to plead her case before her king, yet with every stroke of the oar she slid farther from home.

At midday, they put in at a sheltered inlet where they met more of Campbell’s men. They had brought horses and provisions. After a quick meal, they mounted the horses and continued the journey. Campbell gave directions for Isabelle to have her own mount, but kept her reins himself, leading her along the road. With Campbell himself leading the way and his men behind her, trying to make a run for it was pointless.

The sun was setting in the west when they crested yet another hill (it seemed to Isabelle that Scotland was comprised mostly of hills), and Campbell’s castle came into view.

Campbell turned to look back at her for the first time during the ride. “Welcome to Innis Chonnel, my lady.”

Isabelle said nothing. Innis Chonnel was built on a small island surrounded by the dark waters of Loch Awe. The main castle itself was at least five or six stories high and of square construction, with two square towers on either side of the main entrance. Around the castle was a stone wall forming the inner courtyard, then another stone wall forming the outer ward, and an impressive gatehouse. There was not even access to the island from the shore. Instead, a large barge was used to ferry people, cattle, and supplies from the mainland to the small island.

There was no denying it was picturesque. The setting sun gleamed on the stonework, casting an orange glow and long shadows. Brightly colored flags flapped proudly from the towers. On the shore across from the island castle, small timber houses with thatched roofs dotted the shoreline, forming a quaint village. It was beautiful. It was impressive.

It was a prison.

Isabelle searched for possible escape routes. All she saw were tall buildings, surrounded by guarded walls on a secluded island. All it needed was a
Welcome, Lady Tynsdale, to Your Prison
banner hanging across the portcullis. Isabelle twisted a lock of hair around her finger. How was she going to escape this time?

Isabelle walked up to the castle gate from the ferry dock with mixed emotions. Campbell slid his arm around her shoulders. Perhaps he meant to prevent her from running away, but instead it was comforting and warm. As they strolled through the main gate, his arm slipped around her waist, and that felt even better. Isabelle closed her eyes and smelled the wood smoke from the kitchens, the briny smell of fresh fish, and the musky scent of the man standing next to her. She breathed deeply and had the odd sensation that she was coming home.

Despite these comforts, Isabelle noted that the castle wall was at least eight feet thick. The main gate was even larger, with not one iron portcullis, but two, one at the entrance, one at the end. In between, Isabelle glanced up at the murder holes, from which defenders would shoot at invading armies. The castle was well fortified: a comfort for those seeking protection, a distress for those seeking escape.

Inside the castle walls, Isabelle was confronted by a multitude of sights and sounds. The courtyard was large and housed several wooden structures. People were busy at work of various kinds: a blacksmith, washerwomen, soldiers training in a far corner of the ward. Things seemed orderly and familiar to Isabelle, accustomed as she was to castle life, except that none of the men were properly attired according to her standards.

“David!” A woman ran to him from the tower house. She gave Campbell a warm embrace, which he returned in kind.

Isabelle felt ridiculously abandoned by him, removing his arm from her waist.

“David!” said another woman’s voice. “Look, it is him.” Five more women poured out of the tower house and embraced the returning laird.

Isabelle crossed her arms in front of her, irritated by the public display. She was about to say something caustic until she realized her own jealousy for what it was. Why should she begrudge the man for keeping a flock of beautiful women? Even if some were shockingly young, it was no concern of hers. Isabelle diverted her attention to admiring the stonework, and waited for the reunion to be done.

The first lady to exit the tower, a tall, sharp woman, looked Isabelle over and whispered to Campbell.

Campbell shook his head saying, “Nay, this is Lady Tynsdale. I am holding her until she is ransomed by her husband.”

The tall lady looked down her considerable nose at her, and Isabelle had the sudden compulsion to apologize for any inconvenience her kidnapping might have caused.

“Lady Tynsdale,” said Campbell, “these are my sisters, Mairi, Caitrina, Effie, Elyne, Gwyneth, and Jyne.”

Sisters!

Isabelle was flooded with relief, though she knew she should feel nothing at all. More people streamed through the doors to greet them. His cousins came out with their wives and children, followed by more relations of every sort. There were a lot of Campbells. There was still only one of her.

Berating herself for feeling envious, Isabelle stepped out of the way and focused once again on the fascinating stonework. After a lot of greeting and telling of news, Isabelle followed the clan into the tower house. She was put in the care of Mairi, Campbell’s eldest sister, a shrewd woman who welcomed her like a plague-ridden boil.

Isabelle was led to the women’s solar, a pleasantly appointed room, comfortable and lit on two sides by windows. More women and girls were in the solar, chatting and laughing. Everyone stopped when Isabelle entered.

“This is Lady Tynsdale,” announced Mairi. “An English lady Campbell is holding until her ransom can be paid.”

Isabelle shut her eyes to prevent them from rolling back into her head. Mairi made it sound like she was delinquent on a debt she owed. Isabelle curtsied to the ladies, who were now eyeing her with suspicion. With a tight smile plastered on her face, Isabelle walked through the silent room to a bench in the far corner. When she sat, the whispering began. Nice to bring some excitement into these ladies’ lives.

“So ye’re from England?” asked a blond-headed Campbell sister.

“Yes.”

The young lady moved over to sit next to Isabelle, despite some ferocious frowns from some of the elder ladies in the room. “I have ne’er been there, nor am I likely to, since there’s a price on David’s head. What is it like?”

Isabelle smiled at the forthright nature of this young Campbell. “I have lived in my castle at Alnsworth, and I like it very much. Though Innis Chonnel appears quite pleasant too.”

“Thank ye. David is expanding it. It was getting a wee bit crowded.”

“You have a large family.”

The girl laughed, “Aye, we are a large family to be sure. Have ye met all o’ us? David’s the eldest and he’s no’ married, though I dinna ken why. Then there’s Malcom, he married Innes, and he is holding one o’ our fortresses to the north. Then Tomas, he wed Janet and holds a castle to the south. Mairi is next; she was married but her husband died. She serves as chatelaine here until David marries.”

The blond Campbell lowered her voice to a whisper, “She is always bossing me about.” Isabelle had no difficulty believing that of the tall, thin, shrewd woman.

“Dain was the next born. He married Fiona over there, she is expecting a happy event soon. Then there’s Anne, she married Conall and lives wi’ him, then Gill and Finn, twins, ye ken, then Hamish, then me, I’m Cait, I’m eighteen, then there’s Effie and Elyne, they are sixteen, more twins, then Gwyn is fourteen, Jyne is thirteen, and then Rabbie. He is the baby.”

“A pleasure to meet you.” Isabelle paused, trying to recall the name of the girl in front of her. “Cait?”

“Aye, ’tis a pleasure to meet ye too. Then there are the cousins…” Cait prattled on, telling Isabelle the names of all the women in the room. Isabelle hoped she would not be questioned on this later. Listening to Cait list her extended family was like listening to the priest read from the book of Numbers. It was too much for her tired brain.

“Och, but ye can barely keep yer eyes open. Ye must have had a long journey. Let me fetch ye a pillow,” said Cait, midway through her genealogy lesson.

“Thank ye kindly,” yawned Isabelle. She was tired, though better for having met a friendly face. Isabelle leaned back against the wall and shut her eyes. She needed to rest.

When darkness fell she would try to escape.

***

“Ow!” Isabelle woke to a sharp kick in the ribs.

“Och, sorry. I dinna recall ye being there,” whispered a female voice in the dark.

Isabelle sat up from the straw pallet they had put on the floor for her. She had been given some floor space near the window in a sleeping chamber for some of the younger Campbell sisters.

“I’ve got so much on my mind, I forgot about ye.” The voice moved nearer the window, the curtains were pushed aside, and the shutters opened.

Cait Campbell stood in the moonlight in a white linen chemise, a plaid draped around her, her long, straight, blond hair loose. The Campbells were a handsome lot.

“No harm done,” said Isabelle, standing up and rubbing her sore side.

“I like to sit here when I need to think on something. I would like to take the view one more time, if ye dinna mind, before I leave on the morrow.” Cait climbed into the large window opening, the thick walls providing room to sit. Isabelle leaned on the window ledge next to her. The view of the moon and stars was spectacular, but the steep drop at least five stories to the moat below would give anyone pause.

“Nasty drop,” commented Isabelle, noting that this was one wall she would not like to climb down.

Cait grinned. “Aye. Dinna tell David I’m sitting here or he’ll give me a lecture. He is forever yelling at me not to fall off a tower or out a window or some such.”

Isabelle sat down beside Cait on the window ledge. “I hear I am to wish you felicitations on your betrothal.”

Cait turned toward the inky landscape. “Aye. To Gavin Patrick. They say I’ve met him, but I dinna recall.” Cait wrapped her plaid around her a bit tighter. The night air was cool and damp.

Isabelle stooped and picked up her own blanket from her pallet and wrapped it around herself. She sat gingerly back down on the rough stone ledge trying to find a spot that was not too bumpy on her sore backside, still tender from her long journey.

“’Tis no’ the most prestigious o’ marriages. Gavin is apparently the nephew o’ Graham’s son-in-law or some such thing.” At Isabelle’s blank look Cait added, “Graham is a well-respected clan, ye ken.”

Isabelle did not ken, but she nodded obligingly.

“At least Gavin is my age, no’ some auld gray-hair,” muttered Cait.

“Then you are lucky,” said Isabelle. “My husband, Lord Tynsdale, was widowed three times before we were wed.”

“Och.” Cait scrunched her nose. “Have ye been married long?”