Chapter 3
Islay crept away from the castle towards the woods.
The noises of the town and the ceilidh receded into the distance, giving way to the ambient stillness of the forest. It wasn’t quite silence, for that was the absence of sound entirely.
Her ears were greeted by the scurrying of hidden animals or the call of stealthy birds.
The river bubbled and rushed along as well.
Shadows danced before her eyes. The light of the moon was pale, and she had to strain to see anything.
When she did, she noticed flickers of movement out of the corner of her eyes, but whenever she turned to look at properly, there was never anything there.
The forest was like another world. The trees were silent guardians, offering an entrance away from everything she had known.
In the daylight, they were welcoming and bright; the scent of flowers was sweet, and everything seemed to be in harmony.
The inviting embrace had always been tempting.
Islay had spent many hours in them as a child, frolicking and playing about to her heart’s content before returning to the castle.
But at night, the forest took on an entirely different visage.
It was stark and eerie, with little sense of comfort or friendliness.
In the quietness, Islay became very aware of her breathing, and the frantic beating of her heart. She now wished that Kirsten had come with her as they would have been able to lighten the mood with conversation. As it was, Islay was alone with only her thoughts to keep her company.
She curled her hands into tight balls and put effort into every step, as though she was declaring to the forest that she wasn’t afraid and wouldn’t be intimated by the darkness.
It would be daytime eventually, she thought, and then the forest would seem entirely different.
All she had to do was wait until then. Her plan was to walk for as long as she could through the night and into the early morning, and then she might find somewhere to rest before setting out again.
The first few days were crucial; if she was found, she knew there would never be an opportunity again.
Her father would be furious, and Callum would no doubt keep her under close watch for the duration of her marriage to ensure that she would never try to escape again.
She wondered how he would feel about her running away. Would he be offended that she found the idea of marrying him so unpalatable that she would rather flee into the wilderness than be his wife?
The darkness shrouded her. She denied that fear was taking hold, for she was foolhardy and stubborn. But when an owl hooted, or a branch snapped, she gasped, turned around, but was always too late to see the source of the noise.
Islay’s pace slowed. She found it more difficult to find her way through the forest than she first imagined she would.
The stars were hidden from her thanks to the wide leaves that stretched out from thick branches, creating a canopy where only a sliver of moonlight broke through.
The cold wind tickled and teased her. She was grateful that she had brought a shawl with her; she pulled it tightly around her, although it didn’t protect her from the cold entirely.
At some point, she lost the river, for she had intended to follow that as far as it would lead, but in stumbling over and trying to avoid fallen branches and errant logs, she had veered away, and even in the stillness of the night she couldn’t find the river again.
Shrugging her shoulders, she continued on, knowing that there was no way back even if she wanted to return.
Islay began to yawn. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed from when she had left the keep, but she felt her muscles growing heavy and her eyelids sagging.
Her head dropped, and the yawns kept coming one after the other.
She struggled to stay awake and knew that her plan of walking all through the night was not going to work.
Eventually, she decided to find a clearing and rest for a little while.
It wasn’t going to do her any good to stumble around in the darkness while she was half asleep, and while she wanted to put as much distance between her and home as possible, she also knew that it was going to be difficult for anyone to find her.
They would most likely expect her to follow the river, and if Kirsten told them of her plans, that was exactly what they might think, but because she had surprised herself by veering off course, they would not be able to predict her movements.
If she didn’t know precisely where she was, then how could they know?
She unfurled her blanket and placed it on the ground, before nibbling on a couple of biscuits and some hard cheese.
It was hardly the extravagant dinner that she would usually have had, and she started to wonder if she was really suited to life in the wider world at all.
Perhaps Kirsten had a point when she suggested that they hadn’t quite taken everything into account.
Now that she was sitting down, the cold started to bite and nudge her.
There was no position in which she felt comfortable.
She turned on her back and looked up, expecting to see the stars and the moon, but she saw only the wide surface of leaves.
Her hands and toes felt like ice. She cursed and pushed herself up, making an effort to light a fire, knowing that as well as providing heat, it would also help to ward off animals who might be interested in sniffing her out while she was asleep.
There was a boy that she and Kirsten had once known who used to teach them things about the woods.
He could make a fire out of two stones, and although Islay had never been able to master the trick, she searched the recesses of her memory now in the hope that it might work when she needed it most. She searched the nearby ground for two stones.
One was rounded and smooth, while the other was uneven and pitted.
She brought them together, again and again, hoping sparks would fly.
The only thing that happened was on one occasion, she misjudged the angle and hit her finger with the smooth stone.
She bit her lip in pain and dropped the stone, pressing her hand under her armpit to try and help ease the aching sensation.
She glared at the stone. In her anger, she picked it up with her throbbing hand and flung it away.
Disappointed with her efforts, she pulled the blanket more tightly around her and drew her knees into her chest, trying to make herself as small as possible to conserve her warmth.
The lumpy ground poked her body, and her chattering teeth mocked her.
Her undisciplined mind gave her thoughts about Iona and her father, of a comfortable bed and a local clan who were all ready and willing to help with whatever she needed.
They had never mistreated her or made her feel unwanted.
As she curled up in the forest, Islay felt alone, but her pride would not allow her to admit that she had made a mistake.
Everything will be well in the morning, she told herself. When daylight comes, it will feel like a new world, and there will be a brand new day. I won’t be worried at all then.
But there were still plenty of hours of darkness left, and plenty of opportunity for the denizens of the forest to creep up on her and torment her.
She finally found a position where she wasn’t entirely uncomfortable and was able to keep her eyes closed and drift off.
However, just as she felt herself slipping into the abyss of slumber, she heard a startling noise.
Her eyes cracked open and she strained her ears.
She could hear nothing but the whispers of the wind.
Islay cursed herself and figured it was just a trick of the mind and she was being foolish.
She settled down to sleep again, but this time there was another noise, a sharp crack of a twig.
She pushed herself up and exhaled deeply, but when she did, she saw the gleaming blade of a dagger stare at her, looking like a shard of the moon itself as it reflected the light that broke through the canopy of trees.