Chapter One #4
"Not dead," she whispered. That was good, she supposed, but he could wake at any moment and try to kill her. Again. She observed him, seeing no movement except for his breathing. He appeared well and truly knocked out, thank the heavens.
Pains shot from her finger. Examining it, she found it was crooked at an odd angle.
He had indeed broken it. Damn him! She pressed it between the thumb and forefinger of the other hand.
Pain lanced through it. She sucked in a hissing breath.
"Mo chreach!" She'd never before had a broken bone.
What could she do about it? She'd seen her brother have his broken arm set when he was a lad. He'd screamed in utter agony.
The door behind her opened and she jumped.
Her maid, Beitris, stood frozen upon the threshold, her round eyes locked on Nolan MacLeod illuminated by the candlelight.
Isobel pulled her into the room, closed the door and barred it.
Her maid had been with her since she was small and she trusted her above all others.
"Can you set a broken finger?" Isobel asked.
Beitris observed her as if she were mad. "What… M'lady, what is it you've done?" She whispered in a shocked tone and motioned toward the man on the floor.
"He is yet alive. You see how his chest rises and falls."
"But… the blood." She pointed at the floor.
For the first time, Isobel noticed candlelight gleaming off a small pool of dark blood spreading from his head. Fear shot through her. Sweet Mother Mary, even if he wasn't dead now, he might be in a short time.
"He tried to force himself on me. The bastard. I will not abide it."
"Doubtless, he will not abide this injury and insult to his pride, either… if he lives."
"I ken it. We'll have to leave, slip away during the night."
Her wide dark eyes troubled, Beitris nodded. "But where will we go? 'Tis late fall and the weather is turning."
"I know not, but I'll be found guilty for attacking him, even if he lives. And if he dies…" She shook her head, fear chilling her bones. "They'll drown me in the loch. You know that."
Indeed, women were not hanged in Scotland for crimes such as murder.
Instead, they were drowned. And trials were only a farce in most cases.
Many an innocent woman had been drowned.
Who knew what Torrin MacLeod would say about it?
Rarely did brothers go against each other.
Even if he would defend her, he wasn't here at Munrick now and might not return for a week or more.
"We'll make our way back home to Dornie," Isobel said. "My brother would not suffer me to marry into this clan… with a would-be rapist for a brother-in-law."
"But Dornie is many miles south of here."
"Indeed." Her stomach knotted at exactly how far that was, perhaps a hundred miles.
"'Twas not your fault, m'lady."
"That will matter little in their eyes. Hurry.
Put on all your clothes." Rushing and trying to ignore the pain in her finger, Isobel sloppily layered most of the clothing she possessed onto her body, choosing her most worn arisaid to go over the top of it all.
She pulled the upper portion of the tan and green plaid over her head.
The thick woolen garment contained a few small holes, but it had been her grandmother's.
Isobel always kept it with her. All her small possessions, including silver and gold coins, her jewelry and her small flute went into the pouch at her waist, hidden beneath the layers.
Next, she picked up the dagger she'd dropped—Nolan's dirk—and wiped the blade clean on his plaid. She shouldn't take it, but she needed a weapon if she was setting out over the Highlands with no one but her maid. Thieves and outlaws were plentiful.
Through the narrow window, she saw that it was pitch black outside.
With winter approaching, gloaming came early, and dawn would arrive late in the morn.
No moon shined through the clouds this night.
They'd need light. Bending, she took the candle and lit her small metal and horn lantern, which sat on the trunk.
It had been her mother's and Isobel had used it since she was a child.
What else might they need? She had no food or drink here in her chamber.
She glanced around the room and spotted bricks of peat lying by the hearth.
They were lightweight and could be exchanged for a night's lodging or burned for heat if necessary.
She crammed five into the large pouch that the bulky material of her arisaid made when it bunched out over her belt and took the two extra candles lying on the mantel.
"We must slip out during the céilidh. Come," Isobel whispered, picking up the lantern and heading toward the door.
In the corridor, Nolan's bearded, wiry manservant approached in his worn, belted plaid. Isobel's heart rate spiked. Once Beitris had exited the room, Isobel closed the door and stood before it. She prayed Nolan made no sound inside.
"M'lady, have you seen Master MacLeod?" the servant asked. "His wife is wondering where he got off to."