Page 2 of The Highlander's Illicit Bride
If she was really going to do this, it was time to go. If she waited any longer, she was undoubtedly going to be caught by the castle guard.
And if I was tae be caught, I would be returned tae me damned chamber, locked in and kept under guard as if I was a prisoner, nay different than Struan Cameron.
The muffled sound of thunder filtered through the stone castle walls, wrapping Isolde in a shroud of doubt and foreboding. It was as if God himself seemed to be trying to convince her to stay. Isolde shook her head. She’d stood on the ramparts earlier in the day and had seen the thick bank of clouds rolling in from the west. She had assumed they were going to be lashed with a storm either that evening or the following day.
The brittle sound of thunder was not surprising, but she couldn’t help but feel something threatening in it arriving at the very moment she was set to flee the castle grounds.
“’Tis nae a sign,” she muttered to herself. “’Tis only weather.”
She spoke the words to herself several times and with each repetition, tried to convince herself to believe them. Try as she might though, the feeling persisted.
“Dinnae be a bleedin’ fool,” she said to herself.
Forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other, Isolde shook herself out of the fear-induced stupor that gripped her. She made her way through the castle, sticking to the narrow side passages and corridors not regularly traveled by her father or his guards. Despite his orders to send everybody to pursue the fleeing captive, a detachment of soldiers had remained behind, likely to protect him in case this was all an ambush.
“Lady Isolde, what are ye daein’ out of yer chamber? ‘Tis nae safe fer ye.”
The voice echoed down the hall to her, freezing the blood in her veins. Isolde turned to see a pair of armed soldiers at the far end of the corridor, staring at her in confusion.
“Lady Isolde?”
She had to act fast. If they were to come closer, her plan of fleeing would go to ruins.
It is now or never.
Isolde swallowed her fear and threw the chamber door open slamming it roughly behind her. The locking bolt was weak and flimsy, but she threw it anyway. It might not hold for long, but it would hopefully buy her some time. As she rushed across the chamber, darting around the stacks of crates and barrels stored there, she heard the sound of heavy bootsteps in the corridor. The door shivered in its frame as the guards on the other side tried to open it.
“Lady Isolde,” one guard called, his voice muffled through the heavy oak door. “Open the door!”
Ignoring them, she threw aside the carpet in the corner of the chamber to reveal the trap door hidden underneath it. Isolde grabbed hold of the iron ring and strained to lift it. The door groaned and creaked, the rusty hinges squealing sharply as she pulled it open and it hit the floor behind the opening with a resounding crash. She quickly grabbed the oil lamp from the table she’d positioned there long ago, not actually believing she would ever use it.
“Lady Isolde!”
She nearly dropped the lamp when the bellowing voices of the guards were punctuated by the hard crash and shudder of the door as they attempted to break it down. A few seconds later the metal latch gave way with a sharp ping and the door came crashing inward, slamming into the wall behind it with a thunderous boom that sounded like cannon fire.
“Lady Isolde, what are ye daein’?”
Her eyes met his briefly and her heart quivered, her fear nearly overwhelming her. Her body told her to give up and let them escort her back to her bedchamber. That she was bound to the life her father had mapped out for her. But her mind roared one single thought that shook her from head to toe:
I need to run!
Isolde turned and descended the ancient, rickety ladder that creaked and groaned like it might give way at any moment. It would be a fitting end. To fall and break her leg while trying to escape. If that happened, she knew her father would chain her to her bed until her wedding day.
Fleeing from her father and his cruelty wasn’t Isolde’s only motive. She despised her soon-to-become husband, Laird Dougal MacPherson, as much. A cold, cruel man who was one of her father’s staunchest allies, and twice her age. Life as his bride would be even more unbearable than life as her father’s daughter.
Isolde made it to the ground without falling or breaking a bone. She said a silent word of thanks as she turned and ran. She knew this tunnel would take her underneath the curtain wall and to the back side of Moy Castle. If she could get there, she would be one step closer to freedom.
“Lady Isolde, ye need tae stop this bleedin’ foolishness and come back here,” the man’s voice echoed to her, as the sound of his boots on the ladder started growing closer.
Behind her, Isolde heard the sound of more voices. It sounded as if more men were coming, setting her heart ablaze. It was a matter of seconds till they’d started descending the ladder as well.
Her stomach clenched tight and fear threatening to overwhelm her, Isolde turned and plunged into the darkness of the subterranean corridor.
The sound of heavy boots thumping onto the hard packed dirt behind her sent a rush of adrenaline through her veins. It burned like fire and tears sprang to her eyes. She had to run faster.
“Lady Isolde, yer faither will nae be pleased with this nonsense,” the voice echoed from the shadows all around her.
She knew the ladder to the surface had to be approaching and desperate to slow her pursuers down any way she could, Isolde threw her oil lamp behind her. It hit the hard ground with the tinkling of glass shattering followed by a “whoomp” sound ofthe flames igniting the puddle of spilled oil. She risked a glance behind her and saw the flames jump, igniting the exposed roots. The corridor all around her flickered and danced with the fire, lighting up some of the shadows that plagued her.
