Page 11 of Taming the Highland Misfits
He galloped towards them, drawing his broadsword out of its sheath as he went. He felt the familiar surge of rage that always attacked him every time he saw a helpless person at the mercy of ruthless men. When he was a hundred yards away from them, he began to yell at the top of his voice and brandish his sword in the air. He was a fearsome, threatening figure, and the two outlaws immediately jumped to their feet and backed away from the limp form on the ground.
It was only at that moment that Finley realised that the body on the ground was that of a young woman, and he thanked God that he had been in time to save her from a potentially very grisly fate. These men had no conscience, no pity, and neither had they any conception of what a woman suffered when she was violated.
Finley swung from the saddle and advanced towards the men, his sword raised, his expression thunderous. He did not know the names of the men, although their faces were vaguely familiar to him, but he knew their type. As they saw him, the taller of the two, a bulky, dark figure wearing extremely dirty clothes, drew his sword and advanced towards him.
“What dae you want?” he asked menacingly. “She has nae coin on her if that’s what ye’re after. Leave her tae us.”
He tried to turn away but Finley grabbed his arm and swung him around, then slapped him across the face with the flat of his sword. The man held his hand to the reddening patch on his face and yelled with outrage and pain.
“What business is this o’ yours?” he asked furiously.
“I willnae stand by an’ watch ye rape a poor woman who cannae even stand up!” Finley roared.
The other man’s eyes suddenly betrayed a flicker of recognition. “I have heard about you!” he exclaimed. “You are the eejit that willnae let the lads have their fun!” he threw back his head and laughed, then let out a string of filthy expletives, pointing at Finley. The other man joined in, but Finley took his eyes off them for a moment to look at the still form on the ground, wondering if she was dead.
That was when the second man jumped forward with a small sword outstretched, almost catching Finley off guard, but at the last second Finley saw him out of the corner of his eye and swiped his own weapon around, this time with the sharp edge of his blade. He caught the robber on the forearm and sliced his flesh open, whereupon the man squealed in pain and fell to the ground, bleeding profusely.
“Look what ye’ve done!” the first robber roared, pointing to his friend. “Why dae ye no’ just go an’ get dae somethin’ else for a livin’ if ye havenae the stomach for this? We will never work wi’ ye again, ye big softy. On your way!”
Finley said nothing but bent to pick up the young woman on the ground. He hoisted her onto his shoulder, then climbed awkwardly into the saddle before shifting her onto his lap and making certain that she was secure before riding away.
He could not move fast because of his burden, but at last, he arrived at his cottage, and he was again obliged to go through the painstaking process of dismounting while not dropping the unconscious woman in his arms.
At last, however, he was inside his house, and he tenderly laid the young woman on his bed and checked her arms, legs, ribs and shoulders to make sure that she had no broken bones. Finding none, he sighed with relief and drew his blankets over her. He discovered a bump on her forehead just below the hairline, however. It was bleeding slightly, so he gently washed and dried it; he had some herbal medicines he hoped would kill the pain once she woke up. He applied some salve to the injury, and then there was nothing to do but wait.
Having done all he could for her for the moment, Finley poured himself a cup of ale and sat down to study her. As his eyes travelled over her face he marvelled at her beauty. She was everything he had ever looked for in a woman, at least in terms of outward beauty. Her hair was long, wavy and dark, and he imagined himself running his fingers through it; it would be soft and silky. Just to satisfy his curiosity, he took a few strands and rubbed them through his fingertips. As he had thought, he felt as though he was caressing a length of smooth satin. How long had it been since he had seen or touched hair like this?
Her eyes were closed, so he was unable to see their colour, but he guessed it would be brown since she was so dark, and her long lashes shadowed cheekbones that were high and well-defined. She had a small, pert nose, and full, luscious lips that just begged to be kissed, and Finley was sorely tempted to do so, but he knew he could never take advantage of a helpless woman in that way.
Seeing her like this brought out a tender protectiveness in him. She was so helpless, so vulnerable and in her sleep she looked as innocent as a child, except that she was obviously not one, as he could see by her slim waist and ample breasts. He had deliberately tried to avoid studying her too much since he did not wish to become like one of the men he despised so much, who regarded women as no more than objects made for their pleasure.
She was breathing steadily, and Finley felt sure she would recover fully once she regained consciousness. Fortunately, his aunt, who had owned the house before him, had been a herbalist, and he still had a good stock of many of her homemade medicines. He only hoped they would still be effective.
Finley took another look at the young woman and suddenly realised that she looked familiar. He had seen her before somewhere—but where? He frowned and scratched his beard, then shrugged. It would do no good to stand and watch her all day, and he was ravenous. He had no idea if people woke up from unconsciousness hungry or not, so he decided to cook something simple that she could swallow easily. Accordingly, he lit the fire and began to prepare some vegetables for soup, since it was the easiest meal to prepare and to eat.
While he was working, he was considering his position. He had taken on a life of crime out of desperation, but he knew that he could no longer carry on with it. Again, he thought of his mother. Would she have understood his choice or would she have been bitterly disappointed in him? Would she be ashamed or would she accept that he had had no choice? He would never know, he supposed. He had robbed many people, but he had never hurt anyone except in self-defence, and he had never raped a woman or allowed anyone else to do so.
‘Does that make me a bad person?’he thought.‘Of course, it does. I am committin’ one crime but not another. That still means one very bad deed. Ye’re a criminal, Finley, ye might as well face it.’
In the last few months, he had been slowly coming to the realisation that he could no longer cope with the kind of life he had chosen. He did not have the hardness of heart that the other bandits had, and he knew that eventually he would either be caught and hanged or be killed by someone he was trying to rob. He might spend the rest of his life a hunted man running from the law, constantly looking over his shoulder.
He sighed as he set the pot over the fire to cook, then washed himself and changed into some fresh clothing. He might be a criminal, but he liked to think he was a little better than the kind of thugs he worked with, and he had enough vanity to want to look his best in front of this attractive woman.
In fact, it was because of this young woman that he had finally made the decision that had been creeping up on him for months. There would be no more robberies, no more terrorising of innocents, no more self-loathing. He would no longer be a criminal, and today would be the start of his new, clean life.
5
The first thing that Isla woke to was pain, a throbbing, excruciating pulse of sheer agony that made her feel nauseous and dizzy. She put her hands to her forehead and tried to open her eyes, but the daylight, even though it was subdued inside the cottage, stabbed her with more pain. She screwed her eyes shut and moaned, then waited a few moments, trying to remember what had happened to her, but the harder she tried the more the pain intensified until she gave up.
Another thought occurred to her suddenly. She was lying on a mattress inside what she thought was a house. Someone had brought her here, laid her in a bed, and wrapped blankets around her, but who? For what reason? Were they still here? She felt a shaft of terror pierce her and a memory came back to her in a sudden flash of awareness.
There were two men on horseback coming towards her at a furious gallop, yelling at her to stop as they advanced ever faster towards her. She had spurred Raffy on, but the poor mare was tired and unable to go as fast as she might under any other circumstances. The next thing she remembered was tumbling through the air in a blur of colours before blackness descended.
Isla opened her eyes very, very cautiously so that daylight gradually seeped into her vision without hurting her this time. She was lying on her back, and above her, she could see thatch that had been blackened by years of smoke from the cooking fire.
She could smell smoke and something else; food was being cooked, and by the aroma, she thought it was some kind of stew, but the smell of it, which under any other circumstances might have been appetising, made her feel nauseous. She looked around to see where the smell was coming from, but she was clearly in a different room and could see nothing but a whitewashed wall and a closed door.
Cautiously, Isla raised herself onto her elbows and took a proper look at her surroundings. The room was small and square, and the furniture was rudimentary at best, with a chair and small table being the only items besides her bed. Then she noticed the shelf that ran along the length of the wall in front of her above the fireplace. It was dotted with wooden carvings, mostly of animals and flowers, but others of men and women seated and standing in various postures.
