His gaunt face and burning, familiar eyes confirmed her worst fears. He wore a dark, heavy coat, and the pistol in his hand was steady, glinting faintly in the hall light as he held it to Oliver’s head.
“Scream, and the boy dies now,” Lamfort hissed at her, his voice a low rasp. “You hear me, you little Highland harlot?”
Isla pushed herself into the small space between Lamfort and the bed in an instant, her arms instinctively raised. It was as if she were transported back in time, just as she had placed herself between her siblings and the cursed black boar.
She knew if she alerted the staff, Lord Lamfort, cornered, would make good on his threat. And so, she shielded Oliver’s still, small form with all her might. She could feel the barrel of the gun only a few feet away, but she did not care for herself. She would protect Oliver with her life if it came to it. Her mind raced for an answer, what to do, and what he could even want from them.
“My Lord,” she breathed finally. “If ye must take someone, take me. Leave the child alone. If it is ransom ye are after, I am sure me husband will pay any price ye like. Ye daenae need to do this.”
Lamfort’s eyes, full of desperate fanaticism, narrowed on her as he scoffed.
“No. I did not come for you, Your Grace. I came for what I’m owed, and it is not money.”
“Then what could ye want from us?”
“I came for Oliver!”
“Oliver?”
“He is all that I have left of Cecilia, all that remains of what His Grace took from me. She should have been my wife; she would have lived if she were with me!”
“You are speakin’ madness!”
“He has no place with you!” He gestured with the pistol toward Oliver. “Get out of the way and let me leave with the boy now. No one will get hurt if you listen to me.”
“No,” Isla repeated. “Ye willnae be able to control him without me.”
“What do you mean, Highlander?”
“He trusts me. He will fight ye if ye try to take him, and ye will not get far. If you want the lad, then I go, too.” She took a daring half-step closer, forcing Lamfort to hold his position or move the gun. “Taking me is the only way ye get what ye want, Lamfort.”
“You are most interesting, Your Grace.”
“Take us both,” she rasped between gritted teeth. “How would Cecelia feel if harm came to her only son?”
Lamfort hesitated, his mind clearly turning over the logic. He must’ve read the truth in her eyes.
“Very well, Your Grace,” Lamfort sneered, lowering the pistol slightly but keeping it trained on her. “You have bought yourself a seat in the carriage. Wake the boy. Quickly. Silently. Do not make a fuss. Do you understand?”
“Aye, I do.”
Isla carefully shook Oliver awake. He stirred, groggy and confused as he reached up to her. She scooped him into her arms, pressing his head against her shoulder.
“Isla? Where are we going now? Is Oonagh here?”
“Hush,mo chridhe. We are going on an adventure. A surprise trip. Ye must be very, very quiet for me, all right?” Isla whispered in his ear.
Oliver only nodded against her neck. Lamfort forced them swiftly out of the nursery, down the shadowed back staircase, and out a servants’ entrance without a soul seeing them.
Where is everybody?Isla thought.While most servants have retired to their quarters, it is strange there is nae one about at this time of night. I need someone to see us… to send word to Benedict…
A black, closed carriage waited in a narrow, cobbled lane behind the townhouse, the gaslight barely reaching it. As Isla was hustled towards the carriage steps, she caught a glimpse of movement in the shadow of the pantry door.
Oh please, do nae be a trick of the light…
An elderly housekeeper, reserved only for the London home named Mrs. Darst, was peering out the back door. Her face was white with shock as she squinted to see what was happening outside.
Isla met the housekeeper’s eyes and placed a finger to her own lips in a swift, urgent gesture for silence. Then urgently gestured towards the street to the carriage.
