As they moved past, the girl pulled up her hood. Michael noticed the hesitation, the way her hands trembled just slightly as she tugged the wool over her face, concealing as much of her countenance as she could.
A lass wouldnae flinch from being seen unless she fears bein’ kent.
“What’s yer name?” he asked her, not for the first time.
“I told ye,” the girl told him. “It’s Isla.”
“Nay,” said Michael with a soft chuckle. “It isnae.”
“Well, what is yers, then?” the girl asked. “I’ll tell ye mine if ye tell me yers first.”
“I told ye,” Michael said. “It’s Daniel.”
“Nay,” said the girl. “It isnae.”
Michael laughed, shrugging a shoulder. “It could be.”
“Mine could be Isla too, fer all ye ken.”
He agreed with a nod. “It could be.”
They fell into silence as they crossed the last stretch of road that separated them from the inn. But then, Michael heard the sound of approaching footsteps, strong and marching—not the kind belonging to villagers, but rather the kind belonging to soldiers, the sound known and familiar to him. Voices followed—male and low, approaching fast. Michael came to a stop, his hand reaching for his dirk, hanging—seemingly limply—over the carved hilt, just in case.
Just in case he had been discovered. Just in case Campbell men had come for him.
He thought of trying to flee, but there was nowhere he could go with the girl hurt like that. He thought of leaving her there with some coin for the inn, but then he couldn’t bring himself to do it. In the end, he only waited for the men to round the corner, and when they did, he came face to face with three soldiers bearing the Campbell crest—the boar’s head, with their motto emblazoned over it.
Upon seeing them, the girl gasped. It was a soft sound, subtle, barely audible, but Michael caught it regardless.
He shifted immediately, stepping in front of her, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his dirk. This was far from ideal; the last thing he needed was to have to fight Campbell men, but he became increasingly convinced he would have to.
The men halted a few feet away. Their eyes latched onto the girl like hawks spotting prey, and then they immediately drew their swords, forcing Michael to do the same.
All around them, people scattered, some retreating back into their houses, others trying to give them space. None of them stopped watching, though; if anything, they gathered every single pair of eyes on them, and Michael cursed the moment he decided not to flee.
“Release her!” one of the men, the tallest of the group, said, and Michael faltered, glancing over his shoulder at the girl.
“What?”
“Release her!” the man repeated, his boots heavy as he took a few steps forward, his sword poised to strike. “Or meet yer end.”
Who is she?
“I will dae nay such thing,” Michael said, readying himself for a blow that didn’t yet come. “I found this lass in the woods, harmed by a group o’ thieves. I’ve cared fer her all day. Who are ye tae demand I hand her tae ye? Speak yer name.”
“Iain MacIntyre,” the man said, standing a little straighter and regarding Michael with suspicion, but not as much hostility as before. “Captain o’ Laird Campbell’s guard. I demand the Lady Isabeau’s release.”
The Lady Isabeau.
Michael’s head whipped back to look at the girl, his eyes as wide as her own. Her hood had slipped down from her head and she had let it, since it hardly served a purpose now. Once again, she had paled—though in pain or fear, Michael didn’t know. Her hope had shattered like frost underfoot, her shoulders slumping forward and her head bowing over the horse’s neck.
Just me luck!
But this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, he reasoned. If he could portray himself as the one who saved the laird’s daughter, then his job would be even easier. He could get the man’s trust, hisgratefulness. He could return her to him himself and take the laurels for it.
But she didn’t look like she wanted to return. She looked frightened, gripped by panic, her eyes brimming with tears as she gazed upon the three soldiers.
“Michael Gordon,” he said flatly, using the false name without hesitation. “Envoy fer Clan Grant. I’m here tae meet with Laird Campbell regardin’ the Lady Isabeau’s marriage tae Laird Grant.”
