"Ye can sleep here tonight," Helen said, leading them to a small room in the back of the home. There was no bed there, but quilts had been laid out for them, and it looked warm enough. "Yer men will be fine out in the front room with Aiden, I expect. They’re already makin’ themselves at home there. If ye need anythin', dinnae hesitate tae call out. I'll be able tae here ye jus' fine."
Iain nodded to the young woman, thanking her silently. Helen smiled back at them and then turned to shut the thin wooden door behind her. Isla settled herself down on the quilts, tugging them up around her. He could hear the men in the front room next to them, muttering to themselves as they readied themselves for sleep.
"I cannae believe what I've heard tonight," she said. "My father is... Weel, he isnae my father at all! My true father was slain, and my mother took her own life... I cannae stop thinkin' o' it, Iain! An' the dream... It must have been tryin' tae bring us together."
Iain thought about that, considering her words, as he settled himself beside her. He had been thinking of the dream since the old man's story. At one time, he had considered it both a curse and a comfort. Now, though, he knew it to be a message.
"I'm glad tha' it did," he said. "I could no' see my life without ye now."
"Nor I you, Iain," Isla replied. She looked dreamy for a moment as she stared back at him, but then her face sobered.
“Is everythin’ alright?” he asked. “I know tha’ ye have heard quite a lot tonight, an’ much of it has been difficult tae take in.”
When she looked back up at him, there were tears glittering in her eyes. She wiped them away with the back of her hand, but more sprung up in their place.
“I cannae say that I care about my father,” she said, her voice breaking. “He has always been terrible tae me all of my life. Though I have always loved my sisters… They were always so dear tae me. What if I never see them again?”
Iain shook his head; he felt his heart breaking at the sight of the tears glinting in her blue eyes. "We'll have tae return tae MacThomas Castle," he said, scratching at his head. "I'll have tae inform my mother of what we've learned. And from there, I suppose tha' we will have tae see."
He wished he had more to tell her, but he could not guarantee that she would see her sisters again. The other two young women were still within reach of the Robertson Laird and to approach his keep was to ask for death.
Fatigue was catching up to him, and sleep was beginning to win the battle against him. He tucked Isla closer to him and sighed as she curled herself into his chest. He could not hear her, but he could still feel her shoulders shake as she cried.
After a few moments, Isla wiped her eyes once more and pulled the quilts up. She looked anxious, her cheeks wet, and Iain reached up to stroke her hair. He knew then if she was thinking of Duncan Robertson, of having to face the man that had murdered her true father.
If Iain had anything to say about it, she would never have to see that man again.
* * *
Fiona MacThomas could feel the brute's eyes on her as she led him down the hall towards the dungeons.
The man had raged the entire time, his voice loud and booming in the narrow, stone halls.
"If I get tae this dungeon and I find any trace o' my daughter, I'm sure tha' ye know I will no' take it lightly," the man said, a trace of a threat in his voice. "I have now come tae suspect tha' some harm may have come tae her."
"No harm would come tae a lass here even if we had her," Fiona said primly. "I cannae imagine how savage tha' ye think our clan is, but I can assure ye tha' we havenae seen her."
"Tha' does not explain the absence of the Laird," Duncan argued with her from behind. "Where is he hidin' himself?"
"Tha' is none of yer business," she replied. "Ye've come fer yer daughter, no' true? It seems tha' yer focus keeps fallin' on my son."
Duncan snorted condescendingly; she could see from his shadow cast in front of her that he spread his arms wide, and his shoulders shook from laughter.
"An' who do ye think that I'm accusin'?" he asked. "Surely not yerself. That son o' yours had better hope tha' no harm comes tae Isla, or I'll bring war tae this clan the likes o' which ye've never seen, tha' I can promise you."
Fiona whirled around, her eyes furious. She strode up to the man, unable to hold back her fury any longer.
"As o' right now, ye are a guest in my son's keep," she said, her voice tight with rage. "An' the only reason tha' ye are no' still standin' outside those gates is because I chose tae allow ye entrance. If ye wish, I can have my men drag ye back out tae where ye came, and ye will have no look in the dungeons at all. Unless ye want me tae shut ye in there myself."
She could see that she had surprised him; he clearly had thought she would cower in front of him, that she would flinch away from him and give him exactly what he wanted. Fiona herself was a fierce woman, and she would not be talked over by this savage of a man.
"Weel, then lead the way," Duncan said. He still held the tone of a man who believed him above her, but his voice was quieter, and he did not meet her gaze.
Fiona turned then, stalking towards the dungeons, her face beating with anger. Her nails dug into the palms of her hands as she shook with both rage and worry for Iain. She hoped that Isla was truly the sweet young woman she had seemed, but she had already lied not once but twice. Her heart twisted in anxiety, and she sent out a silent prayer that Iain would be alright.
As they approached the dungeons, Fiona yanked the door open forcefully. She stepped inside first, holding the door open for the Laird and his General. Duncan stepped in behind her, and he blinked hard; it seemed that his eyes were adjusting to the darkness. As the guard entered behind her, ensuring that the Laird did not attempt anything, Fiona let her eyes drag over the room.
She froze when her gaze stopped at the corner that Isla had spent the night in. There, sitting boldly on the stonework floor, was Isla's rucksack bag. They had left it there after dressing her, as the contents were much too drenched from the rains. It sat there boldly, staring back at Fiona, who looked at it with ever-increasing horror.
