He was frowning, and his gaze was distracted when he turned back around to look at her. For a moment, she still saw his mind whirling through the look in his eyes, but he smiled back at her.
"No," he said. "I thought I heard somethin', 'twas all. But I dinnae see anythin' over the hills. I —"
But he stopped again, holding a hand up to quiet the men. They immediately fell silent; their conversations stopped mid-sentence. Iain lifted his head, turning so that his ear faced the direction of the forest they traveled through, just beyond the hills.
Now Isla heard something as well. It sounded like far-off drumming, or perhaps thunder off in the distance, but the more she listened, the quicker she realized that it was something else entirely.
It was horses, at least a dozen of them.
And atop of them rode a band of furious men. Riding in the center of them, leading the charge, was the very man that had turned her entire life inside out.
* * *
Iain felt a vengeful rage immediately upon taking in the sight. He had not even had but a moment to celebrate Isla's acceptance of his proposal. He had been elated, overjoyed, and now his happiness was being stolen from him completely by these murderous men. That thought alone was enough to send him into a furious rage.
In the center of the small horde rode the Robertson Laird, his steed's hooves beating against the earth, dirt flying up in flurries behind them. His hair was fiery and flying, making him look like the devil that Iain knew him to be. The man's expression was full of fury, mouth ajar in a raging roar. He had already drawn his blade, and he hefted it with one thick arm.
The villagers, too, had caught sight of the furious group of men. Iain heard them talking amongst themselves fearfully, their voices rising with each second the men came tearing towards them. Children were being gathered up and hustled indoors, and one old farmer had gathered up a group of several younger men, urging them to arm themselves as best as they were able.
"Dinnae open the door for anyone," a man at the cottage nearest them said. "No one, d'ye hear me?"
There was a small girl standing in the doorway, tears in her eyes. She looked terrified, her big eyes wide and blue. Her small hands nervously tore at a rip in her dress.
"Father, what is happenin'?" the child asked. "Where are ye goin'?"
Iain immediately thought of young Isla, whose eyes were just that same shade. He could not imagine how frightened she must be now to see the man who had ruined her, how angry she must be.
"Bandits!" cried one woman, finally. She dropped the basket of fruit she was holding and turned to flee. One bright red apple rolled all the way towards Iain and stopped at the toe of his boot.
The word was enough to send the rest of the townsfolk into a flurry. The market was left without a soul standing there but the men who had run back home for their blades and bows. The town was not truly fit to stand an attack, and Iain knew it; these men were not trained soldiers such as Jacob, Gamelin, and Aymer. But one of his men was wounded, and they had Isla and Aiden to look after as well as Helen.
Iain swallowed; this situation was not ideal, but there would be no talking to a man as blood-thirsty as Duncan Robertson. He knew that was out of the question; the man had come here for Isla and for Iain's head. That much was apparent.
Iain's heartbeat quickened, and he found himself drawing his blade, pushing Isla into the house along with Aiden and Helen back into the house.
"Iain," Isla said, protesting. "Iain, what are ye doing—"
"Isla, I have tae go," he said. "I cannae let him get any closer tae ye. Ye know more than anyone how mad this man is. Whose tae say that he won't kill ye for runnin' away?"
The men on horseback slowed their charge and then stopped altogether when Duncan held out his arm. Iain turned to see the man atop his horse in the field, waiting for them.
“Ye know he willnae let us go,” Iain said quietly. “I have tae do this. Promise me ye’ll stay here, safe, away from him.”
He watched her search his eyes; he knew what she was thinking. He could see her thoughts as clearly as if they were his own. She was shaking her head, a tiny motion; she wanted to tell him that they could run, that they could hide, that they could flee somewhere into the forest.
He saw in her eyes, though, the moment that she realized that these thoughts were foolish; the man she had called her father would never allow them peace. He would follow them to the ends of the earth to pull her away from Iain. He would never allow Isla any happiness, especially if she had found it with the Laird's greatest enemy.
No, he knew what had to happen. He could not turn and run. His men were readying themselves as well, though their chances of winning looked grim. Iain sized up the soldiers that Duncan had brought with him; each man on horseback looked like a seasoned warrior. There were three times as many of them as there were Iain's men, but the townsfolk seemed to have managed to bring forth a few young farmers who looked ready to defend their village. However, not one of them looked like a warrior, and all seemed too afraid to do much good in a fight against the Robertson Laird.
Isla was nodding still, the movement so light that he barely caught it. She blinked away tears, and Iain's heart clenched painfully; the blue hue was only ever more pronounced with the shine of her eyes, filled with emotion.
"Ye cannae let him win, Iain," she said, her words nearly a whisper. "Ye have tae come back tae me. Ye said ye always would remember?"
At this, her voice did break, and Iain exhaled heavily. She flung herself into his arms and planted a kiss on each cheek, and then her lips found his once more. He sighed, feeling the nervousness flee from him as he held her. He was doing this for Isla; he had to prevail to keep her safe. When they broke away, her hand lingered in his for but a moment. He still felt her warmth on his skin as she stepped away.
"Aymer, how d'ye fare?" Iain called. "D'ye think ye are well enough tae fight?"
The answer was immediate; his man did not hesitate.
