“Good day to ye,” Isabelle called cautiously, her voice carrying over the gusting wind.
The men stopped and bowed low, almost in unison, their eyes never leaving hers.
“Lady McCallum,” one said, his voice smooth but carrying an edge she could not place, sending a shiver down her spine.
“Do ye hail from a nearby village?” Isabelle asked, forcing a friendly tone despite the unease curling in her stomach.
The men exchanged a brief glance then nodded, stepping closer, their presence oddly commanding.
“Aye, we’re from the village east of here,” the taller one replied, his eyes scanning her as if measuring her, every movement controlled and unnervingly precise. “We’re stockin’ up fish for the winter.”
Isabelle’s heart quickened as she saw the scars on their faces and realized these were no ordinary fishermen; there was a hardness in them, a sense of purpose that made her chest tighten.
She took an instinctive step back, her hand gripping the edge of her cloak.
“Ye seem far from the castle walls, walking alone in this wind,” the second man said, his voice low, almost menacing.
Isabelle swallowed, trying to keep her composure, but a knot of dread tightened in her stomach. “I… I’m merely out for a walk, but I am nae alone. There’s a guard with me; he merely stopped for a moment by a tree,” she lied, forcing a calm she did not feel, her eyes darting between the two as they closed the distance slowly.
The men’s gaze never wavered, and Isabelle felt a cold trickle of fear run down her spine. Something about the way they moved, silent, purposeful, unnervingly close, made her pause and reassess her position.
She could feel the wind tug at her cloak, and the snow beneath her boots seemed suddenly unstable, as if warning her to retreat. Her instincts screamed that these men were more dangerous than they appeared.
“Ye are far from any protection, Lady McCallum,” the taller man murmured, tilting his head slightly as if studying her.
Isabelle’s pulse raced, but she held her ground, refusing to appear weak despite the dread curling in her chest.
“I… I am not,” she said, masking the tension she felt though her voice trembled slightly.
The men moved closer, silent except for the soft crunch of their boots on the snow, and Isabelle’s eyes widened as the realization struck her. They were not here merely to fish.
Isabelle’s heart hammered as the men closed in, their steps measured and unyielding.
“I… I must be returning to the castle,” she stammered, her voice tight with fear.
The taller man tilted his head, a cruel smile tugging at his lips. “Nay, ye won’t be goin’ back, Lady McCallum,” he said. “Ye’ll be coming with us.”
Panic surged through her veins as she took a hurried step back, scanning the shore for a way to escape.
“I dinnae ken what ye want with me! Let me be!” she shouted, but the wind tore her words away, scattering them across the icy loch.
The second man’s hand shot out, grabbing her arm with iron strength. Isabelle twisted and kicked, feeling her boots slip on the frozen snow as fear clawed at her chest.
She tried to pull free, her heart screaming in terror, but the men’s grip was unyielding.
“Let me go! Someone, anyone!” she yelled, her voice swallowed by the gusting wind.
The icy ground betrayed her, and she slid helplessly on the snow, unable to find traction. One of the men caught her by the waist as the other seized her arms, holding her fast.
Her limbs flailed, every ounce of her strength fighting against them, but it was hopeless. The wind tore at her hair and tore across her face, masking her screams from anyone who might have heard.
“Ye are coming with us whether ye like it or nae!” the taller man hissed, his grip like iron.
Isabelle gasped, her chest heaving, but she was already losing the battle as they forced her toward the rowboat.
Before she could resist further, they hoisted her into the small vessel, her cloak snagging on the edge as she struggled. She thrashed and kicked, but the two men were too strong, holding her down and pinning her to the bottom.
The oars dipped into the icy water, and the boat was shoved off the shore, sliding over the snow-matted sand.
