Page 49 of Tempted by a Highland Beast (Tales of Love and Lust in the Murray Castle #9)

CHAPTER ONE

H eart pounding, Isolde sat up in her bed at the sound of men shouting and heavy boots running past her bedchamber door. Something was happening. And judging by the sound of it, something serious.

Isolde knew her father’s men had battled a rival clan recently and had been well pleased to have achieved some significant victory over them. Had they come back seeking vengeance?

Isolde slipped out of bed and threw a robe over her shoulders. Moving slowly and cautiously, she reached the door and pressed her ear to it. The voices were muffled but she was still able to make out what they were saying.

“He’s bleedin’ gone,” one gruff voice said.

“The laird is goin’ tae have somebody’s hide fer this,” said another.

“So long as it isnae mine,” said the first. “I’m thankin’ God ‘twas nae me in the cells guardin’ him. Anybody who was is goin’ tae have hell tae pay.”

There was only one prisoner in the dark cells that Isold knew of. One that would warrant that kind of reaction from her father and panic amongst his men. And he’d escaped. She knew it!

“Come,” said the first gruff voice. “We should probably help search for him.”

“Or just be as far away from him as we can,” the second man said. “They say he’s a savage, that one.”

She listened to them retreating and felt her stomach lurch.

Her father’s prized possession had escaped and because of it, the corridors of the castle were swathed in chaos.

A bolt of excitement crackled through her veins.

This was the moment she had been waiting for.

Dreaming of. This might be her opportunity to escape the fate her father had chained her to, the marriage he was trying to force upon her, and give her the chance to build her own.

Dashing around her room, Isolde quickly ran to the chest that stood against the wall on the far side of the room and threw it open.

Digging furiously through the contents, she pulled out the clothing she’d long ago secreted in the bottom when she’d first began formulating her plan.

She’d dreamed of it often but never dared hope it would come to pass.

As she listened to the chaos erupting within the castle, she knew it was time.

Isolde pulled on the pair of breeches and dark tunic she’d stolen from the castle’s laundry room. After that, she slipped into the soft boots she’d also procured. Those, she’d had made to ensure they fit and didn’t rub her feet raw when she wore them.

Throwing some spare clothes and a small purse of coin she’d managed to collect into her pack, a pack with herbs and ointments, and a dagger she had prepared, Isolde cinched it closed then slung it over her shoulders.

Grabbing a thick cloak, she ran to the door and pressed her ear to it again.

The sounds of men running and shouting had faded.

The corridor sounded empty. Easing the door open, she peeked outside to confirm the guards normally posted outside had gone.

Slipping into the corridor, she closed the door behind her, then dashed down the hallway, her soft boots’ whisper quiet on the stone beneath her feet.

Hearing voices up ahead, Isolde slipped into the shadow alcove near the archway that led into the western wing of the castle and listened.

Her blood ran cold at the sound of her father’s voice, tight and furious.

There was an edge to his tone, dark and ominous, she had only heard a few times before in her life and it always precipitated something terrible.

And she was getting the feeling this would not be any different.

“What in the bleedin’ hell happened?” he demanded.

“We dinnae ken, me laird,” said a man, his voice flustered. “We’re still tryin’ tae figure?—”

“Where is he?” her father roared.

“We dinnae ken, me laird. Laird Cameron’s cell was found empty,” the man replied, his voice shaky. “The door had been opened and the man guardin’ the cell was dead. There was blood everywhere.”

He had been taken in the last battle and if he managed to get away, he would surely rain down vengeance upon her father for his capture and that of his brother, who was being held elsewhere.

She had never spoken to the man, but she had heard how every warrior feared him.

They said he was fierce—perhaps the fiercest warrior in all of Scotland.

She had seen him from afar, hiding in the dungeons, and could confirm he was a handsome man, but that was all she knew about him.

Isolde had been curious and had wanted to visit the cells and meet the man herself.

She’d wanted to take his measure and see why his name inspired so many different feelings, from fear to lust, but feared incurring her father’s wrath if he discovered her down there.

“How many did he kill?” her father asked.

“Two, me laird.”

Her father fell silent for a long moment and Isolde held her breath.

When he was that angry, a sudden silence usually precipitated an explosion that shook the very walls of the castle.

Her body tensed, she crouched in the shadows of the alcove and braced herself.

But when her father spoke, though his voice trembled with barely controlled rage, he didn’t scream.

He didn’t lash out. Shockingly, to her, he managed to keep his fury in check.

It was something he never seemed able to do with Isolde.

“Get the men and find him,” her father said.

“How many men should I take, me laird?”

“All of them! Take as many men as ye bleedin’ need. Dae ye understand me?” he hissed, his voice crackling with rage. “Struan Cameron cannae be allowed tae escape. Find him!”

“Aye, me laird. It’ll be done.”

“See that it is.”

Isolde waited, listening to the sound of their boots ebbing before she moved.

When the corridor sounded empty, she peeked around the corner just to be sure.

Pulling her cloak around her a bit tighter, she slipped out of the chamber and made her way back through the castle once more.

The sound of her father’s voice, a faint echo now, drifted down the corridor to her, sending a chill rushing up Isolde’s spine.

If she was really going to do this, it was time to go. If she waited any longer, she was undoubtedly going to be caught by the castle guard.

And if I was tae be caught, I would be returned tae me damned chamber, locked in and kept under guard as if I was a prisoner, nay different than Struan Cameron.

The muffled sound of thunder filtered through the stone castle walls, wrapping Isolde in a shroud of doubt and foreboding.

It was as if God himself seemed to be trying to convince her to stay.

Isolde shook her head. She’d stood on the ramparts earlier in the day and had seen the thick bank of clouds rolling in from the west. She had assumed they were going to be lashed with a storm either that evening or the following day.

The brittle sound of thunder was not surprising, but she couldn’t help but feel something threatening in it arriving at the very moment she was set to flee the castle grounds.

“’Tis nae a sign,” she muttered to herself. “’Tis only weather.”

She spoke the words to herself several times and with each repetition, tried to convince herself to believe them. Try as she might though, the feeling persisted.

“Dinnae be a bleedin’ fool,” she said to herself.

Forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other, Isolde shook herself out of the fear-induced stupor that gripped her.

She made her way through the castle, sticking to the narrow side passages and corridors not regularly traveled by her father or his guards.

Despite his orders to send everybody to pursue the fleeing captive, a detachment of soldiers had remained behind, likely to protect him in case this was all an ambush.

“Lady Isolde, what are ye daein’ out of yer chamber? ‘Tis nae safe fer ye.”

The voice echoed down the hall to her, freezing the blood in her veins. Isolde turned to see a pair of armed soldiers at the far end of the corridor, staring at her in confusion.

“Lady Isolde?”

She had to act fast. If they were to come closer, her plan of fleeing would go to ruins.

It is now or never.

Isolde swallowed her fear and threw the chamber door open slamming it roughly behind her.

The locking bolt was weak and flimsy, but she threw it anyway.

It might not hold for long, but it would hopefully buy her some time.

As she rushed across the chamber, darting around the stacks of crates and barrels stored there, she heard the sound of heavy bootsteps in the corridor.

The door shivered in its frame as the guards on the other side tried to open it.

“Lady Isolde,” one guard called, his voice muffled through the heavy oak door. “Open the door!”

Ignoring them, she threw aside the carpet in the corner of the chamber to reveal the trap door hidden underneath it.

Isolde grabbed hold of the iron ring and strained to lift it.

The door groaned and creaked, the rusty hinges squealing sharply as she pulled it open and it hit the floor behind the opening with a resounding crash.

She quickly grabbed the oil lamp from the table she’d positioned there long ago, not actually believing she would ever use it.

“Lady Isolde!”

She nearly dropped the lamp when the bellowing voices of the guards were punctuated by the hard crash and shudder of the door as they attempted to break it down.

A few seconds later the metal latch gave way with a sharp ping and the door came crashing inward, slamming into the wall behind it with a thunderous boom that sounded like cannon fire.

“Lady Isolde, what are ye daein’?”

Her eyes met his briefly and her heart quivered, her fear nearly overwhelming her. Her body told her to give up and let them escort her back to her bedchamber. That she was bound to the life her father had mapped out for her. But her mind roared one single thought that shook her from head to toe:

I need to run!

Isolde turned and descended the ancient, rickety ladder that creaked and groaned like it might give way at any moment. It would be a fitting end. To fall and break her leg while trying to escape. If that happened, she knew her father would chain her to her bed until her wedding day.

Fleeing from her father and his cruelty wasn’t Isolde’s only motive.

She despised her soon-to-become husband, Laird Dougal MacPherson, as much.

A cold, cruel man who was one of her father’s staunchest allies, and twice her age.

Life as his bride would be even more unbearable than life as her father’s daughter.

Isolde made it to the ground without falling or breaking a bone. She said a silent word of thanks as she turned and ran. She knew this tunnel would take her underneath the curtain wall and to the back side of Moy Castle. If she could get there, she would be one step closer to freedom.

“Lady Isolde, ye need tae stop this bleedin’ foolishness and come back here,” the man’s voice echoed to her, as the sound of his boots on the ladder started growing closer.

Behind her, Isolde heard the sound of more voices. It sounded as if more men were coming, setting her heart ablaze. It was a matter of seconds till they’d started descending the ladder as well.

Her stomach clenched tight and fear threatening to overwhelm her, Isolde turned and plunged into the darkness of the subterranean corridor.

The sound of heavy boots thumping onto the hard packed dirt behind her sent a rush of adrenaline through her veins. It burned like fire and tears sprang to her eyes. She had to run faster.

“Lady Isolde, yer faither will nae be pleased with this nonsense,” the voice echoed from the shadows all around her.

She knew the ladder to the surface had to be approaching and desperate to slow her pursuers down any way she could, Isolde threw her oil lamp behind her.

It hit the hard ground with the tinkling of glass shattering followed by a “whoomp” sound of the flames igniting the puddle of spilled oil.

She risked a glance behind her and saw the flames jump, igniting the exposed roots.

The corridor all around her flickered and danced with the fire, lighting up some of the shadows that plagued her.

It willnae hold them fer long, but it’ll slow them down fer now…

Her legs and lungs both burning, she ran into the darkness, chased by the shouted curses of the men behind her.

The small grin of satisfaction on her lips was wiped away instantly when she crashed into the ladder with an impact that jarred her very bones.

Gasping to recover the breath driven from her lungs, it was all she could do to keep on her feet.

She grabbed on to the ladder to keep herself upright and began making their way through the flames, she scrambled up the ladder.

For the second time in minutes, her body exploded in pain as she ran her head into the trap door above her.

Isolde’s teeth clacked together sharply, making her jaw ache as much as her shoulder.

“Bleedin’ hell,” she muttered.

With all the strength she could muster, she leaned her full weight into the trap door.

With the hinges squealing in protest, it opened and she was greeted by a gold gust of wind and rain lashing her face.

It startled her so much, she nearly lost her grip on the ladder.

But she held tight and pushed her way through it, slipping out of the tunnel and into the open air beyond.

Isolde knew she had precious little time to lie there, so she let the trap door fall back into place with a hard thud and jumped to her feet. She took a long, deep breath and glanced behind her. Moy Castle stood like a dark sentinel.

Now that she was free, she had no idea where to go.

She had never actually planned that far ahead, never truly believing she would ever be free.

But there she was. Free. Picking a direction at random, Isolde turned and blindly plunged into the darkness, wind, and rain of the night, the rumble of thunder punctuating her every step.

Yet, everything was better than marrying the man chosen by her father.