Taken Away (A Swept Away Saga Origins Story)

Twelve

The beat of the bodhran carried through the entire group of dancers, the pipes playing exuberantly for the party. The musicians seemed to be having the time of their lives, playing together with smiles on their faces, sweat marking their brows as they went on and on, entertaining the families. Their feet tapped together, keeping time, fingers and shoulders moving wildly, bodies twisting and turning as they did their own kind of dance to the music.

Dust and straw hung in the air, kicked up by moving feet and swishing skirts, laughter engulfing it all. Hands clapped, cups clinked, and voices rang out, creating a type of dull roar in the night. Fires burned here and there, lighting the occasion and providing warmth. It was as if everything else in the world had faded away, this night seeming to last forever as friends and family joined together for the first time since the snows had melted.

Spinning Isobel around, Will laughed, watching as she swayed with those beside her, her face shining with so much happiness he felt like his heart would burst looking at it. He'd realized as soon as the party got started that she had missed gathering with groups of people. It was still a mystery, how long she'd been on her own, but there was no doubt that her loneliness was quickly fading away now that Will was a part of her life.

The song ended and everyone clapped, pleased with the performance. Flushed faces grinned at each other, feet moving again as the band started up once more.

"Come, get something to drink with me," Will called to her, offering her his arm.

Giggling, she took it, allowing him to escort her from the dance space. Her hair was a wild mess of curls, the locks falling out of the tie she'd put them in earlier. Dirt stained the hem of her skirt, the dark fabric blending into the night whenever they were far enough away from the fires. She didn't seem to have any care for her appearance, though, her thoughts focused on the party, as were everyone else's.

They grabbed some whiskey, gulping it down greedily, laughing and chattering about everything going on. Every now and then, Will thought he saw someone give him an odd look, but no one said anything to him. The extended family welcomed Isobel well enough, especially for thinking she may be a witch, and for that Will was grateful. As she spoke with them and shared in the merriment, they seemed to like her even more, their worries fading away into the night.

"I never would have imagined that I could have this much fun somewhere besides Ireland," Isobel confessed before taking another long drink.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Chuckling, Will sipped from his cup as well, allowing himself a moment to stare at her and soak up her presence.

"Just that I thought that part of my life was over when my family died. We used to do this with our neighbors, too. We would tell stories and dance . . . be together. I've missed that sense of belong to someplace, of having others who shared life with me." She smiled sheepishly, blushing.

"I'm happy to live life with ye, Isobel," he said sincerely. "Truly."

"And I with ye," she responded in kind. Eyes widening as the music started again, she laughed, grabbing his arm again. "I haven't heard this song in ages!"

"Come on, then," he urged her, heading back toward the dancers. Weaving through a few standing crowds, he slid his hand into hers, grinning as they neared the moving group. Suddenly, someone stepped out in front of them and he froze, feeling as if all the color had drained from him in an instant.

The woman was wearing traveling clothes, her eyes tired as she stared down her nose at him. Gray hair was arranged perfectly under her cap, one eyebrow raised. A silent fury seethed from her, the straightness of her back reminding him of a man about to face death head on.