Taken Away (A Swept Away Saga Origins Story)

Fourteen

There was a strange light over his head. It was blurry, and hurt him to try and sit up to look at it, but he knew instinctually that it wasn't like any light he'd ever seen before. It twinkled and moved like magic, waving across him as if it had wings. Everywhere the orb touched began to feel better, the pain in his body slowly seeping away. His headache disappeared, the cuts along his arms stopped stinging, and he thought he heard Isobel's voice whispering something softly. Eventually, he drifted back to sleep, not sure of what he'd seen or heard, but positive that whatever it had been, it was good.

When Will woke fully, he could instantly tell that a large amount of time had passed since he'd first gone out. The entire hut had been cleaned and reorganized, the blood that had covered the floor not even leaving a stain on the flagstones. A fire burned in the hearth, a pot of soup warming nearby, and the front door had been put back together, the broken logs held together with twine.

Even more surprising, his body felt fine. There were little signs that he'd been in a fight, such as cuts that were still healing slightly, but overall, it was as if he'd not just had a five against one brawl. The memory of the light tugged at him, but he pushed it aside as a mere dream.

"Ye're awake!"

Looking over at the door again, Will saw Isobel standing in the entryway, a basket of vegetables from the garden in her hands. She was wearing her usual brown dress, her hair pulled back, everything about her completely normal, as if she'd never been assaulted.

"How long was I out?" he asked, sitting up carefully. There was no pain anywhere, though. The fact alarmed him. Had he been sleeping for weeks? Had Isobel been caring for him instead of running? She needed to get out of here, before anyone else arrived to take her away.

"Two days."

Mouth popping open at her answer, he stared at her in shock. Two days? How had he healed so quickly? He remembered the fight and all the wounds he'd acquired. He should have had scars and been limping for a month, not feeling and looking like new in just two days.

"Ye mustn't have been as hurt as I originally thought," she said offhandedly, guessing what he was thinking.

"I suppose not," he agreed slowly, trying to reevaluate his recollection of the battle. When he came back with the same memories, he wondered if maybe he'd hit his head, and that was why he didn't remember correctly.

She brought him a bowl of soup, warning him of its heat, and settled onto the pallet beside him. His stomach growled in response and she laughed, adding another spoonful to the bowl.

"Ye need to eat," she said softly when he didn't immediately slurp it down. "Yer body needs the nourishment."

"I ken." Frowning, he looked over the hut, thinking about everything that had happened to them here. "Isobel, we need to go. It's not safe here."

"We?" There was some amusement in her tone. "And where do ye propose we go? Back to yer family, so someone can come raid their home and hurt them, too?" She sounded frustrated then, like she'd been thinking of that very thing herself, but it was the look on her face that made him smile. There was hope in her eyes because he'd said he was going with her.

"I was thinking somewhere more like the Americas, actually. Ye should be safe there. I dinna think any witch hunter is so dedicated as to cross continents." He did sip the soup then, taking care to not burn himself. Watching her closely, he chuckled at her surprise.

"Ye really think so?" She sounded like she thought it was a good idea, an excitement to her voice that he'd missed hearing.

"Aye. We need to go soon, though. Today, if we can. I dinna want to be here when the Campbells come back with twice as many men."