Highland Island (Book 6)

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The minutes seemed to speed by. Yet the seconds were agonisingly slow in her mind as Isla mulled over her options. She could sleep, with the sound of her father's snores echoing around the cottage and her mother's mumbling seeping into the walls. Or, she could go and warn a stranger that he was to be hunted by her clan. A stranger that had helped her. But a stranger she had no story for. That would not even give her his name. What had he done to make him live in the forest, out of the safety of a clan, in the first place.

The words he had spoken were in a lilt which was unfamiliar to her. Even thinking back to the merchants, who had stayed with the clan from time to time, did not have the musical quality that he did. Even the roughness of his tone did not detract from the musicality of his voice.

If she did decide to help, she had no idea where he was. Or how she would evade Moira's father's men. She knew her way around the forest, aye, but had seen no evidence at all that she was not alone out there. Not until a hulking giant had caught her up off her feet. She had heard no rumours, had heard no whispers in the forest and seen nothing to cause her concern for going into forest.

Rolling onto her side. Looking out over the shadowed one room cottage. The dark looming furniture only smudges of darkness within the already night dark room. Yet it was a safe type of darkness. One which always surrounded in a soft whisper, lulling her into a dream filled sleep. Murmuring for her to give into the heaviness of her eyelids.

One tiny thought kept her from doing so. Kept her from giving in. The sight of those two mismatched eyes, looking down into her own. Shadowed by his height and the lush greenery surrounding them. It was as if the very memory of them was pulling her in, pulling her out towards the forest. As if they were beseeching her to give him warning. Pleading with her, that he may have only saved her from a dip in the water, but she could save a life.

Maybe more than one life.

But whose life was she saving? What was his story? Was it good enough? Was he good enough to save? Was it even a question as to whether one life was good enough?

Heaving a silent sigh, she sat up in her nest of blankets. Wiping her hands roughly over her face. Nay it was not a question. Every life was good enough to save. She had never agreed with some of the punishments and sentences handed down. She just could never stop them. She was not important enough, she was not ever going to have a say in how anyone was dealt with. But she could give a warning in this case.

Glancing at the dark, lumpy shadows of her parents upon the low bed. She listened over her father's loud snores, to make sure her mother's mumbling continued. For whilst it did, it meant that she would not be caught. At least, not caught by her parents, the clan's men, however, may just be another matter.

Muttering almost silently to herself as she rammed her feet into her worn, but sturdy boots. She felt across the uneven floor to take hold of her bliaut, pulling the long dress over her chemise. Her fingers pulling her hair free, braiding it tightly once more, before her fingers inched along the floor once more. Trying to find the belt she had flung aside not so long before. Her fingers catching at the material, dragging it over to her.

This was a foolish idea. Why was she doing this? What was she really going to gain from this? Other than getting lost in the forest at night? Her father would kill her if he knew she was doing this. Her mother would be worse, she would never let her live this down. Constantly wearing down at her, at least her father would make it quick and painless. Moira's father might even pull her up before the Laird on charges of treason to the clan.

Even though these thoughts travelled over and over in her mind. It did not stop her when she crawled her way over to the cloaks by the door. Stopping along the way to pick up one of her mother's prized kitchen knives. Her father had helped the blacksmith and the sharp knives had been his gift in return. It may not save her, but it made her feel a little safer with the task she was about to complete. Taking her dark cloak from the hook, she made sure the hood was covering as much as her as possible, before she finally made her way to the door and gently, slowly, carefully opened the door. Hoping that no sound woke her parents before she could leave.