The chilly morning seemed to wrap around William as he nudged the horse up the hill, away from home. It had rained in the night again, coating the earth in a wetness that seeped into everything it touched, the air's icy fingers gently caressing his skin and bringing a wave of gooseflesh in their wake. Fog hung heavily around the mountains, hiding their path from view, the dim light of sunrise just barely peeking out on the horizon.
Clearing his throat roughly, he sniffed, tugging on the reins as the horse hedged, clearly unhappy to have been woken and brought out of what little warmth the barn had offered.
"Come on then, Arth," Will urged, guiding the animal forward. "The sooner we get up there and investigate, the sooner we'll be back home and filling our bellies. It'll warm up enough once the sun is up."
Arth stared at him evenly, snorting, as if to say he wanted nothing to do with the witch on the mountain. Will couldn't blame the beast; he didn't want much to do with the woman, either. Still, someone needed to go find out why she was here and what she wanted. Da couldn't do it, not when they were trying to get the crops planned for the year. Besides, it was time Will take on some responsibilities of running the household. No one had said as much, but he could tell it was time. Maw was right—he'd be in charge of his own family soon enough. Now was as good a time as any to set out and make sure they were all safe.
Pulling his tartan around him tighter as the wind swirled slowly by, Will felt a gratefulness for the breeches Maw had patched for him a few weeks earlier, their warmth doing what they could against the elements. By the time the sun rose in full, he'd probably regret wearing them as they stifled him with heat, but, for now, they were a godsend.
Slowly, they made their way up the mountain, the sounds of early morning wrapping around them. Birds chirped overhead as the wind turned into a soft breeze, warm rays of light shining down on the open plane, grass tickling the underbelly of the horse as they passed through. The sweet smell of damp earth filled Will's nose, sending him into a comforting, relaxed state. Once again, he was at his own private communion, visiting with the earth and all she had to offer, under the watchful eyes of God and His goodness.
As they neared to boarders of the clan lands, Will slowed their pace, caution filling him. As it stood now, his own particular branch of MacDonalds lived on the mainland. They weren't like the other parts of the family, with whole islands to control and call their own. No, they lived between a wealth of other clans, always careful to watch that they didn't take what wasn't rightfully theirs. The border in the north was shared with the Camerons. To the west, the Stewarts and Macleans reigned, and on the east, the Menzies. That left the Campbells in the south, with their dangerous aggression and untrustworthiness.
Did the witch know she had settled herself in such a precarious place? The hut on the mountain had been left abandoned for a reason. Not only was it damn hard to get to, but it was literally on the border of the Campbell lands. Some had even argued that it was technically owned by the neighboring family. Should anyone decide to lay claim to it, the woman would find herself in the middle of a very distasteful situation.
Shaking his head, Will put the thoughts of the feud away. It wouldn't do him any good to be focusing on other issues when he arrived. Reaching behind him, he touched the hilt of his sword just in case, though. It was concealed beneath a wrap, tucked away with some extra food and the honey Maw had given him to bring. Most likely, he wouldn't have to use it, but it was comforting to know he had it, all the same.
Trees with newly budded leaves swayed over him now, the ground rocky in spots and covered with the roots of plants that refused to be uprooted by stone. There was still a touch of snow here and there, lingering in spots where the sun didn't touch as much. An eerie quiet permeated the space, causing his skin to ripple more than the cold had.
Suddenly, Arth stopped, nostrils flaring as he pawed the ground, his muscles twitching nervously. Looking around for what had startled his ride, Will saw nothing, the beat of his heart increasing tenfold at the sudden change in atmosphere.
"What?" he asked the horse, trying to calm the animal as he continued to search for the source of panic.
A high pitched scream filled the air, the sound traveling from just ahead of them—from the direction of the old hut.
Jumping from the horse's back, Will grabbed his sword and ran the rest of the way up the overgrown path, frowning as what sounded like fighting reached his ears. As he rounded the last bend, the cabin came into view.
The roof was partially caved in, the long branches of the trees around it weaving together overhead, dipping down and punching through the rotting thatch. On the same end, the stone wall had fallen, the rocks scattered across the ground. Still, it was clear that someone was living in the ruins. Smoke gently trailed from the chimney on the intact side, a roughly put together, wooden door sitting open. The scent of breakfast oats hung lightly in the air, briefly reminding him of his own hunger. A makeshift fence led out from the side of the house, the assorted branches and ropes ringing a tiny garden, where the dirt had obviously been worked through at some point. Footprints marked the mud all over and a water trough rested under one of the trees, a long, white piece of linen resting in the branches, drip drying.
Shouts came from inside the hut, along with the clanging of dishes and crashing of objects. Readying himself to join the fray, with the worst possible scenarios running through his mind, Will stepped forward, taking in a deep breath to shout his arrival to whomever was inside. Before he could utter a single word, though, a man was catapulted through the entryway.
Sprawling across the ground, the man coughed, clutching his side in pain, eyes wild. It appeared he had tried to rob the shack; his sporran had popped open during his flight, spraying silverware, candlesticks, and all other sorts of little trinkets across the ground. Among them, a beautiful, emerald broach rested, smeared with mud during its landing.
Recognizing the blue and green color of the man's tartan as that of a Campbell, Will winced. It was never a good day when a Campbell got mixed up in your business.
The same, high pitched scream from before sounded in the house and Will turned his attention there, clearing his throat once more. Whatever was going on here was about to end, one way or another. However, before the words had even formed in his mind, a second Campbell appeared in the doorway, his face bloodied. With a shock, Will realized the screaming was coming from the man.
Clutching his nose, the second man tripped outside, grabbing his counterpart by the arm and hauling him to his feet.
"Did ye think I'd let ye get away that easy?" a woman's voice roared from inside, an Irish lilt present in her speech.
"Run, lad!" The second Campbell took off like the Devil himself was after him, not even bothering to look and see if his friend was following. He was, limping slightly as he peered back over his shoulder.
In the doorway of the hut, the woman appeared, her red, curly hair tied back in a messy bun at the nape of her neck, stray strands surrounding her face and sticking to her skin. Rage covered her angular features, a large, wooden hammer at least half her size gripped in her fists. The brown fabric of her dress hugged her slim torso tightly, the full skirt ripped down one side and revealing her shift. Dashing from inside, she held the mallet up, yelling angrily as she chased the would be robbers down the road. As she caught up with the limping Campbell, she struck him in the side again with her weapon, in a surprising show of force. The man cried out, stumbling, but continued on, disappearing around the bend.
Will felt as if he'd been struck over the head with the woman's hammer as well. Staring openmouthed, he watched as she continued to shout at her assailants, standing in the middle of the road as their forms faded away. Finally, when the men were no longer in her sight, she turned, resting the hammer over her shoulder as she walked back to her home.
She was bleeding; he hadn't noticed that before. He'd been so caught up in how fierce she'd appeared, he'd immediately accepted that she was a warrior in her own right. The blood must have seemed like a natural appearance to him, as did whenever he'd seen men returning from a fight. Now that she was calmer, though, he could clearly see the red liquid running down her chin, from a cut somewhere in her hairline.
Glancing down at the ground, he saw some knives among the items that had been grabbed in the attempted burglary. Had the thieves cut her, or was her injury a result of her own daring defense?
Looking back up at the woman, he met her gaze as she stopped a few feet in front of him. It was full of trepidation and caution, green eyes not even bothering to mask her distrust, a frown covering her face as she stared him down.
"What do ye want?" she demanded, lifting her chin and straightening her shoulders.
Still somewhat in shock, Will continued to simply stare at her, his mouth hanging open some.
"Well?" she prompted again.
"Er, sorry." Shaking his head, he blinked, hard, and looked back at her. "I heard fighting and came to see if I could be of any assistance."
"I don't need yer help." Her reply was gruff and final sounding as she bent down, picking up the scattered items.
"Clearly," Will muttered. All the same, he dropped his sword and began helping her gather the small belongings. Rising, he handed over what he'd collected, trying his best to smile warmly.
The woman, holding her few possessions close, turned to go inside, seemingly unbothered with leaving him out in the mud without another word.
"I'm William MacDonald," he offered, hoping to get her to share more about herself.
Looking over her shoulder, she gave him a somewhat appraising stare. "Isobel Delaney." And with that, she went inside and shut the door tight behind her.
Sighing, Will picked up his blade and turned to leave, knowing when he wasn't wanted. Arth had finally caught up, his panic attack apparently caused by the fight he'd overheard. Now, the horse stood in the trees just behind Will, nibbling on some fresh grass. While nothing had really been learned about this Isobel Delaney—besides the fact that one should not get on her bad side—it was clear she wanted nothing to do with anyone else.
A faint glimmer caught his eye as he moved away and he looked down, noticing the emerald broach once more. It had been pressed further into the mud, escaping the notice of its owner when she'd been gathering her things.
Pulling it out of the earth, Will rubbed it clean with his tartan, admiring the handiwork of whoever had made it. Why a woman who lived alone in the highlands would have such a piece of jewelry was a mystery to him, but it was beautiful, all the same.
Walking over to Arth, he retrieved the honey he'd brought as well, taking the two items over to the door of the cottage and knocking lightly.
"Go away," Isobel called from inside.
"I found yer broach."
The entryway opened at once, her green eyes staring at him in surprise as she partially hid herself behind the door.
"It got buried in the mud," he explained, holding it out to her. "It looks mighty fine. Would be a shame to lose it, don't ye think?"
"Thank ye." Taking it from him carefully, she quickly tucked it into the sleeve of her dress. Eyeing the jar of honey, she nodded toward it. "What's that?"
"A gift from my mother, to welcome ye to the clan lands."
"A gift?" Her eyes widened even more at that.
Holding it out to her, he nodded in encouragement, smiling. "It's not poisoned, if that's what ye're thinking."
Chuckling, he watched her expressions carefully. The lass couldn't have been any older than he was. Clearly, she was on her own, for whatever reason. It was also apparent that she was feeding herself somehow, though she eyed the meager offering he held with interest.
"I wouldn't be surprised if it was," she stated softly, taking the jar from him. "It wouldn't be the first time someone tried to get rid of me."
"What do ye mean?" Will asked, surprised by her candidness.
"Nothing. Thank you, for this." Smiling hesitantly, she tapped her fingers on the door, obviously not knowing what else to say.
"Well, should ye need any help, we're just down the mountain. Ye're welcome to take part in the planting and harvest this year, should ye want. MacDonalds are a hospitable bunch; we'd be happy to have ye."
"I don't need any help," she stated again, the hard expression of stubbornness covering her face once more. "I thank ye for the honey, but I'll be fine on my own."
She closed the door again, leaving him standing at the entrance, confused.
Shaking his head, he walked back to Arth, feeling as if he had more questions about the Irishwoman than answers now. Why was she here? What made her so determined to be left alone? Where had she learned to defend herself in such a manner? She was so short in her replies, too. Why?
The questions swirled in his mind as he followed the path home, the face of Isobel Delaney lodged firmly in his memory.
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