Free The Chieftain by Caroline Martin

just another island. And even if it were not, and she were to find her way there, she had no certainty of escape. Rather the reverse, for she knew nothing of boats, and Hector clearly knew a great deal, and it was most unlikely that she could hope to get far. And she had no idea at all which way to take once she reached those mountains. She would, almost certainly, die of exposure or starvation within days.
    She was distracted from her gloomy thoughts by a movement close at hand below the window. Hector was there, talking animatedly to the inevitable Hugh and another man. His ill-humour seemed to have evaporated, for he was laughing. The dogs cavorted around him, clearly expecting an expedition of some kind. After a moment the two foster-brothers parted from the other man and set off together inland, out of sight.  
    Hunting, perhaps, thought Isobel, or going to the shieling, or on some other mundane but unknown business. She was not really interested, but the knowledge that Hector had left her here, alone, where no one spoke her language, hurt her, though she had no reason to expect consideration from him. If only he had let her know what she should do with her day!
    But she knew that he had not let her know because he did not care. She was inescapably his prisoner, and that was all that interested him. He must suppose that one day, before too long, he would also have her fortune in his hands. Apart from that she did not matter at all. I am not a person, she thought bitterly. I am a Lowlander - a necessary evil, a way to bring prosperity to the clan. He does not think that I might have feelings. Very likely he thinks only Highlanders have feelings.
    She sat for a long time at the window until she grew numb with cold. Then she began slowly, shivering, to dress. She put on her petticoat, and then tried to remember how Hector had wound the plaid about her. It was not easy, and it took her a long time, but eventually she managed to contrive some kind of garment, held with brooch and belt. She had just finished when a man came to bring her food and drink.
    He deposited bowl and spoon and cup in silence on the table and left her, with a faintly respectful gesture that was not quite a bow. Clearly Hector’s men shared their chieftain’s view of her.
    The bowl contained porridge, which Isobel did not much like, though at least it was hot and filling, and there was milk in the cup. Afterwards, she felt her courage return a little, and wandered about the room in search of occupation. She stood before the books, scanning the titles in search of something absorbing enough to hold her attention despite her unhappiness. But neither a Latin Grammar nor Dryden’s poetry seemed likely to offer such solace, and she knew no French. She walked restlessly back to the window.
    And then, on impulse, she decided to explore the castle. She set out cautiously down the winding stair, pausing at every sound as if she feared discovery. In the hall two men stood talking at the fireside, but fell silent as soon as they saw her. Their eyes gazed back at her, unremittingly hostile.
    Through the open main door of the castle the sunlight slanted, luring her beyond the reach of those unfriendly eyes. Swiftly she turned that way, and stepped out onto the grass. In the warm and fragrant air she felt just a little less burdened by her unhappiness. She stood looking about her for a moment, at the track leading to the bay, and then towards the rocks of the headland. She took that path in the end, clambering her way towards the black rocks against which the waves splashed. The water was deep, dark blue-green, patterned with seaweed. And dangerous, she was sure of that.
    She wandered on to a little shingly beach, where she sat on a rock, throwing pebbles idly into the water. The tranquillity of the scene seeped gently into her, numbing her into some kind of unthinking trance. She forgot what had brought her here, all that had happened, almost who she was. The lap