“Aye, ye are.” She tossed her head back and giggled before hooking her arm around his and starting the circle turns of their steps.
Children clapped and joined in the dance. Jack hadn’t enjoyed himself this much in a long time. He danced until his heels started to hurt, and Isla laughed out loud until tears shimmered in her eyes.
Jack pulled her away from the crowd and led her to the corner where some women gathered to light lamps and make a wish to the Gods. He took Isla’s hand in his and linked their fingers.
Isla suddenly froze and pulled her hands out of his. “That tent,” she said in a panicked voice and faced him. “That’s the same tent the gypsy stays in. She read fortunes.”
Jack was about speaking when Isla dashed toward the tent, and he went with her. They got there at the same time; a woman came out.
“It’s her,” Isla blurted. Jack grabbed the woman’s arm and spun her around. He also recognized her as the older woman they met in Kirkpatrick when they visited.
Isla was at his side immediately; Jack could hear her labored breathing as she said, “It’s you.”
The woman smiled. “Let me read your fortune, Child,” she said in rich Gaelic only Jack could understand.
“She wants to read your fortune,” Jack said to Isla. They went into the tent, and he stood by the entrance while Isla sat in front of the woman.
Standing inside the tent filled him with a strange feeling. It felt as if he had seen something similar. Jack looked around him and noticed the signs and symbols on the walls. A shiver raced up his spine, and he tried to fight it off while holding himself still.
Isla had her hands in the gypsy’s and strong wind blew against the flames in the fireplace. Cold seeped into his body and made knots form in the pit of his stomach.
Silence filled the tent for a long time and the gypsy was about to speak to Isla when men suddenly barged into the tent with their swords drawn.
Jack moved fast, reached for his sword, and slashed down the first man who attacked him. “Isla,” he yelled as more of them trooped into the tent.
They dressed in black from head to toe. Out of the corner of his eye, he looked and realized Isla was alone, and the gypsy nowhere in sight.
“Drop ye sword,” one of them said to Jack in a thick voice.
“Unmask yerself,” Jack answered. “If ye wish to attack me then I should at least see the face of my attacker.”
One of his attackers had Isla now, and she struggled to break free from his grasp as he pressed a dirk to her neck. Jack counted ten men, including the woman pointing a sword at him.
He tightened his grip on his sword and swallowed hard. His heart pounded in his chest while he struggled to maintain his grasp on control.
The gypsy had vanished before his eyes like she hadn’t been in this tent seconds ago.
“Let the Lady go,” Jack said. “It is me ye’ve come for.”
“The lady will safely return to Humphreys,” the man in front of him replied. “Ye are right… it is ye we have come for.”
“Then show yerself,” Jack goaded.
The man in front of him signaled for Isla’s captor to drag her out of the tent. Jack’s gaze burned into Isla’s figure as they dragged her out, and all he could think of was saving her.
His vision blurred and his anger made him see red spots. Fury burned a path through his nerves and blinded him.
Once Isla was no longer in the tent, his jaw hardened, and his eyes narrowed. The man leading them lifted a hand and took off the black cloth wrapped around his face.
Jack saw the scar. It ran deep from his left brow to cheek and looked severely scarred.
“Ye are one of the blacks.”
“Tonight is yer final night, My Laird. If ye lower yer weapon then ye die an honorable death.”
“If I dinnae?”
“Then we will cut through ye like an animal.”