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H e was rinsing his hands when Isolde came into the stables and shut the door behind her. She carried a lantern, which she hung on a hook, before making her way to him, her faithful dog at her heels. In the flickering light, her hair was a mesmeric reddish-gold glow, and a burning pain stabbed through him at the knowledge of how easily she could slip through his fingers.

“There’s no need to be working in the stables.” She smiled, but there was a note of censure, too.

He shrugged and dried his hands. “I like to make myself useful. Besides, it’s a balm to my soul, being with the horses.”

She glanced around, as though ensuring they were alone. He took her hands and pulled her close, savoring her elusive scent of lavender, and with a barely repressed groan, captured her lips.

Her arms locked around his shoulders and her sigh vibrated inside his mouth. She tasted of the forbidden, of a prize out of reach, but he couldn’t release her. He could never release her in the scarce moments when they found themselves alone.

He plunged his fingers through her glorious hair, holding her head as he trailed hot kisses along the delicate line of her jaw. She tipped her head back, and he grazed her throat with his teeth, and her shudders of pleasure sent bolts of fire arrowing straight to his cock.

“Christ, Isolde.” For a fleeting moment, sanity returned, and he buried his face in the sweet curve between her neck and shoulder. Lust roared through him like a ravenous beast, and he squeezed his eyes shut, grasping for control, but with every frantic thud of his heart, restraint slid further from his reach. “Ye’ve bewitched me. I cannot get ye out of my mind.”

“Then ye’ve bewitched me too.” Her teasing smile faded, and he braced himself for what he knew was to come. “Please, Njord, don’t leave. Stay a little longer. Yer memories will return. There’s no need to leave to find them.”

He pressed his forehead against hers, as his hand slid beneath her surcoat and hugged her waist. “I must.” His throat was raw. Surely, she knew he had no choice but to leave. “I want to know who I am, Isolde. I want to hear ye call me by my God-given name when I finally make ye mine.”

The vivid image of her lying on his bed, her hair spread across his pillows, filled his mind, and it was so real, so visceral, the breath stalled in his throat.

“Then let me come with ye,” she whispered, and he frowned, trying to process her words. Had lust caused him to hear things?

“To the mainland?” He gazed into her beautiful green eyes and all but forgot why he’d asked the question. What else could possibly matter, when Isolde was in his arms, begging him to stay? God, if only things could be that simple.

“We could travel in the spring,” she said, her hands cupping his face as though she feared he might pull back. But even though he had to leave, in this moment, he was powerless beneath her spell. “And take a small contingent with us. Patric will come, I’m certain of it. And then ye’ll not be alone while ye search for yer kin.”

It was tempting. Too damn tempting. But spring was months away. And in the meantime, he’d endure the ceaseless gnaw deep in his chest of not knowing his own worth. The irresistible vision of Isolde would haunt him whether he stayed or not, but at least if he left Eigg the danger of one day losing what little control he retained when they were alone together would no longer hang over his head like a poisoned fog.

He wound his arm around her waist, securing her, and silently cursed at the twist of fate that had brought him to a woman he couldn’t imagine living the rest of his life without—and yet the very circumstances under which they had met was why he had to leave her.

“I must do this without yer help, mo chridhe.”

She gave a choked gasp at his endearment, and her fingers tangled in his hair. The words had slipped out, unintended, but he meant them.

She was his heart. He hoped he might one day deserve hers.

The stable door creaked, and they sprung apart as though the fire that scorched his blood had burst into flame between them. Frustration roared through him, and he sucked in a shuddering breath before grabbing the lantern he’d brought with him earlier and handing it to her.

He’d be damned if their clandestine kisses caused her reputation to be tarnished. No one would conclude he had taken advantage of her if she held a lantern.

A stable lad entered, and after a quick glance in their direction, hastened to his tasks. Isolde stepped back, but her gaze never wavered from him, and her smile told him she knew exactly what was on his mind and found it amusing.

“Then we shall see ye shortly, Njord,” she said, as though finishing a conversation that had been interrupted, and loud enough for the lad to hear without straining his ears. “Good eve to ye.”

*

As Isolde and her sisters stood by the fire in the great hall after supper, their grandmother came to her side. There was a familiar, unsmiling expression on her face which meant she had serious issues on her mind. “Isolde, we must speak.”

She hid her flare of impatience as best she could. She’d planned on spending some time with Njord. Even if they weren’t alone in the great hall, and even if her sisters joined their conversation, it was far better than the alternative of not seeing him at all.

Certainly, better by far than enduring an audience with Amma. There was no doubt in her mind that her grandmother wanted to discuss Njord’s imminent departure and how she, Isolde, now needed to resign herself to a future with Bruce Campbell’s son.

As if that would ever happen. And there was even less likelihood of it happening now she knew for sure how Njord felt about her.

As she accompanied her grandmother to her private chamber, his husky endearment echoed through her mind and sent delightful ripples of desire between her thighs. Before he left Eigg, she would extract an oath from him, that he would return to her, no matter what he discovered about himself.

His honor would not allow him to break such a promise. And whatever the outcome of his visit to Oban, she was determined they’d end up together.

“Isolde.” Her grandmother’s voice, with a hint of ice, pulled her brutally back to the present, and she sat on her usual stool before the fire, Sjor at her feet, as Amma took her place on her chair. “Ye were observed leaving the stables shortly before the stranger from the sea.”

Taken aback by the statement, Isolde stared at her grandmother. Who had told her? And whose business was it to tell tales on her anyway?

“Is that a crime?” Curses. Why did she sound so defensive?

“To be alone in the stables with a man we know nothing about? ’Tis not a crime. But ’tis hardly prudent.”

“We weren’t alone. A stable lad was in there.” Had he spoken to Amma? It was so unlikely as to be laughable, yet she couldn’t think of any other possibility.

“Child.”

She couldn’t recall the last time her grandmother had called her that. Generally, she used it when addressing Roisin, and it was a term of endearment. But now it was nothing less than a reproach.

“Aye?” And she still sounded defensive. As though she had something to hide. But she wasn’t guilty of anything, and neither was Njord.

“I watched ye enter the stables. And I saw ye leave.”

The injustice seething in her chest flooded her cheeks with mortified heat. Was her grandmother spying on her now?

“We did nothing wrong.” It burned her that she even felt the need to say that, but she wouldn’t have her grandmother thinking Njord had besmirched his honor.

“He will be gone in two days.” Her grandmother’s voice was gentle, and somehow that was even worse than if she’d shouted at her. “That’s his choice, Isolde, and I respect him for it. I don’t doubt he has feelings for ye, but he cannot offer ye the future ye need. The future ye deserve as a daughter of Sgur.”

Isolde pounced on her grandmother’s last words. “And a daughter of Sgur can never abandon the Isle. I don’t care what ye’ve promised Bruce Campbell. I have no use for his son, and I shall not wed him.”

“We’ve discussed this before—”

“But we haven’t.” She knew she was being unforgivably rude, but she would no longer pander to this inexplicable whim of her grandmother’s. “The most ye’ve ever shared with me was the other day, when ye said it was for my benefit, and not Clan Campbell’s. How can it benefit me when I don’t want it?”

“Ye must trust me. I can say no more.”

Frustration clawed through her. She loved Amma, and they had rarely disagreed until the shattering revelation ten years ago when her grandmother told her what she expected from her.

“Will ye hog tie me and have me dragged from Eigg to fulfil this promise ye made the Campbell?”

Her grandmother blanched, and for a fleeting moment Isolde regretted her harsh words. But it was only for a moment. Because when Lady Helga angled her jaw in that regal way she had, Isolde knew there was no hope in changing her convictions.

“Ye’re a MacDonald of Sgur. Ye’ll never disgrace yer foremothers in such a manner.”

It was true, but it was also infuriating to have that fact flung in her face. She drew in a deep, calming, breath, and Sjor gave a soft whine, centering her. She’d never learn the truth by antagonizing Amma.

“Forgive me. Ye know I’d never bring shame upon our lineage. But I must know. Why are ye so set on this alliance?” And then a terrible possibility occurred to her, and she gasped. “Do they threaten war if I don’t agree?”

God help them, that must be why her grandmother was so determined for this match to go ahead. Njord had been right. Why hadn’t she realized it before?

Amma closed her eyes and drew in a long breath and Isolde gripped her fingers together in dread. Then her grandmother looked at her.

“Clan Campbell holds no such threat over my head, Isolde. It was I who approached Bruce Campbell with this proposition.”

Her anger against the Campbells seeped from her as anguish squeezed her heart. “But why?” she whispered. “Why would ye turn from the Deep Knowing?”

Why would ye turn yer back on me?

Her grandmother pressed her lips together. She wasn’t going to say anything more. Yet somehow, it no longer mattered. There was no great conspiracy among Clan Campbell to claim the MacDonalds of Sgur’s lands.

Her own Amma had offered her to them on a gilded platter.

“I didn’t turn my back on the Deep Knowing.” Her voice was scarcely above a whisper. “This is the will of the Deep Knowing, Isolde. The dreams that plagued me from the night of yer birth ended only after I pledged ye to William Campbell. I cannot tell ye why. I can only tell ye that, for a reason I don’t understand, yer bloodline must prevail away from Eigg.”

*

Isolde could not sleep, and neither could she toss or turn, since that would awaken her sisters. Instead, she lay rigid on her back, glaring into the darkness, as her grandmother’s enigmatic confession thundered around her head.

She had never mentioned dreams before. What did she mean, anyway? No one made life-altering decisions simply based on a dream .

Especially when that decision concerned someone else.

For ten years she’d assumed Bruce Campbell had somehow persuaded Lady Helga, and most likely by foul means, to agree to a match between his son and her eldest granddaughter. Which was bad enough.

But the truth was far worse.

She wouldn’t wed the Campbell to satisfy her grandmother’s incomprehensible conviction that doing so was somehow the answer to vanquish Amma’s bad dreams. She’d never heard such nonsense in her life .

The injustice and, she couldn’t deny it, the sense of betrayal burned through her, twisting her stomach into knots. She hadn’t even had the chance to speak with Njord last night, as when she’d finally escaped her grandmother’s clutches, he had disappeared. And although she could have confided in her sisters, for the first time in her life she hadn’t, and she still couldn’t quite understand why.

Roisin would be completely sympathetic, and Freyja would, no doubt, dismiss the whole dream thing as a strange aberrance on their grandmother’s part.

But she hadn’t been able to find the words.

No, that wasn’t true. At least, it wasn’t the whole truth. Because it wasn’t her sisters she wanted with her when she spilled out her hurt. It was Njord.

Ah, this was unendurable. Stealthily, she eased out of the bed, picked up her shawl, and wrapped it tightly about herself. The fire had burned low, which meant it was the early hours of the morn. Too early for any of the servants to be about to witness her nocturnal visit.

It was scandalous to even contemplate going to see Njord now, but she was too wound up to sleep, and if she didn’t speak to him soon she’d go mad.

In the antechamber, she lit an oil lamp, and bade Sjor to stay, before she cautiously made her way down the stairs and to the solar. At the door she hesitated and glanced over her shoulder. Although she was often up in the early hours, the castle was never this still, and it felt strange not to encounter even a single servant.

But then, that was just as well, considering what she was doing.

Gently, she tapped on the door, but he didn’t bid her to enter. She bit her lip and pressed her ear against the wood. Was he asleep? It was most likely. Why wouldn’t he? Most sane people would be.

Curses. Now what? Should she knock again, or creep back to her own chamber and pretend this madness had never assailed her?

Since she was wider awake than ever, and still as churned up over her grandmother’s revelations, she took a deep breath and raised her fist to knock on the door once again.

She never got the chance. The door swung open, and Njord stood there, holding a candle, and wearing an expression of supreme astonishment.

“Isolde?” His hushed voice sent shivers along her arms. Although perhaps the fact he wore only his shirt, with his hair deliciously disheveled, had something to do with it too. “What in the name of God are ye doing here?” He sent a swift glance over her shoulder, before returning his gaze to her. “Is anything amiss?”

“No,” she whispered. Good Lord, wasn’t he going to invite her inside? “May I come in?”

For a moment he stared at her as if he had no idea what she was talking about. Then he stood back, before shutting the door behind her. Shadows wreathed the chamber, and it was very different, being here alone with him in the solar at night, than it was during the day.

Her mouth dried and her heart hammered in her breast. With only the dull glow from his candle and her small oil lamp, he appeared so much bigger than he did in daylight, and towered over her in a way that was both breathtaking and a little alarming.

It had seemed such a grand idea to come and speak with him when she had been safely in her bed. But now she was here, she could scarcely believe she’d carried through on her harebrained scheme.

She should have waited until the morning. But it was too late to change her mind now and truth be told, she didn’t want to.

She needed his arms around her. His kisses to reassure her all would be well. Most of all, she needed him to promise that he would return to Eigg—to her—when he’d discovered his past.

To return to her even if his memories never came back.