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W illiam stared after Isolde as she regally stalked from the hall, her scathing words ringing in his ears. Aye, he knew she despised the name Campbell. But that was when she’d been betrothed to a faceless man. Everything was different now that they both knew the truth.

“William.”

“What?” He didn’t turn to his cousin, although God knew how relieved he was to see him. The insidious sense of being cast adrift in an incomprehensible sea no longer haunted him like a shadowy specter. When he’d recognized Hugh as his kin, and recalled who he was and all that entailed, the revelation had streaked through him like lightning, incinerating all the doubts he’d harbored.

His heritage was worthy of seeking Isolde’s hand.

Except it was only too clear she wanted nothing to do with him.

Hugh was speaking, but there was something of more importance he needed to address. He gripped his cousin’s arm. “Later, Hugh.”

Hugh nodded, and William strode after Isolde.

By the glow from the lanterns that lit the forecourt, he saw her striding to the armory. He grabbed a lantern and let out a curse under his breath as he quickened his pace. “Isolde, wait.”

She didn’t even pause. He reached her side just as she thrust the key into the lock of the armory.

“Are ye planning to run me through with ye father’s claymore?” It was only half in jest. She certainly looked irate enough to challenge him.

She snatched her hand away before he could grasp her fingers but kept her glare firmly on the door. “Ye deserve nothing less.”

The bitterness in her voice hit him right in the gut. She sounded as if she couldn’t bear the very sight of him.

“Why?” He grabbed her arm and swung her about, so she had no choice but to face him. “Because I’m a Campbell? Christ, Isolde. I even asked ye if ye would feel any differently about me if I discovered I was a Campbell. But ye’re not even trying. Ye’re condemning me for something I have no power over.”

“Not even trying?” She all but spat the words in his face, and it took more willpower than he cared to admit not to recoil from her anger. “Don’t make me laugh, William Campbell.” His name fell from her tongue as if the sound of it sickened her. “Ye knew who ye were all along. What a fine jest, to pretend ye recalled nothing, when all the time ye were merely spinning a web around me.”

“I never lied to ye.” His voice was harsh, but he could scarcely believe she leveled such an accusation at him. “Have ye forgotten how it was ye who found me half dead on the beach?”

“I remember. And I remember how Patric and I thought it a miracle a man could survive such a thing. But it was no miracle. It was all part of yer despicable plan to ensnare me.”

He almost laughed at her outrageous claim. Except he’d never felt less like laughing in his life. “Why would I plan to be attacked on my own ship and thrown overboard in a raging storm? Only a madman would fabricate such a foolhardy scheme.”

She gave a mirthless laugh, and something sharp and hot stabbed through his chest. “Stop. I’ll not fall for any more of yer tales. I’m disgusted that I ever did.”

“Tales?” He pulled her closer, and her gasp of outrage fueled his own. “Did I imagine that bash on my head?”

“’Tis likely yer cousin Hugh gave it to ye, to lend credence to yer falsehood.”

“Will ye listen to yerself, woman? Yer accusations are madness.”

Aye, utter madness, yet he still wanted to wrap his arms around her and kiss her until all her groundless recriminations fled.

She wrenched her arm free and glared at him. “My only madness was not listening to those with more sense. Even Colban MacDonald saw through ye, but I wouldn’t heed his warning.”

Having Colban MacDonald’s name thrown in his face after the man had tried to murder him while his back was turned was too much.

“Colban MacDonald is a worthless—” He bit off his words. In her current state of mind, she would never believe her clansman had attempted so cowardly an attack. He dragged in a deep breath and tried to clear his mind. “I know ye have an aversion to Campbells. But just because I’ve regained my memory doesn’t change the fact I’m still the same man I was yesterday.”

“Alas, I’m certain that’s true.” She sounded on the edge of tears, and instinctively he reached out to her. She’d had a shock. He could understand that. But before he could comfort her, she batted his hand away as if he were nothing but an irritant. “How amusing it must have been to ye, that I never questioned yer loss of memory.”

“Questioned it?” God damn it, did she really think so little of him? “Isolde, I had no idea I was William Campbell until I saw Hugh.”

“And how quickly ye recalled everything, once ye did.” Derision dripped from every word, and he stared at her, speechless, as for the first time he realized how that must have seemed to her.

He didn’t understand how it had happened himself, much less enough to try and explain it to her. But when Hugh had approached him, when he’d said his name, the fog in his mind had vanished, like early morning mist in the mountains.

He hadn’t simply recognized his cousin. All his missing memories had flooded back, settling in his mind, and a great weight had lifted from his chest at the knowledge of who he was.

But it wasn’t just the fact he now knew he was William Campbell, the laird of Creagdoun. It was the realization that the woman he was pledged to wed wasn’t a faceless MacDonald of the isle who wanted him as little as he wanted her.

No, by God. He had washed up on Sgur Beach, and all his preconceptions had been left deep in the sea. He’d known nothing of his past or his future duty. Yet Isolde, the wild MacDonald lass to whom he was betrothed, had bewitched him from the moment he’d first gazed into her eyes, as though their destinies had always been entwined.

He wasn’t one for thinking such outlandish thoughts, and he’d rip out his tongue rather than voice such a belief to anyone. But he couldn’t dislodge the notion from his mind that the reason Isolde had found him, when neither of them knew of the prior connection between them, was proof that they were meant to be together.

And not just because her grandmother and his father had forged a contract ten years ago. Contracts were drawn up all the time. But what were the chances he and Isolde could be given time to learn to know each other without the shadow of that damn contract hanging over their heads?

This marriage was meant to be. And once Isolde was over the shock of discovering who he was, he was certain she would see it that way, too. All he needed to do was be patient.

“Didn’t ye always say my memories would return when I least expected them to?”

“That was before I knew ye had come to Eigg under false pretenses.”

She was determined to believe the worst of him, and despite his vow to be patient, it grated. “Why would I use such subterfuge? We’re pledged to wed regardless. I’d never try and win yer favor through such low tactics.”

“We are not betrothed.” Her denial quivered in the fraught air between them. “An understanding is not the same as a binding contract.”

He sucked in a breath between his teeth before he said something he’d regret. He knew this was a shock for her. Hell, recovering his memories in one fell blow had shaken him, too.

But she was being damned unreasonable, and blaming him for things he’d had no hand in.

“Ten years ago, Lady Helga herself visited Dunstrunage Castle to negotiate this alliance. And ye know that’s true, since ye found that out the other night. And let me tell ye this.” Caution hovered. He should really keep his mouth shut, but her stubbornness irked. “I wasn’t happy at having my future dictated to me. But it was more than an understanding, Isolde. It’s a binding contract. Lady Helga made sure of it.”

She licked her lips, a nervous gesture, and he instantly regretted his harsh words. But then she straightened her spine and shook her head, as if that might help clear her mind.

“Aye. I cannot deny that. And I’m still... I still cannot quite fathom my grandmother’s actions. But now we’ve met, don’t ye see? We can make our own choices, Njor—William.” She swallowed as if the unfamiliar name unnerved her, and despite everything, a warm glow ignited deep inside at hearing her speak his God-given name. “If we’re both against this marriage, they cannot force us.”

He raked his gaze over her. She clutched her shawl about her and gave the impression of an aloof noblewoman with ice in her veins.

But he knew better. Unbidden, the vision of her in his bed last night invaded his mind, of how her glorious hair had spread across the pillows and how she’d gasped in pleasure as he’d all but made her his.

His body responded to the vivid recollection. So violently, a groan lodged in his throat. A damning thought thudded in his mind. If he’d known last night they were betrothed, would he have stopped when he had?

Stealthily, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, but it made no difference. He was as hard as a damn rock, and the fact she appeared so adamant in wanting to terminate their betrothal added fuel to the fire scorching his blood.

He stepped closer to her, and she backed up against the door of the armory. His grin felt feral as he braced his fists on the door, either side of her face, entrapping her. They didn’t touch, but they didn’t need to. The flame that had sparked between them from the first time he’d looked into her eyes smoldered as hot as ever.

And then he spoke. “Who says I’m against this marriage?”

*

Isolde’s grip on her shawl tightened as Njord— William , how would she ever remember to call him that?—loomed ominously over her, imprisoning her.

Why had she been so foolish as to trap herself against the door? Now, instead of stalking off with a shred of dignity intact, the warmth from his body, which had nothing to do with the lantern he grasped in one fist, swirled around her like a sensual caress and she was once again falling under his mesmeric gaze.

No. She would not be fooled again by his honeyed words and—

Her tangled thoughts collided as his words finally penetrated. “Ye still want to go through with this marriage? Despite knowing how I feel about it?”

Lord help her. How did she feel about it? Part of her wanted to grab her claymore and challenge him. To show him she was not simply a prize that could be taken without her consent.

Except she had already fought him, the Campbell she’d despised for the last ten years, and he hadn’t laughed at her or refused her challenge.

No. He’d bested her.

It hadn’t upset her that Njord’s skill had defeated her. But it burned like the pit of hell to know William Campbell’s had.

And as for the other part of her... no . There was no other part. She couldn’t trust anything that had happened between them this last week. It had all been a facade, nothing but a mockery, and she refused to torture herself by even thinking of it.

“Aye.” His voice dropped to a sensual rumble, and she tried, in vain, to ignore the desire that rippled through her at the sound. “Why wouldn’t I? Ye’re a beautiful woman, Isolde. And I’m committed to making ye mine.”

Heat flooded her face as disjointed echoes from the previous night flashed through her mind. Shame burned through her at all the things she’d whispered to him in the darkness.

Had he been silently laughing at her gullibility?

Something deep inside her breast shriveled at the notion.

“So ye wish to wed me merely to satisfy yer lust.” As soon as the words were out, she wanted to snatch them back. Because despite how much she had wanted him before she learned the truth, surely there was more between them than that.

“There are worse reasons to wed.”

He sounded so damn nonchalant. Even if he’d been hiding who he really was, had all the conversation and laughter they’d shared these last few days meant so little to him? Did it all truly amount to nothing more than a tumble in the hay?

“Maybe so,” she retorted. “But I cannot think of one.”

He tilted his head, and his gaze dropped to her mouth. How could a single look cause her heart to race so despicably?

“Ye cannot tell me ye don’t feel this connection between us. If not for my name, ye wouldn’t be so hostile to the prospect of wedding me.”

“But ye are yer name, and I cannot trust a word ye say.”

A cloud passed over his face, or maybe it was simply a flicker of flame from the lantern he held. Either way, it made her heart ache, and she would never forgive him for it.

“When we are wed,” he said, and there was hardness in his voice she’d never heard before, “ye’ll learn to trust me again, Isolde. I promise ye.”

Panic gripped her vitals. But it was more than panic, and she knew it. But she didn’t want to acknowledge the illicit thread of anticipation that sparked her reason. To know a tiny part of her wanted to go through with this marriage was a betrayal she couldn’t stomach.

“I’ll not wed ye.” She wanted to sound commanding. Instead, her denial was like a breathless invitation to call the banns without haste. “I’ve told ye how I cannot leave the Isle.”

“I know ye love yer isle. There’s no reason why ye can’t visit yer kin whenever ye wish.”

Had he listened to anything she’d said this last week? A forlorn voice of reason whispered through the back of her mind. No, he likely hadn’t. Because his sole aim had been to lower her defenses, so that she’d agree to be his bride without any argument.

“How noble of ye.” Bitterness threaded through the words. Aye, she had thought him so noble. But that was before she’d learned of his bloodline and his deception. Just because he came from noble stock didn’t mean he possessed honor. “’Tis not the same and ye know it.”

“We can’t stay on the Isle.” He spoke to her as though she were a child, devoid of understanding, and that wounded her more than if he’d shouted and behaved like an ill-bred oaf. “I must return to my castle, Creagdoun. ’Tis in sore need of a fine mistress, Isolde. I know in time ye’ll look on it as yer home, as I do.”

A great vise compressed her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs, and a dark sliver of panic wound about her heart. She didn’t want to be the mistress of an unknown castle, no matter how grand it was.

She wanted—she needed—to stay on her beloved isle, where the essence of her foremothers permeated every rock and grain of sand. Where she knew who she was and where she could call upon the strength of her ancestors whenever she was in need.

How could she survive in a Campbell castle, far from everything she had ever known?

“Creagdoun will never be my home. All ye want is a woman to run yer castle and bear yer bairns.”

Instead of rising to her bait, which would have given her at least a small measure of satisfaction, he tilted his head, as though her remark intrigued him. Damn him to hell. The lantern enhanced his aristocratic cheekbones and strong jaw, and his beautiful mouth evoked treacherous stirrings between her thighs. “Don’t ye want bairns, Isolde?”

This was not the conversation she wished to have with him. Why had she even started it? She should have known better than to think he’d take offense at her blunt comment, the way she imagined most Campbells would take offense. Because he wasn’t like the Campbells of her imagination.

He wasn’t like any other man she’d met, or imagined, and until his identity had been revealed, she’d been fascinated by that aspect of his character.

But not now. Because how could she know if this was yet another masquerade?

He was so close to her his warm breath brushed her face like an ethereal caress. His gaze roved over her, and she couldn’t draw breath, but it had nothing to do with apprehension concerning her future.

Was he going to kiss her? Did he think he could seduce her into submission?

Do I want him to?

Somehow, that was the worst betrayal of all.

“William Campbell.”

Her grandmother’s commanding voice cut through the lust-filled air like a frigid slap, and she gasped, but William Campbell didn’t swing about with guilt dripping from him. No, he leisurely pushed himself from the wall before turning to face the small contingent before them.

Patric was there, along with Amma’s personal guard, and half a dozen warriors. Her sisters, too, and various servants brought up the rear, along with Hugh Campbell and the rest of his men.

If only she could sink through the door behind her and disappear, but since there was no option but to face them all, she straightened her spine and tugged her shawl more securely about herself.

“Lady Helga.” William bowed, and she was disgusted that she noticed how elegant it was. “My deepest apologies for my hasty departure. I had to speak with Lady Isolde.”

“Indeed.” There was a touch of frost in Amma’s voice which Isolde hadn’t expected. Wasn’t she happy that Njord had turned out to be the very man she had underhandedly pledged Isolde to? “There is much to speak of. We shall return to the castle and proceed forthwith.”

With that, Lady Helga beckoned for Isolde to join her, and after glancing at William’s implacable face, she obeyed her grandmother.

Her sisters immediately came to her side, linking their arms through hers as though they feared she might stumble if they released her.

“Is this not the most romantic thing?” Roisin whispered, so only she and Freyja could hear. “To think, the man ye care for is none other than the man ye’re destined to wed.”

Isolde bit her tongue before she said something to upset her sister, but Frey was not so concerned with such niceties. “Romantic?” she whispered back. “That’s not the word I would call this, and that’s for sure.”

“What do ye mean?” Anxiety threaded through Roisin’s voice. “Njord cares for Izzie, I know it.”

“He’s not Njord.” Her hiss sounded harsh, but she couldn’t help it and didn’t regret it, even when Roisin flinched at her tone. “His name is William Campbell.”

“I’m vexed I didn’t press him further when he first awoke.” Frey exhaled a frustrated sigh. “I should have, but I believed his tale. It seems the only one not taken in was Colban.”

But it wasn’t just Colban MacDonald who had seen through the subterfuge.

Even her grandmother had been skeptical of how he’d washed up on the beach. The irony of how Amma had tried to keep her away from Njord— William, damn it —wasn’t lost on her.

“Well, I think ye are both wrong.”

Sometimes Roisin could be so stubborn. Although how Isolde wished that this time her youngest sister was right.