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A t Lady Helga’s command, William and Hugh followed her to a chamber which, had it belonged to a man, would bear all the hallmarks of a war chamber. She sat behind a great desk, with Isolde and her sisters flanking her, and Patric and another three warriors positioned themselves at strategic points.

It appeared Isolde wasn’t the only one who doubted him, and he drew in a deep breath. Of all the ways he’d imagined regaining his memories, and the subsequent reaction, it had never occurred to him Isolde would reject him so utterly simply because of his name.

He needed more time to speak with her alone, to win her around. Unfortunately, his attempt to ease her concerns earlier, outside the armory, had been little short of disastrous. For all his noble thoughts of showing her patience, her vehement rejection of their alliance had prickled his pride.

His pride. Aye, to be sure that’s all it was. Except he had the feeling it was more than his damn pride she’d wounded by her harsh words.

“So ye are the Baron of Dunstrunage’s son.” Lady Helga’s face was impassive as she held his gaze. “Tell me plainly, William Campbell. Did ye set out to deceive us this last week?”

“No, my lady. I swear on the honor of my forefathers I told only the truth as I knew it.”

Lady Helga glanced at Isolde, who didn’t look in the least impressed by his pledge, before returning her attention to him. “’Tis a strange coincidence. But I have learned the Isles conceal more wisdom than they ever reveal to us.”

He had no idea what she was talking about, but since she appeared to believe him, he was willing to agree with whatever she said if it meant his betrothal with Isolde remained unbroken.

“I’ve only been here a week, but even I can see their beauty.”

“’Tis more than skin deep, William Campbell,” Lady Helga said, “but I understand yer sentiments. It is hard indeed for any daughter of Sgur to make her life elsewhere.”

Warning spiked through his blood. Was she going to break the betrothal she had gone to such lengths to procure ten years ago?

Before leaving Skye, he’d have welcomed it. Celebrated his freedom. But now he’d met his future bride, and no one—not even Isolde’s revered grandmother—would take her from him.

“Aye, my lady. But I shall do all within my power to make Lady Isolde happy in her new home.”

Isolde, standing beside her grandmother’s chair, shot him a glare, and he admired her restraint. Considering how she’d reacted on discovering who he was, had he said such a thing to her when they were alone, he could well imagine her tart response.

But once they were wed, once he had made her truly his, she’d come around. How could she not?

“I believe ye will.” Lady Helga stood. “We shall convene in the morning and make arrangements for a spring wedding.”

Hell, no. He wasn’t waiting that long for his bride.

“My lady,” he said, bowing his head in deference before once again catching Lady Helga’s steady gaze. “When I leave the Isle of Eigg, I shall take my bride with me.”

Isolde’s sharp intake of outrage echoed around the silent chamber, and their gazes clashed. Her cheeks were flushed with anger and her beautiful green eyes sparkled with affront, and it wouldn’t have surprised him if she’d pulled her dagger from her skirts and launched it in his direction.

Thankfully, she resisted the temptation.

“Ye’re mad if ye think I’ll wed ye within a month.”

He wasn’t waiting a month for the banns to be called, either. He had a would-be assassin among his men and needed to flush him out as swiftly as possible. Not to mention Creagdoun was in serious need of attention to bring it up to the standards a noble-born bride would expect.

But since they were both reasons enough to postpone their marriage instead of wedding in haste, he pushed them to the back of his mind.

“Alas, I cannot stay on Eigg for another month. We shall wed at the week’s end before leaving for the mainland.” With the Earl of Argyll’s blessing for this alliance, he was certain any irregularities could be easily overcome.

Shock etched Isolde’s face, and he braced himself for her denial, but before she could respond, Lady Helga spoke.

“The marriage contract must be ratified first with all that entails. In the morning, William Campbell.”

He knew when to retreat, and bowed once again before he and Hugh left the chamber.

“We didn’t know ye were missing until we reached Oban.” Hugh’s voice was low as they returned to the great hall, where his men stood beside the fire. “The storm was so bad, we couldn’t search for ye until it broke. I’ll be honest, man. I didn’t think to find ye alive.”

“I know every man who was on that ship, Hugh. Who the hell would want me dead?”

Hugh shook his head. “Christ knows. Best to keep yer counsel between us, until we discover the traitor.”

He swept his gaze over his men. “Where’s Alasdair?”

“The earl summoned him as we were boarding. Ye know Alasdair.”

Aye, he did. Alasdair would drop anything if the earl called him to his side. Not that he blamed him. They were all beholden to the Earl of Argyll, one way or another.

He greeted his men, a hard knot forming in his chest as he looked at each one with new eyes. Which one had tried to kill him?

“William.” Robert Fletcher gave him a nod. “Glad we found ye, man.”

“Get that down ye.” Malcolm MacNeil handed him a tankard of ale.

“Good health,” David Cunningham said, and William took a long swig of the ale as the rest of his men gathered around.

Some were childhood friends. A couple, like Hugh, were close relatives. But he’d been alongside all of them at different times during the last three years in skirmishes against the cursed MacGregors and had always trusted they had each other’s backs.

He no longer had that luxury.

His men spoke of the violence of the storm and the shock of discovering he’d vanished when they’d docked at Oban. He grunted, nodded, and drank, mindful of the wisdom of Hugh’s caution.

Best to let the would-be murderer think he didn’t recall that vicious smash to his head.

“Lady Isolde is quite the beauty,” David remarked, and William fought to keep the scowl from his face at the familiar tone in the other man’s voice. “Hardly the wild Norse heathen we’d been led to believe.”

“That’s my bride ye’re speaking of.” He’d not stand for any man disrespecting Isolde.

“Aye, and ye have my congratulations.” David smashed his tankard against William’s, apparently oblivious to the threat behind William’s words.

“A noble mistress for Creagdoun,” Malcolm remarked. “What the hell was John MacDonald talking about? Lady Isolde doesn’t look like a woman who wishes she were a man with a sword in her hand.”

“Watch it.” There was a thread of amusement in Robert’s voice as he gave Malcolm a friendly punch on the arm. “There’s only one sword Lady Isolde will handle from now, and it doesn’t belong in an armory.”

“Enough.” William’s voice was harsh, and the laughter among his men died instantly. With difficulty, he released his death grip on the tankard before he splintered the damn thing. He wasn’t usually averse to bawdy talk. But it was entirely different, he discovered, when it involved Isolde.

Fortunately, there was no more time for talk. Supper was served, and Lady Helga had invited his men to join them. But tonight, he wasn’t sitting next to Isolde, and she avoided looking his way, whereas he could scarcely keep his eyes off her.

It was obvious there would be no surreptitious visit to the solar this night, and he shifted on the uncomfortable bench, but it didn’t help relieve his throbbing cock.

The sooner they were wed the better. And then he could claim his bride.

*

The following morning after breakfast, Patric sought Isolde out, and they went into the courtyard for privacy. She shivered and tugged her shawl more securely about herself but couldn’t stop her mind from snagging on the fact William had not been at the table with the rest of his men.

Was he making good on his threat for them to wed without having the banns read? Did he really expect her to participate in such an irregular ceremony?

“Isolde.” Patric’s voice was low, and she dragged her attention back to the present. She hadn’t heard a word he’d said to her.

“I’m sorry.” She sighed. “What did ye say?”

“I’ll accompany ye to Creagdoun. I’ve no doubt Lady Helga will allow it.”

Mute, she stared at him, this loyal warrior to her father who had been such a steadfast mentor and, aye, a friend to her over the last ten years. She’d been so incensed at how William had hoodwinked her that it hadn’t occurred to her to consider who she might take with her in her new life. Because she was still wrapped up in the conviction that she’d remain on Eigg until her dying breath.

Having Patric tell her of his plans to accompany her was akin to being plunged into an icy loch.

How did she plan to escape this fate?

Her own grandmother had arranged it. Her bridegroom was more than eager to seal the alliance. And, much as she loathed to admit it, even here, on the Western Isles, the cursed Earl of Argyll was not a man to be crossed.

Spectral wisps of alarm spun through her breast, disorientating her, and she struggled against the overwhelming compunction to sink to the ground and bury her fingers in the mud.

That wouldn’t help. Because this time it wasn’t the strength of her foremothers she needed.

It was a miracle.

Patric grasped her arm, a concerned frown wreathing his face. Clearly, she hadn’t hidden her feelings as well as she had imagined. And although she longed to rest her forehead against his shoulder and feel his kindly arms about her, she remained rigid as her future fragmented and reformed before her very eyes.

“I believe he’s a good man.” Patric’s voice was rough, and she couldn’t trust herself to speak. It was foolish, she knew it, yet his words felt like a small betrayal. “But know this. My loyalty lies with ye, and always will.”

*

The sea was calm, and any other time Isolde would have enjoyed her solitary walk on the beach with Sjor, but her mind would not still, and no wonder. At least her grandmother had granted permission for her to be present at the meeting this morning, but only after extracting a promise that she wouldn’t interfere with the negotiations.

Negotiations that would affect the rest of her life.

She huffed out a breath and glared at the misty horizon, but she could delay returning to the castle no longer. As much as she didn’t want this cursed meeting to go ahead, it would be far worse if she were excluded altogether due to her tardiness.

As she entered the great hall, she pulled off her gloves and then stopped dead as she saw Roisin standing beside the hearth, entrapped by Hugh Campbell.

Protectiveness and a hot wave of anger rushed through her, and she marched over to them. How dare he accost her sister in their own home? Roisin was far too shy to tell a stranger, and a man at that, to back off, or even leave herself for fear of being considered rude.

Luckily, Isolde had no such difficulties when it came to putting obnoxious individuals in their place.

As she drew closer, she heard Hugh speaking. “I should be honored to see that, my lady.”

Honor be damned. It was a foreign concept for all Campbells. Before he could upset her sister any further, she came to her side and hooked her arm through hers.

“There ye are,” she said, as if she’d been looking for her. “Where’s Grear?”

“She’s here.” Roisin shot her a bemused glance before indicating where their maid stood, just behind Roisin. “Why do ye want me?”

She didn’t, but could hardly admit that while Hugh Campbell still stood there, apparently oblivious to the fact he was blatantly overstepping his welcome. She gave him a tight smile, and belatedly he turned his attention to her and offered her a swift bow.

“Lady Isolde,” he said. He glanced at Roisin, and then the obvious appeared to strike him as he took a hasty step back and took his leave.

She expelled an exasperated breath before turning to her sister. “Are ye all right?”

“Aye.” Roisin sounded decidedly not all right. “Hugh is most charming, Izzie.”

“He’s a Campbell,” she hissed. “So be wary. And don’t be afraid to tell him to stop bothering ye, either.”

“He wasn’t bothering me. I was telling him about my illustrated histories of the Tuatha De Danann.”

Momentarily speechless, she stared at Roisin. Her sister rarely spoke to anyone she didn’t know well, and as for sharing anything about her precious work with someone outside the family, well. It was unheard of.

Obviously, Hugh possessed the same charm as his cousin, and look where that had got them.

“Just...” she hesitated, biting back the warning that hovered on her tongue. Just be careful? The way she had been so careful with Njord before she’d discovered who he really was? “Just remember who he is, that’s all.”

“I will,” her sister promised. “Don’t worry about me.”

That would only happen when Hugh Campbell left Eigg. Except he’d only leave when William did. And unless the elusive miracle she hoped for appeared, when William sailed, she’d also be leaving her beloved Isle.

And she’d be leaving her sisters.

It seemed like a lifetime ago when she’d so foolishly wished that she’d give anything if only he decided not to board the ship and sail away from her. But the fates had heard and granted her wish, in the twisted way wishes were always granted.

He wasn’t sailing away from her. And the price she had to pay would scar her heart forever.

Her stomach churned, and she gripped the edges of her shawl as Roisin and Grear left the hall. For ten years the shadow of this impending marriage had hung over her. But until now, she hadn’t allowed herself to think of everything she’d lose.

The Isle was her strength. But her sisters were her blood. Would she ever see them again if she wed William?

William, damn him, was waiting for her outside her grandmother’s chamber. How dare he look so dashing? If only she’d had the good sense to tidy up her windswept appearance before this meeting. Not that she cared what he thought of her anymore. That had long passed.

What a pity she could see through her own lies so easily.

“Good morn, my lady.” He appeared uncommonly pleased with himself, and it wasn’t hard to guess why. Clearly, his early visit to the kirk had not thrown any obstacles in his committed path of undertaking an irregular ceremony at the end of the week.

“That depends on a satisfactory resolution to the negotiations,” she shot back, irked that he was so damn cheerful about everything.

“Rest assured, ye’ll have no cause to be dissatisfied, Isolde.” His voice dropped to an intimate whisper which caused contemptible desire to ripple through her, momentarily paralyzing her good sense. “Tis not yer fortune I want in my bed.”

Instantly, the vision of them clasped together in the box bed the other night thundered through her mind, and to her intense irritation, her cheeks heated. She refused to recall all the foolish things she’d said to him when she’d imagined him so noble, since she couldn’t take any of it back, and the last thing she was going to do was wilt in front of him.

“I cannot fathom why ye want an unwilling bride in yer bed.”

“I don’t.” His grin was utterly infuriating. “And I won’t, either.”

How ignoble of him to throw that in her face. Even worse, she feared he wasn’t wrong, and it stung her pride. Aye, that was all. Simply her pride. “Then what do ye call this?”

He sighed, and for a fleeting moment it wasn’t William Campbell who stood before her but Njord, a man without a past, and sorrow pierced through her for the loss of something that had never truly been real.

“I don’t know, Isolde. Can ye honestly tell me ye feel nothing for me anymore?”

How she wished she could tell him she felt nothing but contempt for him. But despite how he’d tricked her, she still wanted him. It was demeaning, but that didn’t make it untrue.

“I feel a great many things about ye. And every one of them vexes me greatly.”

“I’ll take that above indifference any day.”

She gave an impatient sigh. “Can ye not be serious for more than a moment?”

“I’m serious. We’re talking about the rest of our lives here.”

“Aye.” She pounced on that comment. “And ye know how I can’t leave my isle.”

“I know ye love yer isle.” He seemed to be picking his words with care, and for some reason it irked her more than if he’d simply dismissed her comment as being irrelevant. William Campbell wasn’t supposed to be thoughtful or mindful of her feelings. She wanted to hate him, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t. “I hope one day ye might love Creagdoun, Isolde. ’Tis my dearest wish ye’ll be happy there as my bride.”

He sounded so sincere. But Creagdoun was in the Highlands, far from her beloved isle and so different from every dream she’d woven around her stranger from the sea. Fear of an uncertain future caught in her throat, and before she could stop herself, she whispered, “I don’t even know who ye are.”

“Whatever else has changed between us, I’m still the same man whose bed ye shared the other night.”

She didn’t want to think about the other night. Because the other night she had believed they could have a future together, here on Eigg, when that had always been nothing but a foolish fantasy.

“Ye’re wrong. For ye’re not Njord, and ye never were.”

Her barb hit home, and his smile faded, but no spark of triumph warmed her heart. Only a hollow sense of regret.

“That’s right.” There was no hint of amusement in his words, only a hard edge she’d never heard from him before. “I never was, Isolde, and I never claimed to be. But by God there’s one thing I promise ye. When we are wed, I’ll have ye screaming my true name when I make ye mine.”

Her regret vaporized as a maelstrom of fury and, God damn it, lust blurred her reason. And only one word hammered through her mind.

Bastard.