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T he meeting in her grandmother’s chamber had been intolerably long. But not because of any unreasonable demands from William.

It was Amma.

Had the contract been for anything other than the capsizing of her own future, Isolde would have been utterly mesmerized by her grandmother’s attention to every detail. Nothing had been left to chance, including the future security of both her sisters regarding their rights to Sgur Castle in the event of Lady Helga’s death.

And this was the contract the Baron of Dunstrunage had agreed to.

William signed the contract with a flourish, and then Amma turned to her.

“Isolde, do ye agree to honor the contract and wed William Campbell, laird of Creagdoun?”

The silence in the chamber was like a thick fog, pressing into her mind. She stared at the clause on the parchment, at the words that would bind her to William Campbell and tear her away from everything she had ever known.

The words that went against everything her grandmother had taught her of the Deep Knowing.

For ten years she’d been so adamant that, if things came to a head, she’d simply refuse to go through with it. But now she was out of time. Now, she had to make the decision to either disgrace her beloved Amma and the honor of her foremothers by rejecting the contract—or accepting her fate and all that might entail.

She cast a surreptitious glance at William, who sat on the other side of the desk. She half expected him to appear smug that he was so close to achieving his objective. And how much easier that would make it to despise him.

But he didn’t look self-satisfied or give the air of a man who knew he had won. There was a subtle sense of watchfulness about him, as though even now he wasn’t certain she’d go through with it.

And if she didn’t, what could he do about it?

Once again, she focused on the contract, but the words blurred, and her heart thundered in her chest. No one said a word. Despite how much Amma wanted this, in the end she was leaving it up to her to make the final decision.

A decision that would take her away from her isle and make her William’s wife.

She didn’t want to leave Eigg. The very notion of it gripped her stomach. And yet the prospect of wedding William—which should have disgusted her to the core of her being—sent tremors of treacherous anticipation spiraling through her.

It was wrong. She shouldn’t still want him on any level, but she couldn’t hide the truth from herself. Deep inside, in a place she hadn’t even known existed until now, she still craved him.

She took a deep breath and signed the contract.

*

“’Tis done, then.” There was a hushed note in Freyja’s voice as Isolde and her sisters sat on their bed later that afternoon.

“And the wedding is set for the end of the week?” Roisin buried her face in her dog’s fur, but it didn’t disguise the catch in her voice.

“Aye. ’Tis scandalous.” She wrapped her arms around her knees as Sjor, sitting on the bed beside her, gazed at her in mournful silence.

“And ye’re set to sail that very morning.” Freyja drew in a ragged breath. “Should we wish for another storm to delay yer departure?”

“It will only delay the inevitable.” Aye, her fate was set now. But if William Campbell expected a meek little wife to do his bidding without question, he didn’t know her at all.

But then, she didn’t know him either, did she?

*

It was the morning of his wedding.

William turned to Hugh, the only one of his men he could now fully trust, and the only one who’d shared the solar with him these last five days while the rest of the crew spent their nights on the ship. Not that his men found that unusual. After all, none of them expected to be accommodated within the castle.

He hadn’t passed on the message that Lady Helga had extended an invitation for them to all sleep in the relative comfort of the solar. The last thing he needed was to share a small chamber with a potential murderer.

Even though he’d had days for that knowledge to sink in, it still caused a shudder to inch along his spine whenever he thought of it. But for now, caution prevailed. There was no way of knowing who he could trust. Which was why, when he’d sent word to his father letting him know he was alive, he’d kept his counsel.

“Well?” He folded his arms and glowered at Hugh’s prolonged silence.

Hugh ran a critical gaze from his boots to his head. “Ye’ll do,” he said.

William grunted at his cousin’s sardonic praise. “’Tis all I have.”

“Aye.”

That’s all Hugh said, but William knew exactly what he meant. If he’d done the expected thing, and merely made arrangements for Isolde to travel to Creagdoun in the spring, on his wedding day he’d be wearing new boots instead of a pair warped by the sea, fresh linen, his own plaid, and his father’s heirloom brooch.

But spring was months away. He couldn’t wait that long until she became his bride.

“I’m glad, though,” Hugh said before glowering, as though the words had fallen from him unbidden. Then he shrugged and focused on the wall. “That she pleases ye, after all.”

“I’m fortunate,” he agreed. Even Isolde’s frosty attitude these last few days hadn’t dampened his need for her. The woman had addled his senses, but once they were at Creagdoun, when they could begin their life together, she would soon thaw.

He had no doubt.

*

It had been decided between Lady Helga and Isolde that the wedding would take place in the great hall, rather than the kirk, and when he and Hugh entered, it had been transformed.

The castle’s chaplain stood before the top table, which was draped in the colors of the MacDonalds of Sgur, and winter foliage and candles filled the hall. It seemed most of the inhabitants of Eigg wanted to witness the ceremony, as aside from Lady Helga’s entourage and his men, the back of the hall was crammed with warriors, servants, and local villagers.

With Hugh by his side, he stood before the chaplain, and from the corner of the hall, a lone musician played the clarsach. The haunting notes filled the hall, and Willian sucked in a deep breath.

For ten years, the prospect of his marriage had crouched in the back of his mind like a poisoned toad. Something unavoidable that had to be endured for the good of his clan. He’d always expected it would happen in Argyll, under the watchful eye of the earl and surrounded by his family.

It seemed oddly fitting that none of his expectations of his wedding day had come to pass, since his bride was nothing like he’d once resigned himself to.

A ripple stirred through the crowd, and he glanced over his shoulder. And then he couldn’t tear his gaze away, as his bride, surrounded by her sisters and Lady Helga, advanced towards him.

Isolde’s forest green gown was threaded with gold, and jewels sparkled around her throat and wrists. But it wasn’t the opulent silks and furs that rendered him immobile. It was her glorious hair that cascaded unbound over her shoulders and glimmered in mesmeric waves of red-gold curls in the glow from the candles.

She was a vision.

And soon, she would be his.

She came to his side, but whereas he couldn’t drag his bewitched gaze from her, she didn’t spare him even a fleeting glance. Her attention was fixed on the chaplain as though she didn’t want to miss a word.

When he slid the ring on her finger, regret flickered through him. It was his bride’s right—Isolde’s right—to wear his beloved mother’s ring. That had always been his intention, even before he’d met her. But for now, they had to make do with a ring from Lady Helga.

Finally, the service finished. And he couldn’t recall a word of it. But that didn’t matter, since the only thing of consequence was that Isolde was now his bride, and with so many witnesses, no one could ever doubt it.

As the hall erupted with activity, with servants rearranging the tables and benches to ready the wedding feast, he clasped her fingers and kissed her hand.

“My lady,” he murmured, his gaze meshing with hers, and lust gripped his vitals so violently he barely managed to swallow his groan. It would be hours before he and Isolde were alone. Maybe he should’ve accepted Lady Helga’s offer for them to remain in the castle for their wedding night and set sail in the morning.

But he wanted to begin their married life in Argyll. At Creagdoun, the castle he’d one day pass onto his son. And, irrational or not, he wanted that son conceived at Creagdoun as a testament of his right to the land.

“William Campbell,” she responded. “It’s not too late to change yer mind and remain on Eigg with me.”

At least she now agreed they belonged together. It was an improvement on her previous stance. Unfortunately, her request was impossible for him to grant.

“My castle needs a mistress. And I can’t leave my lands for too long.” Because if he did, the cursed MacGregors would do all in their power to claim Creagdoun, and Clan Campbell could never allow such a significant stronghold to once again fall into their enemy’s hands. “But all being well, we could make plans to visit the Isle in summer.”

Unless Isolde was with child. He wouldn’t risk her health, or the bairn’s, by allowing it. Besides, surely she wouldn’t wish to undertake an arduous journey unnecessarily.

He was so caught up in the enticing notion of her nurturing his bairn, it took him a moment to realize her serene expression had turned hostile. It was obvious the prospect of waiting so long before seeing her family again did not sit right with her.

The last thing he wanted was to upset his bride on their wedding day. Once again, he raised her hand and brushed another kiss across her fingers. “But Lady Helga and yer sisters are welcome to visit any time they wish, Isolde. Creagdoun is yer home now, as well as mine.”

“How gracious.” She accompanied her words with a smile so filled with ice, it could easily rival a frozen loch in midwinter. “I’ll be sure to inform them of yer benevolence.”

He could feel the eyes of everyone in the hall upon them. And, most likely, judging him. While he didn’t care about the opinion of strangers, Isolde’s rancor grated and threatened his good humor. Was she going to blame him for who he was forever ?

“Do ye really wish to argue today of all days?”

She cast a swift glance around the hall and appeared to realize they were the center of attention. A shudder rippled through her, and he had to force himself not to pull her into his arms to comfort her. Although, she was now his bride in the eyes of God, so would it really cause a scandal if he did?

Before he got the chance to test his theory, she swung about to face him.

“No. This sacrifice will be for nothing if no one believes our alliance is true.”

Stung by her choice of words, he whispered in her ear, so no one might overhear. “’Tis no sacrifice, Isolde. We are wed, not planning to be murdered by yer Pict queen ancestor.”

“Don’t mock things ye know nothing about.”

“Then don’t compare this to being sacrificed for the good of yer isle. I’ve no ill intentions to desecrate the memory of yer foremothers. Alliances are arranged all the time. Aren’t ye at least relieved not to be tied to an old man who can barely leave his disease-ridden bed?”

Her eyes sparked green fire at him. “Ye paint a disgusting picture, William Campbell.”

“Well?” He would not let her ignore his challenge.

She let out a vexed breath. “Aye. I understand what ye’re saying. But that’s not the way of the MacDonald women of Sgur. We don’t wed for those kinds of alliances.”

“Ye do now.”

He regretted his retort the moment he uttered it and saw the stricken expression flash over her face. But it was gone in an instant, and she offered him a brittle smile instead.

“Aye. It seems we do.”

He couldn’t take his hasty words back, but he had to make her admit that what they had was worth something.

“Damn it, Isolde. Can’t we at least try and make this work?”

From the corner of his eye, he saw her sisters approaching, doubtless to tell them that it was time for them to take their places at the high table so the wedding breakfast could begin.

“Very well.” Her voice was so soft, he barely heard it above the noise of laughter and chatter that filled the hall. “I shall make the best of it, since I have little choice.”

He should have been satisfied that she didn’t intend to make their marriage a battlefield, but her choice of words irked him greatly. “Neither of us had a choice,” he reminded her. “Do ye plan to throw that in my face every day?”

“No. ’Tis not that I blame ye for.”

“Isolde—” Exasperated, he bit off his retort as her sisters arrived, and they settled themselves at the high table. Isolde sat by his side, as regal as a princess, with a serene smile on her face. Playing her part of the happy bride to perfection.

He didn’t want her playing a part, God damn it.

Across the hall, he caught sight of his men, laughing and jesting as befit the occasion. None of them threw him hostile glances, and during the last few days he’d not felt any antagonism when in their company. Whoever had hit him on the head and thrown him overboard was a cursedly fine actor.

He was thankful Patric was accompanying Isolde. When William wasn’t by her side, he knew he could rely on the other man to protect her with his life.

As the last dish was cleared from the table, he turned to Isolde. “My lady, we need to leave if we want to reach Creagdoun before sundown.”

The journey to Creagdoun would take several hours but as long as they left Eigg by sunrise they’d reach the castle before daylight faded.

Her bottom lip trembled, just once, and the sight of it caused the lingering remnants of irritation to vanish. She was leaving everything she had ever known, and a sliver of guilt chewed through him at how hastily he’d arranged this wedding.

Yet he wouldn’t change things, even if he could. The prospect of returning to Creagdoun without her by his side was unthinkable.

He took her hand as they rose from the table, his thumb grazing her knuckles in a gentle caress, a silent message of support. To remind her that, however they had arrived at this point, it was meant to be.

Her gaze clashed with his. He’d half expected her eyes to be filled with tears, or, more optimistically, understanding, but he should have known better.

Her eyes flashed with suppressed resentment, and sparks ignited in the charged air between them. She wasn’t on the verge of weeping, no, not his Isolde, and anticipation scorched through him, obliterating his guilt in a blaze of untrammeled lust.

Once he’d imagined he wanted a gentle lass as his wife. But Creagdoun needed a strong woman as its mistress, one who would never back down from a challenge.

Once she made the castle her home, and accepted the reality of their alliance, she’d understand this was the only way it could be, for them both.

He just hoped it didn’t take her too long.