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I solde stood at the prow of the ship, her shawl wrapped tightly about her, as they approached the port of Oban. It had been an uneventful crossing, and although the relentless wind had turned her face numb with cold, it was nothing compared to the bitter chill creeping through her blood.

Enclosing her heart.

Before they’d left Sgur Castle, she’d had a few moments alone with her sisters and Amma. They had held each other tight, not speaking, but the sorrow had been a tangible thing woven around them like strands of gossamer.

“I’ll visit in the spring,” she reminded them. William had been agreeable to it, and by God she intended to hold him to his promise. “That’s not so very long to wait, is it?”

Roisin shook her head, but her bottom lip trembled, and Frey gripped her hand in silent support. But it was when Amma cupped her face in a tender gesture that she nearly lost her composure.

“I’m proud of ye, lass.”

The bittersweet memory would remain with her always.

She sucked in a jagged breath as the ship docked. William had tried to sequester her away in a corner of the ship, out of the frigid elements, so he’d told her, but mainly, she knew it was because a woman standing on the deck discomposed his men.

That was too bad. She would not sit quietly in a corner, out of sight, simply to appease Clan Campbell. This was her future now, and she’d face it squarely, and if William didn’t like it, he had no one but himself to blame for going through with this farce.

She picked up the basket by her feet, where Sjor had spent the journey under great protest.

“Ye can stretch yer legs in a moment, my bonny wee lad,” she whispered. Before they began the next leg of their journey to Creagdoun. But she knew it wasn’t just the unfamiliarity of the ship that agitated him. He missed his littermates.

“Here.” William appeared by her side and attempted to take the basket from her. She tightened her grip, and he expelled a loud sigh. “Are ye still being contrary, Isolde? I’m merely trying to help.”

“I can manage to carry Sjor’s basket,” she said with as much dignity as she could, considering she dearly wanted to take issue with his contrary comment. “I’m not a fragile southern maiden who cannot undertake such a simple task.”

“Just as well.” He eyed her and despite everything, flickers of warmth raced over her skin. Curse her foolish feelings. “A sassenach lass would never suit me.”

With that, he remained by her side until he’d safely deposited her on dry land before he returned to the ship to supervise the unloading of her trunks.

With a silent sigh of relief, she placed Sjor’s basket on the ground. She’d rip out her tongue rather than ever admit it, but her darling lad was heavier than she’d anticipated, and it hadn’t been easy maintaining her dignity as she’d disembarked while grasping onto the basket for dear life.

Emer, one of her grandmother’s loyal serving women who was now her personal maid, hurried to her side. The voyage hadn’t agreed with her, but thankfully she no longer looked as though she were about to throw up her breakfast.

Patric joined them, along with the dozen warriors he’d handpicked to accompany her to Creagdoun, and her heart squeezed in her chest when she spied her beloved claymore secured on his back.

How could she ever use it again, so far from the isle of her birth?

The port was busy, but even between the throngs of people going about their business, it was easy to spot William as he strode through the crowd towards her. Why did her breath catch in her throat every time she saw him? It was most annoying.

When he reached her side, he took her hand. “We’ll rest here for a short time while we procure wagons and horses. There’s a patch of grass yonder where Sjor can run.”

Why was he so thoughtful? Surely not many men would be so mindful of her dog’s needs. It made it harder to recall why she couldn’t trust him.

And she couldn’t afford to trust him. Not when she couldn’t believe anything he said to her.

“He’ll enjoy that,” she acknowledged, especially since she knew how much he’d hate being secured in his basket in a bumpy wagon. But there was no help for it. He wasn’t as young as he once was and couldn’t possibly make the journey to Creagdoun under his own steam.

“William.” Hugh hailed him as he approached. “There’s a messenger from Dunstrunage. Yer father requests ye and yer bride visit before traveling to Creagdoun.”

“If we detour to Dunstrunage, we’ll never reach Creagdoun before sundown.”

“I doubt the baron expects ye to continue yer journey today. He’s sent horses and wagons for yer use.”

William expelled an impatient breath before turning to her. “It seems we are delayed, my lady. Dunstrunage is less than an hour north from here, but even if we don’t stay the night, I doubt we could leave the castle before dark.”

“I should like to meet the baron.” Aye, she’d very much like to meet the powerful Campbell who had agreed so readily with her grandmother’s proposed alliance. “And it will be good to recover overnight from the crossing before another lengthy journey.”

Concern flashed across his face. “Ye should’ve told me ye were feeling weary, Isolde.”

Why would he leap to that conclusion? And why did his obvious care for her comfort still manage to touch her, when she knew how easily insincere, honeyed words could drip from his tongue?

“I’m perfectly well.” Inadvertently, she glanced at Emer before returning her attention to William. “It simply makes sense to visit the baron, since we are so close.”

He also glanced at Emer, and she saw understanding dawn.

“Aye.” He sounded reluctant. “I know my father is eager to meet ye. He would have had us wed five years ago if he’d had his way.”

“Then let us be thankful for small mercies.”

He flashed her a grin. Evidently, her barb had entirely missed its mark. He leaned in close, so no one could overhear. “I wanted our first night together to be at Creagdoun. But Dunstrunage is my childhood home so I cannot be too disappointed.”

Their wedding night. Heat scorched her as fractured images of the time she’d spent in his bed blazed through her mind. If only she’d remained in her own bedchamber that night, she wouldn’t now be plagued by those cursed memories. Yet it seemed her treacherous body didn’t care how William had manipulated her, and sparks of desire ignited between her thighs.

She drew in a steadying breath, but it didn’t help calm her galloping pulse. “Alas,” she whispered, “our wedding was so rushed ye didn’t allow for a suitable date to be arranged. My monthly courses are upon me.”

For an eternal moment, he appeared bemused. And then realization struck, and consternation wreathed his features. Indeed, he looked so mortified by her revelation she had the alarming urge to laugh.

Thankfully, she managed to keep her mirth contained and merely raised her eyebrows when he took a hasty step back.

“Apologies.” He cast a furtive glance around, as though ensuring no one was close enough to hear their conversation, and although there was nothing funny about it, she had another mad desire to laugh. And then his gaze caught hers, and the laughter dried in her throat at the raw need that glowed in his eyes. “It appears we’re destined to consummate our union at Creagdoun after all.”

*

Isolde didn’t want to be impressed by anything connected to Clan Campbell, but the first sight of Dunstrunage Castle was, without doubt, breathtaking. Set on its own peninsula in the Firth of Lorn, the mighty towers of the castle were protected from any attack by land or sea by a formidable curtain wall.

As they went through the gatehouse, she stole a sideways glance at William, who had ridden by her side for the length of the journey. She’d always known, deep in her heart, he was of noble blood. And so he was. What a pity that blood was Campbell.

William had sent a messenger ahead of them, and a party greeted them in the courtyard. He helped her from her horse and held her hand as he led her to an older man who, judging by his bearing and uncanny likeness to William, could only be the baron.

“Sir,” William said, bowing his head, before he introduced her. Bruce Campbell, Baron of Dunstrunage, smiled at her, clearly well satisfied by events, and she offered him a chilly smile in response.

“Lady Isolde,” he said. “May I welcome ye to the family. How like yer mother ye are.”

Startled by his greeting, which was nothing like she’d imagined, she glanced at William. But he appeared as taken aback as herself by his father’s remark.

“Did ye know my mother, my lord?” she enquired, as she allowed him to take her hand and press a kiss against her knuckles.

“Aye.” He released her hand. “A long time ago.” He turned to a youth by his side, who looked to be seventeen or so. “My youngest son, James. And my daughter, Margaret.” He smiled indulgently at the girl, who looked no more than twelve.

How remiss of her not to have known William had a younger brother and sister. But then, he had never mentioned them. Not even when he’d so wondrously regained his memories.

The reminder of how he’d tricked her smarted, and she hastily forced that memory to the back of her mind. She would not disgrace her foremothers by displaying bad manners to these Campbells.

After James and Margaret greeted her, the baron led them inside to the great hall. Surreptitiously, she admired the fine tapestries on the walls, and the grand stone-carved fireplace. It was obvious William’s family not only possessed noble blood but also great wealth.

For the first time she wondered about Creagdoun. Sgur Castle was her home, and while she loved it with every particle of her being, there was no denying it was a constant battle to keep the roof from leaking, and their many tapestries, while exquisite, were over two hundred years old.

The tapestries displayed here, particularly one of a magnificent hunt incorporating the mythical unicorn, looked astonishingly new.

But then, it wasn’t the wealth of the MacDonalds of Sgur the Campbells coveted. It was their land, and the gateway it gave to the Western Isles.

“We’ll have dinner shortly,” the baron said. “And ye will doubtless stay the night. It was a great relief, my lady,” he added, glancing at her, “to discover my son hadn’t perished in the storm.”

“Indeed,” she said, inclining her head. Did the baron know William had woven a tale of deception around her? Or not?

In the end, it scarcely mattered, since the outcome was exactly what he and her grandmother had plotted all those years ago.

Patric came to her, holding Sjor’s basket. Warily, she eyed the large deerhound that stood beside the baron. The baron scratched the dog’s head and nodded at her darling lad.

“He’ll be safe, my lady, no fear of that.”

Relieved, she released Sjor, and the two dogs sniffed each other with mutual curiosity.

“Sir,” William said. “My bride needs time to refresh herself after the sea crossing. Might I take her to her chamber?”

“I’ll take Lady Isolde.” Margaret stepped forward, and the baron laughed.

“Aye, Margaret will do the honors as the lady of the castle.” He gave her hair an affectionate ruffle, and the girl gave a long-suffering sigh.

It was clear that, when it came to his daughter, at least, the baron wasn’t an ogre. Which was disconcerting, to say the least. During the last ten years, she’d built a picture of him in her mind, and being a caring father had not been on her list.

“This way, my lady.” Margaret glanced over her shoulder at William. “’Tis yer old chamber, since that is the second-best in the castle.”

Isolde followed Margaret up the spiral staircase, taking an odd comfort in how the stone steps were worn away through centuries of use. It reminded her of home.

Margaret opened a door and stood back to allow her to enter the chamber. William followed her, and Patric and Emer remained by the door.

“’Tis beautiful.” Isolde tried not to stare at the sumptuous four poster bed, but it was impossible. She’d never seen such a beautiful thing before, although she’d heard many rumors of their splendor.

“It was our lady mother’s bed.” There was a reverential note in Margaret’s voice as she traced her fingertips along one of the carved oak posts.

“Just so ye know,” William said, giving her a smile that made her treacherous toes curl. “When this was my bedchamber, I had nothing as grand as this to sleep on.”

“My lord father moved the bed in here when William claimed Creagdoun,” Margaret said. “When we received the message earlier in the week that ye were arriving, I had the chamber aired and bed linen freshly washed. If there’s anything ye need, my lady, please let me know.”

“Ye’re very kind.” She smiled at Margaret, for how could she not? The girl was delightful and certainly not in league with her brother’s deceptions.

But what does she mean when William claimed Creagdoun? Maybe she merely meant when William had inherited the castle from their father.

“Thank ye, Margaret,” William said, and his sister beamed at him before leaving the chamber. Patric, after casting a critical eye around the chamber, nodded at her before ushering Emer away, and she and her husband were finally alone.

She gave him a sideways glance as he shut the door. My husband . How strange that fact hadn’t crossed her mind before.

“Yer sister is most attentive.”

“She takes her duties seriously.” He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. His body was a wall of solid muscle against her back. How she longed to melt against him. But she’d melted beneath his charm before, and she doubted her pride would ever recover from it.

She dragged her scrambled thoughts to order. She would not let him see how easily he could shatter her defenses.

“Yer lady mother?” She left the question hanging, suddenly unsure if he’d wish to speak of her, when he hadn’t mentioned her before. But then, he hadn’t mentioned any of his family to her, and surely, now she was his wife, she had the right to know.

A great shudder ripped through his body, and she bit her lip, glad he wasn’t facing her. She didn’t need to see the pain in his eyes to know how deeply he’d loved her.

“She died in childbirth. I was thirteen. Margaret is the image of her. I think somehow that gives our father comfort.”

“I’m so sorry.” Her voice was soft. For such a natural event, childbirth could be so cruel. How many times had Freyja raged in the night when a new mother she’d cared for had succumbed, despite all her efforts?

He rested his jaw on the top of her head, a tender gesture, and she blinked back the unexpected prickling behind her eyes. She didn’t want to feel sadness for him. He was her husband, and she would do her duty, but not because she wanted to.

Because she had no choice.

How bleak that future would be, when once she’d imagined so much more could be theirs.

“I must speak with my father.” He sounded reluctant, and his arms tightened around her before he slowly released her. “I’ll send Emer in, to tend to yer needs.”

She turned and gave him a perfunctory smile, even though it foolishly hurt her heart. It wasn’t Emer she wanted. It was her sisters.

But most of all, she wanted her imaginary Njord back.