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W illiam found his father in the courtyard, talking with Hugh, David, and Malcolm. Several of the men had gone their own ways after they’d docked, and while he’d rather keep any possible enemy close, he could hardly demand they remain without explaining why. And as soon as he alerted his would-be murderer that he recalled those last moments on the ship, the slender advantage of using their ignorance against them would vanish.

Admittedly, it was a shit advantage, since he still had no clue who wanted him dead. But it was the only one he had.

At his approach, the men made their excuses and left the two of them alone.

“What the hell happened?” His father kept his voice low. “Ye fell overboard?” Skepticism dripped from every word.

“I don’t know who hit me on the head and left me for dead. But if not for Lady Isolde and her kin, the assassin would’ve succeeded in their mission.”

“Christ.” His father exhaled a long breath. “Who the devil was on the ship with ye?”

“I’ve known every man for years.” Frustration clawed through him again, the way it did every time he thought of what had happened. “Only Hugh knows the truth. Safer that way.”

“Aye. I agree. It sickens me to think we have a traitor among us. It’s good Lady Isolde has her own band of warriors to protect her.” He drew in a deep breath, and William refrained from telling his father that Isolde was his responsibility and only he could protect her.

God damn it, he couldn’t even trust the people closest to him. How could he ever entrust her safety to them when he wasn’t around?

“Aye,” he agreed, even though the word burned his throat. “Her men are loyal.”

“I’ll speak to the earl. He might know something.”

It was possible. The earl’s influence was like a spider’s web across Argyll and beyond.

Then his father clasped his arm and gave a satisfied grin. “So ye are now wed. Well done, lad. She’s a bonny lass, as I always knew she would be. When we’ve flushed out the traitor, we’ll have a Campbell wedding in the chapel here, so there’ll be no doubt about it.”

“There’s no doubt,” he said. “Most of Eigg witnessed our marriage.”

“Good. ’Tis the right thing to unite Campbell and MacDonald.”

And that reminded him. “It was always the intention for Lady Isolde to wear my lady mother’s ring. I should like to give that to her, with yer permission.”

“From the day ye were born, it was yer mother’s greatest wish that her ring should, in time, go to yer wife.” His father gave a ragged sigh. “I’ll find it for ye. And my wedding gift to ye both is the Brussels tapestry in the great hall.”

Taken aback, he stared at his father. The tapestry was only a few years old and had cost a small fortune to commission from the artisans in Brussels. “That’s very generous.”

“Creagdoun is sound, but now ye have a wife, ye’ll need to furnish it appropriately. Every woman appreciates a few luxuries, William. Never forget that.”

He’d spent the last three years improving Creagdoun’s fortifications and estates, and although he’d always known the inside of the castle needed attention, there had always been other tasks that had taken priority.

An oversight he intended to remedy as soon as possible. His bride deserved nothing less than the best.

“Lady Isolde will never have cause to regret our marriage.”

“Make sure of it,” his father said. “I gave Lady Helga my word I’d honor her granddaughter as though she were my own blood. She’ll want for nothing.”

It was good his father wanted only the best for Isolde. But she was his wife. And he was responsible for Isolde’s happiness, not his father. What’s more, the baron’s remarks grated along his senses, as though his sire suspected William was incapable of keeping a noble-born wife in the manner to which she was due.

But there was something else, something that scraped along the edges of his affront, dulling its sting, as he recalled the odd greeting the baron had made upon meeting Isolde. How would his father know Isolde looked like her mother, unless he had met her?

“Sir, forgive me. But did ye know Lady Helga before she came to Dunstrunage ten years ago?”

At first, he didn’t think his father was going to answer. The baron gazed into the distance, as though lost in the distant past, before expelling a deep breath and finally meeting his eyes.

“Aye.” He sounded reluctant. “’Twas before I wed yer lady mother, God rest her soul. I met Lady Helga’s daughter, Ingrid, one summer I spent on the Small Isles. But in the end, I couldn’t remain on Eigg, and she refused to leave Sgur. But I never forgot her.”

It was disconcerting to learn his father had once set his sights on Isolde’s mother. If only he’d kept his mouth shut, but it was too late to regret his curiosity now. He didn’t even know what to say, and instead gave a grunt which hopefully conveyed whatever his father wished it to.

Then his father grasped his shoulder. “Yet here we are, thirty years later, and Ingrid MacDonald of Sgur’s daughter is my son’s wife. And Clan Campbell has a strategic foothold in the Small Isles.”

As William watched his father return to the castle, an uneasy question slithered through his mind. Had he wanted Ingrid MacDonald for herself, or for Sgur?

He knew it didn’t matter. Marriages were rarely undertaken for reasons other than strategic gain. But for a few surreal moments, he thought he’d seen something more in his father’s eyes when he’d spoken of Ingrid, rather than merely a politically advantageous alliance.

Either way, it didn’t affect him. He hadn’t wed Isolde because of her lands. She could have been the third daughter with nothing of value but her name, and he’d still have wanted her as his bride.

At least his memory loss had proved that to him, without a doubt. And once Isolde was truly his bride, she’d see it that way, too.

*

It was early afternoon the following day when Isolde caught the first glimpse of Creagdoun. Between the trees, a loch glimmered, and the L-shaped castle stood not far from its banks. It was an imposing sight, although it lacked the elegant style of Dunstrunage, but that wasn’t why a sense of dread gripped her heart.

It was because Creagdoun was so very far from the coast.

There wasn’t even the faintest hint of sea in the breeze, and the sound of gulls had faded long ago. Her fingers tightened on the reins, and she took a few deep breaths to calm herself, but all that did was reinforce how far she was from everything she knew.

William, who’d scarcely left her side throughout the journey from Dunstrunage, caught her gaze and gave her a smile that caused the breath to catch in her throat. The crisp winter air made his stormy blue-gray eyes glitter, but there was nothing cold about them. Heat lurked deep in those enigmatic depths, and a responding curl of flame licked through her blood.

Last night, he hadn’t shared that magnificent bed with her. He’d respected what she’d told him and sprawled on a chair by the hearth. But how a foolish part of her had wanted to spend the night simply wrapped in his arms.

“What do ye think, my lady?”

It was obvious he was referring to her first sight of her new home. A week ago, she would’ve confided her fears to him. But a week ago, he had been Njord.

Now, he was her husband. And while she had to admit he still possessed traces of the honor she’d once thought were an inextricable part of Njord, she couldn’t bring herself to share with William Campbell how daunting she found this new future. For the sake of her pride, it was best to let him believe all was well. “’Tis very grand.”

“Aye.” There was no mistaking the pride in his voice as they drew closer to the castle. And then a frown slashed his brow. “It will be, Isolde. I give ye my word. I’ll make ye proud to be the lady of Creagdoun.”

She cast him a sideways glance as they approached the gatehouse. What an odd thing to say. As though that truly mattered to him when surely all he cared about was the fact he’d achieved his objective in making her his bride.

Is that really all he cares about?

How comforting to believe his concern was genuine. But she’d trod that path before, until her eyes had been opened, and she wouldn’t lose sight of the truth again.

As they rode across the forecourt, the castle’s servants waited at the doors, and she kept a serene smile on her face, despite the unease that tangled in her stomach. From the time she was a small child, she’d learned the importance of how to run a great house, but she’d also always imagined that great house would be Sgur Castle, and the servants would be those she had known all her life.

She shouldn’t have been so complacent. After all, her grandmother had given her fair warning, ten years ago, when she’d signed that alliance with the baron.

William helped her dismount, and his seneschal, Lamond, greeted them, before motioning forward several of the higher-ranking servants, who all seemed pleased to welcome her.

Finally, the ordeal was over, and William led her into the great hall, where several large tapestries covered the walls. She tried not to stare, but it was still a shock to see the substantial fire and smoke damage that disfigured the woven country scenes.

The baron’s wedding gift, which William had told her about last night, was welcome, indeed. But why hadn’t the tapestries been repaired before William had inherited the castle? It seemed the baron, despite his wealth, had neglected to maintain Creagdoun.

“After dinner, I’ll show ye the rest of the castle.” William took her hand, evidently unconcerned by such lack of etiquette, and led her across the hall. It was hard not to recall all the times they had held hands in the past, those secret, hidden, moments, when no one else was around to voice their disapproval.

And now they were wed, and William was the laird of a grand estate, no would dare remark upon his behavior towards his wife.

Despite her best intentions, a ragged sigh raked through her for those few precious days when anything had seemed possible. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Nothing more than a dream.

His hand tightened around hers, as though he’d heard her unwary thoughts, but he didn’t say anything as they went up the stairs. Then he paused.

“We’ll be sharing my bedchamber, Isolde. Just so ye know.”

He made it sound like a challenge. Did he expect her to rise to it?

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. And then couldn’t help herself. “How can a castle such as Creagdoun lack a lady’s chamber?”

“I didn’t say it lacked the chamber. Just that ye would be sharing mine.”

She squashed the flare of excitement that ignited at his arrogant assumption. It didn’t matter that a week ago she would’ve welcomed the prospect of such a scandalous proposition, because a week ago she’d been utterly in thrall to Njord.

The despicable truth was the prospect still thrilled her. And it was that, more than his imperious command, that truly rankled.

“This is a political alliance, William, not a love match. Ye and I both know the terms of the contract state I’m to be afforded all rights due to my rank.”

A muscle flexed in his jaw, as if her barb had found its mark. “And so ye will, make no mistake. The lady’s chamber is currently not fit for yer use, which is why ye’ll share mine.”

Momentarily deflated by his retort, she fell silent as he continued along the passage. God, what was wrong with her? She didn’t want to share his bedchamber. Why did it matter what the reason was for him suggesting it?

Yet it did. Because she’d assumed only nefarious purposes whereas it appeared there was a genuine explanation.

How mortifying.

He paused, his hand on an iron door ring, and gave her a sideways glance. Warning skittered through her at the blatantly predatory gleam in his eyes.

“In case ye’re in any doubt,” his voice dropped to a low rumble that, infuriatingly, caused heat to bloom between her thighs. “That’s not the main reason why I want ye in my bed, Isolde. Ye’re my bride, and I want ye by my side. Ye’ll discover the merits of that, soon enough.”

With that, he opened the door, as she silently seethed at his brazen promise. He presumed that she’d enjoy the marriage bed so thoroughly, she’d overlook propriety.

She’d never allow that to happen. It didn’t matter how much a part of her still craved his touch. That was something she’d have to learn to live with. Aye, and hide it, too, until it finally faded to nothingness.

And another thing. She had to stop believing everything he said. Hadn’t she learned that lesson the hard way?

She cast her glance around the good-sized antechamber, with two chairs set before the hearth and a great oak chest along one wall. Rushes and dried herbs were strewn across the floor, which gave the chamber a fresh scent, although without any rugs, or tapestries on the wall, even with the fire blazing there was a distinct chill in the air.

She suppressed a shiver, but she wasn’t going to let him think she’d accept every word he uttered without proof. “Where is the lady’s chamber? Perhaps ye have unrealistic expectations as to what I find acceptable.”

“I’m not lying to ye, Isolde.” There was a faint note of affront in his tone, but she didn’t deign to answer since they both knew she had the perfect response. He expelled a harsh sigh and shook his head. “Very well, the lady’s chamber is through there.” He indicated a door on the far wall. “It backs onto the master chamber, but for an unfathomable reason the chambers don’t possess a connecting door.”

He released her hand and marched across the chamber, before flinging open the offending door. “Let me know yer opinion.”

She inclined her head and joined him at the door. Good Lord. What had happened in there? The chamber was empty of furniture, the shutters on the windows were broken and let in the icy wind, and chunks of stone were scattered across the floor.

“It certainly needs some work,” she conceded. Curse the man. He hadn’t lied to her. But why was it in such a dreadful state? “Why is it uninhabitable?”

“I’ll make it habitable. That doesn’t mean I want ye sleeping in here.”

Exasperated, she rounded on him. “That’s not an answer, and ye well know it, William Campbell. How could the baron allow it to fall into such a state of disrepair in the first place?”

To be sure, his lady wife had died many years ago. But this chamber wasn’t merely sadly neglected. It appeared maliciously damaged.

Instead of a cutting retort, which she expected, William frowned, as though her criticism made little sense. “Creagdoun has never belonged to my father. I assumed ye knew. The earl granted me the castle and land after I claimed it in battle three years ago.”

All her preconceived notions shifted and, obscurely, she felt wrong-footed. “Well, how the devil was I supposed to know that? Ye’ve told me nothing of yer life, never mind about yer castle.”

“If ye recall, I extended an invitation three years ago for ye to visit Creagdoun. Lady Helga declined on yer behalf. Did ye not receive the message, Isolde?”

Aye, she had. And the reminder did not improve her mood. “The message said nothing about ye having just been granted the castle.”

“Would it have made any difference?”

Damn him. “No,” she admitted.

“Right.”

“But still,” she persisted. “Ye could have told me once we were wed.”

“To be fair, we are only just wed.”

She heard the hint of laughter in his voice. She was so glad one of them found this discussion amusing. “Who owned Creagdoun before yer conquest?”

The humor drained from his eyes, and perversely she was sorry for it, but she couldn’t live in ignorance.

“Torcall MacGregor. Ye know—I assume ye know—of the bad blood between Clans Campbell and MacGregor?”

“We heard how Clan MacGregor seized Campbell land in Argyll.”

“Torcall MacGregor set his sights on Dunstrunage. A fatal error of judgement. The castle is a strategic stronghold and can never be allowed to fall into MacGregor hands. They were crushed, and for my service the earl granted me Creagdoun.” He indicated they should return to the antechamber, and he led her to the other door. “That’s when I discovered how much work it needed to bring it up to a standard fit for a bride. Although the castle itself is sound enough, and I’ve improved its fortifications.”

He opened the door, and they went through to the master bedchamber. At least in here the chill wasn’t as noticeable, as faded tapestries hung upon the wall and threadbare rugs covered the wooden floor. Had everything she’d seen so far belonged to the disposed MacGregor?

“’Tis not what ye’re used to, I know.” He folded his arms and cast a grim glare around the chamber. “My plan had been to improve the inside of the castle during the next few months, so it’d be fit for ye before we wed. But now ye’re here, ye can pick whatever furnishings ye best like.”

“I believe repairing the lady’s chamber should be the priority, before commissioning pretty fripperies.” Although without more tapestries to put on the wall, the lady’s chamber—even when it was repaired—would be as cold as a tomb. But she could hardly back down now, especially when William’s mouth twitched as though he found her remark amusing.

“The estate can well afford both,” he said. “Now ye’re here, I promise to see to the lady’s chamber. And in the meantime, ye must tell me what luxuries Creagdoun lacks. I won’t have a wife of mine going without her essential comforts.”

She wasn’t entirely certain whether he was mocking her or not. But since it appeared that she was obliged to share this chamber with him for the foreseeable future, she might as well make the best of it.

“I brought a rug from home. We can use it in here, for now, and these older ones can go in the antechamber.”

“Agreed.” He didn’t even pause to think about it. “And we’ll put the unicorn tapestry on the wall in here, until ye find something more appropriate to keep out the chill.”

“I doubt the baron would approve of his gift being hidden away up here.” She was surprised William even suggested it. The tapestry was a prestigious piece of art, something to be displayed in the great hall for guests to admire and secretly covet.

William shrugged. “Yer comfort is more important to me than displaying a Brussels tapestry in the great hall.”

Why did he insist on saying things like that? It made it so hard to remember that his tongue was gilded with honey, and he’d say anything to get his own way. Yet even knowing that, warmth spread through her at his words.

After all, she was already his bride. He had nothing more to gain by uttering sweet lies.

She stifled a sigh and shook her head, but her thoughts remained as tangled as ever.

“Isolde.” His calloused palms cradled her face, pulling her back to the present with a rush of awareness that spiked through her blood. Her breath caught in her throat, and it was hard not to let him see how desperately she wanted to wrap her arms around him. “Should I sleep on the chair again tonight?”

She swallowed, her mouth dry. How many men would be so thoughtful? It was something Njord would ask. Not William Campbell.

Yet here they were.

How easy it would be to tell him she needed another night before he shared their bed.

But she didn’t need another night. And sooner or later, this union would need to be consummated.

Treacherous flickers of desire ignited, threatening every good sense she possessed. But there was no point lying to herself.

Even knowing how he had manipulated her, she still wanted him.

Her gaze meshed with his, and she couldn’t have lied to him even if she’d wanted to. “No.” Her voice was husky, and his eyes darkened in understanding, obliterating the stormy blue-gray of his irises. “There’s no need to sleep on the chair this night.”