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A s promised, after dinner William showed Isolde around the rest of the castle. She’d been unnaturally silent, and he’d been forced to see Creagdoun through her eyes.

He was fiercely proud of Creagdoun. And the fact the earl himself had bestowed the castle and lands on him as a reward for how he’d fought in the bloodied battles to drive back the MacGregors. To be sure, the estate and village had been neglected for years, but he’d spent every hour God had sent working to make the land profitable.

He’d told Isolde the truth. It had always been his intention to start on the interior of the castle this year, since his father had made it plain that he and the earl wanted the alliance with Isolde of Sgur to be formalized by summer at the latest.

In fact, he’d been set to begin upon his return from Skye. But if only he’d set his mind to such matters a year ago. Because the stark truth was, Creagdoun was in no fit state to welcome a mistress with Isolde’s noble heritage.

It was too late to regret that now. But he’d make it up to her, and she’d soon be mistress of a fine castle she could be proud of, too.

He left her in the solar with her serving woman, and while up until now he’d merely been appreciative of the light that streamed in through the windows, now he couldn’t help but compare it to the comfortable solar at Sgur.

There was nothing he could do about that today, and as much as he didn’t want to leave her for even an hour, he needed to be seen about his estate to quell any rumors that might’ve sprung up during his absence.

Rumors that would find their way back to Clan MacGregor, who would doubtless attempt to take advantage to try and reclaim Creagdoun.

Aye, they’d attempt anything. The black thoughts swirled in his mind as he marched into the courtyard on his way to the stables.

“William.” Hugh’s voice penetrated his dark suspicions, and he swung about. His cousin came to his side, a frown slashing his brow. “What is it, man?”

“Do ye think a MacGregor is behind the attack?” William kept his voice low, even though no one was close enough to overhear. “That they managed to bribe one of the men?”

“It sickens me to think that’s possible.”

“Aye. But what else can we think? None of the men were strangers, Hugh. Who the devil can we trust, if not the men we’ve known for years?”

“My brother knows some lowlifes. I’ll see if I can get any information from him about suspected MacGregor spies. I won’t tell him why.”

Hugh didn’t elaborate, but William understood. Douglas, Hugh’s older brother, might have the ability to charm his way out of all the trouble he’d landed in over the years, but he was also a drunkard. They’d learned not to trust him with secrets when they’d been lads, since Douglas had a loose tongue when in his cups.

Robert Fletcher, one of the men he’d sailed with, met them at the stables. “William, are ye in any need of extra hands about the estate? I and a couple of the men could do with the work.”

It wasn’t an unusual request. The Fletchers had pledged their loyalty to Campbells long ago, and since becoming laird of Creagdoun, he’d often enlisted the services of Robert and some of the other men and was grateful for it.

But now, suspicion gnawed through his mind. Did Robert have an ulterior motive for staying at Creagdoun?

Keep yer enemies close.

It was ancient advice, but no less sage for that. Even if the prospect that it was Robert who was the traitor turned his guts.

He managed to keep his face impassive as he gripped Robert’s shoulder. “That’d be grand. There’s plenty to be done, now my bride is here.”

But there was no way anyone was getting close to her. She’d remain within the castle walls, protected by him and the men she’d brought with her from Eigg, until he’d flushed out the traitor and justice had been served.

It took far longer than an hour to ensure his presence was noted about the estate and in the village, and it was already dark by the time he and Hugh returned to the castle. As always when he saw Creagdoun, gut-deep satisfaction gripped him at what he’d achieved through his own prowess in battle. But for the first time, his hard-won pride was a secondary consideration as anticipation pounded through his blood at the prospect of finally claiming his bride.

It wasn’t until after supper, and Isolde had retired, that it struck him there was, in fact, one inconvenience in having them share a bedchamber.

He had nowhere to bathe. And while the prospect of bathing while Isolde washed his back was more than enticing, he had the feeling if he suggested such a thing to her, she might well push his head under the water until he all but drowned.

Besides, just before she’d left the hall, he’d heard her instruct the maids to ensure hot water was sent to the chamber for her own use.

He barely managed to swallow a groan, as the image of her sinking into a tub of scented water invaded his mind and he was halfway to the stairs before he realized what he was doing.

With a silent curse he swung about. He’d use the solar. Maybe a lukewarm bath would cool his ardor for long enough until his bride was ready for him.

*

William sucked in a deep breath as he stood outside the door to the bedchamber he now shared with his wife. There was nothing stopping him from simply entering. He knew she was alone. And waiting for him.

Why then did he hesitate?

But he knew why. It was because as soon as she’d discovered his heritage, Isolde hadn’t wanted this marriage. And although he was confident that by the morning she’d be as invested as he was in their alliance, the truth was he didn’t want to face her antagonism when he opened the door.

Not tonight, their belated wedding night.

But she’d wanted him well enough that night in Eigg. And that was the woman he wanted in his arms.

The woman he needed.

He rapped on the door before pushing it open. Isolde stood before the hearth in a simple shift, her hair tumbling over her shoulders in fiery waves, as the glow from the flames surrounded her in a halo of gold.

His mouth dried and blood thundered in his veins. She was a vision. And she was his.

He kicked the door shut and strode across the chamber to her. She pulled her shawl more securely across her breasts as he halted in front of her and drank in the sight of how her eyes glittered like emeralds in the firelight.

“I’ve dreamed of this.” His voice was hushed, as though she might vanish if he spoke any louder. “Yet ye’re more exquisite than I imagined.”

She smiled and shook her head in mock disapproval. “There’s no need for such flattery when ye’ve already caught me.”

He wound one of her damp curls around his finger. Her hair was soft like silk, an irresistible caress against his skin. “’Tis not flattery when it’s the truth.”

“Well, tis not the first time ye’ve seen me in such a state of undress. Am I more exquisite now than I was before?”

“Aye. Because tonight I shall not be holding back.”

The tip of her tongue moistened the seam of her lips, a fleeting gesture and one he found uncommonly fascinating. “Ye do know,” she said at last, “that doesn’t make sense at all.”

He could scarcely recall what they’d been talking about. “When I look at ye, my brains addle. Don’t condemn me for it, since I fear I’ll never be able to look at ye with a clear head.”

“That’s a pity. I should like to know yer clear-headed thoughts, and that’s a fact.”

Too late, he realized discussing the state of his mind was likely the worst thing to talk about while she still harbored doubts about him. But tomorrow, after he’d proved how much she meant to him, she’d see the truth.

“Ye cannot expect such a thing while I hold my beautiful bride in my arms on our wedding night.” He cupped her face, before threading his fingers through her hair and pulling her close. “Ye’ve bewitched me, and I’ve no wish to be released from yer spell.”

“Tis not a bewitched husband I want, but one I can speak with plainly.”

“Ye can say whatever ye wish to me.”

“If only that was true.”

Belatedly, he realized she wasn’t merely jesting with him. She may have welcomed him into their bed tonight, but she was still irked.

“I’m grieved ye doubt it.” More than she’d ever know. “But there’s no reason why we can’t find what we had on Eigg here at Creagdoun.”

“What we had on Eigg wasn’t real.” There was a wistful note in her voice that tugged at his heart. “There’s no going back. I know that.”

“Then we’ll find a new way forward. ’Tis better that way, surely? A fresh beginning to start our married life together.”

“Ye could be right.” She sounded reluctant, but at least she wasn’t disagreeing with him. That had to be a good sign.

She tipped her head back, and her lips were a temptation he could not resist. His mouth captured hers, his tongue penetrating and exploring, and her small gasp of pleasure ignited his blood in a blaze of lust.

He pulled her shawl from her shoulders and dropped it to the floor, and memories of when he’d done this before flickered through his mind. But tonight, everything was different. Because tonight there was no risk to her reputation.

Panting, he pulled back to drink in his fill of her flushed cheeks and how her delectable breasts strained against the fabric of her shift. Except something caught his eye and he glanced at her feet, where Sjor regarded him with an unblinking stare.

“God damn.” The oath slipped from him before he could prevent it. ’Twas just the dog, but for a heartbeat all he’d seen were a pair of black, glowing eyes. “Should Sjor be in here with us?”

Her lips twitched with evident mirth. “Will knowing Sjor is watching affect yer performance?”

“My performance is for yer benefit only. I fear loyal Sjor might attack my arse at a vital moment.”

“That would be unfortunate, indeed.” There was no mistaking the laughter in her voice. “A wedding night to remember, that’s for certain.”

“Aye. But I’d rather remember it for other reasons than a dog bite.”

“I’m not against sending Sjor to the antechamber. But he’ll be alone, and he’s missing his littermates dreadfully.”

Momentarily lost for words, he gazed into her eyes. Of all the things he’d imagined might occur on this belated wedding night, discussing how Isolde’s dog was homesick hadn’t even crossed his mind. He gave Sjor a doubtful sideways glance. The terrier still stared at him in apparent wounded affront.

A disbelieving laugh escaped. He was becoming as daft as Isolde was over her beloved dog. But the fact remained, allowing Sjor to stay in the bedchamber was a small price to pay for Isolde’s peace of mind.

“Can ye extract a promise from him that he’ll mind his business if we let him stay?”

“Sjor, bed.” Isolde pointed to a pile of blankets in a corner by the hearth, and the dog obeyed without so much as a snuffle. She gave him another mocking smile. “Are ye satisfied now?”

“Not yet.” It took every shred of willpower he possessed not to rip the shift from her body and take her where she stood, but somehow he managed to contain himself. “But before this night is done, we’ll both be well satisfied, Isolde. Ye have my word.”

With that, he unwound his plaid, a torturous maneuver, with Isolde watching his every move as though she had never witnessed anything so intriguing before. With a silent sigh of relief, he dropped it onto a nearby stool before kicking off his boots. But when he began to unlace his shirt, she stepped closer and unlaced him herself.

“’Tis only fair.” She glanced up at him through her lashes, and the breath damn near stalled in his chest. “Ye didn’t give me the chance to strip ye the last time we were together.”

With Isolde’s fingers brushing against his naked chest, and a delightful frown of concentration on her brow as she loosened the ties, he could scarcely recall the last time they’d been together. In truth, he could barely remember his own name. Which all things considered, should have been a worry.

But he didn’t even care.

A frustrated growl tore his throat, and he ripped his shirt over his head before hooking his fingers into the neckline of her shift and tugging her forward. “Now we are wed, ye can strip me every night if it pleases ye.”

Her hands flattened against his chest, and his heart thundered so loud it was hard to think straight. But then, what was there to think about tonight, save claiming his bride?

He trailed kisses along her throat, and she tipped her head back with a soft sigh. The elusive scent of lavender filled his senses, and he worked the ribbons on her shift loose before sliding the material over her shoulders.

Slowly, he eased her shift along her arms and sucked in a harsh breath when it slithered to the floor, leaving her naked before him. The firelight danced over her lush body, shadows concealing as much as the golden glow revealed, and his cock throbbed for release.

Not yet.

Tenderly, he kissed her, threading his fingers through her hair, holding her still for his exploration. Her tongue pushed against his, and need thudded through his blood, pushing his control to its limits.

His fingers traced along her back and over the swell of her backside. He gripped her cheeks and she groaned, the sound filling his mouth like a forbidden caress. When a shudder rippled through her, he wrapped one arm around her, holding her close. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her nipples erect and driving him out of his mind.

His control slipped and his kisses became more urgent, but she didn’t pull back. She wound her arms about him, and his fingers stroked her damp folds, dipping inside her and teasing her sensitized clit.

Her nails clawed his shoulders, and her gasps grew ragged, urging him on. Not that he could have stopped. Not when Isolde clung to him, mindless with desire, and he caressed her with his fingertip as her release spilled through her in endless shudders of pleasure.

He held her close as she sagged against him, but raw lust pounded through him, demanding satisfaction. He swept her into his arms and took her to their bed, and fragmented memories of the time he’d carried her to the box bed at Sgur hammered through his mind.

But tonight, everything was different. Because tonight nothing would hold him back, and he’d finally make her his.

She lay on the bed, her glorious hair spread across the pillows, and with a primitive growl of need he spread her thighs and loomed over her. His bride.

Mo chridhe .

He pushed into her, and her sharp gasp caused him to still. “Isolde?” His husky voice filled the chamber, as lust and want pounded through his veins.

“Don’t stop, William,” she whispered, and wrapped her legs around his thighs.

His name on her lips was more potent than he’d ever imagined, and the last tattered remnants of his control fled.

Christ, she was so tight around him, an exquisite sheath of flame and silk. He thrust into her, and nothing mattered but this moment, this woman, and when she shattered around him, he followed her over the precipice.