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T hey had been wed for two weeks, and after they finished breakfast, and William held her hand as she rose from her chair, Isolde had to admit he was a most attentive husband. And not just in the bedchamber.

As always when she thought of their bedchamber, she recalled their bed sport and warmth suffused her. He smiled, as though he could read her mind, and while she fervently hoped he couldn’t, she smiled back.

After their confrontation, she’d been forced to face the accusation she’d flung at him, and with every day that passed, it became harder to believe he had lied to her during the days they’d shared on Eigg.

But if that was the case, it meant William’s life truly was in danger. And that was something she didn’t want to contemplate.

“The earl is seeing me today,” he reminded her as they made their way to the solar. He’d mentioned last night at supper he had received a summons from the Earl of Argyll, and she inclined her head in response. The invitation didn’t include her, but as William had told her last night, the visit wasn’t for social purposes.

“Will ye be back later?” She hoped so, although she also hoped her eagerness didn’t show in her voice. It was all very well enjoying the delights of the marital bed, but she still wasn’t comfortable with him knowing just how much she’d miss him if he didn’t return this night.

He leaned in close, so his lips brushed her ear. How could such a featherlight touch cause such havoc to her senses?

“Queen Mary herself couldn’t keep me away from ye for a single night, mo chridhe.”

She didn’t much care for the queen, but as always, his endearment melted her heart.

“That’s good to know.”

He opened the door to the solar, and as she entered the chamber a suffocating vice squeezed inside her breast. Every morning, William brought her here, where she would start on the tasks of overseeing the castle’s daily requirements. During the last few days, she’d had the new tapestry and her rug moved into the master bedchamber and supervised the unpacking of the trunks of goods she had brought with her from Sgur.

Superficially at least, the castle was starting to feel a little more familiar.

She had also inspected the larders and checked the winter stocks, and this morning she planned on evaluating the kitchen gardens.

None of her duties were the cause of why that relentless curl of panic simmered just below the surface. It was because William had still not relented on the order that he’d issued the day after they had arrived at Creagdoun, that she was not permitted to set foot outside the castle walls.

It still stung. Even if he thought he was doing it to keep her safe.

“William.” She spun around and took his hands. Surely, she could make him see sense. There hadn’t been a hint of danger since he’d brought her to Creagdoun. “I should like to ride today. My men can accompany me, so there will be no risk.”

“No.” His voice was hard and brooked no argument, and all her soft, kindly thoughts of him evaporated like steam from a boiling pot.

“No?” Her voice was sharp, and she dropped his hands as though they were burning logs. “Is that it? No discussion?”

“There’s nothing to discuss, Isolde.” He shut the door, before returning to her. “Until the danger is passed, I cannot allow ye to wander the countryside. Anything could happen to ye.”

“I didn’t ask to go alone.” God only knew how she kept her voice so calm, when resentment churned within her breast. She had never needed to ask permission from her grandmother when she wanted to escape Sgur Castle. She had been her own mistress, and responsible for her own actions. Yet now she was wed, she was treated like a serf. “Ye know Patric would never allow me to go anywhere unaccompanied.”

“I’ll speak to Patric and ensure he’s aware ye’re not to go riding. I can’t protect ye if ye’re not within the castle’s walls.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, affronted to the core of her being. “Patric is not yer man. Ye can’t issue orders to him.”

“Patric answers to me. Ye will not go riding, Isolde.”

Speechless, she glared at him. Could he have made it any plainer just how little he valued her opinion? But she would not be defeated so easily.

“Ye forget yerself. The wedding contract plainly states Patric and the men remain within my jurisdiction.”

“Aye. And ye forget that while ye retain all yer worldly goods and attendants, ye’re my wife, and as such the final word rests with me.”

Pain squeezed her heart. She didn’t want to face it, but the truth was stark. William’s highhanded behavior hurt. But then, he was a Campbell. What else could she expect?

Just because the truth had become blurred since they had wed didn’t mean anything had changed. He was not Njord, even though he so very often reminded her of that illusory warrior. But she wouldn’t let him see how easily he could wound her.

“And what if ye never find this so-called assassin?” She coated each word with the contempt they deserved. Even if, deep inside, she now questioned her conviction that his loss of memory had been nothing but a masquerade. “Will ye keep me a prisoner within yer castle forever?”

“A prisoner?” Finally, something she’d said appeared to have struck a nerve. “Ye’re not a prisoner. Ye’re my wife.”

“Aye. And I fail to see a difference in the two states.”

He expelled a patently irritated breath. “Ye’re impossible to reason with when ye’re in such a mood. I trust when I return, ye’ll be more amenable.”

With that, he gave a stiff bow before leaving the solar.

She gripped her fingers together and glowered after his retreating back. Damn the arrogance of the man. She was not in a mood. How dare he suggest she was, simply because she craved a sliver of freedom?

A moment to escape the shadow of the castle, so she could merely be ?

But no. He could not even allow her that small consideration. Instead, he expected her to be happy to be tethered to a crumbling castle, far from everything she had ever known. Maybe he had never lied to her, but in his heart he was, and had always been, William. Not Njord.

She sucked in a jagged breath and attempted to compose herself before she started her day. But it didn’t matter how she tried to push William from her mind, his imperious words haunted her.

“Ye’re my wife and as such the final word rests with me.”

After dinner, she escaped to the courtyard with Sjor, who enjoyed exploring every nook and cranny he could find. Not that it was much of an escape, since Emer trailed in her wake and several of the men she’d brought with her from Sgur stood guard.

How different married life would’ve been, had she remained on Eigg.

She pulled her shawl more securely about herself and glanced at the gray clouds that hid all signs of the sun. She was used to gray skies, damp mist, and the bitter chill of winter. But she wasn’t used to being confined. And how she missed the tang of salt in the air and the sound of the sea in her ears.

Anxiety swirled low in her stomach, and she took a deep, calming breath. It didn’t help. She fought the overpowering urge to sink to her knees and dig her fingers into the earth, because it wouldn’t ease her panic or quiet her mind.

All it would do was make the servants and everyone else in the castle think she was mad.

The earth here at Creagdoun couldn’t help to ground her. Her foremothers had lived and died on Eigg, and that was where the source of her strength resided, and always would.

“My lady.” The low voice behind her caused her to swing about. Patric gave her a half smile, but she saw the sympathy in his eyes, and she hated that he knew how lost she felt.

Almost as much as she hated how he had lately started to address her as my lady .

“Patric.” At least she didn’t sound as if she were falling apart, which was a relief. And then she noticed what he held. Her claymore. And another wave of panic swept through her at the prospect of trying to use the sword when she knew, in her heart, how dismally she’d fail. Her skill, after all, was tired to the land of her birth.

He held out her claymore. “I’ve been slack. Ye’ll be losing yer edge.”

She didn’t take the sword from him. “Not today.”

“Aye, today. There’s a perfect spot yonder.”

When she shook her head, he stepped closer, and his voice dropped to a coaxing whisper. “Come, lass. Ye must keep up yer skills.”

His kindly tone, the one he’d used with her since she was a child, was almost her undoing. He reminded her so much of home, and everything she’d left behind.

She cleared her throat. It would never do to show any weakness when she was surrounded by those who had long ago pledged their loyalty to Clan Campbell. She carried the honor of Clan MacDonald on her shoulders, and she would not disgrace her kin.

Once again, he offered her the sword, and with reluctance, she took it. Its familiar weight was bittersweet, but the fear that she no longer deserved her father’s claymore remained.

Patric led her to an area beyond the stables where a well had been dug long ago, and turned to face her. All the training she’d undergone during the last ten years fled, and she stared at him, mute, as he raised his sword.

“Isolde.” His voice was calm but with a thread of steel, and slowly she raised her claymore.

Patric’s sword slashed through the air. It wasn’t unduly unexpected or fierce. Yet instead of instinctively deflecting the blow, the blade clashed against hers, the impact quivering through her fingers and, unforgivably, her beloved weapon clattered to the ground.

Mortification seared through her, made worse as she belatedly realized a crowd of William’s servants had gathered in obvious shock at seeing their new mistress wielding a sword. Abysmally .

She’d brought dishonor upon the MacDonalds of Sgur, and proved, beyond doubt, that any skill she’d once possessed had deserted her when she had deserted her beloved Isle.

Patric picked up the claymore but didn’t hand it back to her. Somehow, that small non-gesture underscored the depths into which she had fallen.

“Come.” He gave a brusque nod, and she fell into step beside him as they headed to the armory. She waited in silence while he secured the claymore, and when he returned to her side, she released a heavy sigh.

“I’ve brought shame upon all I love.”

He grunted. “’Tis one poor performance. Ye needn’t think I’ll allow ye to forego yer training just because ye’re now a married woman.”

She tugged her shawl tighter about her shoulders, even though she wasn’t cold. Not with the abject humiliation burning through her blood. “Being wed has nothing to do with it. ’Tis because I’m no longer a part of Eigg.”

Patric was silent for so long, she thought he’d decided the discussion was over. Thank God. Because she certainly didn’t want to discuss her tangled thoughts with anyone. But then he gave her a contemplative look and her heart sank. He hadn’t given up on the subject at all.

“Yer skill is yer own, my lady. Never let anyone tell ye otherwise.”

Bizarrely, she recalled when William had bested her in their sword fight. She’d told him it was the blood of her foremothers in the earth beneath her feet that gave her the skill with the sword.

He hadn’t agreed. And his words echoed in her mind.

“Maybe ’tis the blood of yer foremothers in yer veins. But I cannot see how the land has anything to do with it.”

William hadn’t understood. But she’d thought Patric would.

“It scarcely matters,” she said. And then, before she could stop herself, her hurt spilled out. “Do ye really think the mistress of Creagdoun will be permitted to wield a sword? I’m not even permitted to go beyond the castle walls.”

As soon as the words were out, she regretted them. Even though she was still upset with William, it felt disloyal to say such a thing to Patric. If only her sisters were here so she could share her distress with them.

“I’ll be blunt,” Patric said, and she shot him an aggrieved glance. Obviously, he didn’t agree with her. And when had he ever been anything but blunt? “William Campbell is a fair man, for all he’s not a MacDonald. He wants to keep ye safe, and for that I cannot fault him.”

When things were put that bluntly , of course no one could fault him.

“Safe from the elusive traitor who attacked him on his ship?” She managed to inject a trace of scorn in her voice, even though a shadow of alarm stirred. Because she was no longer certain that was a fabrication, was she?

“I don’t claim to know what happened on his ship,” Patric said, which, considering how he was defending William, was surprising. She’d expected him to declare he believed every damn word that had ever come out of William’s mouth. She narrowed her eyes and glared ahead so Patric wouldn’t see the gathering confusion in her expression. “All I know is he’s an honorable man who wouldn’t resort to lying about such a thing simply to gain an advantage with ye.”

“’Tis gratifying ye can be so sure about such a thing.”

“Did he ever tell ye about Colban?”

Startled by the turn in the conversation, she swung about to face him. “Tell me what?”

“Aye. I thought not.”

“He told me he acted in self-defense when he punched Colban, and I believed him.” She still believed him. But that had nothing to do with what they were talking about, did it?

“I saw none of that. But I was on the beach, and I did see Colban prepared to run Campbell through when he turned his back. Colban only retreated when I made myself known.”

Shock spiked through her. “Colban attacked William when his back was turned?”

She could scarcely believe a man, a MacDonald, that she’d known all her life could be capable of such a dishonorable action. But she’d never doubt Patric’s word.

More to the point, why hadn’t William told her the truth when she’d asked him?

“Aye. I assumed he’d inform Lady Helga, but he didn’t. Ye may draw yer own conclusions from that, lass.”

Because he hadn’t wanted to cause any trouble. But it was more than that. If the only reason he’d washed up on the beach was to ensnare her in some tangled net of his own making, then surely it made sense he’d try and enlist her sympathy by telling her how Colban had attacked him.

Especially when he had an impeccable witness in Patric.

The fact that he hadn’t simply reinforced her original impression of him.

As a man of honor.

Her grandmother had told her she needed to learn to keep perspective in all matters to be a fair judge of the truth, but when it came to William, she’d allowed her wounded pride to blind her. The last shreds of doubt that he’d lied to her about losing his memories died, and she released a soft groan. “I misjudged him, Patric.”

“Ye’re not the first to misjudge a man. And ye had fair reason.” Then he paused, a dark frown slashing his brow. “My loyalty is to ye, my lady, and always will be. Never doubt that. But William Campbell and I are of one mind when it comes to yer safety.”

She knew Patric would defend her with his life. And now the last doubts had faded about William, she understood why he’d commanded her to stay within the castle walls, even if the prospect still caused a tight knot to lodge in her chest.

But her distress at being confined was nothing compared to this. Because now she was convinced that he’d never lied to her, another fear that she’d managed to suppress over the last few days clawed through her heart.

Someone had tried to murder William on his ship. And he was still in danger.