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A fter leaving Isolde, William gathered half a dozen of his men to accompany him to visit the earl, but as Creagdoun vanished into the early morning mist behind them, his mind was only half on the task.

All he could see in his mind was the contempt on Isolde’s face as she’d accused him of keeping her a prisoner.

His bride. A prisoner. How could she even think that?

After the harsh words they’d exchanged on the day he’d shown her Creagdoun’s secret passages, he’d believed they had come to a new understanding. Or, rather, that she’d accepted she’d been wrong to distrust him.

Yet she’d flung assassin at him like an accusation. As though she still refused to see the truth.

God damn it, all he wanted was to keep her safe. Her petulance was a small price to pay for his peace of mind.

Except peace was the last thing he felt when her condemnation rang in his head like a clarion.

A wife was not meant to question her lord’s every word. Yet even as that fact crawled into his mind, he knew its folly. If Isolde was the kind of woman to obey everything he said without argument, was it likely he’d find her so irresistibly fascinating?

The rebuttal echoed in his mind, when all he should be concentrating on was what information the earl had for him. But he couldn’t even discuss that with any of his men, because he couldn’t damn well trust his men, and as far as they were concerned, he’d lost his footing in the storm and tumbled overboard.

Involuntarily, his fingers tightened on the reins. It irked him more than it should that his injury was attributed to a moment’s clumsiness rather than the truth. But there was no help for it.

He hoped to God the earl had good news for him.

It was late morning before they arrived at the manor where the earl had lately been staying since surrendering Castle Campbell to the queen, and were shown into the great hall, where he waited, standing before the fire.

“My lord,” he said as the earl greeted him, and from the corner of his eye he saw Hugh and Alasdair with a group of the earl’s men. He hadn’t known Hugh would be here. His cousin had left Creagdoun a few days ago, as another crisis had arisen at his father’s stronghold that he’d needed to deal with.

“I’m told ye wed the MacDonald lass while ye were lost at sea.” The earl eyed him, and William wasn’t sure whether his comment was a rebuke or not. “That bash on yer head as ye fell overboard obviously knocked some sense into ye. Congratulations, William. Good work.”

He gave a grim smile and hoped the earl couldn’t tell how his remark had rubbed him the wrong way. Not the implication that he’d fallen overboard. That was a strategic maneuver when there was no telling how many ears might overhear them.

No. It was the good work comment. As if he’d somehow manipulated Isolde into an early wedding.

Didn’t ye, though?

The earl thrust a tankard of ale at him, and he took a long swallow as good-natured jibes and congratulations from the earl’s men were aimed his way. But he couldn’t easily dismiss the lingering accusation in his mind.

Aye, he’d rushed her. He would admit to that. But whether they had wed at Sgur or waited until the summer and married in Argyll, the end result was the same.

She was his bride. And he would never regret ensuring she had returned to Creagdoun with him.

“William. Alasdair. Follow me.” The earl glanced at Hugh, who had fallen into step beside William. “Not ye, Hugh.”

What in hellfire was that about? William frowned at his cousin, who offered him a tight smile and shrugged his shoulders. It was plain the earl wished to speak of the traitor in their midst, so why exclude Hugh, who had been on the damn ship with him?

Since he could hardly question the earl on it, especially in public, he strode after the other man who led them into his private chamber.

Alasdair closed the door behind them, and the earl narrowed his gaze at William.

“Yer father told me what happened. Do ye have any new information for me?”

“I’ve spoken to each man who was on the ship who returned with me to Creagdoun, but none of them gave me any reason to suspect they were the one we’re looking for.” Frustrated, he expelled a harsh breath. “It turns my guts to think a man who tried to kill me can look me in the eyes and feign relief that I’m alive.”

“Who didn’t return to Creagdoun with ye?”

William gave the earl their names.

“I doubt it’s any of them,” the earl said. “But I’ll take no chances. I recently received word from a reliable source that Torcall MacGregor’s son, Alan, didn’t die alongside his father three years ago. He’s alive, William, and it would seem he’s out for vengeance.”

William expelled a harsh breath. “He’s the one who forced one of my men to try and kill me.”

“Either that, or Alan MacGregor and the unknown man are working together.” Alasdair sounded grim. “Ye cannot always give men the benefit of the doubt, William.”

He’d rather think one of his men was being forced against his will than that he was acting on pure greed or spite. But still, he had to concede Alasdair had a good point.

“The MacGregors are planning something big,” the earl said. “And those still loyal to Torcall MacGregor are now backing the son. They want Creagdoun back, and how better to gain an advantage than by murdering the rightful laird?”

He’d suspected as much, although the fact Alan was alive certainly complicated things. “They won’t succeed.”

“None of the clans will support their claim,” Alasdair said. “With or without Alan MacGregor.”

That reminded William that he had yet to speak to the earl about their visit to Skye. Even though he knew Hugh had already informed the earl, it was still his responsibility to confirm it.

“We have the support of Clan MacDonald of Sleat. John MacDonald is no friend of the MacGregors.”

“Aye. That’s good. And now ye are wed to Isolde MacDonald of Sgur, we have another foothold in the Small Isles which will serve us well. When I have more information on what the MacGregors are hatching, I’ll send word.”

His alliance with Isolde was advantageous. It was a fact, and he didn’t know why having the earl point it out so baldly rankled.

“I don’t need to remind either of ye that everything we’ve discussed is not to be shared outside this chamber.” Then the earl caught his eye. “That includes Hugh, William.”

*

William was still reeling from the earl’s command when they returned to the great hall where dinner was served. He trusted Hugh with his life, God damn it, and if the earl thought his cousin had anything to do with what had happened on the ship, his brains were addled.

Hugh was the only other man who’d been on the ship, besides Alasdair, who knew the truth. God’s blood, he was the one who’d suggested they keep the truth to themselves, so as not to alert the would-be murderer.

He didn’t have the chance to speak with Hugh until they left the earl and were heading back to Creagdoun.

“What was that about?” William kept his voice low so no one might overhear.

Hugh shrugged, but he clenched his jaw, belying the casual gesture. “I believe he’s running out of patience with Douglas.”

“Since when are ye yer brother’s keeper?”

“Since the day I was born.” Hugh gave him a sideways glance, and William shook his head. Thank God his younger brother, James, had never given him half the headaches that Hugh had put up with from his elder sibling. “Did the earl have any useful information?”

Aye, he’d delivered the blow that Alan MacGregor was still alive. Yet he’d been specifically ordered to say nothing to Hugh. It burned, but he couldn’t disobey.

“He’ll let me know if he discovers anything.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. Yet it was one, by omission. And the way Hugh gave a brusque nod and said nothing more merely confirmed that his cousin understood what William hadn’t said. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about it. “Did ye have the chance to speak with Douglas?”

“Not yet. I’m hoping to hear from him later this week. I’ll send word if he shows his face.”

They rode in silence for a while before Hugh drew close once again. “How’s married life treating ye, William? I trust Lady Isolde is well.”

“Aye. She’s well.” Once again, he saw the disdain that had glowed in her eyes just before he’d left her. An odd tightening sensation assailed his chest. Had he been too harsh? He didn’t want her to feel she was a prisoner. Maybe he hadn’t explained his reasons to her well enough.

Except surely she understood his reasoning. How couldn’t she?

“Send my regards to yer lady wife,” Hugh said, and William clasped his cousin’s arm in farewell before Hugh headed to his father’s stronghold.

As William watched his cousin ride off, an uneasy sliver of doubt raised its ugly head.

No. He wouldn’t contemplate it. The earl could think whatever he liked, but he, William, knew in the depths of his soul that Hugh would never betray him.

*

When Isolde returned to the castle after her enlightening conversation with Patric, a restless energy consumed her. To be sure, a brisk walk along the beach would cure that malady, but even if she could leave the castle walls, there were no beaches closer than a day’s ride away.

She drew in a deep breath. Of course, there was always something that needed attention, but she wanted to do something other than the usual daily chores of running a grand castle. Something that would show William her commitment to their new life together. Besides, she had already completed the duties she’d set herself for the day before she’d disgraced herself with her father’s claymore.

No. She wasn’t going to dwell on that, and she forced the humiliating memory to the back of her mind. There was something of far more importance she needed to focus on.

She’d misjudged William, and the knowledge of how she’d disdained him gnawed through her. He’d never deserved her harsh words. All he had done was his duty, and she wanted to do something to make it up to him. As she and Emer entered the antechamber, she paused before going into the bedchamber she shared with William, and her gaze snagged on the door that led to the lady’s chamber.

Aye. There was something she could do. He’d told her she had free rein to do whatever she wished to make the castle more comfortable. So far, she hadn’t taken him up on it, because a part of her simply couldn’t see Creagdoun as her home.

But it was her home, and even if she could never feel it was a part of her soul the way Sgur was, William loved Creagdoun. All her life, she had been trained to be the mistress of a grand estate. And, as his wife, it was her duty to ensure the interior of the castle befit his status.

It wasn’t his fault Creagdoun wasn’t Sgur. And maybe by bringing the castle up to the standard William deserved, she might find a way to ground herself in this new life.

Restoring the lady’s chamber offered an intriguing challenge before she set her mind to enhancing the great hall.

She turned to Emer. “It’s time I looked to improving the castle. We should start on the lady’s chamber.”

Emer didn’t look convinced. “’Tis a right mess in there, milady. ’Tis in need of a mason to repair that damage.”

Isolde’s enthusiasm wavered since Emer wasn’t wrong. But she’d made up her mind and wouldn’t be dissuaded.

“Indeed. And I shall ensure the finest stonemason is found. But first, I must evaluate exactly what needs to be done.”

With obvious reluctance, Emer accompanied her. As Isolde opened the door and surveyed the chamber, her heart sank. She’d forgotten just how damaged it was.

She pulled her shawl more securely around her shoulders and tried to stop shivering. “The window and shutters need repair first of all,” she remarked, and Emer hastily agreed. “And, of course, a mason to repair the stonework.”

She crossed the floor and examined one of the dust-coated tapestries that hung upon the wall. Surprisingly, it appeared in reasonable condition, and she turned to Emer.

“Find a couple of maids, Emer. I do believe a good beating will work wonders on these tapestries.”

Emer nodded and departed, and Isolde returned her attention to the chamber. She’d speak to the steward about finding a mason. Now she’d had time to look closer, the damage appeared more superficial than she’d first feared.

Sjor barked, and she smiled at him indulgently as he nosed along the far wall.

“What is it?” She went over to him and ran her gaze over the large tapestry. It was in poor condition, but it was the wall upon which it hung that caught her attention. She lifted the edge of the tapestry and gazed at the wooden wall panels. Had the entire chamber once had such beautiful coverings? It was a shame to hide it. She’d make a feature of this wall.

Sjor had finished sniffing and was now scratching madly at the wood. “No,” she admonished him, crouching down and wrapping her arm about him. “Don’t ruin the panel, Sjor.”

She frowned. There was a faint draft, and it wasn’t coming from the broken shutters. Intrigued, she pressed her fingers against the edge of the panel.

There was no mistake. There was definitely a draft. She patted Sjor as excitement surged through her. “Have ye found me a secret chamber, my bonny lad?”

He barked in clear agreement, and she laughed. “Do ye think William knows of it?”

She had a feeling he didn’t. Why would he have explored this chamber for such a thing when he’d never used it? Besides, if he did know about it, he would’ve told her of it.

It didn’t take long to find the concealed latch, and she warily eased open the panel. A wooden door was set into the stone wall, secured by two sturdy bolts.

“Tis most intriguing,” she said to Sgur. “Do ye think this passage leads to the master’s chamber?”

It was a romantic idea to be sure, and one Roisin would find irresistible. But why put a connecting passage on the wall farthest away from its neighboring chamber? It likely led somewhere quite different. Maybe, years ago, the lady of Creagdoun had smuggled her lovers into her chamber by this route.

The bolts proved a challenge, but she wouldn’t let such a minor detail deter her, and finally she pushed the door open. A musty smell swirled out, and she covered her nose with her hand as she peered into the darkness. The passage ran to her left, towards the outer wall of the castle, and in the distance was a faint glimmer of light. Doubtless the source of the draft.

With Sjor at her heels, she went back to the antechamber and lit a lantern before returning to the secret passage. She placed the lantern on the ground and hauled a broken chunk of stone across the floor and wedged it so the door couldn’t accidentally slam shut, entombing her.

She suppressed a shudder at the thought, but the prospect of discovering where this mysterious passage would lead her was too exciting to abandon over a fear of becoming trapped within Creagdoun’s walls.

“Come,” she said to Sjor as she entered the narrow space.

The lantern illuminated the passage where the uneven stone steps led downwards, away from the small source of light she’d seen when she’d first opened the door. She could only imagine it came from an arrow slit in the outer wall, to allow air into the passageway.

She glanced over her shoulder. The shaft of light from the lady’s chamber seemed very far away. And still the passage led downwards. Surely, she must be on the ground by now. Was there a concealed door that opened directly into the great hall that William knew nothing about?

The atmosphere turned dank and oppressive, and apprehension twisted through her, not helped by the way Sjor stuck by her ankles as though he, too, no longer found the adventure exciting.

“We can’t go back now,” she told him, even though she knew she was merely trying to persuade herself. But instead of the sound of her voice reassuring her, it echoed eerily along the passage and sent shivers along her spine.

Maybe they should return. Yet she was mistress of Creagdoun, and ought to know about the secrets it held. She lifted the lantern higher as the passage grew narrower, and the ceiling was uncomfortably close to the top of her head.

They were no longer within the boundary of the castle walls. She was sure of it. This underground tunnel had been constructed as an escape in times of siege.

Except that also meant it was a point of entry if enemies knew of it.

Her stomach churned with sudden nerves, and her determination to explore no longer seemed like such a clever plan. But she couldn’t stop now. The safety of Creagdoun might depend upon her discovering a vulnerability in their defenses.

The tunnel sloped upwards, which could only mean they had breached the castle’s line of sight. Finally, in the distance, she saw a glimmer of light. Her mouth dried, and she gripped the lantern tighter. If only she’d had the foresight to bring her claymore.

Except she could no longer wield her beloved weapon.

As she drew closer to the dim light, her heart hammered in her chest, making it hard to draw breath. But the light didn’t grow bigger as she’d feared, and with a ragged sigh she gazed at the sturdy wooden door before her, with a small, barred window at the top which was the source of the illumination.

It was set into a stone-built wall, and not only did two bolts secure the door against the outside world, but it also possessed a thick iron bar across it.

Her heart slowed as she noticed how wild grasses wound around the bolts and bars. It was obvious the door hadn’t been used in years, and she went onto her toes to peer through the window.

Tangled branches and vines partially obscured her vision, but beyond that she could see trees. She frowned and craned her neck to get a better look, but it seemed the passage led directly into the forest behind the castle.

She released a relieved breath that she hadn’t uncovered a nefarious plot against William and glanced at Sjor. “That’s enough adventuring for ye in one day. Come on. Let’s get back.”

Thankfully, Emer had not yet returned with the maids when she reached the chamber, and she hastily pushed the stone aside and closed the door and panel before straightening the tapestry. It wouldn’t do for servants to know of this passageway before their laird did.

The security of Creagdoun wasn’t compromised. But she’d tell William of her discovery as soon as he returned to the castle.