Page 23

I solde stirred in the bed she shared with William, but something didn’t feel right. She opened her eyes and in the glow from the fire realized she was alone in the chamber.

She let out a sigh and pulled the sheepskin covers tightly about her, but it wasn’t the same as having William’s body to warm her. While he often rose before her, he never left the bed without waking her with searing kisses and an early morning tumble, and disquiet flickered through her.

Was something amiss? But surely, if so, he would have awakened her. And if trouble brewed, he certainly wouldn’t have taken the time to stoke the fire before he left, to ease the chill in the air for when she finally left the bed.

She rolled onto her side and gazed at the space beside her. With all they had discussed yesterday, she’d forgotten to tell him about the passageway she’d found, but that oversight faded to the back of her mind with what was now truly gnawing at her.

She’d been so hurt by his perceived betrayal when they had wed, she’d grimly clung onto her longstanding vow to not become a broodmare for a Campbell.

There were ways to prevent conception. She and her sisters had been taught the old ways by Amma, whose knowledge had been passed down from mother to daughter for generations, along with the Deep Knowing.

She hadn’t even felt guilty about keeping it from William, since she’d been so convinced he’d trapped her by deceit.

But he hadn’t.

Naturally, he wanted a son. What man didn’t? And when he’d shared his expectations, his surprisingly reasonable hopes had shaken her, and remorse had burned through her.

It still did.

She released a ragged breath and pressed her fist against her breast. She hadn’t lied when she’d told him she wanted four bairns. Indeed, now she was certain of William’s honor, the prospect of bearing his children was entrancing. And ’twas an easy enough thing to stop taking the ancient preparations that ensured her womb was cleansed of his seed.

Unease shivered through her as the ancient words echoed in her mind.

The bloodline of the Isle must prevail beyond quietus .

For as long as she could remember, the meaning had been clear to her. Her bloodline could not leave the Isle. And if she wasn’t meant to leave her beloved isle, it surely followed that if she did, her bloodline would end.

Did that mean she would be unable to have a child who wasn’t of the Isle?

No .

She shoved the dark thoughts into the furthest corner of her mind as tendrils of fear tightened in her chest. Just as there were ways to prevent, there were ways to enhance the chances of conceiving. And she’d try every one of them, if it ensured she could give William the son he hoped for.

But what if the power of the Isle was too strong to overcome?

*

It was still dark when Isolde found William outside the stables with several of his men, including Hugh, and as she approached them an ominous foreboding crawled through her. He swung about, as though he knew she was there, and in the light from his lantern she saw his smile of greeting, but it couldn’t disguise the concern in his eyes.

“What is it?” she said, unheeding of his men.

“Hugh arrived earlier with a message from the earl. ’Tis nothing to worry about.”

She grasped his arm and tugged him away so they couldn’t be overheard. “Tell me the truth,” she whispered. “Ye cannot leave me wondering, William. ’Tis far worse not to know.”

He cradled her face, and his thumb tenderly stroked her cheek. It was a gesture of comfort, and yet a thread of fear tightened deep in her gut.

“The earl’s received word that Torcall MacGregor’s followers are planning to attack. We’re going to head them off at Glen Clach. There’ll be a full contingent here to protect the castle, but I’m taking the men who were on the ship with me. It’s the only way I know ye’ll be safe from whoever attacked me.”

Her stomach pitched, and she threaded her fingers through his where he still cupped her face. Don’t go. The words echoed around her head, but of course she couldn’t say them aloud. Her William was a warrior. He would never turn his back on his duty.

And neither would she. “I’ll be fine,” she told him. “And so will Creagdoun. Yer castle will not fall on my watch, William.”

She’d meant to reassure him. Instead, consternation flashed over his face, and he grasped her arm. “We’ll crush them. They won’t get within half a day’s ride of the castle. But even so, promise me ye won’t put yerself in any danger, Isolde. I mean it.”

She pressed her hand against his heart. Pride in her husband, and fear of what he was about to face entwined; a tangled web that all but consumed her. But she would never let him see her fear. It would serve no purpose but a distraction when he needed to focus on victory. “I won’t put myself in danger. But ye must promise me, too, William. Watch yer back.”

His sudden smile all but stole the breath from her lungs. “Ye’ll not get rid of me this easily, mo chridhe. We’ll return before nightfall.”

“I shall hold ye to that.” She smiled back at him, even when all she wanted to do was wrap her arms around him and never let him go.

He turned to his men. “Gather yer things. We must leave before sunrise.”

His men marched off, all but Hugh, who appeared ill at ease as he stood by his horse. Wiliam took her hand and pressed a kiss against her knuckles, and she forgot about Hugh. Forgot about everything but how easily she might never see William again, and her facade cracked.

“William,” she said, hating the tremor in her voice but, still holding her hand, he pressed a finger against her lips.

“All the clans are with us,” he whispered. “The rebels are as good as dead already, Isolde. The earl’s spies came through for him, and we know the MacGregors’ plans.”

She nodded and brutally pulled herself together. Now was not the time for such indulgences. “God be with ye.”

His gaze caught hers, and in the light from the lantern his stormy eyes held a mystical golden glow. Then he kissed her, a hard, possessive kiss, one that burned a promise of return, before he joined Hugh, and the rest of his men emerged from the shadows.

As they rode out of the courtyard, Patric came to stand by her side. Together, they watched as twilight swallowed up the warriors, and she drew in a deep breath as the portcullis dropped.

“The men are in position,” Patric said. “Although I doubt the battle will last long, let alone reach Creagdoun. The Campbells are too powerful, and many of the other clans have sworn fealty to the earl. Any MacGregor who escapes with his life today should count himself fortunate.”

“Aye.” She knew Patric was right. She’d always known of the influence the Campbells held across Argyll and the Isles, too. The odds for victory were as good as they could ever be.

But this was different. It was personal. Because William was a Campbell, and it took only one arrow, or one well-aimed thrust of a sword by the enemy to end a life.

Instinctively, her fingers curled around her precious dagger concealed in her skirts. She wasn’t sure why she still carried it with her, when it was glaringly obvious her skills had deserted her. Yet she couldn’t bear the idea of leaving it in her bedchamber, if for no other reason than it reminded her of Sgur.

Reminded her of how her foremothers had once been an integral part of her.

There was no time to regret that now. It was done, and, if she was honest, would she really rather be on Eigg, without William, than here in Argyll as his wife?

She released a ragged breath as she faced the truth.

No. Even though it went against everything she’d been taught since she was a child about the Deep Knowing and her fierce Pict queen foremother, there was no other place she’d rather be than by William’s side.

If only she had told him that before he’d left Creagdoun. Suppose she never got the chance to tell him now?

She swung about, heart thudding in her breast. She couldn’t think that, nor imagine everything that might go wrong in the battle, or she’d go mad. Her task was to ensure the castle and its inhabitants prevailed.

Thank God for the well within Creagdoun’s walls. At least they wouldn’t die of thirst or poisoning, should the worst happen and the castle was besieged.

It wouldn’t come to that. But it was always wise to be prepared.

*

Dawn had broken, and William stretched in the saddle as anticipation thrummed through his blood. As much as he hated to leave Isolde, he relished the upcoming battle to secure, once and for all, his right to Creagdoun.

The right for Isolde and their unborn children.

God, he couldn’t think of that right now. It brought to mind his beautiful wife, hair unbound, welcoming him in her arms, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted.

But inevitably, the image scorched into his brain, along with every other memory he held of her, from the first time he’d seen her when he didn’t even recall his own name.

It began to drizzle, and the clouds hung low over the mountains with fog creeping lower into the glens. Not a great day for a battle. If the weather didn’t clear, they’d barely be able to see each other, let alone their enemy.

He frowned as an elusive glimmer of an idea took form. Before he could fully grasp it, Hugh came to his side.

“Let’s hope this shakes out the traitor,” he said under his breath, and William grunted in agreement. At least he was certain the man wasn’t at Creagdoun, putting Isolde in danger.

The path narrowed, and his company slowed to take account of the treacherous terrain. From behind him, Robert Fletcher spoke.

“Damned MacGregors. They should have all gone to Eire with the rest of the redshanks.”

“My brother tells me there’s a faction still loyal to old Torcall MacGregor,” David Cunningham said. “I wager they’re the ones causing trouble for the earl.”

Would David say that if he was working for the MacGregors? It seemed unlikely. But his comment reminded him of the previous day’s conversation with Hugh, and he glanced at his cousin. “Still no news of Douglas’s whereabouts?”

“He’s with the earl already. He sent word with the messenger that arrived in the early hours. It seems we just missed his arrival yesterday.”

“I haven’t seen Douglas in years,” Robert remarked. “What’s he been up to?”

“Don’t ask me.” Hugh hunched his shoulders against the wind, or maybe it was simply against the aggravation that was his elder brother. “I’m not his confidant.”

They emerged from the pass and traveled through yet another village, but as they left the last cottage in their wake, Malcolm MacNeil let out a loud curse. William glanced over his shoulder to see the other man dismount and inspect his horse.

“He’s thrown a shoe,” Malcolm said. “We passed a farrier in the village. I’ll get him reshod and join ye at the earl’s.”

William gave a sharp nod. “Don’t delay.”

Malcolm gripped the bridle and turned his horse around and soon became nothing but a shadow in the mist.

The earl and his men, including Hugh’s brother, Douglas, were waiting for them in the courtyard when they arrived at the manor, and William made his way over to the other man.

“My lord,” he said, his voice low, and after giving him a shrewd look, the earl led him out of earshot of the rest of the company.

“What’s on yer mind?”

“It’s possible the traitor has passed on our plans to confront the MacGregors at Glen Clah to his network.”

“Aye.”

William drew in a deep breath as realization struck him. “That was the plan?”

The earl glanced at their contingent before catching his gaze once again. “I trust my own network, William, but it’s always best to be on guard. The information seemed too convenient.”

“A trap.” Aye, that was the elusive feeling he’d had on the ride here. “Damn those bastards.”

“Keep yer counsel. By the time it’s clear we’re avoiding the glen, it’ll be too late for the informer to warn the MacGregors.”

They returned to the men and set off, and within an hour were in sight of the glen. The earl raised his arm, his hand in a fist, and they drew to a halt.

“We’ll not be confronting the rebels in the glen,” the earl said, as he turned to face them. “They’re expecting us, I have no doubt. We’ll hunt them down in the mountains, where I wager they are lying in wait to ambush us.”

The earl gave his orders, and William and the men got in position. There was always the danger a scout had spotted them and warned the MacGregors, but that couldn’t be helped. God willing, they’d settle this once and for all this day.

The rain grew heavier, and the wind was bitter as William navigated his way up the treacherous slope. Their horses had been left at the foothills so as not to alert any hiding enemy of their approach, and he tightened his grip on his claymore as the elusive scent of impending battle thundered through his blood.

From the corner of his eye, he saw his clansmen stealthily making their way to strategic positions where an enemy would have a clear view of the glen below.

A movement ahead caught his focus, and he raised his arm in warning. Several of the men responded in kind.

His gut feeling had been right. The earl’s informant had intended to lead them into a trap.

Archers were poised to cut them down as soon as they’d entered the glen. It would not even have been a fair fight.

One archer swung about, dropped his bow, and grabbed his sword, but William gave him no quarter. More men leaped up from their hiding places, their strategy in tatters, and the clash of steel filled the air.

The mountain was a treacherous quagmire, and as another man lunged at William, it took all his skill to remain upright and not slide into the mud that sucked at his boots. Rain stung his eyes and mist twisted around the trees like skeletal fingers as he evaded the rebel’s sword before plunging his own blade deep in the man’s gut.

In the end, the battle was little more than a bloodied skirmish. When the rebels saw their fallen comrades, they fled, and William sucked in a great breath, scanning the men, searching for any of his own who had been slain.

Hugh came up to him and grasped his shoulder. “Are ye all right, man?”

“Aye. Ye?”

Hugh confirmed he was uninjured as David Cunningham and Douglas approached.

“Let’s hope this has shown old Torcall’s followers they’re backing a lost cause.” David wiped his sword on one of the fallen.

“Did we lose any of our men?” William glanced over the rest of the men as the earl made his way over.

“Robert’s injured, but nothing mortal,” David said.

“All the dead yonder are accounted for.” The earl nodded in the direction he had come from. “None of our own, thank God. We’ll take their bodies and leave them in the glen for their kin to collect.”

William grasped the arms of the nearest body, and Douglas grabbed the legs. As they edged down the mountain, he took a silent inventory of every man he saw. But someone was missing. As he dropped the body in the glen, next to the others, he hailed Hugh.

“Have ye seen Malcolm MacNeil?”

“Malcolm MacNeil of Barra?” Douglas said before his brother could respond. “What in hellfire are ye talking about, William? Malcolm died of the bloody flux nearly three years ago.”

William swung about and stared at Douglas as a paralyzing, black fear crawled through his gut. “What?”

“Aye, right in front of my eyes. ’Twas shortly after a skirmish with Gregor MacGregor before he took off with his kinsmen to Eire.”

“Then who the devil is the man using his name?” Hugh turned from his brother and grasped William’s arm. “That’s why he took off before we met with the earl. He knew Douglas would see through his masquerade.”

“Isolde.” Cold terror gripped William’s vitals as a horrifying vision of her welcoming the man into the castle unfolded in graphic detail in his mind. “Alan MacGregor’s returned to Creagdoun to take it from within.”

“What?” Shock thudded through Hugh’s voice. “Alan MacGregor is still alive? How can ye be so sure?”

He didn’t have time to explain how he knew. Every moment he delayed increased the danger descending upon Isolde. He swung about and ignored the earl who hailed him as he mounted his horse and took off as though every demon in hell was at his heels.

But they weren’t at his heels. They were closing in on Isolde. How long ago had MacGregor left their company? Long enough to have arrived at Creagdoun already?

The castle wasn’t undefended. And Isolde had Patric by her side. But none of them would suspect the man they knew as Malcolm MacNeil was the traitor in their midst. The man who, there surely was no doubt, had tried to murder him on the ship.

He’d assured Isolde she was safe within Creagdoun. Safe away from her isle. Had pledged to protect her from his enemies. Nausea rolled through him, and he sent a desperate prayer to God.

Don’t let me be too late.