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H e finished the broth and exhaled a long sigh. Finally, the last remnants of ice melted from his veins and his stomach was full. But his mind was as dark as ever.

Not that he’d truly believed anything as simple as food would help regain his memories, but Isolde’s optimism had been hard to resist.

Lady Isolde of Sgur Castle. He probed the fog that swallowed the essence of who he was, but nothing was forthcoming. And yet the unassailable certainty hovered on the edges of his mind that he should know of her.

That he should know of Eigg.

Christ, would he ever recover knowledge of his past?

He pressed his fingers to his temples, but it didn’t help ease the fire eating through his brain. Although, to be fair, it wasn’t as fierce as when he’d first regained his senses. All he wanted to do was fall back on the bed and welcome oblivion, but that luxury would need to wait. He needed to find out as much as he could about where he was, and where he might have come from.

But first, he needed his clothes.

With a pained grunt, he pushed himself from the bed and, gripping the blanket around himself, made his way to the hearth. The chamber wasn’t large, with thick rugs on the floor and tapestries on the walls to keep out the damp. One of the shutters was partially open, revealing a glazed window, through which shards of dawn illuminated the chamber. The elusive master of Sgur Castle, it appeared, was prosperous.

Thank God, the chamber no longer spun around him.

It didn’t stop him from propping his shoulder against the wall beside the hearth for additional support. He might no longer feel dizzy, but the short walk had made his surroundings oddly disconnected. Almost as though he wasn’t standing here, on solid ground, but instead floating just outside his body.

He cast a furtive glance at the bed. Maybe he shouldn’t have been too hasty to leave it.

A distraction at the open door caught his attention. Isolde stood there, with two young women, and she smiled at him, which caused a bolt of heat to fire his loins.

Thank Christ the blanket was thick.

“Are we disturbing ye? My sisters wished to meet ye.”

With more effort than he liked, he relinquished the support of the wall. “Ye’re not disturbing me.”

At least, not in the way she imagined.

“Freyja, Roisin, may I introduce the stranger from the sea, Njord.” She flashed him another irresistible smile, and he couldn’t help but return it. “Unless ye have recalled yer own name?”

“I have not.” He hoped he didn’t sound as frustrated by that fact as he felt.

“’Tis early days.” Isolde waved at the young women who flanked her. “Njord, my sisters: Freyja and Roisin.”

“’Tis an honor.” He bowed his head and gritted his teeth at the pain that stabbed through his brain.

One of the sisters, Freyja, frowned, and stepped forward. “May I examine yer wound?”

He stared at her, unnerved by the unexpected question. Before he could formulate a denial that wouldn’t cause offense, Isolde gave an impatient tut.

“Frey, really.”

Freyja ignored her, focusing on him. “There’s no need to look so alarmed.”

Involuntarily, his grip tightened on the blanket. Hellfire. Did he look alarmed?

“Isolde and our amma are more than adequate, of course,” Freyja continued, apparently oblivious to how Isolde glared at her. “But my calling as a healer compels me to ensure nothing further needs to be done for yer wellbeing.”

He hiked the blanket from where it had draped around his hips, so it was secure at his waist. Certainly, he was aware he’d been prodded and probed while unconscious, and washed, God help him, since he didn’t smell of the sea, but he wasn’t unconscious now, and the prospect of a young woman further examining him wasn’t something he relished.

Did these people not have a physician in their castle? He couldn’t say how he knew that was how things were done. He only knew it was.

“If he wants a third opinion,” Isolde said, “I’m sure he would ask for it. Wouldn’t ye?” she added, pointedly, to him.

There was no way out of this. Whatever he said, he risked offending one of the sisters. “I’m greatly obliged by yer concern, my lady,” he said to Freyja. “If I experience any worrisome symptoms, might I share them with ye?”

“Hmm.” Interestingly, Freyja didn’t appear affronted by his response. “Ye appear lucid enough. If ye fall into a fever I shall be back, make no mistake.”

“He would have already succumbed to a fever by now,” Isolde said.

“Aye, but ’tis always wise to be cautious,” returned her sister.

The third sister had yet to speak, but she stood slightly behind both Isolde and Freyja and clearly had no insight to add on the state of his health.

He returned his attention to Isolde. “Yer kindness to a stranger is much appreciated. I should like to convey my thanks to the master of Sgur Castle, at his convenience.”

“Our grandmother, Lady Helga, is the mistress of the castle.” There was no mistaking the pride that infused Isolde’s words. “She’s happy to accommodate ye until ye regain yer strength.”

“Or yer memories.” Freyja cast her sister a sideways glance before looking back at him. “Yer kin must be worried by yer absence.”

His kin. Christ, who were his kin? Was he wed? Did he have bairns? Surely, he wouldn’t forget that ?

“Alas, the storm still rages on the sea.” Concern wreathed Isolde’s face. “We cannot send word to the other Isles until it calms.”

He released a tortured breath. It was true that nothing could be done until it was safe to leave this Isle and search for his homeland. But where was he meant to begin such a journey, when he had no idea where to start?

“Since it’s plain ye’re not in need of my skills, I wish ye well, Njord from the sea.” Freyja smiled at him, and although the resemblance was strong between the three sisters, her smile did not stir him the way Isolde’s smile did. “Come, Roisin.”

Roisin didn’t follow her sister, although one of the dogs did. Instead, she tugged Isolde’s sleeve. “My books,” she whispered.

Isolde nodded in understanding before going to a desk with a paneled front that stood in front of the window and opened a cupboard door in its back. “Here,” she said, handing Roisin a pile of what looked like manuscripts. “Is that everything?”

Fascinated, he watched Roisin pick up a few more things before stowing them in the folds of her skirt.

“Aye, that’s it.” She avoided looking at him and made her way to Freyja, taking another of the dogs at her heels, who waited at the door for her. Once they’d left, he turned back to Isolde, whose brindle terrier sat by her feet.

“It seems I’ve displaced Lady Roisin from her chamber.”

“Ah, ’tis fine. Roisin took over the solar a few years back because the chamber is so full of light, even during the winter. But she cannot bear to be parted from her work, even for a day or so. They are her treasures.”

“She’s a scribe?” He’d never heard of a young woman being such a thing. But then, maybe he had, and simply couldn’t recall it. Damn his faulty brain. He could believe nothing he thought he knew or didn’t know.

“Well, in a manner of speaking I suppose she is. Even since she was a child, she’s documented the histories of our bloodlines. There are some wild stories I could tell ye, and that’s a fact.”

“Wild stories of Sgur Castle?” He grinned at her and surreptitiously leaned his weight against the wall. He would not disrupt this conversation by any indication that he needed to sit, in case she decided he should recuperate in peace. Even if the stone was cold and damp.

“Aye, and I’m certain the walls hold many more secrets that we shall never uncover. Even before the Norse built their mighty halls on this mountain, it was a place of worship for the ancient Picts. And our bloodline runs through them all.”

“An impressive heritage.” He hoped he would soon recall his own.

“It is one we’re destined to keep upon the Isle, no matter what. If we leave—” She cut herself off, and for the first time since he’d met her, looked flustered. “Ah, well, never mind that. I came to tell ye that yer clothes are ruined, so we will find ye a spare plaid.” Her glance slid down his body to his bare feet. “And boots. I fear yers are sodden.”

“That would be most welcome, Lady Isolde. It’s somewhat undignified being wrapped in nothing but a blanket.”

“Yet ye carry it so well.”

He laughed, which caused a bolt of pain to shoot through his head, but the discomfort was worth it to witness Isolde’s smile. “I hope my circumstances are such that when I regain my senses, I’m able to repay the kindness of ye and yer kin.”

“There’s no need for repayment, if ye’re speaking of goods and chattels. Clan MacDonald will always help those in need. Especially those thrown onto their beach by the sea.”

Clan MacDonald. Did he know of them? He tried pushing deeper into the dense fog inside his head, but no flash of recognition ignited. Only a dull throb, a warning to go easy.

Frustration reared its head again, which only made his brain throb harder. It went against all his instincts, but it seemed he had no choice but to let his memories return in their own time.

There was a knock at the open door, and a young serving maid entered. Relief rolled through him at the sight of her arms ladened with a plaid and faded yellow leine. She carefully laid the clothes on the bed, and a pair of boots on the floor, before picking up the bowl he’d used earlier and leaving the chamber.

“Well, I’d best leave ye to it.” Isolde eyed the clothes. “Once ye’re decent, if ye feel up to it, I’ll show ye around the castle. I’m still holding ye to yer promise to help out, once ye’re properly back on ye feet.”

“I gave ye my word. I’m not about to break it.”

She nodded, before glancing at her dog. “Come, Sjor.”

He watched her leave the chamber, the solar, she’d called it, and close the door behind her. With a heavy sigh he returned to the bed and pulled on the leine. The plaid proved a harder task, and by the time he was done, exhaustion hovered.

He sat on the edge of the bed and closed his eyes, willing his heart to slow its frantic hammer. There was no denying it. His injury had sucked his strength, and despite how he wanted to spend time with Isolde, the prospect of exploring her castle when he could scarcely even dress himself was daunting.

He’d rip out his tongue before confessing such a thing to her.

The silence wrapped around him. A bed had never appeared so enticing before. Maybe he’d rest his eyes for a few moments and hope it eased the incessant throb between his temples.

He lay on the bed, angling his head so he didn’t inadvertently worsen his injury, and closed his eyes. Blessed relief enfolded him, a soothing wave, and the tension in his shoulders faded.

Aye, just a few moments, that’s all he needed. And then he’d be fine to explore Isolde’s castle.

Except it wasn’t her castle he wanted to explore.

It was Isolde.