Page 7

I solde panted, her heart racing from her exertions, as Njord’s wicked grin sent sparks of awareness skittering over her skin. His stormy eyes glinted with triumph, and she had to confess it was more than the swordplay that caused her erratic breath to catch in her throat.

“I yield.” Her voice rasped, but she couldn’t help that. Instead of easing its frantic hammer, her heartbeat echoed through her bones and filled her head. It should have been alarming, but instead it was intoxicating, and even the knowledge she had lost the challenge faded into insignificance beneath the heat in her stranger’s eyes.

With a flourish, he swept the sword aside and then bowed. It was utterly charming, as though he had stepped from the stories Roisin so loved when chivalry had ruled France.

“Yer skill is formidable. Sgur Castle is safe in yer hands.”

She shook her head and took his sword from him. “Believe it or not, I know my limitations. But it’s good to know I can at least protect myself and my sisters, should the need arise.”

“I trust the need will never arise.”

“Aye, but at least here, on Eigg, I’m prepared.”

He gave her a curious glance as they returned to the armory. Their challenge hadn’t gone unnoticed, and she knew within moments the tale of how she had been vanquished would be common knowledge across the Isle. Her handsome stranger had bested her, but she hadn’t disgraced herself.

And the next time they fought, she would use what she had learned about his skills this morn against him.

“What do ye mean, here on Eigg?” He held the door of the armory open for her as she returned the swords. “Ye can defend yerself anywhere, Isolde.”

An illicit ribbon of warmth flickered through her at how he spoke her name so informally. Her grandmother wouldn’t approve of such familiarity, but Amma wasn’t here.

He stood beside her as she locked the door from the key on her chatelaine. “I’m bound to this land, Njord.” She turned to look at him. He was so close, they were all but touching. How easy it would be to press her hand against his chest. She swallowed, her mouth uncommonly dry, and tried to harness her scrambled thoughts. “Tis the blood of my foremothers in the very earth beneath my feet that gives me my skill with the sword.”

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

She sighed. There was no reason why he should understand, yet she wished he did. They turned from the armory, and instead of returning to the castle, they strolled across the courtyard.

“We can trace our Sgur lineage back nine hundred years to our Pict queen ancestor, and all our foremothers since her have spent their lives on Eigg. It is who we are.”

“All of them?” Skepticism threaded through each word. “Do women never leave the Isle?”

“Of course.” As they made their way down the great hill, Sjor dashed ahead, barking at mist-shrouded shadows. “Doubtless they traveled between the Western Isles, as my sisters and I do. But we know our future lies here. Our bloodline must prevail.”

“Tis an illustrious bloodline. But it would prevail whether ye remain on Eigg or not.”

They crossed the moorland, but she didn’t head to the beach where she’d found him. There was something she wanted him to see.

“I shall tell ye a strange thing.” It was something she had never said before, since on the Isles, it was common knowledge. “From time immemorial, the MacDonalds of Sgur Castle had only one daughter in each generation. As I told ye before, the castle and lands pass from mother to daughter. It has always been the way, and the men of the Isles who wed into Sgur understand this.”

He gave her a sharp glance. “Ye have two sisters.”

“Aye. But in the course of time, it will come to me as the eldest daughter.”

“So, yer two younger sisters can leave the Isle if they wish, but ye cannot?”

“’Tis not a question of whether we wish to leave or not. We don’t wish to leave. But even if we did, we’re bound to our beloved land by the word of our foremothers.”

He grunted. “But what if one of ye wishes to wed a man who cannot give up his own estates to live here on the Isle?”

“Then he’s not the right man.”

“This seems a harsh binding.”

“Not for me. I could never be happy away from Eigg.”

“’Tis beautiful, for sure.” But he wasn’t looking at her beloved land. He gazed at her, and her cheeks heated, despite the chilled breeze. “But still, Isolde. Yer strength and skill with the sword come from ye, not from the land ye stand upon.”

She smiled. How could she not? He was wrong, but she appreciated his compliments on the results of her years of hard work. “Well, ’tis not something I will compromise on.”

The specter of the Campell her grandmother wished her to wed hovered in the back of her mind, like a ghoul from the pit of hell. She shoved it aside. She would not think of that now, when her enigmatic stranger from the sea was by her side, his smile an irresistible combination of admiration and intrigue.

It was clear he did not quite believe in the strength of her resolve, but she could excuse him for that when he was still searching for his own origins.

“Forgive me.” His voice dropped to a deep rumble, and his hand brushed against hers as they skirted the woodlands. It may have been an accidental touch as they walked side by side, but delightful shivers raced through her, nonetheless.

Especially when he didn’t instantly put more distance between them.

Keeping her gaze ahead, she brushed her own knuckles against his. And this time his fingers slipped between hers, capturing her in an illicit embrace.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she looked at him. He gave her an inscrutable smile, as the wind tossed his dark hair across his face with careless abandon. She wasn’t quite sure how they ended up in the shadow of the trees, for she had no recollection of moving in that direction. Yet here they were. Half hidden from view, should anyone else be following the same path they had taken.

“Forgive ye?” Her voice was husky, and despite her best intentions, her gaze slipped to his mouth. Dear God. Was he about to kiss her? She held her breath in anticipation, and scarcely stopped herself from rising onto her toes, so as to meet him halfway.

“Aye. ’Tis none of my business, I know.” His voice was a bone-melting growl across her senses, and heat bloomed low inside. It was scandalous, and utterly thrilling. “But are ye spoken for, Isolde? Is there a man from the islands who has captured yer heart?”

It wasn’t a kiss, but the implication behind his question was almost—no, perhaps even better. A kiss could be fleeting. But what her stranger from the sea was asking...

That could mean something far deeper.

“No.” It was a whisper. It was all she could manage. “There is no one from the Isles.”

Only a Campbell from the mainland.

But she wasn’t spoken for. It was an agreement made between her grandmother and the Baron of Dunstrunage. She had not given consent to wed William Campbell. They were not officially betrothed.

There was no need for the twist of guilt in her chest.

His fingers tightened around hers, and his calloused hand cradled her cheek. A thousand butterflies filled her breast, and strangest of all, the wind that buffeted them felt as warm as sunlight.

“No one,” he murmured, and she could not fathom if he was repeating her words to himself or asking her for clarification. His thumb stroked her warm cheek, and his eyes darkened. It was exhilarating, and yet that cursed twist of guilt would not die.

It was no good. She could not lie to him, even by omission.

“No one I can stomach,” she whispered. “My grandmother harbors a mystifying desire to see me wed to a Campbell from Argyll. But we’ve never met, and I shall not wed a man not of my own choosing.”

A frown slashed his brow as though the notion of a Campbell expecting to claim her hand irked him. Ah, how she hoped the notion irked him. The very thought of it made her lightheaded.

“A Campbell?” His gaze was intense, but there was the faintest note of uncertainty in his tone, as though he tried to place the name. Then he expelled a sharp breath, and his fingers slid from her cheek and caressed her throat. Sparks ignited beneath her skin, and before she could stop herself, she grasped the front of his surcoat.

“Is the name familiar?” But in truth, she didn’t care, and it was terrible, for the most important thing was that he regained his memories. Yet right now all she wanted was for this moment to never end.

“No.”

She heard the frustration in that word. And her heart ached for him. But then he pressed his forehead against hers, and she forgot about everything but him.

“Ye shouldn’t wed a man ye don’t care for.” His breath fanned her face, and a delicious shiver ran through her. “Ye deserve so much more than that, Isolde.”

She tipped her head back, and his fingers raked into her hair. “I’ve no intention of wedding him. He only wants me for my lands, and to breed countless bairns. And I shall tell ye this, I won’t be any man’s broodmare, least of all a cursed Campbell’s. The very notion of it fills me with dread.”

“Don’t say such things.” There was a harsh note in his voice, and his fingers tightened in her hair. “No man should treat ye with such little regard.”

Her heart warmed at his vehemence on her behalf. “Don’t worry. I’ll find a way to stay on my Isle, ye’ll see.”

“If I knew who I was.” He bit off his words and ground his teeth. “I cannot offer ye anything when I can’t even recall my own name.”

Holy God, was he suggesting he would court her, if he knew his past? Her heart thundered against her ribs, but somehow, she pushed out the words that needed to be said.

“I don’t need anything. I have Sgur Castle.”

“But what do I have? A man should have his own legacy. That’s only right.”

“I’m certain ye do. And I know ye’ll remember one day, when ye least expect it.” She knew no such thing, but it was a small lie, to keep hope alive. “Don’t fret about it, Njord.”

The dark clouds of frustration that wreathed him faded, and he smiled at her. “How can I fret about anything, with ye in my arms? I thank God every day that ye found me on the beach. How easily I could’ve perished.”

He stepped closer, until there was no space between them. If she held her breath, she fancied she could feel his heartbeat echo through her blood, but of course, that could not be. Not when they both wore so many layers of wool and linen.

Logic didn’t stop a ripple of delight coursing through her, though.

He released her hand and cradled her face, his intense gaze roving over her as though memorizing every feature. Then his lips brushed hers, in a kiss as ethereal as a butterfly’s touch, and she gave a soft gasp.

He didn’t pull back. His hot breath dusted her in an evocative caress before his mouth once again claimed hers, and this time, he wasn’t seeking permission.

The tip of his tongue teased the seam of her lips and she opened to him, needing whatever he offered. His tongue pushed into her mouth, a shocking invasion, and thrills spilled across her flesh as he explored and tasted as though he could not get enough of her.

She wound her arms around his shoulders, hugging him tight, loving the way his big body crushed against hers. If only they were not hampered by endless lengths of plaid.

Panting, he broke the kiss, and she clutched fruitlessly at his shoulders, trying to pull him back. His groan vibrated through her, a throbbing counterpoint to her own. “Ye make me lose my mind.” He grimaced. “Whatever mind I retain.”

“There’s nothing wrong with yer mind.” She sucked in a great breath, that chilled her down to her lungs. But it didn’t help calm her erratic heartbeat. “Just a few holes in yer memory.”

His laugh sounded pained. “Aye. And ’tis those holes that prevent me from—” He snapped his jaw shut and shook his head.

She longed to know what he could not say, but her imagination was more than up to the task. Her hands slid from his shoulders to his biceps, and she lingered there, entranced by the solid muscle beneath her fingers. How she would love to glide her palms over them in all their naked glory.

Sjord’s wild barking tore her from her bewitching reverie, and she frowned in his direction. In the distance, several women were heading towards them, clearly on their way to the village.

“Ah, curses.” With more reluctance than she’d ever admit, she forced herself to release Njord. To be sure, the trees might hide them from view. On the other hand, they might not. And either way was irrelevant since Sjord had already made his presence known. “Unless ye wish to be subject to even more gossip than ye are already, we had best be on our way.”

He straightened, glanced over his shoulder, and a dark frown slashed his brow. “I cannot allow yer reputation to be sullied because of me. I’ll go further into the woods and wait until the danger’s passed.”

She laughed. “There’s no need for such dramatics, man. Come, we can cut through the trees and rejoin the path up ahead. They’ll never know we were skulking in the shadows.”

Without waiting for his reply, she took his hand and darted through the trees. Beside her, he laughed, and the uninhibited sound of mirth warmed her heart. She glanced at him, and he winked at her, and for some reason she found it vastly amusing.

They rejoined the path just beyond the rocky outcrop that shielded them from the women and continued onto the village which lay directly ahead. She supposed she ought to release his hand, since the news would certainly reach her grandmother’s ears. But the prospect of a reprimand wasn’t enough to forego the exhilaration of having Njord’s fingers interlaced with hers.

As they reached the village, he shot her a sideways grin before releasing her hand, and she smothered a sigh. He had noble manners, and she could scarcely fault him for it. Even if she secretly wished otherwise.

“A fine village,” he said. “I see why ye wished to show it to me.”

“Indeed. ’Tis the finest village in Eigg. But that isn’t the reason I brought ye here.”

“I’m agog with anticipation.”

“I feel ye may be mocking me, and considering what I’m about to show ye, that is not a good idea.”

“Let me guess. We’ve come to pay our respects at the tomb of yer Pict queen ancestor.”

She cast him an approving glance as the kirk of Kildonnan came into view. “Not bad. Except there is no tomb.”

They went around the side of the old stone kirk, which had been constructed two hundred years ago or more with an impressively grand arched window that looked out over the graveyard. “Are ye sure ye’re ready to learn of my Pict queen ancestor?”

“I feel ye are very like her in nature, so aye, I’m ready to learn about her.”

She laughed. “I like to believe I have her fighting spirit. But ye may change yer mind about the rest.” She turned and pressed her palm against the stone wall of the kirk. “This has been a place of worship for over a thousand years, ye ken. The Norse, and before them, the Picts, built shrines to their gods. And who knows who were here before them?”

“Don’t look at me. I don’t even know where I was last week.”

She smiled and couldn’t resist giving his forearm a comforting pat. “Before the Norse claimed the Isles, Eigg was ruled by a powerful Pict queen. Some say she was a druid from ancient times. Her legacy had passed onto her from her mother, and in turn, she passed it onto her daughter.”

“Huh.” He gave her another of his bone-melting smiles. “Could she have known her legacy would prevail for so long?”

“I’m certain she wanted it to.” The Deep Knowing was proof of that. But the Deep Knowing was something that could not be shared outside her family, no matter how she wished to tell Njord of it. “However, Saint Donnan from Eire took this holy place and built his monastery upon it. But the queen refused to convert to the new religion.”

“Damn. Did the saint kill her?”

“He did not. When he refused to relinquish what he had stolen, the queen gathered her warriors—all women, mark ye—and slaughtered the saint and his monks in his newly built monastery.”

“A warrior queen, indeed.” He appeared amused by the story, as though he thought it nothing more than an intriguing legend. “Ye do have her spirit, I’m sure of it.”

She planted her hands on her hips in mock outrage. “Ye do not appear sufficiently awed by how the queen avenged the wrongs inflicted upon her land.”

“I’m sure she was a fierce queen. But it was a long time ago.”

She sighed. “Aye. But ’tis more than a story. She was willing to sacrifice everything for the love of this Isle. As her descendants, we are blood bound to ensure her legacy endures.”

The daughters of Sgur’s bloodline could not leave the Isle. She had known this since the first time her mother had told her of the Deep Knowing, when she had been but five years old.

But since she was forbidden to share the Deep Knowing with him, she could scarcely tell him of her conviction of its meaning. And it troubled her more than it surely should.

“Isolde.”

She swung about at the sound of Freyja’s voice. Her sister looked exhausted.

“How is Laoise?” She took Freyja’s hand, and her sister exhaled a weary sigh.

“Poor lass was in labor all last night. Her idiot husband did not think to send word to the castle for me, since he didn’t wish to battle the storm in the dark. Thank God I arrived when I did. Her mother and sister were doing their best, but it was a close thing.” She drew in a ragged breath. “Thankfully, she is safely delivered of another daughter.”

“That’s good news, indeed.” Although she was certain Laoise’s repulsive husband would rage that, once again, his wife had not produced his much-wanted son. “I’ll gather a gift basket for her as soon as we return to the castle.”

Freyja gave a brief nod before turning to Njord.

“How’s yer head after yer fine walk?”

“No pain,” he confirmed. “No revelations, either, alas.”

“Now the storm’s broke, we’ll send word to the other Isles. We’ll soon discover who ye are.”

Isolde smiled and nodded agreeably at her sister’s comment. It was, after all, a perfectly sensible comment. It didn’t mean she had to like it.

The three of them began the walk back to the castle and had barely left the village when they saw Roisin and Grear heading their way.

“I’m glad we found ye.” Rosin fell into step beside Freyja. “Colban MacDonald has just arrived. They’re on their way to Skye, but he wanted to stop here and see ye, Frey.”

Aye, she bet he did. Colban MacDonald wasted no opportunity to spend time with Freyja, and yet her sister appeared oblivious that he might have an ulterior motive than the usual friendly clan concern. Not that she wanted Frey to end up with the man. Something about him rubbed her the wrong way, although she couldn’t for the life of her explain why.

“Well, there ye are.” Freyja gave Njord a bright smile. “Maybe Colban can shed light on this mystery.”

Aye, maybe he could. And she should be glad of it. But deep in a hidden part of her soul, the unsavory truth lurked.

She was afraid that when they discovered the truth of Njord’s past, it would shatter forever any slender hope of them forging a future together.