Page 1 of Deceived by the Highlander (Daughters of the Isle #2)

“I t’s time ye took yerself a wife.”

Alasdair Campbell swung about in the courtyard of Castle Campbell and eyed his half-brother Archibald, the Earl of Argyll, not sure if he was jesting or not. But the earl wasn’t looking at him as he tended to his falcon before handing the magnificent creature to his man.

They’d spent the morning hunting in the forest, a rare privilege Alasdair had no intention of taking for granted.

But it was gratifying to know his years of unquestioning loyalty to Archibald had been acknowledged, even if it had taken the death of the old earl before his bloodline had been formally recognized.

“A wife?” Alasdair repeated as the falconer took his raptor, and he pulled off his glove.

In truth, he’d not given the matter much serious thought; his burning ambition to climb the ranks of Clan Campbell haunted every waking hour.

There’d be time enough to look for a bride when the coveted barony he craved was his, and the gnawing sense of not being enough finally faded.

“Are ye courting a lass?” The earl gave him an inscrutable look as they strode towards the mighty tower that dominated the courtyard and was the pride of the castle.

A shadow streaked across the ground and Alasdair glanced up, where a golden eagle soared overhead, the sun glinting on its distinctive nape feathers, as anticipation burned through him at the earl’s pointed question.

Did this sudden interest mean his half-brother had a prestigious alliance in mind?

It was a tantalizing notion. An outcome he’d hoped for since the day Archibald had formally welcomed him as his kin, four years ago, and the reason why he’d never become entangled with any woman, noble or otherwise, who had temporarily caught his eye.

But it had always been a closely guarded wish, and he’d certainly never expected the earl to take an interest in such things until he’d really proved himself.

Until he’d secured that elusive barony.

It seemed he was wrong.

“I am not,” he confirmed, and the earl came to a halt before they entered the tower.

“Good. I have a mission for ye. These political alliances are always easier when yer heart is not captured elsewhere.”

Fierce satisfaction blazed through him. His suspicion was right. Archibald was rewarding his loyalty with a distinguished match. It scarcely even mattered who the earl had in mind.

God knew, he’d even marry a sassenach woman if it was of benefit to Clan Campbell and further proved his unwavering support to the earl.

“My heart is intact.” And it would forever remain so.

He had no intention of losing sight of what he’d wanted since he was nine years old and being pelted with filth and fists in the back streets of Oban.

His lifelong friends, William and Hugh, had stood by his side, the three of them bruised and bloodied as the older lads surrounded them, but it was him they’d really been after.

There was no doubt broken bones or worse would’ve been his fate that day fifteen years ago, had the thirteen-year-old Archibald Campbell not appeared out of nowhere with a couple of friends.

Within moments, the assailants had fled, not willing to stand up to lads bigger than themselves.

Archibald had flexed his muscles, shot the three of them a smug grin, and swaggered off, and Alasdair’s allegiance to the earl’s son was forged in an unquenchable fire.

He’d made a silent pledge that one day he would be as untouchable as Archibald Campbell. That no one would deride him for his bastard origins or disdain his words.

One day, he’d be a force to be reckoned with. And nothing would stand in his way when it came to defending his half-brother or satisfying his own ambition.

“I’m told old Ranulph MacDonald of the Small Isles is on his deathbed.

He has no living male descendants, and his granddaughter is to inherit Kilvenie Tower,” the earl said, and Alasdair inclined his head, even though he had no idea who Ranulph MacDonald was.

“Kilvenie holds a strategic position on Rum, and it’s likely a prominent branch of the MacDonald clan will set their sights on acquiring the Tower through marriage with Ranulph’s granddaughter.

That’s not an option we can afford. It’ll grant far too much power to the MacDonalds of the Isles. ”

“Ye want Kilvenie to come under the jurisdiction of Clan Campbell.”

“Aye. It’ll strengthen our advantage on the Isles, and I’ve a notion if we don’t act to prevent the possibility of such a union, the Crown will become involved. And none of us want that.”

That was true enough. Although the Earl of Argyll, and by extension Clan Campbell, had sworn fealty to Queen Mary, the MacDonalds of the Western Isles had never forgiven the Crown for forcing them to relinquish their enviable position as Lordship of the Isles.

Even though it had occurred generations ago, and Clans Campbell and MacDonald were now on amicable terms, old wounds still ran deep.

The earl’s plan for a strategic marriage was far better than the alternative of allowing the MacDonalds to expand their influence across the Isles and disrupt the Campbells’ hard-won balance of power.

“Is Ranulph MacDonald likely to agree to a Campbell match with his granddaughter?”

“I believe he’ll favor the match. His wife was a Campbell, a cousin of my maternal grandmother, which we’ll certainly exploit to our advantage. But that’s not the issue. His granddaughter is Freyja MacDonald of Sgur Castle, on Eigg, and not beholden to Ranulph’s command.”

For the first time, interest in the mysterious bride-to-be flared through him. His good friend William had married Isolde MacDonald of Sgur Castle last winter, and on the occasions they’d met, he had found her most charming.

The prospect of wedding one of her sisters changed his opinion of the earl’s political maneuver from a necessary duty into something far more enticing. Except for one glaring problem.

“If Ranulph MacDonald cannot command his granddaughter to marry, then how are we to ensure Lady Freyja complies?”

The earl’s lips twitched in clear amusement. “Do ye doubt yer powers of persuasion, Alasdair?”

Alasdair stared at his half-brother as an unsavory notion slithered through his mind. “Ye want me to seduce her into submission?”

It was an age-old tactic. And although he didn’t relish being ordered to play such an underhanded strategy, his first loyalty was always to Archibald, and he’d do anything to ensure his half-brother’s interests were achieved.

The earl laughed and grasped his shoulder.

“If that’s what it takes, but don’t look so stricken.

Think of it as a last resort. Our strategy is to convince Ranulph that the only way he can be sure his legacy will remain intact is to ensure Kilvenie Tower goes through his late wife’s noble Campbell line, upon marriage to Lady Freyja.

’Tis not even a lie, since I have a claim through his lady wife’s kin.

I want the Kilvenie land, and this way no blood is shed. ”

“Ye believe Lady Freyja will be agreeable to the alliance if her grandfather tells her this?” It sounded unlikely to him. Things would be far easier if Ranulph Campbell could merely command his granddaughter to wed.

“The MacDonalds of Sgur are canny and will see the sense in aligning themselves with us. But one way or another, ye’re to make Freyja MacDonald yer bride.”

“How soon do ye want me to leave?”

“Tomorrow. As early as ye can book passage to the Isle. We don’t want Ranulph to perish before he makes the necessary arrangements.

That reminds me: yer manor is fine enough, but a MacDonald of Sgur bride deserves a more fitting household.

I’m granting ye Dunochty Castle and its chattels. Don’t make me regret it.”

The earl grinned, but his meaning was plain enough. The castle was contingent upon procuring Lady Freyja and Kilvenie Tower. If he’d harbored any doubts about this marriage before—which he hadn’t—the prospect of being laird of Dunochty Castle was incentive enough.

When he secured his bride, he’d be master of both the manor of his late stepfather, and a prestigious castle half a day’s ride from Oban.

Two estates. A prerequisite for any baron.

Another step closer to achieving his goal.

“Ye won’t regret it, my lord.”

“I know I won’t. Ye’ve never let me down, Alasdair.

I know I don’t need to tell ye to keep this business close to yer chest.” The earl indicated they should enter the castle.

“I’ve documents for ye, to present yer case to Ranulph once ye’ve eased any suspicions he might have about yer visit.

And we’ll drink to yer imminent success in bringing the Small Isles more securely within the jurisdiction of Clan Campbell. ”

*

Once Alasdair left the imposing castle, he navigated the precarious path down the hill with only half his mind on the task as anticipation of his upcoming mission burned through him.

He was under no illusions about just how much importance the earl placed on a successful outcome, and he had no intention of disappointing his half-brother.

One way or another, Ranulph MacDonald would see the only possible way to secure peace among the Small Isles was to unite Campbell and MacDonald through the granting of Kilvenie Tower.

As he neared the bustling village that lay in the foothills, a rider approached, and he raised his hand in greeting. “Hugh. I haven’t seen ye in a while. How goes it?”

Hugh gave a grim smile. “Well enough, if ye discount my brother’s poor judgement.

” He sighed and shook his head. “Sorry. Ye don’t want to hear about Douglas’ latest exploits.

” Hugh glanced up at the castle, and a shadow passed over his face before he drew in a deep breath.

“Although I’ve a feeling that’s exactly what the earl wants to discuss. ”

Alasdair had faced a lot of shit over the years, but at least he’d never had to contend with a wastrel brother. Sometimes being the only child of his mother had its advantages.

“Good luck,” he said with feeling. The earl was a fair man, but it wasn’t wise to get on the wrong side of him. And although it was Douglas, and not Hugh, who had likely raised the earl’s ire, there were times when the guilty one’s kin were the ones to pay the price.

He hoped this wasn’t one of those times.

“I’ll be fine.” Hugh’s gaze sharpened on him. “Ye’re looking mighty pleased with yerself.”

He grunted in response. Despite how much he wanted to share his news, it was a sensitive matter and the earl’s expectation to keep his counsel had been explicit.

It wouldn’t be long, God willing, before he could tell his friends he was laird of Dunochty Castle. But first, he had to secure Freyja MacDonald as his bride.