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

Isle of Eigg

“N othing has been the same since Isolde left Sgur.”

Freyja MacDonald glanced at her younger sister, Roisin, as they walked along the edge of the woodlands on the way to the local village with their terriers chasing after every scent, real and imaginary.

The sky was a cloudless blue, birdsong filled the air, and a warm breeze rustled the grasses at her feet as she contemplated her sister’s doleful remark.

As the elder sister, it was her place to reassure Roisin that just because Isolde was now wed to William Campbell and living in Argyll, it didn’t mean everything had changed.

Except everything had changed. And pretty lies, even ones that might uplift the mood, did not come easily to her.

Still, she did her best.

“’Twas good to see her here last month. And don’t forget, we all of us are visiting her and William in the autumn. That’s something to look forward to, isn’t it?”

Even their grandmother was taking the boat to the mainland before staying with Isolde at Creagdoun Castle for a fortnight. It would be an adventure for sure, but she couldn’t help worrying about her patients. Who would care for them if she was away from the Isles for so long?

“Aye.” Not that Roisin sounded especially thrilled about the notion of leaving their beloved Isle. Then she brightened. “Do ye suppose we might see Hugh Campbell there? He and William are cousins, after all.”

It wasn’t the first time her sister had mentioned Hugh Campbell since Isolde had wed William last winter, and Freyja never knew quite how to respond.

It wasn’t as though anything could ever come of Roisin’s sadly misplaced affections.

Hugh belonged to the Highlands, and Roisin, like herself, was bound to Eigg.

The way Isolde had been bound to their Isle. Until William had washed onto the beach on that fateful night and stolen her sister’s heart.

She shook her head to clear her troubled thoughts. In the end, Isolde had been given no choice but to leave, and thankfully she loved her new life. But she and Roisin were destined to remain on Eigg, and that was all there was to it.

“It’s possible,” she conceded, in answer to her sister’s question. “But ye shouldn’t waste yer time dreaming of a Campbell. No good will come of it.”

“Ye don’t know that. He has a kindness about him, and I’m certain one day he’ll return to the Isle.”

Freya shot her sister a concerned glance.

Roisin had never shown any interest in men in all of her eighteen years, until William’s cousin had come to Eigg.

Well, more than that. She scarcely spoke to anyone she hadn’t known for most of her life, and it was a little disconcerting that she’d seemingly fallen for the silken charms of a Campbell within moments of meeting him.

A man who doubtless had forgotten all about her the moment he’d sailed back to the mainland.

For the last six months, she’d tried to persuade her sister to enjoy other interests aside from her passion for creating illuminated manuscripts of the fanciful myths of the Tuatha De Danann of Eire, and sharing the tales with the wee bairns on the Isle.

Roisin spent hours every day in the solar with her inks and parchment, and while Freyja admired her skill, she couldn’t help thinking the ancient stories from Eire were merely encouraging her sister’s romantic notions about a man she’d likely never see again.

Unfortunately, although Roisin never complained whenever she accompanied her as she tended to her patients, the distraction hadn’t worked.

For the life of her, she couldn’t understand it.

Roisin and Hugh had barely spent any time together.

She was thankful she’d never be in such a disquieting predicament.

There wasn’t a man alive who’d be able to turn her head in such a way.

The very thought of it was enough to send a shiver along her spine.

There weren’t enough hours in the day already.

If she had a man who needed tending to, she wouldn’t get anything done.

Once in the village, they made their way to a small cottage opposite the kirk.

The door was open, and as they went inside, bidding the dogs to remain at the threshold, Laoise jumped to her feet and bobbed a small curtsey.

Even though the young woman was no longer her patient, Freyja couldn’t help assessing how well she looked.

At almost twenty-one, just a few months younger than herself, Laoise’s eyes were bright, hair tidy, and despite having four bairns under the age of five, her energy was boundless.

That’s what happened to a brow-beaten woman when her brute of a husband met an untimely death.

And although she still wasn’t proud of her reaction, even five months later, Freyja still held the opinion that his drunken stagger off a high cliff into the raging sea was nothing but a blessing. And scarcely in disguise, either.

“How is the cataloguing coming along?” she asked Laoise as Roisin took the four little girls outside, doubtless to share with them another fantastical story of the Sidhe from the legends she loved so well.

“Slowly, milady.” A flash of anxiety crossed Laoise’s face. “But I don’t want to make any mistakes.”

Freyja took the sheaf of papers from her and scrutinized Laoise’s work. A year ago, she would never have guessed Laoise possessed the talent to sketch so well, never mind to learn to write the names of the medicinal herbs and flowers that Freyja shared with her.

But there was no doubt that now she was free of her bullying husband, and with no need to seek another now she earned her own wage helping Freyja, her quick mind had blossomed.

Freyja sat at the table and went through the latest sketches with their accompanying uses that Laoise had painstakingly copied from the notes she had left her.

Although the other woman sometimes accompanied her when she visited her patients—on the occasions her mother could watch the bairns—she hadn’t yet allowed Laoise to actually diagnose and blend remedies.

But she needed to. Otherwise, why was she teaching her about the less common medicinal uses that had been handed down from her foremothers for countless years?

“Well, that’s all for today.” She smiled as Laoise carefully packed her papers away and Roisin brought the bairns in. “Don’t forget, I’ll be in Canna for the next few days.”

“Aye, milady.”

They left Laoise and paused beside the kirk. It was plain Roisin was eager to return to the castle and her precious manuscripts, and Freyja smothered a sigh. If only Isolde were here. She’d know how to extract their sister from her baffling daydreams without hurting her feelings.

Even though she’d already asked Roisin to accompany her to the Isle of Canna, she tried again. “Are ye certain ye don’t want to come with me? Tis a fine day for the crossing and ye know everyone will love to see ye.”

“Ye’ll be busy with yer patients, and I’ll only get in yer way. Besides, I’m helping Amma with the embroidery she’s doing as a surprise for Isolde when we visit her.”

That was true enough, but the gradual decline of their grandmother’s eyesight when it came to close work was simply something else to worry about.

“Very well. But remember, I’ll be stopping off on the Isle of Rum on my way home to see Afi.”

Concern wreathed Roisin’s face at the mention of their long-widowed grandfather. “Give him my love. I hope he’s feeling better than he was last week when we visited him.”

“I will,” Freyja promised, but the truth was, she was doubtful their beloved Afi would ever recover his strength after the fright he’d given them three weeks ago, when he’d inexplicably lost his balance and taken a bad fall.

She watched her sister leave the village, before calling Dubh to heel and making her way to the next cottage to check on an older woman who’d birthed a surprise babe the previous day.

But she couldn’t push her grandfather from her mind.

Why was he so stubborn, refusing to leave his beloved Kilvenie, when there was plenty of room at the castle for him?

At least then they’d all be able to keep a watchful eye on him, instead of having to rely on messengers making the crossing from Rum to Eigg in case of bad news.

She sighed heavily. He’d even refused her offer to stay with him. Well, she’d see how he was in a few days, after she left Canna, and if he wasn’t improving then he’d just have to put up with her, wouldn’t he?

*

Isle of Rum

“Ye may be a relative of my beloved late wife’s cousin, but ye needn’t think that’ll sway me when it comes to the happiness of my Freyja.”

Alasdair inclined his head in understanding at Ranulph MacDonald’s heated outburst, but inside he was reeling. Since he’d arrived on the Isle of Rum three days ago, and introduced himself to the laird, Ranulph had been most agreeable.

He’d been eager to hear news of the Earl of Argyll and welcomed Alasdair as an honored guest. The rapport between them had been so cordial, he’d not envisaged any problems when he’d raised the issue of uniting their bloodlines to ensure peace among the Isles.

But now suspicion lurked in Ranulph’s eyes and despite his frail appearance, hostility radiated from him. How had he misread the signs so badly? He’d been so certain the old man would be happy for his granddaughter to be connected through marriage with the earl.

’Twas a setback, but they were far from finished.

Ranulph transferred his glare from him to gaze out at the sea and Alasdair inhaled a calming breath.

At least here on the beach they were alone.

If he’d broached the subject at the tower, it was certain they would have been overheard by at least one servant, and any hope of keeping this between the two of them would’ve died.