Page 28 of Deceived by the Highlander (Daughters of the Isle #2)

A lasdair stole a sideways glance at Freyja as they rode through the town of Oban. They had been wed ten days, and he still couldn’t quite believe his luck in winning such an incomparable bride.

After they’d left Rum and returned to Eigg, Freyja had wasted no time in organizing her departure from Sgur Castle. And while he’d expected a wagon or so of her personal possessions, he hadn’t expected the two wagon loads of plants she’d insisted she couldn’t leave behind.

God knew, he would have agreed to bring anything with them, if it made her happy.

Before they left Eigg he’d sent messages to the mainland, and when they’d disembarked at the port of Oban, a dozen warriors had joined them.

He’d known them all for years and trusted them with his life.

They would ensure his bride encountered no dangers during the journey to Dunochty.

And God knew, he needed men he could count on when he began his new life as laird of the castle.

“I believe I spy yer manor.” She turned and smiled at him and even though the prospect of seeing his mother caused a hard knot of dread in the pit of his stomach, he couldn’t help smiling back at her.

“Aye.” There wasn’t much else he could say. It was his manor.

“’Twas kind of yer lady mother to invite us to visit her.”

He grunted in response. Ever since the unexpected message had arrived on Eigg four days ago, Freyja had attempted to engage him in conversation about his mother several times, and each time he’d managed to change the subject without arousing her curiosity.

Or so he’d thought. Right up until they’d disembarked at the port of Oban, he’d intended to bypass the manor and take Freyja to Dunochty, but she’d been adamant they couldn’t ignore the offer of hospitality.

And since he didn’t want to dredge up the nonexistent relationship he had with his mother, it had been easier to agree that they’d stop at the manor for refreshments before continuing their journey home.

Home. The prospect of having his own home sent a warm glow through him, but if he had to suffer his mother’s barbs to satisfy Freyja’s sense of honor, then it was a small price to pay to make his bride content, and so he had sent a messenger ahead to inform her to expect them.

As they entered the small courtyard, he was taken aback to see his mother standing in front of the doors to the manor, along with the steward and the rest of their small staff. He hadn’t expected her to make the effort to greet his bride in the manner she deserved.

He dismounted and helped Freyja from her horse. She squeezed his hand as though offering comfort, and he had the strangest notion she wasn’t as unaware of how he felt about his mother as he’d assumed.

The knot in his gut tightened. He didn’t know how he felt about that. Her family was so different from his own and a part of him had wanted her to believe in the illusion that he shared that same closeness with his mother.

Too late to think about that now. She’d soon discover the truth. From the corner of his eye he saw Clyde, the warrior Lady Helga had assigned for Freyja’s protection, take Dubh from one of the wagons where he’d spent the journey in a basket, and the dog instantly shot to Freyja’s side.

The rest of his men also dismounted but made no move towards the manor. They knew no invitation would be extended for them to enjoy any refreshments. Thank God they knew him, and his mother, well enough not to take offence.

He came to a halt before his mother. At least she was smiling at Freyja, which was a good sign.

He turned to his bride. “Lady Freyja, may I present my mother, Mistress Campbell. Mistress Campbell, my bride, Lady Freyja MacDonald of Sgur Castle.”

“I’m delighted to meet ye, Mistress Campbell. ’Tis most kind of ye to offer us refreshments.”

“Not at all, my lady. ’Tis an honor to meet my son’s bride. He’s a lucky man, and that’s a fact.”

“’Tis I who am the lucky one, Mistress Campbell. Yer son is an honorable man and I’m proud to be his wife.”

Alasdair smiled grimly when his mother shot him a calculating glance. To be sure, it was gratifying Freyja spoke so highly of him. But would she still think him such an honorable man if she knew the real reason why he had traveled to Rum?

“Aye, indeed.” His mother nodded sagely. “Allow me to welcome ye to our humble manor, my lady. If ye wish to refresh yerself after the journey, my maid can take ye to the solar.”

“I should like that, thank ye.”

A maid stepped forward and bobbed a curtsey, and after glancing at him Freyja followed the maid inside the manor.

His mother eyed him. “Ye’ve done well for yerself, and no mistake.”

He had no intention of discussing Freyja with her. For as long as he could remember, whenever his mother said something that could lead to discord, he’d steered her interest in a safer direction. It had never failed him before. There was no reason to think it would now.

“I’m glad our marriage pleases ye. And I must concur with my wife, ’tis good of ye to welcome us at such short notice.”

His mother gave a faint smile and the tension that had crackled around her since his arrival faded. “Ye’d best come inside. I trust yer men have their own victuals.”

“Aye. Let me tend to the horses first. I’ll join ye in the hall.”

He watched her disappear into the manor and raked his fingers through his hair. It was a small reprieve, but he couldn’t tarry too long. He didn’t want his mother cornering Freyja and filling her head with the truth of his childhood.

Freyja believed he’d enjoyed a privileged upbringing as the son of the earl, and that was the way he wanted things to stay.

*

Freyja freshened up in the small solar, where a pitcher of lukewarm water had been left for her on a table, as her serving woman, Morag, tidied her hair.

Amma had insisted she take one of her own women with her, and Freyja was grateful for the familiar face, but how she wished she could have brought Laoise.

It was out of the question, of course, and she hadn’t even asked her. Laoise had four bairns and her widowed mother to support. Besides, she was the only one left on Eigg who understood the power of the poppy.

As she dried her hands, she glanced around the solar. The manor wasn’t quite what she’d been expecting. There was an air of neglect about the place, but perhaps that was because Alasdair spent most of his time in his castle.

Still, a laird should ensure all his properties were maintained.

She frowned as she crouched down to pat Dubh.

It felt disloyal to even think that about Alasdair, but she couldn’t shift the feeling that something wasn’t quite right.

He’d told her a few days ago, after she’d pressed him on the matter, that his stepfather had died two years ago.

If there was any blame for the lack of upkeep of the manor, it fell squarely at the feet of the late master.

Ah, well. She straightened and adjusted her shawl. Now she was here, she could help ease the burden on Alasdair’s shoulders so he could ensure his mother’s comfort.

As she left the solar to retrace her steps to the great hall, her mind lingered on Mistress Campbell.

When Alasdair had received her invitation to visit them, his expression had given nothing away, and yet she’d been instantly concerned for him.

Her suspicions about his mother had grown when he’d dismissed the offer under the pretext he wanted to take his bride straight to Dunochty instead.

And every time she’d raised the subject, he’d deflected the conversation elsewhere. It was glaringly obvious he didn’t get along with his mother, and since Alasdair was the kindest man she had ever met, the fault certainly lay with Mistress Campbell.

But apart from the way she hadn’t offered Alasdair’s men any sustenance, the older woman seemed perfectly amiable.

Why then hadn’t Alasdair wanted to take her to the manor?

Inadvertently, her glance fell upon the damaged wall panels that lined the corridor.

Surely it had nothing to do with its sad state of repair?

As she approached the great hall, Mistress Campbell’s voice floated into the corridor, and she stopped dead.

“I’ll tell ye plainly. I’m agog at how ye managed to snare a Sgur MacDonald.” Incredulity thrummed in every word, and Freyja bristled at Mistress Campbell’s tone. Why wouldn’t she think her own son was worthy of such a match?

“I didn’t ensnare her.” Alasdair’s retort was surprisingly calm, but she heard the underlying affront. She didn’t blame him. Even Dubh, standing by her feet, had gone onto alert, as though he also found Mistress Campbell’s manner offensive.

Well, she certainly wasn’t going to skulk in corners, eavesdropping on conversations that were none of her business, even when it involved her own husband, and she had to battle the urge to leap to his defense. She took a deep breath and had taken a step forward when Mistress Campbell spoke again.

“I cannot help but suspect yer new bride and Dunochty are connected, Alasdair. It seems—”

She marched into the great hall, a smile on her face, even though inside she was seething. Mistress Campbell snapped her lips together and offered a reciprocating smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“My lady, please take some refreshments.” She waved her hand over to the hearth, where a maid was arranging a fine spread upon a table.

Freyja glanced at Alasdair. He had an unreadable expression on his face but the muscles in his jaw and shoulders were taut with suppressed frustration and anger against his mother flared through her.

She didn’t know their history, it was true.

But Mistress Campbell had disrespected her Alasdair, and she wanted to show him that no matter what, she was on his side.

With a regal nod in his direction, she slipped her arm through his, and with a startled glance at her breach in etiquette, he led her after his mother.

*

It was early afternoon when they left the manor, and when they were some distance from the estate, Freyja leaned across the small space between their horses and briefly grasped Alasdair’s forearm. “I’m sorry for insisting we visit Mistress Campbell.”

A dark frown slashed his brow. “Did my mother offend ye?”

“No,” she said hastily. “She was most pleasant. But I could see it was difficult for ye. I shouldn’t have put ye in that position. ’Tis in my nature to pursue something when it occurs to me, and I thought it was right to meet my husband’s mother as soon as possible.”

He transferred his glower to the path ahead and as the silence stretched between them, she silently sighed. It was obvious he didn’t want to discuss the matter further.

She cast her glance from the woodlands to their right, to where glimpses of the sea could be seen on the left.

And again she hoped Dunochty would be close to the coast. She should have asked Alasdair about the castle’s location before they left Eigg, but it seemed pointless now, when they were merely hours from arriving.

“We were never close,” he said, suddenly breaking the silence. “I learned early on she preferred it if I wasn’t around.”

“That must have been hard.” Her own parents had died eleven years ago, and their loss had devastated her.

She still missed the long conversations she and her sisters had enjoyed with their mother, and the sound of their father’s laugh and the way he’d swung them around in his arms when they’d been small.

She swallowed around the constriction in her throat, and it wasn’t entirely caused by the grief of losing her parents when she had been so young, or the recent loss of her beloved Afi.

It was because Alasdair didn’t have similar happy memories of when he was a bairn.

Yet he was the son of the late earl, and considering he was clearly a trusted confidant of the current earl, it stood to reason his entire childhood hadn’t been one of neglect. Just when he resided at his stepfather’s manor.

She dearly hoped he’d spent most of the time with his half-brother.

Alasdair still stared grimly ahead, as though he regretted his confession. But she didn’t want him to regret it. She wanted to know everything about him, and it was only now the sobering realization hit her that she actually knew very little.

“I survived,” he said, breaking into her reverie, and when he smiled at her, chasing away the cloud that had surrounded him, a warm glow heated her heart. She didn’t even chide herself for such a fanciful notion since possible or not, it felt as though a shard of sunlight enfolded her chest.

She reached for him, and he took her hand and kissed her gloved fingers. “I know ye did,” she said. “And I’m thankful for it, make no mistake.”

He squeezed her fingers before releasing her, but as he turned away she caught a furtive expression on his face. It was gone in an instant and she almost wondered if she’d imagined it.

But she hadn’t. Yet what on earth did Alasdair need to feel guilty about?