Page 36 of Deceived by the Highlander (Daughters of the Isle #2)

Freyja watched Alasdair saunter to the stables, and she stifled a sigh. The sunlight splashed across the courtyard, causing the intriguing streaks of auburn in his hair to glint, and without quite meaning to, she roved her gaze over his broad shoulders and lingered on his mighty biceps.

Blessed Eir, she was still as obsessed with him after weeks of marriage as she’d been on the day they’d first met. Moreso, if she was being truthful. And she dearly wanted to let him know. But how did one go about saying such a thing?

She was practical to her core, and had never indulged in romantic tales the way Roisin did. If she had, maybe she’d have a clue about what to say to him. But practical or not, she didn’t relish laying her heart bare when she wasn’t certain Alasdair felt the same way about her.

When Isolde arrived, she’d ask her advice. After all, her sister hadn’t been best pleased about her obligation to wed William, and yet within weeks Isolde and William had irrevocably fallen in love, and everyone knew it.

Alasdair had now vanished from sight and a pang arrowed through her. She shook her head in amused mockery at the notion she could miss him already, before he’d even left the castle. Sometimes, she didn’t even recognize herself as the woman she’d been before he’d arrived in her life.

Still smiling at her foolishness, she returned to the castle with Dubh at her heels and made her way to their bedchamber where she kept her ink and paper.

As she opened the door, a flash of white linen snagged in Alasdair’s wooden chest caught her eye, and she made her way over to it.

He was always shutting the lid without first checking his sleeves weren’t dangling out and she found the habit ridiculously endearing, even though she pretended to scold him about it.

She lifted the lid and moved a leather pouch aside so she could refold his shirt. Dubh stood on his hind legs and peered into the chest, panting with excitement, and she laughed.

“What are ye doing, ye daft lad?”

For answer, Dubh grabbed the leather pouch in his mouth and darted across the chamber, and her indulgent smile vanished. “Ye bad lad, bring that back here this instant.”

Dubh ignored her and to her horror, he not only growled deep in his throat, but he tossed his head as he ripped into the leather as though it was a tasty treat.

She dashed after him and grasped the end of the pouch, but he still didn’t relinquish his prize, and she glared at him in disbelief. “What in the name of all the gods is the matter with ye, Dubh?”

With an ominous ripping sound, the leather split open and Dubh gave a gleeful little whine as he nosed the contents. Utterly mortified by his behavior, she firmly pushed him away. “I’m ashamed of ye,” she told him. “Look what ye’ve done.”

To be sure, she could mend the leather so it was once again usable, but that wasn’t the point. Dubh wasn’t a naughty dog. She couldn’t fathom what had possessed him.

Gingerly, she opened the rip and pulled out the letter it contained.

The seal was broken but there was no mistaking that it was Ranulph MacDonald’s crest, and incomprehension twisted through her.

She turned it over, but there was no name on the front.

Had Afi written this letter to Alasdair?

Or had he intended it for her? No, that couldn’t be so.

Alasdair wouldn’t have opened it if that were the case.

With the pouch in one hand and the letter in the other, she stood up and made her way to the bed. And couldn’t stop a desolate question from reverberating around her head: Why would Afi write to Alasdair, and not to her?

She sat on the edge of the bed and indecision clawed through her as she stared at the half-unfolded letter clutched in her hand.

If it had been meant for her, Alasdair would have given it to her.

There was no doubt in her mind. But it didn’t stop the unease that gnawed through her heart at the realization that he hadn’t shared its contents with her.

What could Afi have possibly written to Alasdair that her husband hadn’t believed worth sharing with her?

The compulsion to read it burned through her. But she wouldn’t. She’d ask Alasdair about it before he left for Edinburgh, and there was doubtless a simple explanation as to why he hadn’t even mentioned its existence to her.

Decision made, she expelled a long breath just as Dubh, sitting beside her, pawed at the letter and she caught sight of the first few lines written in Miles’ hand. And despite her good intentions, she could not drag her gaze away.

Alasdair,

No doubt ye are curious as to why I changed my mind and now bless yer marriage with my beloved lass, Freyja. I’ve watched ye with her and I see how ye care for her, perhaps more than ye realize yerself.

The thread of guilt at reading something not meant for her eyes unraveled.

This didn’t make sense. To be sure, it was wonderful that Afi had seen how much Alasdair cared for her.

But what did he mean that he had changed his mind about their marriage?

They had never spoken of marriage until Afi had been on his deathbed.

Maybe he had simply been confused when he dictated this letter to Miles.

But if that was the case, Miles would have corrected him, she had no doubt.

She frowned and continued reading.

When ye came to Rum with the Earl of Argyll’s proposition, I could not agree to it. I’d not see my sweet lass used as a pawn in men’s games.

She froze, the words dancing before her eyes as the implications spiked like lightning through her mind. No, she’d misunderstood. But reading it again, and three times, did not change its meaning.

The earl had sent Alasdair to Rum not merely to inquire after her grandfather’s health. Alasdair had gone to Afi with a proposition that had involved her.

There was only one thing a man wanted with a woman he’d never met before, and that was an advantageous alliance.

Something fragile and precious cracked deep inside her breast, and a pain she’d never imagined could exist seeped from the wound like malignant tears.

The idea for her to marry Alasdair Campbell hadn’t come from Afi. It had been hatched between the earl and his half-brother and was the only reason Alasdair had traveled to Rum.

He’d intended to trap her in matrimony before he’d even entered the stables where she’d been helping Ban with her puppies. From the moment they’d met, everything had been a lie.

How noble she’d thought him, when he hadn’t fled after hearing Afi’s deathbed wish that they should marry. She’d believed him the most honorable man alive when he’d been adamant that he wanted to wed her for herself, and not because of her grandfather’s unexpected request.

She’d imagined him a man of high principles and rock-solid integrity.

How horribly, laughably, wrong she had been.

She slumped, clutching the letter in her lap as Dubh sat at her feet and pushed his snout into her hand. If only she’d left Alasdair’s shirtsleeve alone. A maid would’ve tidied it away. And then she wouldn’t have found the letter.

And instead, she’d continue to live a lie.

“Good lad,” she whispered, and stroked him with one finger.

He must’ve smelled Afi’s scent on the letter, and that was why he’d gone a little mad and ripped open the leather.

He whined and shuffled closer, but she could offer him no further comfort when her heart felt as torn open and exposed as the leather discarded on the floor.

What now? She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t read Afi’s letter. She’d have to confront Alasdair, but the notion made her shrivel inside with shame. How could she ever look him in the eyes again, knowing how little he truly thought of her?

The door swung open, and Alasdair entered, a familiar smile on his face. A smile she’d grown so used to during these last few weeks yet seeing it now was like a sword plunged through her heart.

His gaze dropped to her lap, where she still clutched the letter. And his smile vanished.