Page 9 of Deceived by the Highlander (Daughters of the Isle #2)

A lasdair stood in the sheltered cove where he’d said farewell to Freyja two days ago, his gaze fixed on the Isle of Eigg. It was strange how he missed her lively presence, considering the short time he’d known her. But the fact remained, Kilvenie was inexplicably empty without her.

The afternoon sea breeze was fresh with a hint of salt, and he exhaled a long breath. There had been no further discussions with Ranulph concerning an alliance between his granddaughter and Alasdair, and he was reluctant to broach the subject considering how his previous attempt had been received.

But he could hardly remain on the isle indefinitely. The earl had been misinformed as to Ranulph’s health, and although the older man was frail, he could easily live another five or ten years.

It was time to change tactics.

Freyja had invited him to visit her when he left Rum, and he had every intention of doing so. And after he arrived on Eigg, he’d do everything within his power to win her affection.

She was an intriguing woman he couldn’t get out of his mind. A woman it would be no hardship to woo.

But the truth was, even without the earl’s blessing, Freyja fascinated him in a way no other lass had before. How fortunate that the one woman who’d captured his interest was also the one his half-brother wanted him to wed.

Belatedly, he realized he was grinning like a witless fool at his thoughts. Thank God no one was around to see him. Now he’d made the decision to leave Rum, it was time to bid Ranulph farewell, and he swung on his heel and made his way back to the tower.

As soon as he entered the hall, the tension slithered around him like a fog. Standing beside the hearth was the steward, Miles, deep in conversation with the stronghold’s physician and chaplain, and Alasdair’s senses sharpened.

Despite the urge to march up to Miles to discover what had occurred, it wasn’t his place, but neither could he bring himself to leave the hall. Finally, Miles glanced over his shoulder, his face an impassive mask, and gave Alasdair a brusque nod.

He took it as a sign to approach. And although he was a guest, and didn’t even know Ranulph well, he couldn’t stop himself from asking. “What is it?”

“Ranulph had a—” Miles hesitated, a dark frown distorting his brow as he glanced at the other two men. “Turn.”

“A turn?”

“Aye. Ye saw him yerself earlier. He was perfectly well. And then he dropped like a felled tree.”

Alarm streaked through him. “Is he injured?”

Once again, Miles glanced at the other men, and this time the chaplain responded.

“’Tis in God’s hands, my son.”

Alasdair stared at him as the words pounded through his mind. “He won’t recover?”

Miles gave a low growl in the back of his throat, while he glared daggers at the chaplain. “He may. With Freyja’s skill, he recovered well from the fall when others thought he was on his deathbed.”

“His injured leg was something I could treat.” There was an affronted note in the physician’s retort before he cast a sideways glance at Alasdair, as if reluctant to continue, and it wasn’t hard to guess his thoughts. As far as he was concerned, Alasdair was an outsider.

He turned back to Miles. “I’ll fetch Lady Freyja, if ye think it will help Ranulph.”

“Aye.” Miles released a harsh breath. “He’ll want to see her. But first, he wants to see ye.”

“Me?” He hadn’t expected that.

“He was most insistent.” There was a grim note in Miles’ voice. “I’ll take ye to him.”

Alasdair followed the steward across the hall and up the stairs. When Miles paused before a door, he couldn’t remain silent any longer. “Is there nothing the physician can do?”

“Ye heard him.” Miles gripped the door ring, but instead of opening the door, he cast a shadowed glance his way. “Not that I’d take his word on much. I put more stock in Freyja’s opinion than I do his.”

They walked across the small antechamber, and an elderly serving woman opened the door to Ranulph’s bedchamber.

The fire blazed in the hearth, thick rugs covered the floor, and the old man sat propped up in his bed, his gaze fixed on Ban and her puppies, who had been transferred from the stables yesterday afternoon.

Shock stabbed through his chest. In the short time since he’d last seen Ranulph, it seemed the man had aged twenty or more years. His face was sunken, and he slumped against his pillows as though all the strength had seeped from his body.

“I’ve brought Alasdair,” Miles said, and Ranulph slowly turned his head to focus on them.

“Leave us,” he said to his steward before nodding at the serving woman, and Miles glowered at the order, although he didn’t appear surprised by it.

Alasdair waited until Miles and the servant had left the chamber before he approached the bed. “I’m grieved ye had a setback.”

God knew he meant it. Even if the only reason the earl had sent him here was because he’d believed Ranulph was dying, he wouldn’t wish this fate on anyone. Besides, there was a difference between meeting a stranger at death’s door, and a man who he’d grown to respect during the last week.

“I almost believe ye.” Ranulph’s lips stretched into a grin, but the sight only caused a sharp pain to lance through Alasdair’s chest. “Don’t try telling me this isn’t the outcome yer earl was hoping for when he sent ye here.”

Guilt flickered through him. “Ranulph—”

The older man made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Don’t trouble yerself, lad. I know the political situation.” He drew in a raspy breath. “I know why the earl wants to dig his claws in Kilvenie.”

There was no point denying it. But there was one thing he needed Ranulph to understand. “I meant what I said before. With the backing of the earl, Lady Freyja’s heritage will remain secure.”

“As long as she weds ye.”

“Are ye still against such a match?”

“I don’t believe I ever said I was against it. I said I wouldn’t use my granddaughter as a pawn in yer earl’s game.”

He didn’t like the idea of Freyja being a pawn, either. Even though that was exactly what she was in the earl’s eyes.

But the bald truth was he didn’t have to like it to know it made strategic sense. And since Ranulph had brought the subject up, maybe it meant he now believed the advantages to the match outweighed his previous annoyance at the proposed alliance.

“Ranulph, I want ye to know, when it comes to Lady Freyja, I’m not playing a game.”

“I want yer word, Alasdair, that ye won’t trick her into marriage.”

Unease slithered through his chest. Did his determination to win her affection amount to trickery?

“I’ve no intention of hurting her, Ranulph. But I cannot promise to walk away if she honors me with a pledge to be my bride.”

Ranulph grunted. “Ye know full well what I mean.”

Aye, he did. A forced marriage through seduction.

It was what the earl expected him to do, should all other negotiations fail.

And yet the old man’s veiled accusation cut deep, even if he understood why Ranulph harbored suspicions about his integrity.

After all, the earl himself was relying on that very same integrity to get what he wanted by any means possible.

While Alasdair hadn’t relished the notion when his half-brother had raised the subject, the truth was he’d sailed to Rum with the intention of winning Freyja’s hand at any cost. But having Ranulph fling the accusation at him made him face a stark reality.

There was a difference between wooing her and winning her with pretty words and sincere promises of ensuring her future happiness and leaving her no choice but to wed him because he’d ruined her reputation. He knew which future he wanted.

“I do.” He sounded irked and Ranulph gave him an inscrutable look, which he ignored. And even though it went against Archibald’s edict, there was no point lying to himself anymore. And he wouldn’t lie to Ranulph. “I’d not disrespect Lady Freyja in such a manner. Ye have my word.”

Silence reigned between them until finally, Ranulph spoke. “Very well.” Briefly he closed his eyes as if their exchange had exhausted him, before once again holding Alasdair’s gaze. “I’ll hold ye to yer word as a Campbell and half-brother to the Earl of Argyll.”

*

It was late in the evening, but sunlight still bathed the isle when Freyja left the village and made her way back to the castle.

After Colban’s visit, she and Laoise had gone to the castle’s apothecary where Laoise carefully cut the pods they’d gathered in the gardens and collected the milky fluid that they would later use in powerful tinctures.

Freyja couldn’t fault her meticulous attention to detail, which was essential when dealing with dangerous remedies. The advantage of having access to the precious poppy, and the knowledge on how to use its potent properties, was invaluable, but in the wrong hands could be deadly.

Thank Eir she’d taken a chance on training Laoise.

Maybe she should see if there were any other women on the Small Isles who she might teach.

It hadn’t occurred to her before. The mysteries of the poppy had been handed down from her foremothers, as sacred as the Deep Knowing, and yet there wasn’t any edict to keep the medicinal knowledge a secret.

Well, that was a thought for another day. For now, she was grateful she could visit Afi again tomorrow, and that Laoise was more than competent on her own.

As she strolled across the bracken moorland, Dubh barked in greeting, pulling her wandering thoughts back to the present. In the distance, obviously on his way to the castle, was Alasdair, and pleasure rushed through her like a warm wave.

He’d come to visit her. Just as he’d promised. And far sooner than she’d hoped for.

She returned his wave and picked up her pace as he made his way in her direction.

Good Lord, how had she forgotten what a breathtaking sight he was?

His blond hair, with those intriguing auburn glints, was tousled by the wind, and he’d rolled up his sleeves, giving her an unhindered sight of his marvelous forearms.

She sucked in a jagged breath and tried to quell her amorous reverie. It would be too mortifying if he saw how easily he affected her, without even touching her, no less.

“Lady Freyja.” He gave a charming half bow.

“Alasdair. ’Tis good to see ye looking so fine.”

Wait. Had she said that out loud? What in the name of Eir was it about him that made her behave like a lovestruck maid of thirteen? It was all very well speaking her mind, but not when her mind was seemingly determined to bypass any good sense she usually possessed.

Thankfully, Dubh distracted Alasdair’s attention before he could respond to her unwary comment, by placing his paw on his boot.

“Good lad.” Alasdair scratched Dubh’s head, which only made her smile like a fool as she recalled how adorable he had looked holding Ban’s newborn pups. What a relief he was focusing on her dog instead of her.

“’Tis quite late to be visiting,” she remarked, but he didn’t look up at her as he continued to scratch Dubh, who abandoned all pretense of dignity as he rolled onto his back in unabashed ecstasy. “I’m certain my grandmother, Lady Helga, will be pleased to offer ye hospitality for the night.”

“That would be most kind of her.”

He continued to focus on Dubh, and the way he’d avoided looking at her since she’d reached his side finally penetrated her befogged mind.

Was she imagining it? To be sure, on Rum he’d always greeted Dubh, who had taken an uncommon liking to the Highlander, but there was something off about this encounter. If only she could put her finger on it.

“Is something amiss, Alasdair?” And then the blindingly obvious smashed into her with the force of a hammer and she clasped his arm before she could think better of it.

“Oh, God. Is it Afi? Has he—?” The words caught in her throat, unsayable, but Alasdair instantly threaded his fingers through hers and pulled her close.

“Freyja, no. He lives.” Then he dragged in a ragged breath. “I don’t know how to say this. He was in fine spirits this morning. I cannot explain what happened, but I’ve come to take ye back to Rum, so ye might see him.”

She gazed into his dark brown eyes that were so full of sorrow and understanding. She barely knew him, and yet how comforting it was, with their fingers entwined, as though in some incomprehensible way his touch gave her a sliver of strength.

“Did Miles send ye?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“I offered to fetch ye.” Then he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and she sank against him, his unyielding body an anchor against the ache unfurling through her chest. “I didn’t know what else I could do to help.”

“Thank ye.” Her voice was choked, and a shudder racked through her. It was possible this was but another false alarm, like the fall Afi had suffered a few weeks ago when his physician had predicted a gloom-filled outcome. Yet deep in her heart, she knew she was fooling herself.

The concerned expression on Alasdair’s face, and the unease in his voice, told her all she needed to know.

“’Tis the least I could do. And who knows, when we return to Rum, he may have regained his strength.”

As they trudged across the moorland to the castle, she released a ragged sigh. “In truth, ’twas a miracle he recovered so well from his fall. I did all I could, but alas, I always feared it was a temporary respite.”

“Don’t give up hope.”

As they entered the courtyard, she caught his gaze and couldn’t help but give him a small smile.

How compassionate he was for a man he scarcely knew.

And although it was possible he said such things merely to remain in her good graces, she heard genuine concern in his voice. No one could pretend such solicitude.

“Freyja. We were on our way to the village to find ye.”

Roisin’s voice dragged her from the mesmeric depths of Alasdair’s eyes, and she turned to her sister, who was approaching them with Grear, their young serving girl.

Roisin gave Alasdair a curious glance but didn’t say anything else, and Freyja quickly disentangled herself from him before introducing them.

“It’s my honor to make yer acquaintance, Lady Roisin,” Alasdair said.

“Roisin,” Freyja said, knowing her sister was too shy to respond and not wishing Alasdair to think she was being rude by her silence, “Alasdair has worrying news of Afi.”

Roisin’s awkward smile vanished. “He had another fall?” She sounded distraught and clasped Grear’s hand for comfort.

It was startling to realize she didn’t know if their grandfather had taken another fall. She hadn’t thought to press Alasdair for details which now she considered it, was completely incomprehensible.

“I’m going to Rum to see for myself.”

“I’ll come too.”

Freyja nodded. “Of course. We must let Amma know.” She glanced at Alasdair. “Maybe, if we make haste, we can return to Rum before sundown.”