Page 15 of Beguiled By the Highlander
As they approached the castle entrance, he paused. “That,” he said, “is an impressive rock.”
And so was his profile. Especially in the twilight, which threw shades of purple across his beautiful bone structure. Without following his gaze—after all, she knew exactly what had captured his attention—she said,
“Aye. Tis An Sgurr, the great ridge of Eigg. The views from the castle are exceptional, but from the peak of An Sgurr, ye feel ye’re on top of the world. As soon as ye are able, when the weather is fine, I’ll take ye up there and ye’ll see for yerself.”
They entered the castle and made their way to the fire. Guilt ate through her at how he rubbed his hands together in the heat. She should’ve brought him straight back here when she’d finished her session with Patric, instead of standing in the cold air flirting with him.
Although, in her defense, she hadn’t flirted, had she? They’d simply been talking. But still. The result was the same. The poor man was almost blue.
“There ye are.” Freyja’s voice, only slightly censorious, cut through her thoughts. “Amma wishes to know if our guest is joining us for supper.”
“I should be honored,” he said and bowed his head.
Entranced by his bearing, Isolde gazed at him as he responded to her sister’s questions on his wellbeing. The mystery of his identity enthralled her. He was certainly the son of a laird, at the very least, which should make finding his kin easier than if he were a serf.
It was bad luck to wish such things, but it didn’t stop her from hoping the storm on the sea might rage for just a few days longer, so she could spend more time with her enigmatic Njord.
*
That night, asshe and her sisters readied for bed, Roisin sat before the fire, hugging her knees. “The stranger is quite smitten with ye, Izzie.”
An illicit thrill raced through her, even though it was foolish to suppose it was true. “His manners are very pretty, and that’s a fact.”
“I’m not speaking of his manners.” Roisin gave a silent laugh. “He is most polite to Amma, but I’d not suggest anything more. Do ye not see the way he looks at ye? Like,” she gave a great sigh,and a faraway look glazed her eyes. “Like he cannot believe the truth of his eyes.”
Freyja snorted. “Let’s not forget the man has a head injury and cannot even recall his own name. It would be foolish to read anything into anything he says or does until his memory returns.”
Isolde knew her sister was right. But sometimes, Roisin’s view of the world was far more exciting.
“No one is doing that, Frey,” she told her sister, even if it wasn’t quite the truth. Because, for sure, she had noticed the way he looked at her. With admiration.
And something more.
Heat bloomed between her thighs, and as she combed her hair, she averted her burning face from Freyja. It was odd how deeply he affected her when they scarcely knew anything about each other. Certainly, no other man caused the blood to fire in her veins or breath stall in her throat the way he did. Even when they weren’t in the same chamber. And she’d met plenty of MacDonald men from the Isles who were easy on the eye.
“Suppose he never regains his memory?” Roisin rested her cheek on her knees and regarded Freyja. “What will we do with him then?”
“Word will spread among the Isles and to the mainland. Someone will claim him.”
“Ye make him sound like a lost puppy.” Isolde wasn’t sure why Freyja’s flippant dismissal of Njord’s fate irked her so.
“Heislost,” Freyja reminded her. “And if he cannot recall his life, what else can we do but try and find his kin for him?”
It was a perfectly reasonable response. But it still rubbed her the wrong way.
Yet what was the alternative? He couldn’t remain here on Eigg, in the castle, forever, could he?
*
For three daysthe storm howled across the Isle, making all but essential forays beyond the castle walls folly. On the fourth morning after her stranger had washed up on the beach, the skies finally cleared, and Isolde heaved a sigh of relief as she stood by the window in the bedchamber, the shutters open, breathing in the fresh, cold air.
Being confined within the castle for days on end always made her restless. Although, admittedly, the company of Njord had livened things up considerably. But they had never been alone, and she had the sneaking suspicion her grandmother was behind that.
Which was somewhat insulting. Didn’t Amma trust her alone with Njord?
Well, it didn’t matter. The weather was fine, and she would show him her beloved Isle. A leisurely walk, to blow away the cobwebs. Even Freyja would approve of that, now the wound on his head had healed so beautifully.
Roisin groaned and pulled the wool coverlet over her head. Freyja sat up, blinking in the light from the lamps. “Is the storm passed?”
