Page 19 of Beguiled By the Highlander
“We can trace our Sgur lineage back nine hundred years to our Pict queen ancestor, and all our foremothers since her have spent their lives on Eigg. It is who we are.”
“All of them?” Skepticism threaded through each word. “Do women never leave the Isle?”
“Of course.” As they made their way down the great hill, Sjor dashed ahead, barking at mist-shrouded shadows. “Doubtless they traveled between the Western Isles, as my sisters and I do. But we know our future lies here. Our bloodline must prevail.”
“Tis an illustrious bloodline. But it would prevail whether ye remain on Eigg or not.”
They crossed the moorland, but she didn’t head to the beach where she’d found him. There was something she wanted him to see.
“I shall tell ye a strange thing.” It was something she had never said before, since on the Isles, it was common knowledge. “From time immemorial, the MacDonalds of Sgur Castle had only one daughter in each generation. As I told ye before, the castle and lands pass from mother to daughter. It has always been the way, and the men of the Isles who wed into Sgur understand this.”
He gave her a sharp glance. “Ye have two sisters.”
“Aye. But in the course of time, it will come to me as the eldest daughter.”
“So, yer two younger sisters can leave the Isle if they wish, but ye cannot?”
“’Tis not a question of whether we wish to leave or not. Wedon’twish to leave. But even if we did, we’re bound to our beloved land by the word of our foremothers.”
He grunted. “But what if one of ye wishes to wed a man who cannot give up his own estates to live here on the Isle?”
“Then he’s not the right man.”
“This seems a harsh binding.”
“Not for me. I could never be happy away from Eigg.”
“’Tis beautiful, for sure.” But he wasn’t looking at her beloved land. He gazed at her, and her cheeks heated, despite the chilled breeze. “But still, Isolde. Yer strength and skill with the sword come from ye, not from the land ye stand upon.”
She smiled. How could she not? He was wrong, but she appreciated his compliments on the results of her years of hard work. “Well, ’tis not something I will compromise on.”
The specter of the Campell her grandmother wished her to wed hovered in the back of her mind, like a ghoul from the pit of hell. She shoved it aside. She would not think of that now, whenher enigmatic stranger from the sea was by her side, his smile an irresistible combination of admiration and intrigue.
It was clear he did not quite believe in the strength of her resolve, but she could excuse him for that when he was still searching for his own origins.
“Forgive me.” His voice dropped to a deep rumble, and his hand brushed against hers as they skirted the woodlands. It may have been an accidental touch as they walked side by side, but delightful shivers raced through her, nonetheless.
Especially when he didn’t instantly put more distance between them.
Keeping her gaze ahead, she brushed her own knuckles against his. And this time his fingers slipped between hers, capturing her in an illicit embrace.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she looked at him. He gave her an inscrutable smile, as the wind tossed his dark hair across his face with careless abandon. She wasn’t quite sure how they ended up in the shadow of the trees, for she had no recollection of moving in that direction. Yet here they were. Half hidden from view, should anyone else be following the same path they had taken.
“Forgive ye?” Her voice was husky, and despite her best intentions, her gaze slipped to his mouth. Dear God. Was he about to kiss her? She held her breath in anticipation, and scarcely stopped herself from rising onto her toes, so as to meet him halfway.
“Aye. ’Tis none of my business, I know.” His voice was a bone-melting growl across her senses, and heat bloomed low inside. It was scandalous, and utterly thrilling. “But are ye spoken for, Isolde? Is there a man from the islands who has captured yer heart?”
It wasn’t a kiss, but the implication behind his question was almost—no, perhaps even better. A kiss could be fleeting. But what her stranger from the sea was asking...
That could mean something far deeper.
“No.” It was a whisper. It was all she could manage. “There is no one from the Isles.”
Only a Campbell from the mainland.
But she wasn’t spoken for. It was an agreement made between her grandmother and the Baron of Dunstrunage. She had not given consent to wed William Campbell. They were not officially betrothed.
There was no need for the twist of guilt in her chest.
