Page 22 of Beguiled By the Highlander
“Poor lass was in labor all last night. Her idiot husband did not think to send word to the castle for me, since he didn’t wish to battle the storm in the dark. Thank God I arrived when I did. Her mother and sister were doing their best, but it was a close thing.” She drew in a ragged breath. “Thankfully, she is safely delivered of another daughter.”
“That’s good news, indeed.” Although she was certain Laoise’s repulsive husband would rage that, once again, his wife had not produced his much-wanted son. “I’ll gather a gift basket for her as soon as we return to the castle.”
Freyja gave a brief nod before turning to Njord.
“How’s yer head after yer fine walk?”
“No pain,” he confirmed. “No revelations, either, alas.”
“Now the storm’s broke, we’ll send word to the other Isles. We’ll soon discover who ye are.”
Isolde smiled and nodded agreeably at her sister’s comment. It was, after all, a perfectly sensible comment. It didn’t mean she had to like it.
The three of them began the walk back to the castle and had barely left the village when they saw Roisin and Grear heading their way.
“I’m glad we found ye.” Rosin fell into step beside Freyja. “Colban MacDonald has just arrived. They’re on their way to Skye, but he wanted to stop here and see ye, Frey.”
Aye, she bet he did. Colban MacDonald wasted no opportunity to spend time with Freyja, and yet her sister appeared oblivious that he might have an ulterior motive than the usual friendly clan concern. Not that she wanted Frey to end up with the man. Something about him rubbed her the wrong way, although she couldn’t for the life of her explain why.
“Well, there ye are.” Freyja gave Njord a bright smile. “Maybe Colban can shed light on this mystery.”
Aye, maybe he could. And she should be glad of it. But deep in a hidden part of her soul, the unsavory truth lurked.
She was afraid that when they discovered the truth of Njord’s past, it would shatter forever any slender hope of them forging a future together.
Chapter Seven
“So ye’re themindless one they saved from the storm.”
They’d returned to the castle, and Colban MacDonald and his men were in the great hall, drinking mead and warming themselves by the fire. He didn’t bother smiling at MacDonald’s jibe. The malicious gleam in the other man’s eye made it clear his remark wasn’t said in jest.
“Being unable to recall a few things hardly makes a man mindless, Colban.” Isolde sent Colban a smile that should’ve frozen the man’s heart in his chest.
“But ye don’t recognize him?” Disappointment threaded through Freyja’s voice as she passed a cup of warm mead to her younger sister.
“Can’t say I do. He’s not from Islay. We don’t breed the weak of mind there.”
Much as it burned, he bit back the caustic retort on his tongue. The man was an uncouth oaf, but he wouldn’t disrespect Lady Helga or her granddaughters by starting a brawl in their home.
Instead, he turned to Isolde, and a spark of amusement flashed through him at the glare of thunder she sent Colban. Not that the man noticed. He appeared unable to drag his gaze from Freyja.
“Ye’re quite wrong,” Freyja said. “Tis only Njord’s strength of mind that pulled him through.”
Isolde caught his eye and a smile tugged at her lips at her sister’s reprimand. While Colban attempted to justify his comment, he was having the hardest time dragging his bewitched gaze from Isolde’s mouth.
God, what had possessed him to kiss her in the woods? Anyone could’ve caught them, and daughter of the castle or not, she was still an unwed maid and the risk to her reputation was only too real.
Yet the fact remained: given the chance, he would do it again.
“Well,” Isolde’s voice was low, for his ears only. “We can celebrate that ye’re not related to Colban, at least.”
He took a swig of mead to hide his grin. “Small mercies,” he agreed, and God help him, it took all his strength not to wrap his arm around her shoulders and pull her close.
The truth was, it was a blow that Colban didn’t know him. How could he ask anything of Isolde before he discovered his birthright?
“How did ye arrive so early? ’Tis a fair stretch from Islay.” Freyja took another long sip of her mead.
“When the storm hit, we took shelter in Muck. We’ve been stranded there the last few days.”
