Page 23 of Beguiled By the Highlander
He tried to place the name but couldn’t, and familiar frustration ripped through him. If he hadn’t taken such an instant dislike to Colban, he’d request to accompany him to Skye, in the hope of finding some answers there.
Yet an insistent voice in the back of his mind would not be silent.
Would ye?
If the truth to his identity lay on Skye, and it was unpalatable, he could never return to Eigg.
He’d never see Isolde again.
Isolde leaned in close, pulling him from his wretched thoughts. “’Tis one of the Small Isles, south of us. Ye can see it clearly from here, on a fine day.”
“Another MacDonald Isle?” He was only half jesting. During the last few days, he’d learned a lot about the powerful MacDonald clan.
“The Western Isles are MacDonald territory.” And then her teasing smile faded, and she sighed. “Ah, well, they were at one time. The cursed Campbells claim more of our land with each passing year.”
Just like when she’d told him of the Campbell her grandmother wanted her to wed, a dull flicker of something just out of reach flashed through the darkness clouding his mind. He frowned, trying to hold onto the elusive sense of somehowknowing.
Knowing what?
That he was a Campbell?
Unease slithered through him at the possibility. If he were a Campbell, did he know the man Lady Helga wished her eldest granddaughter to wed?
*
Later that morning,Isolde and her sisters returned to the village, ladened with baskets of provisions for Laoise and her wee ones, while Njord accompanied Patric on his daily inspection of the castle’s fortifications.
It meant the faithful warrior approved of him.
She knew she risked heartache with the gossamer dreams she could not help but weave about him. Of all the men she’d met across the Western Isles since she’d turned fourteen and began to see them in a different light, not one of them had filled herthoughts while she went about her everyday tasks. Or caused her pulse to race simply by recalling their conversation or how his laugh warmed the very core of her soul.
“Good Eir.” Freyja’s exasperated voice, tinged with amusement, filtered through her daydreams, and she tossed her sister a good-natured smile. Frey only ever invoked the name of the ancient Norse goddess of healing when the three of them were alone, and for good reason. Not everyone, even on the Small Isles, was comfortable with reminders of gods long since vanquished in the stream of time.
“What?” she responded, and Roisin laughed as she and Frey exchanged looks.
“Ye’ve not heard a word Roisin and I have said. Which means yer thoughts are far more exciting than overseeing to the castle’s administration.”
“Ye’ve had a glow ever since yer walk with Njord,” Roisin added. “Did he profess undying love for ye?”
She laughed. “He did not. Nor would I expect him to.”
But how I wish he would.
“Undying love, indeed.” Frey threw their younger sister an indulgent glance. “I suspect he stole a kiss. Or tried to, at least. Am I right?”
She tried to hide her smile at the recollection but failed. “No stealing was involved, I assure ye.”
Roisin expelled a great sigh. “I knew it. If only he could recall his past, he could challenge the Campbell for yer hand.”
“Those barbarous days are long gone, Roisin,” Freyja said. “Besides, if any challenging is to be had, Izzie will undertake it herself, I’m sure.”
“I hear he bested ye, Izzie.” Roisin shook her head, as though in wonder. “He’s a fine champion, which can only mean he’s a worthy opponent for any Campbell.”
Isolde felt compelled to defend herself. “He’s a grand warrior, and that’s a fact. I’ll be ready for him the next time we fight.”
“Do ye think he’ll leave with Colban in the morn?” Freyja glanced at her. “’Tis possible John MacDonald of Fincaith might know who our Njord really is. Skye sees far more travelers than we do here.”
“I doubt it. Did ye not hear the disrespect Colban displayed?” Isolde shook her head in disbelief that Freyja had missed Colban’s bad manners.
