Page 40 of Beguiled By the Highlander
“So ye wish to wed me merely to satisfy yer lust.” As soon as the words were out, she wanted to snatch them back. Because despite how much she had wanted him before she learned the truth, surely there was more between them than that.
“There are worse reasons to wed.”
He sounded so damn nonchalant. Even if he’d been hiding who he really was, had all the conversation and laughter they’d shared these last few days meant so little to him? Did it all truly amount to nothing more than a tumble in the hay?
“Maybe so,” she retorted. “But I cannot think of one.”
He tilted his head, and his gaze dropped to her mouth. How could a single look cause her heart to race so despicably?
“Ye cannot tell me ye don’t feel this connection between us. If not for my name, ye wouldn’t be so hostile to the prospect of wedding me.”
“But ye are yer name, and I cannot trust a word ye say.”
A cloud passed over his face, or maybe it was simply a flicker of flame from the lantern he held. Either way, it made her heart ache, and she would never forgive him for it.
“When we are wed,” he said, and there was hardness in his voice she’d never heard before, “ye’ll learn to trust me again, Isolde. I promise ye.”
Panic gripped her vitals. But it was more than panic, and she knew it. But she didn’t want to acknowledge the illicit thread of anticipation that sparked her reason. To know a tiny part of her wanted to go through with this marriage was a betrayal she couldn’t stomach.
“I’ll not wed ye.” She wanted to sound commanding. Instead, her denial was like a breathless invitation to call the banns without haste. “I’ve told ye how I cannot leave the Isle.”
“I know ye love yer isle. There’s no reason why ye can’t visit yer kin whenever ye wish.”
Had he listened to anything she’d said this last week? A forlorn voice of reason whispered through the back of her mind. No, he likely hadn’t. Because his sole aim had been to lower her defenses, so that she’d agree to be his bride without any argument.
“How noble of ye.” Bitterness threaded through the words. Aye, she had thought him so noble. But that was before she’d learned of his bloodline and his deception. Just because he came from noble stock didn’t mean he possessed honor. “’Tis not the same and ye know it.”
“We can’t stay on the Isle.” He spoke to her as though she were a child, devoid of understanding, and that wounded her more than if he’d shouted and behaved like an ill-bred oaf. “I must return to my castle, Creagdoun. ’Tis in sore need of a fine mistress, Isolde. I know in time ye’ll look on it as yer home, as I do.”
A great vise compressed her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs, and a dark sliver of panic wound about her heart. She didn’t want to be the mistress of an unknown castle, no matter how grand it was.
She wanted—she needed—to stay on her beloved isle, where the essence of her foremothers permeated every rock and grain of sand. Where she knew who she was and where she could call upon the strength of her ancestors whenever she was in need.
How could she survive in a Campbell castle, far from everything she had ever known?
“Creagdoun will never be my home. All ye want is a woman to run yer castle and bear yer bairns.”
Instead of rising to her bait, which would have given her at least a small measure of satisfaction, he tilted his head, as though her remark intrigued him. Damn him to hell. The lantern enhanced his aristocratic cheekbones and strong jaw,and his beautiful mouth evoked treacherous stirrings between her thighs. “Don’t ye want bairns, Isolde?”
This was not the conversation she wished to have with him. Why had she even started it? She should have known better than to think he’d take offense at her blunt comment, the way she imagined most Campbells would take offense. Because he wasn’t like the Campbells of her imagination.
He wasn’t like any other man she’d met, or imagined, and until his identity had been revealed, she’d been fascinated by that aspect of his character.
But not now. Because how could she know if this was yet another masquerade?
He was so close to her his warm breath brushed her face like an ethereal caress. His gaze roved over her, and she couldn’t draw breath, but it had nothing to do with apprehension concerning her future.
Was he going to kiss her? Did he think he could seduce her into submission?
Do I want him to?
Somehow, that was the worst betrayal of all.
“William Campbell.”
Her grandmother’s commanding voice cut through the lust-filled air like a frigid slap, and she gasped, but William Campbell didn’t swing about with guilt dripping from him. No, he leisurely pushed himself from the wall before turning to face the small contingent before them.
Patric was there, along with Amma’s personal guard, and half a dozen warriors. Her sisters, too, and various servants brought up the rear, along with Hugh Campbell and the rest of his men.
