Page 42 of Beguiled By the Highlander
“I believe ye will.” Lady Helga stood. “We shall convene in the morning and make arrangements for a spring wedding.”
Hell, no. He wasn’t waiting that long for his bride.
“My lady,” he said, bowing his head in deference before once again catching Lady Helga’s steady gaze. “When I leave the Isle of Eigg, I shall take my bride with me.”
Isolde’s sharp intake of outrage echoed around the silent chamber, and their gazes clashed. Her cheeks were flushed with anger and her beautiful green eyes sparkled with affront, and itwouldn’t have surprised him if she’d pulled her dagger from her skirts and launched it in his direction.
Thankfully, she resisted the temptation.
“Ye’re mad if ye think I’ll wed ye within a month.”
He wasn’t waiting a month for the banns to be called, either. He had a would-be assassin among his men and needed to flush him out as swiftly as possible. Not to mention Creagdoun was in serious need of attention to bring it up to the standards a noble-born bride would expect.
But since they were both reasons enough to postpone their marriage instead of wedding in haste, he pushed them to the back of his mind.
“Alas, I cannot stay on Eigg for another month. We shall wed at the week’s end before leaving for the mainland.” With the Earl of Argyll’s blessing for this alliance, he was certain any irregularities could be easily overcome.
Shock etched Isolde’s face, and he braced himself for her denial, but before she could respond, Lady Helga spoke.
“The marriage contract must be ratified first with all that entails. In the morning, William Campbell.”
He knew when to retreat, and bowed once again before he and Hugh left the chamber.
“We didn’t know ye were missing until we reached Oban.” Hugh’s voice was low as they returned to the great hall, where his men stood beside the fire. “The storm was so bad, we couldn’t search for ye until it broke. I’ll be honest, man. I didn’t think to find ye alive.”
“I know every man who was on that ship, Hugh. Who the hell would want me dead?”
Hugh shook his head. “Christ knows. Best to keep yer counsel between us, until we discover the traitor.”
He swept his gaze over his men. “Where’s Alasdair?”
“The earl summoned him as we were boarding. Ye know Alasdair.”
Aye, he did. Alasdair would drop anything if the earl called him to his side. Not that he blamed him. They were all beholden to the Earl of Argyll, one way or another.
He greeted his men, a hard knot forming in his chest as he looked at each one with new eyes. Which one had tried to kill him?
“William.” Robert Fletcher gave him a nod. “Glad we found ye, man.”
“Get that down ye.” Malcolm MacNeil handed him a tankard of ale.
“Good health,” David Cunningham said, and William took a long swig of the ale as the rest of his men gathered around.
Some were childhood friends. A couple, like Hugh, were close relatives. But he’d been alongside all of them at different times during the last three years in skirmishes against the cursed MacGregors and had always trusted they had each other’s backs.
He no longer had that luxury.
His men spoke of the violence of the storm and the shock of discovering he’d vanished when they’d docked at Oban. He grunted, nodded, and drank, mindful of the wisdom of Hugh’s caution.
Best to let the would-be murderer think he didn’t recall that vicious smash to his head.
“Lady Isolde is quite the beauty,” David remarked, and William fought to keep the scowl from his face at the familiar tone in the other man’s voice. “Hardly the wild Norse heathen we’d been led to believe.”
“That’s my bride ye’re speaking of.” He’d not stand for any man disrespecting Isolde.
“Aye, and ye have my congratulations.” David smashed his tankard against William’s, apparently oblivious to the threat behind William’s words.
“A noble mistress for Creagdoun,” Malcolm remarked. “What the hell was John MacDonald talking about? Lady Isolde doesn’t look like a woman who wishes she were a man with a sword in her hand.”
