Page 46 of Beguiled By the Highlander
She took a deep breath and signed the contract.
*
“’Tis done, then.”There was a hushed note in Freyja’s voice as Isolde and her sisters sat on their bed later that afternoon.
“And the wedding is set for the end of the week?” Roisin buried her face in her dog’s fur, but it didn’t disguise the catch in her voice.
“Aye. ’Tis scandalous.” She wrapped her arms around her knees as Sjor, sitting on the bed beside her, gazed at her in mournful silence.
“And ye’re set to sail that very morning.” Freyja drew in a ragged breath. “Should we wish for another storm to delay yer departure?”
“It will only delay the inevitable.” Aye, her fate was set now. But if William Campbell expected a meek little wife to do his bidding without question, he didn’t know her at all.
But then, she didn’t know him either, did she?
*
It was themorning of his wedding.
William turned to Hugh, the only one of his men he could now fully trust, and the only one who’d shared the solar with him these last five days while the rest of the crew spent their nights on the ship. Not that his men found that unusual. After all, none of them expected to be accommodated within the castle.
He hadn’t passed on the message that Lady Helga had extended an invitation for them to all sleep in the relative comfort of the solar. The last thing he needed was to share a small chamber with a potential murderer.
Even though he’d had days for that knowledge to sink in, it still caused a shudder to inch along his spine whenever he thought of it. But for now, caution prevailed. There was no way of knowing who he could trust. Which was why, when he’d sent word to his father letting him know he was alive, he’d kept his counsel.
“Well?” He folded his arms and glowered at Hugh’s prolonged silence.
Hugh ran a critical gaze from his boots to his head. “Ye’ll do,” he said.
William grunted at his cousin’s sardonic praise. “’Tis all I have.”
“Aye.”
That’s all Hugh said, but William knew exactly what he meant. If he’d done the expected thing, and merely made arrangements for Isolde to travel to Creagdoun in the spring, on his wedding day he’d be wearing new boots instead of a pair warped by the sea, fresh linen, his own plaid, and his father’s heirloom brooch.
But spring was months away. He couldn’t wait that long until she became his bride.
“I’m glad, though,” Hugh said before glowering, as though the words had fallen from him unbidden. Then he shrugged and focused on the wall. “That she pleases ye, after all.”
“I’m fortunate,” he agreed. Even Isolde’s frosty attitude these last few days hadn’t dampened his need for her. The woman had addled his senses, but once they were at Creagdoun, when they could begin their life together, she would soon thaw.
He had no doubt.
*
It had beendecided between Lady Helga and Isolde that the wedding would take place in the great hall, rather than the kirk, and when he and Hugh entered, it had been transformed.
The castle’s chaplain stood before the top table, which was draped in the colors of the MacDonalds of Sgur, and winter foliage and candles filled the hall. It seemed most of theinhabitants of Eigg wanted to witness the ceremony, as aside from Lady Helga’s entourage and his men, the back of the hall was crammed with warriors, servants, and local villagers.
With Hugh by his side, he stood before the chaplain, and from the corner of the hall, a lone musician played the clarsach. The haunting notes filled the hall, and Willian sucked in a deep breath.
For ten years, the prospect of his marriage had crouched in the back of his mind like a poisoned toad. Something unavoidable that had to be endured for the good of his clan. He’d always expected it would happen in Argyll, under the watchful eye of the earl and surrounded by his family.
It seemed oddly fitting that none of his expectations of his wedding day had come to pass, since his bride was nothing like he’d once resigned himself to.
A ripple stirred through the crowd, and he glanced over his shoulder. And then he couldn’t tear his gaze away, as his bride, surrounded by her sisters and Lady Helga, advanced towards him.
Isolde’s forest green gown was threaded with gold, and jewels sparkled around her throat and wrists. But it wasn’t the opulent silks and furs that rendered him immobile. It was her glorious hair that cascaded unbound over her shoulders and glimmered in mesmeric waves of red-gold curls in the glow from the candles.
