Page 69 of Beguiled By the Highlander
Half of him hoped so. The other half just wanted her to trust him, the way she had when she’d called him Njord.
“Ye must be famished.” She dusted his shoulders of nonexistent snow before patting his chest. Bemused, he gazed at her. Where was the angry woman he’d left this morn? Not that he was complaining. Women were a mystery, but none were so unfathomable as Isolde MacDonald. “I’ll have supper served directly.”
As she turned away, he grabbed her wrist and swung her back. She raised her eyebrows in enquiry, but there was the faintest trace of a smile, too, as though she held a secret close.
His heart smashed against his chest as a possibility for her change in attitude hit him. Could it be possible to know this earlythat she had conceived his child? He wasn’t sure it was, but then again, Isolde was from the Isle of Eigg and had never made a secret of how she followed the ways of her ancient foremothers. And those ancient foremothers might well have passed down such knowledge through their daughters’ lineage.
“Ye have something to tell me?” He kept his voice low, scarcely daring to believe his suspicion was right. But he could imagine no other reason why she was being so attentive.
She blinked, as if his perception had taken her aback. “I do,” she whispered. “But not here, William. I’m not certain ye’ll want it to be common knowledge yet.”
He wanted to shout it from the tallest tower. But if she wanted to wait, that was fine by him too. Tenderly, he cradled her face, even though she was now giving him a decidedly wary look. “Whenever ye’re ready. ’Tis early days, after all.”
“Early days?” There was an edge in her voice that, bizarrely, reminded him of their conversation this morning. “What are ye talking about?”
His fingers froze against her cheek. It was glaringly plain they weren’t speaking of the same thing, but he had to be sure. “Ye’re not with child, then?”
Her face heated, and while he was silently charmed by the blush that suffused her cheeks, he wasn’t fooled into thinking she’d appreciate him remarking on it. Her next words confirmed it.
“Certainly not.” She kept her voice as low as his, but there was no mistaking her affront. God in heaven, what was there to be affronted about? “Are ye mad? We’ve been wed scarcely a fortnight. Even if such a thing were possible, it’d be far too early to know anything for sure.”
He didn’t appreciate being called mad, but at least no one was close enough to overhear. Unfortunately, he could feel plenty of curious glances arrowed their way, and he’d be damnedif he’d give them any more entertainment by responding to Isolde’s insult.
He unpeeled his fingers from her face and gave her a grim smile. “It may be too early to tell, but ye cannot deny it’s certainly possible. I don’t know why ye appear so offended by the idea.”
So much for not responding.
“I’m not offended.” She gave an oddly furtive glance about the hall, as though suddenly aware of their surroundings and how they were the center of attention. Her blush deepened and she didn’t meet his eyes, instead staring with deadly intent at his chest. He wasn’t sure why he found it all so fascinating. “I simply forgot ye’re a Campbell and expect yer wife to be nothing more than a broodmare.”
He recoiled as if she’d smacked him across the face. And was flung back to the first time they’d kissed, on their walk to Kildonnan village, when she’d confided how a future of bearing countless bairns filled her with dread.
Her distress had touched him, and what’s more, the prospect of her bearing another man’s child had silently enraged him. But she wasn’t with another man. She was withhim.
There were a great many things he wanted to say to her. But all he could manage was one outraged word. “Broodmare?”
She cast another surreptitious glance about the hall before reluctantly catching his glare. “Ye caught me off guard.”
Was that her idea of an apology for slighting his honor?
Now wasn’t the time, and it sure as hell wasn’t the place, but he couldn’t let it go. “Do ye still really think so little of me, Isolde?”
“No. I don’t. I...” Her voice trailed away, and she bit her lip. “Must we discuss this here, William? ’Tis most mortifying.”
Somewhat mollified by her response, he gave a brusque nod, and they continued to where servants were waiting with their supper. But he still couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
He bent his head, so his lips brushed her ear. “I’ve no wish for a dozen bairns if that isn’t what ye want. But I need a son, Isolde. And truth be told, a daughter, too.” Aye, a daughter he would dote upon, with her mother’s incomparable green eyes and fiery temper. “Tell me that doesn’t make ye feel like a broodmare.”
She shot him a frankly startled glance, and despite the scandalous nature of their conversation, he had the bizarre urge to laugh.
“No.” She sounded as though the word all but choked her. “I’ve no, uh, objections to such a reasonable request.”
“Good.”
As they sat down and everyone else took their place at the table, she leaned close. “If ye must know,” she whispered, “I’m willing to give ye four bairns, Just not one a year, like so many men expect. But then, ye’re not like most men, William Campbell, and that’s a fact.”
He choked on his ale. God in heaven, would this woman ever cease to astonish him? He had no idea how she expected to arrange such a thing as to how many children they would have or how often she might birth them, but right now that was of no significance.
All that mattered was she was looking at him with warmth in her remarkable eyes and a softly mocking smile on her lips.
