Page 71 of Beguiled By the Highlander
Her arms slackened about him, but he held her close, and she couldn’t escape. “Aye.” She sounded reluctant, and his senses went on alert. Was there truth in what Robert and Malcolm had said? “It didn’t go well.”
“How do ye mean? Ye’re a fine swordswoman.” The word tripped up his tongue, but he wasn’t certain what else to call her when the term was so apt.
She drew in a ragged breath. “I was, on Eigg. But here...” Her voice trailed away, and a shudder rippled through her. “My skills have deserted me, just as I feared.”
He recalled a conversation they’d had on Eigg when she’d said a similar thing to him. He’d thought it far-fetched then and hadn’t changed his mind. “Ye’re a little rusty. That’s all. If I’m not mistaken, it’s been more than two weeks since ye last picked up yer claymore.”
“I’m not rusty.” There was an edge in her voice, and she flattened her hands against his chest, although she didn’t attempt to push him. “I told ye what would happen as soon as I left my isle, but ye wouldn’t believe me.”
“A skill doesn’t desert ye simply because ye live elsewhere.”
“’Tis the skill of my foremothers, and their blood is the heartbeat of the isle that gives me my strength. How can I channel their power when I’m so far from home?”
Her words stung, but it was the pain in her voice that stabbed through him like, God damn it, the blade of her beloved claymore itself. Yet she was wrong, and not just about her skill with the sword.
“This is yer home now.” Why couldn’t she see that? But she didn’t, and instinctively he braced himself for the scathing response she’d undoubtedly fire his way.
“I know that, William. Truly, I’m not blaming ye for any of this. But ’tis just the way things are, and I must reconcile myself to it.”
He hadn’t expected her to agree with him. Or absolve him from blame for her current situation. By rights, he should be glad she’d finally accepted her new life, yet all he felt was oddly deflated.
Because he didn’t want her to reconcile with anything, least of all the fact she was the mistress of Creagdoun—and his wife. He wanted her to embrace it. To embrace her life withhim.
“It won’t always be this way.” His voice was gruff. “Once we’ve caught Alan MacGregor and his followers, ye’ll have the freedom ye crave. I don’t keep ye within the castle walls on a whim, Isolde.”
Her smile was unexpected, a glimmer of sunlight in the growing gloom of the chamber, and it fairly took his breath away. Would he ever understand how his bride’s mind worked?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Isolde stirred inthe bed she shared with William, but something didn’t feel right. She opened her eyes and in the glow from the fire realized she was alone in the chamber.
She let out a sigh and pulled the sheepskin covers tightly about her, but it wasn’t the same as having William’s body to warm her. While he often rose before her, he never left the bed without waking her with searing kisses and an early morning tumble, and disquiet flickered through her.
Was something amiss? But surely, if so, he would have awakened her. And if trouble brewed, he certainly wouldn’t have taken the time to stoke the fire before he left, to ease the chill in the air for when she finally left the bed.
She rolled onto her side and gazed at the space beside her. With all they had discussed yesterday, she’d forgotten to tell him about the passageway she’d found, but that oversight faded to the back of her mind with what was now truly gnawing at her.
She’d been so hurt by his perceived betrayal when they had wed, she’d grimly clung onto her longstanding vow to not become a broodmare for a Campbell.
There were ways to prevent conception. She and her sisters had been taught the old ways by Amma, whose knowledge had been passed down from mother to daughter for generations, along with the Deep Knowing.
She hadn’t even felt guilty about keeping it from William, since she’d been so convinced he’d trapped her by deceit.
But he hadn’t.
Naturally, he wanted a son. What man didn’t? And when he’d shared his expectations, his surprisingly reasonable hopes had shaken her, and remorse had burned through her.
It still did.
She released a ragged breath and pressed her fist against her breast. She hadn’t lied when she’d told him she wanted four bairns. Indeed, now she was certain of William’s honor, the prospect of bearing his children was entrancing. And ’twas an easy enough thing to stop taking the ancient preparations that ensured her womb was cleansed of his seed.
Unease shivered through her as the ancient words echoed in her mind.
The bloodline of the Isle must prevail beyond quietus.
For as long as she could remember, the meaning had been clear to her. Her bloodline could not leave the Isle. And if she wasn’t meant to leave her beloved isle, it surely followed that if she did, her bloodline would end.
Did that mean she would be unable to have a child who wasn’t of the Isle?
