Page 12 of Beguiled By the Highlander
“What are ye suggesting we do, Amma?” Isolde said. “We cannot turn him out into the storm, can we?”
Her grandmother caught her gaze. “I’m suggesting ye be wary, Isolde. That is all. Remember, ye are promised to the son of Bruce Campbell, baron of Dunstrunage.”
And just like that, her mood plummeted. Why did her grandmother have to bring that up now? Why did she need to bring it up at all?
So many times during the last ten years she’d questioned her on the vexatious subject, and not once had she received a satisfactory explanation. Well, she deserved one, and if Amma wished to drag Bruce Campbell’s son into this conversation, then so would she.
“I’ve never consented to the match with the Campbell, and I cannot fathom why ye ever agreed to it. All the Campbells want is to strengthen their foothold in the Isles, and why ye seem eager to assist them by sacrificing me into their barbarous clutches is beyond my ken.”
Her grandmother’s jaw tightened, but it was the only indication Isolde’s words had affected her. Until she spoke.
“Ye misunderstand, Isolde. This match isn’t for the benefit of Clan Campbell. It is to keep ye safe.”
Keep her safe? Of anything she’d imagined her grandmother might say, this wasn’t it. It did not even make any sense. The only way to remain safe, to ensure Eigg was protected and prospered, was to stay on the Isle.
“How am I in danger in Eigg? Our foremothers have lived on this Isle for generations without number.”
“Truly, Amma,” Freyja sounded troubled. “Ye are the one who taught us all how Eigg was known in ancient times as the island of the powerful women, right up until ye were a girl. It’s our destiny to protect Eigg and strengthen alliances within our own clan from the other Isles.”
“Aye. But we cannot always live in the past.”
Something akin to alarm threaded through Isolde’s breast. If danger threatened their Isle, why hadn’t she shared it with them—or at least, with her, as the eldest?
“But what of the Deep Knowing?” Roisin’s voice was hushed, and instinctively Isolde took her hand and gave her fingers a comforting squeeze. Both their mother, before she’d died, and Amma, had often shared the old stories of their ancestors, and the origin of the creed they lived by.
The bloodline of the Isle must prevail beyond quietus.
The meaning was plain. Their bloodline could not leave the Isle.
“I cannot explain it to ye, child.” Their grandmother gave Roisin a sad smile. “All I know is the path for Isolde does not lie on the Small Isles.”
And what kind of answer was that? Isolde pressed her lips together, to keep her retort locked inside. No good would come of it should she tell her grandmother what she thought of such airy-fae nonsense.
But a kernel of disquiet lingered, all the same. For her grandmother was a pragmatic, canny woman, respected throughout the Isles, and not given to flights of fancy. To be sure, an outsider might consider the Deep Knowing, that had been passed from mother to daughter for the last nine hundred years, to be a little strange.
But it was a secret known only to the MacDonald women of Sgur Castle. And there was nothing fantastical about it. It was simply the essence of who they were, and how they were inextricably entwined within the fabric of Eigg herself.
No. She wouldn’t let her grandmother’s odd insistence that the reason she had to wed the Campbell was to keep herself safe sway her view.
She belonged in Eigg, and nothing would change her mind.
*
He stirred, groaned,and opened his eyes. The unfamiliar timber ceiling was uncommonly low, disorienting him, and alarm flashed through him.
Why am I in a box?
It took but a moment for realization to seep through his fogged brain, and he turned his head, where the doors to the box bed were open, revealing the solar.
He frowned and pushed himself upright. His eyes were gritty, but his head wasn’t too bad. Although light streamed into the solar, it wasn’t as bright as when he’d discarded the blanket for the borrowed clothes. It seemed his few moments of resting his eyes had turned into something far longer.
Instinctively, he glanced at the door, but it remained shut. Had Isolde returned to take him on the promised tour, only to find him passed out on the bed?
It wasn’t a pleasing notion. She’d already seen him at his worst, which was bad enough. He didn’t want her thinking he’d lost all his strength to the sea.
The boots were a little tight, but they would do until his own had dried out. Dizziness no longer assailed him as he strode to the door, opened it, and eyed the dark corridor that greeted him.
Now what?
