Page 48 of Beguiled By the Highlander
“Damn it, Isolde. Can’t we at least try and make this work?”
From the corner of his eye, he saw her sisters approaching, doubtless to tell them that it was time for them to take their places at the high table so the wedding breakfast could begin.
“Very well.” Her voice was so soft, he barely heard it above the noise of laughter and chatter that filled the hall. “I shall make the best of it, since I have little choice.”
He should have been satisfied that she didn’t intend to make their marriage a battlefield, but her choice of words irked him greatly. “Neither of us had a choice,” he reminded her. “Do ye plan to throw that in my face every day?”
“No. ’Tis notthatI blame ye for.”
“Isolde—” Exasperated, he bit off his retort as her sisters arrived, and they settled themselves at the high table. Isolde satby his side, as regal as a princess, with a serene smile on her face. Playing her part of the happy bride to perfection.
He didn’t want her playing a part, God damn it.
Across the hall, he caught sight of his men, laughing and jesting as befit the occasion. None of them threw him hostile glances, and during the last few days he’d not felt any antagonism when in their company. Whoever had hit him on the head and thrown him overboard was a cursedly fine actor.
He was thankful Patric was accompanying Isolde. When William wasn’t by her side, he knew he could rely on the other man to protect her with his life.
As the last dish was cleared from the table, he turned to Isolde. “My lady, we need to leave if we want to reach Creagdoun before sundown.”
The journey to Creagdoun would take several hours but as long as they left Eigg by sunrise they’d reach the castle before daylight faded.
Her bottom lip trembled, just once, and the sight of it caused the lingering remnants of irritation to vanish. She was leaving everything she had ever known, and a sliver of guilt chewed through him at how hastily he’d arranged this wedding.
Yet he wouldn’t change things, even if he could. The prospect of returning to Creagdoun without her by his side was unthinkable.
He took her hand as they rose from the table, his thumb grazing her knuckles in a gentle caress, a silent message of support. To remind her that, however they had arrived at this point, it was meant to be.
Her gaze clashed with his. He’d half expected her eyes to be filled with tears, or, more optimistically, understanding, but he should have known better.
Her eyes flashed with suppressed resentment, and sparks ignited in the charged air between them. She wasn’t on theverge of weeping, no, not his Isolde, and anticipation scorched through him, obliterating his guilt in a blaze of untrammeled lust.
Once he’d imagined he wanted a gentle lass as his wife. But Creagdoun needed a strong woman as its mistress, one who would never back down from a challenge.
Once she made the castle her home, and accepted the reality of their alliance, she’d understand this was the only way it could be, for them both.
He just hoped it didn’t take her too long.
Chapter Fifteen
Isolde stood atthe prow of the ship, her shawl wrapped tightly about her, as they approached the port of Oban. It had been an uneventful crossing, and although the relentless wind had turned her face numb with cold, it was nothing compared to the bitter chill creeping through her blood.
Enclosing her heart.
Before they’d left Sgur Castle, she’d had a few moments alone with her sisters and Amma. They had held each other tight, not speaking, but the sorrow had been a tangible thing woven around them like strands of gossamer.
“I’ll visit in the spring,” she reminded them. William had been agreeable to it, and by God she intended to hold him to his promise. “That’s not so very long to wait, is it?”
Roisin shook her head, but her bottom lip trembled, and Frey gripped her hand in silent support. But it was when Amma cupped her face in a tender gesture that she nearly lost her composure.
“I’m proud of ye, lass.”
The bittersweet memory would remain with her always.
She sucked in a jagged breath as the ship docked. William had tried to sequester her away in a corner of the ship, out of the frigid elements, so he’d told her, but mainly, she knew it was because a woman standing on the deck discomposed his men.
That was too bad. She would not sit quietly in a corner, out of sight, simply to appease Clan Campbell. This was her futurenow, and she’d face it squarely, and if William didn’t like it, he had no one but himself to blame for going through with this farce.
She picked up the basket by her feet, where Sjor had spent the journey under great protest.
