Page 10 of Beguiled By the Highlander
“Since it’s plain ye’re not in need of my skills, I wish ye well, Njord from the sea.” Freyja smiled at him, and although the resemblance was strong between the three sisters, her smile did not stir him the way Isolde’s smile did. “Come, Roisin.”
Roisin didn’t follow her sister, although one of the dogs did. Instead, she tugged Isolde’s sleeve. “My books,” she whispered.
Isolde nodded in understanding before going to a desk with a paneled front that stood in front of the window and opened a cupboard door in its back. “Here,” she said, handing Roisin a pile of what looked like manuscripts. “Is that everything?”
Fascinated, he watched Roisin pick up a few more things before stowing them in the folds of her skirt.
“Aye, that’s it.” She avoided looking at him and made her way to Freyja, taking another of the dogs at her heels, who waitedat the door for her. Once they’d left, he turned back to Isolde, whose brindle terrier sat by her feet.
“It seems I’ve displaced Lady Roisin from her chamber.”
“Ah, ’tis fine. Roisin took over the solar a few years back because the chamber is so full of light, even during the winter. But she cannot bear to be parted from her work, even for a day or so. They are her treasures.”
“She’s a scribe?” He’d never heard of a young woman being such a thing. But then, maybe he had, and simply couldn’t recall it. Damn his faulty brain. He could believe nothing he thought he knew or didn’t know.
“Well, in a manner of speaking I suppose she is. Even since she was a child, she’s documented the histories of our bloodlines. There are some wild stories I could tell ye, and that’s a fact.”
“Wild stories of Sgur Castle?” He grinned at her and surreptitiously leaned his weight against the wall. He would not disrupt this conversation by any indication that he needed to sit, in case she decided he should recuperate in peace. Even if the stonewascold and damp.
“Aye, and I’m certain the walls hold many more secrets that we shall never uncover. Even before the Norse built their mighty halls on this mountain, it was a place of worship for the ancient Picts. And our bloodline runs through them all.”
“An impressive heritage.” He hoped he would soon recall his own.
“It is one we’re destined to keep upon the Isle, no matter what. If we leave—” She cut herself off, and for the first time since he’d met her, looked flustered. “Ah, well, never mind that. I came to tell ye that yer clothes are ruined, so we will find ye a spare plaid.” Her glance slid down his body to his bare feet. “And boots. I fear yers are sodden.”
“That would be most welcome, Lady Isolde. It’s somewhat undignified being wrapped in nothing but a blanket.”
“Yet ye carry it so well.”
He laughed, which caused a bolt of pain to shoot through his head, but the discomfort was worth it to witness Isolde’s smile. “I hope my circumstances are such that when I regain my senses, I’m able to repay the kindness of ye and yer kin.”
“There’s no need for repayment, if ye’re speaking of goods and chattels. Clan MacDonald will always help those in need. Especially those thrown onto their beach by the sea.”
Clan MacDonald. Did he know of them? He tried pushing deeper into the dense fog inside his head, but no flash of recognition ignited. Only a dull throb, a warning to go easy.
Frustration reared its head again, which only made his brain throb harder. It went against all his instincts, but it seemed he had no choice but to let his memories return in their own time.
There was a knock at the open door, and a young serving maid entered. Relief rolled through him at the sight of her arms ladened with a plaid and faded yellow leine. She carefully laid the clothes on the bed, and a pair of boots on the floor, before picking up the bowl he’d used earlier and leaving the chamber.
“Well, I’d best leave ye to it.” Isolde eyed the clothes. “Once ye’re decent, if ye feel up to it, I’ll show ye around the castle. I’m still holding ye to yer promise to help out, once ye’re properly back on ye feet.”
“I gave ye my word. I’m not about to break it.”
She nodded, before glancing at her dog. “Come, Sjor.”
He watched her leave the chamber, the solar, she’d called it, and close the door behind her. With a heavy sigh he returned to the bed and pulled on the leine. The plaid proved a harder task, and by the time he was done, exhaustion hovered.
He sat on the edge of the bed and closed his eyes, willing his heart to slow its frantic hammer. There was no denying it.His injury had sucked his strength, and despite how he wanted to spend time with Isolde, the prospect of exploring her castle when he could scarcely even dress himself was daunting.
He’d rip out his tongue before confessing such a thing to her.
The silence wrapped around him. A bed had never appeared so enticing before. Maybe he’d rest his eyes for a few moments and hope it eased the incessant throb between his temples.
He lay on the bed, angling his head so he didn’t inadvertently worsen his injury, and closed his eyes. Blessed relief enfolded him, a soothing wave, and the tension in his shoulders faded.
Aye, just a few moments, that’s all he needed. And then he’d be fine to explore Isolde’s castle.
Except it wasn’t her castle he wanted to explore.
