Free Across a Dark Highland Shore (Hot Highlands Romance Book 2) by Kelly Jameson

mainland, though Norse ships did not have to pay the toll. To ensure her taxes were paid, a chain was stretched across the kyle. On her death, she was buried beneath a cairn on Beinn na Caillich , the “mountain of the old woman”. The MacKinnon clan had defeated the Vikings at Goir a’ Bhlair , on the eastern slopes of the Beinn.
    Now the clan was scattered, and all within and without their keep was in disarray. Isobel thought sadly of the gardens she’d often tended, how they’d surely be neglected come spring. She thought the gardens here must be magnificent in the springtime, bursting with color and life and well-tended. The skies would be bright blue, and the Island of Mull would look like something from a fairytale with its misty mountains, fir-clad glens, and white clouds floating above fields of foxglove, harebells, and heather. Isobel hoped, however, that she would be gone from here by then, the task of helping Leith to win Lady Katherine’s hand somehow accomplished.
    From the little she’d observed so far, Lady Katherine would not be swayed by logic or practicality. She was in mourning, and clearly no lover could compare to Logan. She would need grand, romantic gestures and words of poetry. She would need to be flattered with rich tokens of regard.
    Low feminine laughter drew Isobel’s gaze to the great table, where Lady Katherine now sat next to Leith’s war councilor, Errol, their heads bent closely together in discussion. Both stared openly at Isobel.
    Lady Katherine’s hair was upswept and held in place with ivory hairpins and a glittering, golden comb. She wore another black mourning gown, no less brilliant than the one she’d had on last evening. Gold, silken threads reflected the candlelight. And despite the fact that it was a mourning gown, it displayed her ample bosom as she leaned over her cup of ale. Errol’s eyes dipped to her creamy mounds of flesh and she did not seem to mind his admiring glances. She whispered something to him and he laughed out of his crooked mouth.
    “I guess we shouldna laugh at the poor girl,” she said, more loudly this time. Errol had reluctantly torn his ice-blue eyes from Lady Katherine to once again stare at Isobel with undisguised malice. “After all, Leith has decreed the witch is to have a position here as lofty as yer own, Errol.”
    “She’s a liar, a tale-spinner. Nothing more. I question my laird’s judgment in bringing a MacKinnon Seer into our keep. It makes me wonder if Logan’s passing has affected him too deeply.”
    Lady Katherine frowned at him. “It has affected us all deeply, Errol.”
    “Yea, of course it has. I just meant that to bring a MacKinnon witch into our own keep is an insult and perhaps evidence of our laird’s questionable judgment. His sorrow is deep and he isna thinking clearly.”
    “Do ye also question yer laird’s judgment in bringing me, a hated Campbell, into yer keep?” she asked, her voice sultry.
    “Nay. Ne’er, my lady. Ne’er that. I can understand why he brought ye here.”
    Isobel met Errol’s eyes. She wondered about a war advisor that would question his laird’s sanity when the laird wasn’t present. ‘Twas easy to be brave when the subject of yer insults was out of sight and earshot.
    Errol was obviously a fastidious man when it came to his appearance—his red hair and red beard were well groomed and there were many rings on his fingers. She wondered if he’d pried the rings off his dead enemies’ hands. His hair was tied back neatly with a dark green ribbon that matched the richness of his white shirt , which had numerous folds and flowing sleeves and was neatly stitched with expensive green thread. A bejeweled dirk hung from the belt at his waist, and his trews displayed the powerful muscles of his legs. His boots were made from boiled leather.
    Errol sat back in his chair, placing an arm behind Lady Katherine’s back. “It’s no’ just that she’s a tale-spinner. She’s odd and about as