Chapter 3

Chapter

Three

Sword Social Circles: When He Comes With A Berserker Brigade

From A Beginner's Guide to Berserker Bliss

Author Unknown

I gaped at my companion as we bumped along a dirt road. What did he mean, he didn't want to be married to me? Wasn't like he'd been forced into this insane situation. Look at him. So powerful and authoritative, able to command people with a head tilt. And oh, wow, did he smell nice. Reminded me of the essence of Scotland itself. Or something a romance novel warrior might exude. Rainfall, a hint of peat smoke, and midnight fantasies.

For some reason, that scent eased much of my fear. Which made no sense. And yet, my brain suddenly, adamantly insisted anyone who smelled so good couldn't be a villain.

Fighting the urge to lean in and sniff straight from the tap, I shifted to peer out my window and reboot. Where was I? Lush green hills, a babbling brook, and carpets of thistle…Oh! The Highlands. I'd come here on a couple of tours.

How far were we from civilization? And what was my next move? Jump out of the car at the first opportunity? The countryside stretched forever, with no other living person in sight. Probably better to wait until we reached a more populated area and figure something out from there.

Unless we headed to an even more remote region. I licked my lips and gulped.

Where was my body? Was Isobel in it? Had she flown to Oklahoma, or had she remained in Scotland? Did my family worry about me?

I stewed in silence for an eternity, wiggling constantly, trying to get more comfortable while also avoiding touching Mr. Bruce. He only ever twirled the signet ring around his finger.

Finally a cityscape with crowded roads, open shops, and brimming restaurants came into view. A whimper reverberated in my throat as I pressed my palm against the glass. People!

Mr. Bruce maintained a bored air until the car stopped in front of the Glen Highland Hotel, a beacon of timeless charm and grandeur. Honestly the fanciest resort I'd ever seen. The building must be over a hundred years old, yet it blended beautifully with its modern porte-cochère.

"You will remain at my side, conduct yourself as clan etiquette demands, and dazzle the masses," my companion stated. "Do you understand?"

Dazzle the masses? "Are you serious? I'm not even wearing shoes." Plus, I'd never been an accomplished lady of many talents, able to entertain at will. I mean, yes, I amused my students. But I highly doubted he and his clan would enjoy a puppet show or a fun game of balloon toss.

He peered at my bare feet, fierce emotion flickering across his face, there and gone in a blink. Then his dark blue gaze met mine and constricted. "Our guests will assume you're following an ancient custom."

"What custom?" I asked because yes, curiosity got the better of me. I loved learning.

"Must I carry you, or will you behave and walk?" he asked with a sigh, ignoring my question as Angus opened his door.

For a chance to speak to a hotel employee… "I'll walk, thank you." I pasted on another smile.

A muscle jumped beneath his eye, but he emerged from the vehicle without further comment. When he held out a hand, intending to assist me, I noted the large scar dominating his palm. Different size circles, set in a pattern of three. My brow furrowed. A brand? It was a bigger version of the circles etched into the wedding band still encircling my ring finger. What did it mean?

I brushed him aside and climbed out on my own. Not as elegantly as I'd hoped, but hey, I never fell, and I made a point. Just don't ask me what kind of point.

With a low grunt, Mr. Bruce wound an arm around my waist and urged me forward. The road grit coated my feet, making me grimace, but I refused to complain, certain he'd whisk me onto his shoulder again.

Uniformed attendants opened the wide double doors. Once inside, Buzz and Ponytail took up posts behind us. No matter. I could work around them. Despite the intimidating opulence of the lobby, I shouted to the patrons milling about, "Help me! I've been kidnapped!"

Everyone paused and stared in our direction, adopting expressions that ranged from humor to horror. A concierge leaped into action, rushing over. Mr. Bruce gave a stiff jerk of his chin, and the man instantly retreated. The other guests and staff looked away, suddenly busy, as I tried to make eye contact.

What would it take to find a knight in shining armor around here?

"Not another word from you," Mr. Bruce muttered.

"Or what?" I demanded, glaring up at him. I'd already broken his original command. Twice! What would he do? Kill me, as threatened? Well, go ahead. Better to die now than after whatever torture he had designed.

The muscle under his eye jumped faster, but he said nothing more. None too gently, he hauled me past the mahogany reception desk, other luxurious furnishings and artwork that celebrated the Scottish landscapes. With each forced step, my feet sunk into the plush carpet. We veered down a wide hall, toward another set of closed double doors guarded by a pair of men as burly as the bodyguards. Difference was, these two sported kilts, reminding me why I'd ventured to this magnificent country in the first place. Surely they'd rush to my rescue, determined to save me even at the cost of their lives.

"If you give me any more trouble," Mr. Bruce said conversationally as we approached, "I'll give it right back to you."

A warning I refused to heed. Since shouting hadn't helped me, I used my own conversational tone, telling the kilted pair, "Hello. I've been kidnapped. My life is in grave danger." Maybe a calmly stated fact would do the trick. "Please be so kind as to save me from my captor."

Both men frowned and looked to Mr. Bruce, silently seeking instruction .

"Role play." He flashed a smile. "Apparently, I'm a besotted abductor today."

The pair smiled in return and elbowed each other before leaping into action, opening the doors.

I gnashed my teeth. "Must be nice, having people aid you without being asked." We soared inside a large ballroom.

"Aye. It is."

Jerk. I scanned my new surroundings. Mirrored walls, a vaulted wooden ceiling, and an open fireplace reminded me of times past, though no fire currently blazed. Men and women of varying ages filled the space, all dressed in their best. A colorful array of suits, kilts, and formal gowns. Wait staff strolled about, offering finger foods and flutes of bubbling champagne.

Mr. Bruce paused just beyond the doorframe, the powerful arm around my waist locking tight, ensuring I paused as well. Every gaze swung our way. Conversations ceased and heads bowed in deference.

I opened my mouth to try one more time–

"Don't," he commanded for my ears alone. He even gave me a little squeeze and bent to set his lips near my ear. "Announce you've been kidnapped again, and you'll regret it."

He…I… Oh! I fumed up at him, silent.

"Good girl," he muttered.

The condescension cured me of every last bit of fluster, and I snapped, "Bad boy."

He double blinked, as if surprised.

"Callen," a handsome man called, striding our way. He had rich brown hair, eyes a shade darker, and a mischievous grin that failed to evince the same reverential fear projected by the others. "Have you come to help me console the mourning females, or is that my solo mission?"

"What if I'm the one in need of consoling?" Mr. Bruce asked, his voice dry.

Handsome snorted. "You're on your own."

The two hugged and slapped each other on the shoulder in a bro friendship fashion I'd always found endearing. Until this moment. Wait. Callen. Finally, my companion had a first name.

"Isobel," Callen said, any hint of affection leached from his tone. "You know Jamison Stewart."

"Do I?" Surely this Jamison guy would spot the real me.

Handsome lost his smile and glanced my way. He presented a clipped nod of greeting. "Isobel."

I wilted. He didn't see me, either, only the redhead. Talk about a roundhouse kick to the face.

Maybe we'd all been drugged? Except…

Unease surged anew, a suspicion I'd avoided now as probable as it was incredible. We're going to trade, you and I .

As wild as it sounded, what if Isobel and I had actually…switched bodies?

I stood there, wide eyed, my mouth floundering. We couldn't have switched. But what if we did? But we couldn't have; it was impossible. Yet here I stood.

Deep breath in, out. My gaze shot to Callen, as if he possessed the key to truth. How silly. He might be one of my bigger problems. Whatever had happened to me, I was trapped in a situation I knew nothing about with total strangers and a supposed husband who wasn't my biggest fan.

"She's overcome by her good fortune," he said, resurrecting his driest tone. "We'd best greet the other guests. The sooner I get her home, the better. "

Jamison inclined his head in understanding.

Too dazed to protest, I let my new husband lead me toward a group of partygoers.

"Why did you threaten to kill me earlier?" I croaked. What had I done wrong, and how could I avoid doing it again?

He stiffened. "For the last time, I didn't?—"

"Please," I interjected. "Just tell me."

He rubbed a hand over his face. "You hinted at—" His lips compressed into a thin line. "Your words veered toward a subject that isn't to be mentioned, ever. There are some rules even I canna break."

So he hadn't implied his intention to end my life. Had only meant I verged on breaking a rule punishable by death, all because I'd spoken of a subject that shouldn't be named. Which was…what? Not being the real Isobel? I swallowed. In order for a subject to receive a not-to-be-discussed designation, it had to be discussed at least once before. Had this kind of travesty happened to someone else?

But maybe I was wrong and misunderstood his point. Maybe Isobel hadn't switched bodies with me. Please, be wrong . In a few hours, the drugs might wear off, ending a mass hallucination.

The crowd congratulated us on our nuptials. While Callen smiled and enchanted one and all, I stood silent, mostly ignored by the attendees, desperate to stroke a coin no longer in my possession, expecting someone, anyone, to clock my true identity and make the madness go away. But one hour bled into another, and all I got was dirtier, sorer feet. People noticed my black cherry-tipped toenails, the focus of many surprised glances and frowns. Absolutely everyone referred to me as ‘Isobel' or ‘Mrs. Bruce.' Worse, my reflection remained unaltered. A tall, disheveled redhead with freckles.

We're going to trade, you and I .

A sense of doom swirled in my mind. This was real, wasn't it? No matter how farfetched, there was no denying it anymore. Somehow, Isobel Campbell—now Isobel Bruce—had truly traded bodies with me. Callen believed I was his brand-new wife, someone he apparently disdained with every fiber of his being. The rest of Scotland concurred.

As my new hubby ushered me toward the next group, his fake smile vanished. He glanced at me once. Twice. A third time. Finally he deflated a little. "I think I preferred the accusations to the silence. Say something."

"I'm probably closer to screaming than speaking." I reached for my coin for the thousandth time. Still gone. Sighing, I hugged myself. "I won't cause you problems anymore," I told him softly, and I meant it. This sham of a marriage wasn't his fault. He'd clearly been duped. And, until I found a way to reverse Isobel's meddling, I kind of needed him as a safeguard against any other rules I might inadvertently break. Plus, I knew no one else in the area and had nowhere to stay but his castle.

"What changed?" He released me to claim two champagne flutes from a passing tray. One he drained. The other he passed to—nope, he drained it too. After replacing the empty glasses, he delivered a drink to me.

"Can we discuss this when we're not surrounded by prying ears?" Or never. Yeah, never sounded better. I consumed my beverage. Mmm. Good. I snagged another glass at the first opportunity. Down the hatch. I rarely imbibed, but my new body craved more. And more.

"Very well," Callen agreed. "Come. There are only a few more council members we must greet. Then we'll go home and talk."

Ugh. What I didn't want to do? Spend more time trapped inside the small confines of a vehicle seated next to this grump of a man.

Without warning, the champagne hit, and hit with a vengeance. My head spun. Oops. We'd been so busy chatting with guests, I hadn't noticed any of the waitstaff near me. Maybe I should go to them.

I searched for someone, anyone with a tray.

A server approached a group to my left, saying, "Smoked salmon with crème fraiche on a tattie scone?"

Oh, yes, please and thank you. Nearly drooling, I broke from Callen's side to snag one. At the first bite, I moaned. Dang, that was delicious. Need another! But the server had already moved on.

Pouting, I headed back to—hey! Where was Callen? No sign of him in any direction. No sign of the bodyguards either. Their fault, not mine. On the hunt for more smoked salmon, I acquired and drained two more glasses of champagne, the body fully in charge. Bonus: My tornado of impending doom downgraded to a soft rain shower. Despite everything, I was safe, and no longer steeped in confusion about the situation. Err, not as much confusion. Armed with truth, I had hope.

All I had to do was pretend to be Isobel until I figured out everything else. Which I couldn't do right now. At this point I had only one choice: enjoy myself. I mean, wouldn't Isobel? I must do whatever it took to keep up appearances. Thankfully, I knew how to kick off my newfound outlook. More of those tattie scones. But where was the waitress?

There. She stood with two thirty-something women, waiting for the pair to decide which morsel to select. I hurried over.

"—her? Really?" one of the women was saying. "I can't believe Callen actually did it."

"I know," the other replied. "Tae be stuck with Isobel Campbell."

My ears twitched, and I hesitated to reach out.

"Can ye imagine? After what she did tae Roderick. Poor Callen."

"So heartless. And ruthless! Now, she dares tae follow the barefoot bond tradition. As if she'll ever be one of us."

Oooh. What did Isobel do to Roderick? And barefoot bond? The mysterious custom my new "husband" alluded to earlier?

"I feel sorriest for Mirren," the first speaker said and tsked.

Mirren?

"That poor darling. Isobel is a monster through and through. Mirren stands no chance. Her future is all but destroyed."

Well, they weren't wrong about the monster part.

They went quiet as they stuffed their faces, the server ready to head off once again.

"Wait!" I shouted, reaching between the conversers to grab a treat. Okay, three—five treats.

Both women glanced at me over their shoulders and performed a double take. When my identity clicked, they jumped, their eyes going wide with horror.

"I'm so sorry?—"

"Didn't mean?—"

"Was just about?—"

"Allow me tae rephrase?—"

"You were right," I told them, lifting a scone in toast. " I'm a monster through and through. Nothing else needs to be said." As I bit into the delicious delicacy, I looked past them. My attention landed on Callen, as if drawn by an invisible force. Punch! I nearly choked on the food. Look at him.

He appeared absolutely, utterly ravaged. As if he'd fallen into an abyss of longing, and there was no escape. My heart raced. Never had I beheld such ragged emotion.

His features blanked in an instant, leaving me floundering. At least I swallowed my bite.

Callen lifted his chin, as if nothing untoward had happened, and crossed the room, stalking closer. I braced for impact.

"Ladies," he announced as he slipped his arm around my waist "Mind if I steal my bride?"

Gah! His heat! His scent! They enveloped me, and tipsy as I was, I had no defense. I trembled a little as I lowered what remained of the scone. "Callen. Hello. So good to see you again." Would he scold me for ditching him?

My companions gaped, the color in their cheeks draining. With a bow of their heads, they muttered the family creed. " Uisge ciùin. "

"If you'll excuse us." He drew me away, saying, "Am I misremembering, or did you tell me you'd cause me no more trouble?"

I batted my lashes at him, doing my best to appear light and breezy. "Did you get that promise in writing?" At his newest glare, I shrugged and hurried to finish the scone. "What kind of trouble did I cause, anyway? I was just standing there eating." While you watched with longing. Seriously, why would Isobel leave a man who looked at her like that? A look I'd never received, unfortunately.

Movement drew my gaze to his hand. He fiddled with his signet ring again. Huh. A way to read him when he appeared unreadable? But what thoughts or emotions drove him to perform the habitual action?

"Are you teasing me?" he asked, sounding just a tad incredulous.

"Maybe." I hiked my shoulders, shrugging. "In my defense, I only veered to grab a snack, but you vanished without a trace. By the way, those little bites of deliciousness are my new favorite thing."

He glowered and ceased toying with the ring. "This same food was served after our engagement party, in honor of my mother, and you claimed not even dogs would choose to eat it."

Had Isobel really? A monster indeed. "My apologies. I was wrong." I jumped to another subject. Because what else could I say after such a well-deserved rebuke? "Remind me what calm waters means to the clan."

"Many things." He pushed the words through gritted teeth.

"Literally many things, or are you saying there are multiple meanings?"

He worked his jaw and remained quiet.

Fine. Rather than continue to reveal my ignorance, I switched subjects again. "You obviously dislike me." To put it mildly. "Why did you marry Isa—me? Definitely me, and not some strange woman from another country." A nervous laugh parted my lips.

"Let's not play this silly game. You know why I did it." With his free hand, he plucked up another champagne flute and drained the contents. "Just as I know why you agreed."

I waited, hopeful, eager. "Well? Please tell the rest of the class. Give me a chance to confirm or deny. Because you could be wrong."

He led me forward in silence instead, weaving through groups. Anyone who glimpsed his thunderous expression opted not to speak. And, hmm. His scent intensified. So did his heat. Both tightened around me, making my belly flutter. A sensation I enjoyed a bit too much.

Okay, that was enough champagne for me. "Just so you know, I won't sleep with you," I told him in a firm, no nonsense tone. Best we be clear about that from the start. I refused to be the other woman, even in the body of the right one. Why be the villain in someone else's story when I could be the plucky heroine of my own?

"Sleep with you?" Callen almost missed his next step, but quickly recovered. Staring straight ahead, he told me, "Lass, I donna recall offerin'."