Chapter 10

10

A ye, get out of me sight.

Doughall watched from the battlements as the two riders set off down the path that wended from the castle, through the village at the bottom of the hill, and out across the moorlands. He stifled a yawn, scratching the stubble that shadowed his jaw.

He was well used to sleepless nights, rarely suffering any ill effects other than an even shorter temper, but last night had left him exhausted to the marrow of his bones. Not a wink of sleep had. Tossing and turning like a lad who had caught his first glimpse of a couple rutting in the grain store.

Should’ve put ye in the dungeons, far away from me. Nay place safer.

“M’Laird?” a hesitant voice said, preceding a nervous soldier who stood fidgeting, his head bowed like an unwed lass about to tell her father that she was with child.

Apparently, word that Laird MacGordon was in a particularly foul mood had spread.

“What?” Doughall snapped, not turning around. He would keep watching Freya and Ersie until he could not see them anymore.

The soldier cleared his throat. “I came to give me report, M’Laird.”

“Then give it,” Doughall muttered, his eyes narrowing as Freya’s neck arched and her shoulders shook.

She’s laughin’. What does she have to laugh about?

The soldier took a deep breath. “There have been nay suspicious movements around the village or the castle, M’Laird.”

“And ye think that means the threat is over?” Doughall shot him a warning look. “Dinnae let yer guard down. If anyone approaches her, if anyone harms her because ye decided that yer duties are done, it’ll be yer heads I take first.”

The soldier looked like he might faint. “Of course, M’Laird. We’ll remain… vigilant.”

“See that ye do.” Doughall cast one more harsh glance at the riders, the gauzy autumn sunlight blinding his eyes, and strode away from the battlements.

He needed a drink.

A brisk walk later, the crisp morning air having done nothing to clear away the fog in his mind, he perched on a crooked stool in the distillery, swallowing a mouthful of his uncle’s finest whiskey. He hissed his temporary relief through his teeth, the potent liquor burning all the way down to his belly.

How many measures would it take to rid meself of yesterday’s memories?

He cursed himself for kissing Freya, especially in that sacred place. She had deserved punishment for her disobedience, but her moans and sighs had been more tortuous for him than her. And a kiss was no true punishment. He should have bent her over and smacked her rear, or taken a candle and dripped the hot wax on her skin, or taken his teeth and tongue to her neck until she had a bruise to remind her not to disobey him again.

He poured himself another measure, such notions doing nothing to temper the memories that plagued him. If anything, it had the opposite effect, making him wonder what sounds she would make if he were to do such things.

“ That excited for the betrothal feast tomorrow, eh?”

Flynn’s voice made him look up from the glass of amber liquid.

He gave his uncle his most apathetic stare. “It’s idiotic. I dinnae ken why me aunt and Freya’s maither are fussin’. We all ken what this really is.”

“Do we, now?” Flynn leaned against the nearby table, where Doughall had ‘borrowed’ a bottle, and poured himself a smaller measure. “I was under the impression that the clan and council—and meself—were about to get what we’ve been harassin’ ye for, for years. Enlighten me if I’m mistaken.”

It was true that Flynn had been pushing Doughall to find the next Lady MacGordon, constantly shoving eligible women in front of him with a nudge and a wink. The arrangement with Freya was meant to serve the double purpose of getting Flynn and the council off his back, but he had forgotten, and he had no inclination to try and talk his way around the truth.

“Ye dinnae need enlightenin’, so dinnae join me aunt in actin’ as if this pretense is anythin’ but. Nae when it is just the two of us in here,” Doughall said roughly, downing the second measure and wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

The brush of his skin against his mouth sent his mind hurtling back to the library, to the hungry crush of her lips, the eagerness he had not expected—the enthusiasm that had made it no punishment at all.

Adam had better return swiftly, or else I cannae promise I’ll return his sister in the same condition that I found her.

“Judgin’ by that frown on yer face, I’d say that me darlin’ Isla isnae actin’ as much as ye think,” Flynn said in an amused tone that made him feel like he had thorns in his veins.

“The pair of ye are as bad as each other. Ye cannae even sit an inch apart, so ye think everyone else ought to be as insufferable.”

Doughall had never envied them their relentless affection. All he saw was delayed tragedy—a disaster waiting to happen when one inevitably lost the other and had their heart ripped out of their chest.

Flynn chuckled. “Ye cannae blame us. We’ve always wanted to see ye settled and, aye, as insufferably happy as the two of us.” He shrugged and sipped his drink. “And I’m nae givin’ up hope on this Kane lass bein’ the one to make ye so besotted that ye wonder how ye ever managed without her.”

Doughall grunted. “I came here for peace, nae proddin’.”

“Aye, well, I’ll let ye be, then.” Flynn patted his nephew on the shoulder as he passed. “If ye decide ye want company, ye ken where to find me. But dinnae drink too much of that, eh? If ye have too much, ye never ken what effect it might have. Why, ye might get so drunk that ye start declarin’ yer undyin’ affection for yer soon-to-be betrothed.”

Doughall shot him a dark look. “I have never been drunk in all me life.”

“Nae yet . Maybe that’s exactly what ye need.”

Flynn wandered off, his laughter echoing through the distillery, making Doughall’s hackles rise all the more.

For as long as Freya was within or outside the walls of his castle, he would have no peace at all. Not even in the places that used to be his sanctuaries.

Today is goin’ to be a long day…

“What is that?” Freya gasped, catching the swift flash of blue and orange feathers along the shingle shore of the loch.

Ersie’s eyes widened. “Och, a kingfisher! That’s a good omen, M’Lady.”

“It is?” Freya gulped.

“They’re a rare sight, M’Lady. If ye’re fortunate enough to see one, then ye cannae be anythin’ but lucky.”

“Freya, please,” Freya insisted, uncomfortable with the honorifics.

Ersie smiled. “As ye prefer, Freya.”

Freya relaxed, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Is a kingfisher as rare a sight as seein’ Doughall show any kind of emotion other than anger?”

Ersie burst into laughter, the cheery sound rippling across the mirror-still surface of the loch.

An odd sense of pride swelled in Freya’s chest, knowing that she was the one who had made Ersie laugh like that. Ordinarily, she had no opportunity to be funny. Laura was the entertainer, the jester, the one who could send an entire room into fits of laughter.

“Aye, I imagine so.” Ersie’s laughter faded slowly, but her smile remained.

In the silence that followed, Freya cast a sideways glance at her. “Thank ye for bringin’ me out here. It’s… nice to be away from the castle for a while.” She pulled her fur-trimmed cloak tighter around herself as an icy wind blew through the trees behind them. “I just wish it wasnae too cold for a swim.”

“Ye swim?” Ersie seemed surprised.

“When I can,” Freya replied shyly, neglecting to add that it was often her only freedom and the one thing she was better at than her twin.

Gazing out over the stillness, noting how clear the water was, she had a feeling that a quick dip would be enough to shock all thoughts of Doughall and the library straight out of her mind and body. Any residual heat from what he had done, the way he had kissed her, would be turned to ice, never to burn in her memory again.

Ye dinnae need the loch to distract ye. Ye can keep avoidin’ him easily enough.

All she had to do was stay in her chambers for the next twenty-something days. Maybe she could feign an illness, pretend she had a terrible cold that would keep her bedridden.

Nay… ye willnae be able to get out of the feast. Curses! Why did Doughall nae refuse the notion before the ladies started their overeager plannin’?

She must have groaned out loud because Ersie gave her a strange look.

“Ye’re nervous about the feast, eh?”

Freya lowered her gaze, pushing the toe of her shoe into the shingle. “I shouldnae be… but I cannae help but worry that the ruse is goin’ to go on for too long. I dinnae want to… raise hopes, ye ken?”

Me maither is goin’ to be devastated.

“This feast makes it all seem too…” she trailed off, waving a dismissive hand to finish her sentence.

Ersie nodded. “Too real?”

“Too… nae pretense.” Freya grimaced at her clumsy phrasing, but she did not know how else to explain it.

“Is that nae the same thing?”

Freya laughed tightly. “Ye’d think so, but in me mind, it’s different. Anyway, I ken it’s silly to be nervous. It’s just a performance. How hard can it be?”

“Nae as hard as awakenin’ some feelings inside the Laird,” Ersie said with a sly smile. “If ye could manage that, ye’d have achieved the impossible. Truth be told, I wouldnae be surprised if ye could do it. I have it on good authority that he was in a black mood this mornin’.”

Freya arched an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to mean somethin’?”

“It means he didnae sleep, and I bet me horse that it’s because a certain someone went missin’ yesterday. A certain someone whose absence had him frettin’ more than he’d dare to admit,” Ersie said, grinning.

Freya swallowed thickly, knowing a great deal more than Ersie about what took place yesterday. Doughall had definitely not been fretting when he found her, not unless his idea of worry was barking at her, then pressing her against the bookcases and kissing her in a way she had never dreamed of.

“Ye see, even ye are gettin’ yer hopes up, and I am beggin’ ye nae to,” she urged, laughing stiffly. “Besides, I thought Doughall had placed ye in such an esteemed position because ye’re meant to be most loyal to him and nae whisper his secrets to me?”

Ersie snorted. “Nay. He chose me because I bested all of his men with me sword. Had it been a holdin’ me tongue competition, I doubt I’d even be allowed to guard the goats.”

They both laughed, and although they barely knew one another, Freya could not help but hope that Ersie might become a real friend. A friend who could protect her as well as any man and make her feel at ease. What more could a woman with a threat hanging over her head want?

“I do think it would do the two of ye some good, though,” Ersie said, before whistling loudly to the horses that were grazing peacefully on the grassy bank above the shoreline.

Freya frowned. “What would?”

“Yer seein’ if ye can make his mask crack, if ye can make him feel all of the things he’s been hidin’ all these years,” Ersie replied as the horses plodded dutifully toward her. “I’d suggest ye start with jealousy…”

Horrified, Freya’s jaw dropped.

“It’d do wonders for yer self-confidence,” Ersie continued, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “And it’d do wonders for him to lower his walls for once.”

She swung up onto her gelding’s back in one smooth movement that immediately made Freya envious of her athletic prowess and turned the horse toward the woodland. “Now, let’s go, Freya. If ye want to make him sick with jealousy, then there’s work to be done before the feast! Aye, there’s nae a moment to waste!” she called over her shoulder as her horse began to plod away.

Freya clambered frantically up into the saddle of the mare she had been given—a sweet-natured creature that only made her miss Seileach more—and nudged her forward.

Weaving through the ancient oaks and rowan trees, whose leaves had turned the most beautiful golden yellow, the rhythm of the mare’s movements put Freya into a trance as she contemplated Ersie’s words.

Of course, Freya did not want the pretense to become real, nor did she want what was temporary to become permanent, but she had to wonder what she was capable of.

If Ersie can beat an entire castle’s worth of men, could I also achieve what seems impossible?

Could she really make Doughall feel some sort of emotion? Did he feel the same lust that he had inspired in her the previous day, or had he really thought that was a punishment? What would it earn her if she could evoke some feeling within him?

Satisfaction, maybe? To show that he’s nae the only one with power to wield.

She had been made to feel small and insignificant for most of her life, always in her sister’s shadow, always the least favorite. But she had often wondered what she would do if an opportunity arose where she could emerge from that shadow, revealing her true nature—sides of herself that even she did not know existed.

If she let this opportunity slide, she might not get another.

Perhaps Ersie had a point after all… and Freya potentially had one to prove.