Chapter 13

13

F reya jumped back as if something had slithered up her leg and bitten her backside. Jumping away , however, was easier said than done, with Doughall’s powerful arms holding her to him, resisting her wriggling and writhing.

“Adam…” she gasped, partly in response to her brother, partly to let Doughall know who was standing there, in case he had not yet realized it.

It did not seem like he had if his grip was anything to go by. Yet, he surely must have heard Adam’s harsh demand for an explanation.

Adam’s wife, Emily, was gripping her husband’s arm tightly, quickly moving between him and Doughall.

“I’m sure there is a good explanation, love,” she urged, her voice tremulous. “Dinnae do anythin’ ye’ll soon regret. Take a breath, love. Steady yerself.”

Freya wriggled again, and Doughall’s grip eased slightly. She peered up at him, panic bristling from her stomach to her throat in a burning pinch, but his expression was implacable. If any walls had come down while she was busy kissing him, they went right back up now.

“W-What are ye doin’ here?” Freya managed to choke out.

Emily glanced back over her shoulder, her palms firm against Adam’s chest. “Theodore sent a messenger after us, informin’ us of the attack on ye, Freya. It took him a while to find us, but we returned as soon as we received the message, only to learn that ye… came here.”

Theodore was Adam’s trusted man-at-arms, and apparently far nosier than Freya had given him credit for. He should not have known about the attack, and he certainly should not have called Adam and Emily away from the search for Laura when Freya was perfectly fine.

Who told ye? How did ye learn about what happened to me?

Freya doubted she would get a satisfactory answer, but she had bigger things to worry about. Namely, what Adam planned to do to Doughall.

“I bet ye didnae want me here when this is what I arrive to find,” Adam snarled, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword.

Freya swallowed uncomfortably, her mind a whirling haze of mortification, a thousand hopeless explanations, and fear of what might be coming next. If Adam spilled a drop of Doughall’s blood on MacGordon soil, the entire castle would descend upon him like a pack of wolves, ripping him apart in a last surge of loyalty to their Laird.

“Ye told me to protect her,” Doughall finally spoke, turning slowly with his arm still wrapped possessively around Freya’s waist. “Nay one would dare to hurt her if they believed she was mine.”

Adam’s eye twitched, his knuckles ivory-white on the hilt of his sword.

“He’s right, love,” Emily said urgently. “Nay one would.”

Adam took a few shallow breaths, his face drained of all color save for two angry red splotches on his cheeks.

“Say that I can understand that for a moment,” he said after another labored breath, “it doesnae explain why ye were kissin’ her just now.”

Freya stifled a scream as her brother drew his sword and, with his other arm, swept Emily out of his way. Her heart willed her to throw herself between the two men, taking her sister-in-law’s place, but her feet were rooted to the ground, as though the frost had frozen them in place.

Doughall’s face hardened to ice-cold marble, sculpted by otherworldly hands to be the most hauntingly beautiful thing Freya had ever seen, and the cruelest. “I wouldnae do that if I were ye.” His voice was barely above a whisper, more chilling for its quietness.

Adam hesitated. “Ye’re goin’ to marry her, then?” He gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands. “Because it didnae look like it was the first time ye’d done that together.”

Bowing her head, Freya wished the ground would open up and swallow her down to whatever hellish depths lay below. The heat would not be nearly as fearsome as the humiliated and horrified inferno that blazed through every inch of her flesh, a prickly rash creeping up from her stomach to her scalp, while a cold sweat beetled down her spine.

“Dinnae be ridiculous,” Doughall said casually, as if Adam had just asked if he wanted to dance a reel. “I dinnae want a family, as ye well ken—especially nae with Freya.”

She blinked, stung. Why had he felt the need to single her out like that? He could have ended his sentence before those last four words and she would not have minded at all. Clearly, he wanted to hurt her some more, since he had not been able to finish delivering his ‘punishment.’

“Aye, well, ye should have thought about that sooner,” Adam retorted, widening his stance as if he really meant to strike with his sword.

Perhaps it was Doughall’s mean words, perhaps it was her brother bursting in and not only ruining a moment she had craved, but also resuming his self-given title of decision-maker, but Freya had had enough of these unsmiling, humorless tyrants.

“Am I invisible, eh?” She stormed between them, pushing her brother’s blade out of the way as she waved her hand in front of him, and did the same to Doughall for good measure. “Does anyone care what I might want? I’m nae an order of discussion in yer bloody council chambers! Frankly, I dinnae ken which of ye to smack first!”

Adam stared at her, wide-eyed, as if he did not recognize her. Doughall remained implacable, unmoved, looking through her with one thumb looped in the belt of his plaid, the other on the hilt of his sword.

Equally angry with the two of them, Freya started by jabbing a finger in Adam’s chest. “ I never wanted to be left under Doughall’s protection, if ye try to remember correctly. So, whatever measures he has taken to see that done, it’s yer bloody self that’s to blame.” She sucked in a breath and whirled around to face Doughall. “And I certainly dinnae want to marry a cold, cruel beast of a man who doesnae care about me. I’d rather grab one of yer swords and take me chances with the wretches who attacked me—at least that would be me choice!”

Panting now, fury simmering in her veins, she whirled around to shoot her brother another glare. “The best thing ye could do, instead of threatenin’ to kill one of yer only friends, is to remedy the mistake ye made and take me with ye to find our sister the next time ye leave. Rest assured, ye willnae make another decision for me, for as long as I draw breath. So, unless ye’re goin’ to run me through with that, I’ll take me leave.”

She paused for a few seconds, praying that her anger-fueled courage would hold out a bit longer.

When her brother said nothing, she grunted and stalked away, grateful that neither man could see the hurt on her face as her fury fizzled out, leaving a heavy lump in the middle of her chest.

She had made it halfway to the peace of the library, wandering alone in an unknown hallway in her wasted, beautiful gown, when an unwelcome voice called for her to halt.

“Freya, please!” Adam shouted, running to catch up to her.

She considered breaking into a sprint, but running had never been a strength of hers. Laura was the runner—so gifted in the art that she had run to some unknown place, where she continued to evade her family. Perhaps Freya was beginning to understand the inclination.

“I said all I had to say,” she said coolly, folding her arms over her chest as he stopped in front of her. “Unless ye have decided to run me through with that sword, I’d like to go to me chambers and sleep this night out of me mind.”

Adam frowned. “What has happened to ye? This isnae ye.”

“On the contrary,” she replied sharply. “I think I’m more meself than I’ve ever been.”

“I disagree.”

“Then we’re goin’ to be talkin’ in circles.” She straightened her posture. “Was there a reason ye’ve chased me down, despite me explicitly sayin’ I was takin’ me leave of ye?”

Adam huffed out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Freya… I need to ken, even if it’s difficult for ye to say—has Doughall… forced ye? Was he forcin’ ye to kiss him?”

Of course ye’d think that. Heaven forbid I should make me own choices.

It seemed that her speech in the courtyard had fallen on mostly deaf ears. Her brother had not listened to a word, and she soon felt her ire rising again, stoking her courage to speak her mind for once.

“The only one forcin’ us is ye, Braither,” she said bluntly. “What ye saw in the courtyard was a performance. Part of the arrangement to keep me safe. But I’ll say it again—if ye hadnae forbidden me from comin’ with ye, I wouldnae be here. I wouldnae be part of any arrangement because I wouldnae have been attacked while tryin’ to follow ye.”

Adam flinched. “That’s unfair, Freya.”

She did not lower her gaze as she usually would, did not fidget and flounder in the face of his authority, but looked the beast of her brother’s obstinacy dead in the eyes. She managed maybe ten silent seconds before a worm of guilt wriggled in her chest.

“Aye… maybe it is,” she replied with a weary sigh. “It’s the circumstances, but… I willnae put all the blame on ye. There, is that what ye wanted? Can I retire now?”

His face contorted. “ What is this demeanor of yers? It doesnae become ye at all. I dinnae like it, Freya.”

“Too much like the twin ye prefer?” she challenged, losing some of the bite in her voice.

The events of the night had drained her; she no longer had the energy to keep up the performance.

Faint lines creased the corners of Adam’s eyes, and she knew she had wounded him. “I dinnae prefer either of me sisters. I cherish ye both the same—I always have.” His face hardened again. “That’s why I cannae have both of ye hurt or used.”

Well, if ye try to force me hand, ye might have both of us runnin’ from ye.

Her guilt got the better of her, holding her back from saying something that would undoubtedly hit like a punch.

“If Doughall was like James, this would be much easier,” he added with a fleeting grimace.

James Stewart, the Laird of Clan Orkney, was now food for the worms, dealt with and dispatched in order to save Emily, and belatedly restore Laura’s honor. But even with him dead and gone, it had not inspired Laura to return.

Does she ken somethin’ we dinnae?

A cold sensation roiled in Freya’s stomach, remembering Doughall’s uncertainty when they had stopped on the way to MacGordon Castle. She had finally told him that the rider who had fled the scene of the attack had somehow seemed familiar to her. He had suspected that that selfsame James was responsible for that attack.

Freya kept her worries to herself. James was dead; he had to be.

“I’m tired, Braither,” she mumbled. “I just want to go to bed.”

“Aye, maybe that would be for the best,” Adam replied, chewing on his lower lip in thought.

Freya turned to leave, only to twist back around again. She could not afford to make the same mistake twice. This time, he would not be leaving to find Laura without her.

“When do ye depart?” she asked.

Adam swallowed, looking at her without quite meeting her eyes.

Suspicion tiptoed up behind Freya like a living shadow, breathing down her neck, making her feel suddenly too warm despite the draft that snaked through the hallway.

He finally looked her in the eye. “As soon as the weddin’ takes place.”

That shadow wrapped its wispy hands around her throat, squeezing tight. “But?—”

“I willnae be at peace otherwise,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument. “Now, since ye seem so keen to make yer own decisions, I’ll leave it up to ye to decide how long ye’re willin’ to leave our sister out there, alone.”

He left her slack-jawed and horrified in the empty hallway, unable to utter a single word of protest.