Chapter 14

14

T he music of the feast echoed across the moorland, drifting in and out as if phantoms or spirits were in the midst of an otherworldly gathering. Everyone would be halfway toward drunk by now, if not already there, nobody noticing that the guests of honor were nowhere to be found.

Ye barked at that soldier yesterday mornin’ for the same thing ye’re guilty of now.

Doughall closed his eyes and gripped the reins tighter, cursing himself for lowering his guard. He should have heard Adam approaching long before the man got close enough to see what was happening, but he had been too lost in her , too overcome with want, giving in to the temptation that was Freya Kane at the cost of everything else.

“M’Laird!” a voice called in the dense silence of the moorland, where the fog slithered through the heather like misty serpents.

Doughall clenched his jaw.

Can a man nae have a moment’s peace to regret his actions?

He turned and watched the familiar gelding and rider charging at a breakneck pace toward him, rankled by the sight. He trusted Ersie like a sister, appreciated her strength and loyalty, but right now, he did not want to see her.

“I was searchin’ all over for ye,” Ersie said, breathless, as she drew to a halt beside him.

“And in that searchin’, did ye nae consider that I didnae want to be found?”

She furrowed her brow, scratching her head. “Honestly? Nay.”

“Return to the feast, Ersie,” he said, struggling to keep the frost out of his tone.

It was not Ersie’s fault that the night had almost turned into a duel to the death. One he would have won, too, if it had come to it.

She tilted her head to the side in a way that always meant she was deciding whether to be honest or whether to avoid a difficult conversation. Doughall waited for her to make her choice.

“What happened, M’Laird?” she said, at last.

He ran a hand through his hair, unwilling to relive the memory. For a brief moment, when he was kissing Freya, his mind had been clear of the ghosts that haunted him and the duties that plagued his every waking moment, some demanded by the clan, some demanded by himself. Adam’s interruption and threat had made everything rush back tenfold.

Marry her? Aye, I’d sooner wear one of me maither’s gowns to the next clan gatherin’.

“M’Laird?” Ersie prompted.

He realized he had not answered her, and, with a heavy breath, he told her most of the story. He skirted around certain parts, of course, though the images were vivid in his mind.

“Her braither wants us wed,” he concluded. “But that’s nae goin’ to happen, so he’s goin’ to be sorely disappointed.”

He turned his gaze out to the open moorland, where blurry shadows moved behind the mist, tricking the eye. He had seen them often enough, referring to them as the dark specters, but he rested his hand on the hilt of his sword anyway. With the threat against Freya still out there somewhere, he could not be too careful.

I shouldnae have brought her here.

A strange but not unfamiliar sensation coiled in his chest. A feeling he had not felt so keenly since he was a boy.

I shouldnae have dragged her into this foolhardy plan. It was never goin’ to work.

He had overstepped too many boundaries. He had blurred the lines of the arrangement. He had allowed himself to feel jealousy of all things and had almost spilled his friend’s blood. All because he could not control himself around that woman, her very presence unraveling years and years of discipline and restraint.

“With respect, M’Laird, why would her braither think ye were… involved in somethin’ improper?” Ersie asked, an odd note of amusement in her voice.

He shot her a glare. “Is this funny to ye?”

“Nae at all, M’Laird. I’m just tryin’ to understand.” She feigned innocence, but he had known her too long for her to be able to pull the wool over his eyes. She was up to something.

Doughall turned away from her to glare at the fog instead. “It doesnae matter what the circumstances were. Her braither misjudged the situation, flew into a rage, and made demands that willnae be met. On that, Freya and I are aligned.” He sat taller. “Now, return to the feast. I willnae ask ye again.”

“Where are ye goin’?” Ersie nodded toward the darkness.

“I’m goin’ to patrol the vicinity,” he said brusquely. “ Ye should be at Freya’s side—it’s yer duty.”

Ersie bowed her head. “As ye wish, M’Laird.” She paused. “Are ye sure ye dinnae want someone to patrol with ye?”

He gave her a hard look, not deigning to offer a response.

Ersie smiled. “Aye, I thought nae.”

She turned her horse around, and, with one final nod, she took off the way she had come, kicking up clods of dirt and moss before the fog swallowed her up.

A moment later, Doughall rode off in the opposite direction, determined to ride until he had cleared his head of Freya and the wind had whipped away all traces of her touch and her scent and his desire to ‘punish’ her again.

Freya had just managed to get herself out of her beautiful gown and into her nightdress alone, not wanting to summon Ealasaid to help her, when a light knock sounded at the bedchamber door.

“What now? ” she muttered to herself, grabbing a blanket and throwing it around herself like a cloak. “Who is it?”

“It’s me,” Emily’s gentle voice replied.

Freya frowned at the closed door for a moment. On the one hand, Emily was her friend, and she cherished their companionship. On the other hand, she was perpetually allied with Adam, being his wife and all. She had already let Freya down when she had agreed to exclude her from the search for Laura. What if this was just going to be another disappointment?

“In that case, let me ask this—who sent ye?” Freya said, wrapping the blanket tighter around herself.

“I sent meself,” Emily answered. “I promise ye, I’m nae here as an envoy.”

Freya wasn’t sure she believed Emily, but her desire to be courteous was greater than her uncertainty. She did not have it in herself to send Emily away, especially if there was a chance that she could persuade her to take her side.

“Come in,” she said, moving over to the armchairs in front of the fireplace.

Emily entered cautiously, her apology etched in each step as she made her way to the vacant armchair. She sat down and leaned forward, her hands clasped together. Before she could say a word, Freya spoke.

“I trust ye heard that Adam gave me the cruelest ultimatum? I ken he’s nae accustomed to resistance—nae from me, anyway—but I didnae think he could be so… so… brutal,” Freya scoffed. “Either I marry Doughall or me sister suffers and is never found. Can ye believe that? Can ye believe the utter… utter meanness of him? Nae a single thought given to me and how I might feel about havin’ to marry a man who doesnae want me!”

Emily nodded slowly. “And if he did want ye?”

“What?” Freya recoiled from the question. “Well… he doesnae, so I dinnae see how that matters at all.”

A flicker of something passed behind Emily’s eyes. “But do ye want him?”

Agitation vibrated through Freya’s limbs, her leg jigging restlessly. She turned this way and that in the armchair, but no angle provided any comfort from the question or the memory of kissing Doughall, touching him, being held by him.

She rose from the chair and walked a few steps, uneasiness taking her toward the window and back, pacing with her chin dipped to her chest.

“Well, I dinnae ken,” she said with exasperation. “All I ken for sure is that he’s the most… frustratin’ man I’ve ever met.”

“Frustration isnae necessarily a bad thing,” Emily said patiently. “It depends on the source of it.”

Freya put her hands on her hips, continuing to pace. “Och, I assure ye it’s a bad thing. He’s… rude, he’s callous, he’s… always makin’ demands and demandin’ obedience. I never asked to be a part of his betrothal scheme, but he forced me into it, and… Aye, he’s unfairly handsome, and I do feel safe when I’m with him, like he could protect me from anythin’—a bear, even—but… but he’s just so… infuriatin’!”

“So, ye didnae want to kiss him?” Emily asked pointedly, a twinkle in her eyes.

Freya’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, outrage and embarrassment vying for control of her tongue. She made some noises that might have been words and began to pace again, too flustered to do anything else.

“If I may?” Another voice joined the conversation from the doorway.

Freya whirled around, surprised to see Ersie standing there in her cloak, her hair windswept as if she had recently gone riding. In an instant, Freya’s embarrassment transformed into annoyance, directed firmly at the grinning man-at-arms.

“Nay, ye may nae!” she muttered, wagging a finger. “This is all because of ye. If I didnae let ye convince me to try and make Doughall jealous, I wouldnae be in this position. I’d be able to leave in a few short weeks, nae trapped here indefinitely as Doughall’s wife! ”

Ersie shrugged, shedding her cloak as she stepped further into the room. “With the utmost respect, Freya, if ye loathed him so, I wouldnae have been able to convince ye. Ye secretly wanted to see if ye could make him jealous because, if we’re bein’ honest—if ye’re bein’ honest with yerself—ye dinnae hate him as much as ye claim to.” She smiled. “There’s nay shame in it.”

“This is… this is preposterous!” Freya yelped, backing away to the far side of the room as she pointed between the two women. “Ye’re conspirin’ together. Did me braither put ye up to this?”

Ersie sat down in the chair that Freya had vacated. “I havenae spoken a word to yer braither.”

“Emily,” Emily introduced herself, reaching out a hand to the man-at-arms.

“Ersie,” Ersie replied, shaking it.

“Imps, the pair of ye!” Freya rasped, her head dizzy with confusion.

Nothing that either of the women had said was untrue, and that irritated her twice over. Just because she had kissed Doughall and could not stop thinking about him did not mean that she liked him, did it? Who could like such a man, particularly after he had made his feelings abundantly, brutally clear?

“Freya,” Emily said more softly, “I dinnae agree with the way me husband has gone about this. I’ll be chidin’ him for it for a fair while, ye can believe that. But… he’s as stubborn as a mule and willnae change his mind on this. I ken ye’d do anythin’ for yer sister, and that ye already ken what ye must do, so what matters now is ensurin’ that ye have a peaceful marriage. Maybe even a happy one.”

Freya snorted, her eyes welling with tears she fought desperately to hold back. “I’d have a better chance of gettin’ Adam to forget the entire thing.”

“Talk to him,” Emily urged.

Freya frowned. “To Adam?”

“To Doughall,” Ersie interjected.

Emily nodded. “In time, I’m certain ye’ll be able to untangle this mess.”

“Very well.” Freya straightened and pulled her shoulders back. “Then I’ll leave the two of ye to gossip while I go and tell that—that mean man what is goin’ to happen.”

“I didnae mean right this second!” Emily gasped, getting up.

Freya waved her off. “Nay, nay, what better time than now to understand the true extent of how miserable I’m about to be?”