Chapter 15

15

D oughall stalked past a giggling couple tucked away in the shadows of the entrance, having their own private festivities. He walked by a gaggle of maids sipping from cups that clearly did not have anything innocent inside, and a couple of children haring about long after they should have been in bed.

I ought to berate them.

But he was not in the mood. Besides, his presence was enough of a deterrent for the maids and the children, who immediately fell silent, curtseying and bowing with shamefaced expressions.

He had given up on riding for long, the moorland and the icy winds doing absolutely nothing to shake Freya off his thoughts. So, he had headed back, deciding that whiskey would be his remedy instead.

Relief washed over him as he pushed into his study, ready to drain the bottle he had stored away for such a day.

It was as short-lived as his ride.

“Ye of all people should ken it’s nae polite to enter a man’s study when he’s nae present,” Doughall grumbled, dropping his cloak onto the reading chair in the corner.

Adam sat at Doughall’s desk, not in the main chair so as not to insult him, but in the chair for guests and visitors. “Yer aunt gave me permission.”

“Me aunt doesnae have the right.”

Adam huffed out a breath. “Are we to start at odds with each other, then?”

“Nay, Adam, we’re far beyond that.” Doughall rolled up his sleeves. “I should have killed ye in the courtyard for even thinkin’ of drawin’ yer sword against me, in me own home.”

Adam at least had the decency to bow his head, his eyes crinkled as if an old injury was bothering him. “What would ye have done if it was yer sister?” He raised his gaze to his. “She’s me baby sister, Doughall.”

“She’s nae a babe,” Doughall grunted in reply, walking to the chest of drawers at the side of the room to take out the hidden bottle of whiskey.

It might not have been the best idea to add liquor to tempers that were already hot, but he needed a dram, and he had no doubt that Adam did too.

If ye hadnae all treated her like she’d break if ye so much as patted her on the back, she’d be on the road with ye, and we wouldnae be havin’ this conversation.

Doughall thought better of adding insult to injury. Tensions were running too high between them already.

Pouring two hearty measures, he passed one to Adam and went to sit in the chair behind the desk, as if they were just having an ordinary meeting.

“I shouldnae have drawn me sword,” Adam said after taking a sip. “I shouldnae have threatened ye. I apologize for that.”

Doughall gulped down his drink, holding it in his mouth for a moment as if it might remove the memory of Freya’s tongue dancing with his own. It did not help, the whiskey too warm as he swallowed it.

“I do understand, Adam.” He paused. “I’d do far worse to protect her, regardless of who made the threat.”

He hoped Adam really understood his meaning. He had not wanted to hurt his friend in the courtyard, but if Adam had laid so much as a finger on Freya, he knew he would not have been able to control himself. He would have left Adam with a nasty scar, at the very least.

“That’s why I’m here, in yer study,” Adam said, staring into his drink. “That’s what I’m countin’ on—that ye’ll be good to her, that ye’ll keep her as safe as I like to think I would. But… ye ken she cannae come home again now, aye?”

Evidently, Doughall had not been clear enough during their earlier confrontation.

“Dinnae start with that nonsense again, Adam.”

Adam bristled. “It’s nae nonsense, Doughall. It’s me sister’s reputation, her security, me bloody peace of mind. If ye didnae want to bear the responsibility and the duty that ye now have to her, then ye shouldnae have kissed her for what I’m certain wasnae the first time.”

Doughall narrowed his eyes at his friend, his insides writhing with discomfort. If there was one thing he could not tolerate above all else, it was being accused of shirking his duties. Not everyone might have agreed with the way he did things, but everyone could agree that he fulfilled his obligations to the letter.

But he’s right…

That irked him doubly.

Had Freya been someone of no station, someone who understood the passions of the flesh and accepted them for what they were, there would have been no expectations of him. But she was a laird’s sister and a lady by blood and heritage, and now that her brother knew, there were obligations to fulfill.

“I entrusted her into yer care, Doughall, because I thought I kenned what kind of man ye are,” Adam continued. “Ye cannae ignore what is now owed for this betrayal of trust, and I willnae hear anythin’ about it bein’ a performance because there wasnae anyone out there but me wife and me.”

Doughall’s lip curled in distaste. He was irritated that he could not protest and that another laird, even a friend, would say that he owed him.

He took his time to finish what was left in his glass, deciding that when there was not a drop left, he would tell Adam what he planned to do. Not a moment before.

As that final drop hit his tongue, he set the glass down and looked Adam squarely in the eyes. “I have never wanted to marry, this is nay secret to ye, and that willnae change. I am tellin’ ye now that I dinnae want to marry her, but I’m nae one to shirk me duties, as ye also ken.”

“Ye’ll wed her, then?” Adam’s eyes lit up.

Doughall expelled a weary breath. “I’ll be the best imitation of a husband she can hope for.” He considered pouring himself another glass. “I willnae fail her. I willnae let harm come to her. I willnae be cruel. Aye, I willnae so much as touch her, but she willnae want for anythin’ else.”

With a weary breath of his own, Adam sat back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling for a moment, as if thanking some divine presence for getting him the answer he desired.

I wonder if she’d be so relieved.

Doughall pictured the fiery changeling who had taken Freya’s place that night, revealing a side to her that he had known was in there somewhere—a woman who did not back down easily, who did not tolerate injustice, and who had such passion inside her that it stirred his desire.

He would have to temper that feeling if he were to stand by his decision to never touch her again.

Finishing his whiskey, Adam lurched to his feet and bowed his head to Doughall. “I kenned ye were the man I thought ye were. Thank ye for doin’ the right thing.”

Dinnae thank me. It willnae be a marriage worth a bit of gratitude.

Doughall was about to say so when the study door flew open and a hellion barged in, her red hair flying, her brown eyes blazing with that passionate fury.

Freya knew that it was uncouth and beneath her to eavesdrop, but she had been left with little choice when she approached the study door and heard her brother and Doughall talking about her. Indeed, she figured it was her right to hear what they were saying about her, courtesy be damned.

Learning that Doughall had accepted the marriage came as no surprise, since she had already resigned herself to it, but that last part, that part about never touching her—that was reason enough to come out of hiding, throw open the door, and let those two men feel the lash of her tongue.

One of those men, at least.

“I will ask ye again, so I can be sure that ye’ve heard me—am I invisible to ye?” she sniped, struggling for each strained breath. “Is that why ye think ye can just move me around the board at yer whim? If ye’re makin’ decisions that concern me , then dinnae leave me out of the discussion!”

Adam sat back down like a boy who had just been scolded by his tutor. He could not look his sister in the eyes, but Doughall seemed to have no trouble.

In fact, Doughall seemed determined to stare right through her… and if she was not horribly mistaken, she thought she saw the ghost of a smirk lifting one corner of his lips ever so slightly.

The sight of that fleeting twitch enraged her.

“If this marriage is to be a mockery, why are ye botherin’?” she snapped at him. “Even I can tell that ye’d rather pluck out yer own eyes with spoons than wed me, so why bother at all? It’s nae as if me braither would actually demand satisfaction for a wee kiss. He’s nae daft. He wouldnae pit his army against yers for me sake. He wouldnae even pit himself against ye for me sake, despite what happened earlier. He’d have lost his nerve long before he touched blade to flesh.”

Doughall raised an eyebrow, that damnable hint of a smirk appearing for a second time. How was it possible that, even during her angry outburst, he had something to smirk about? Was the idea of trapping her in a touchless, loveless, empty marriage so hilarious to him?

“How dare ye,” Adam cut in, his nostrils flaring. “How dare ye disparage me like that?”

Freya laughed coldly. “How dare I ? Are ye quite serious?” She eyed the bottle on the table. “How many of those have ye had, eh, that ye can say such a thing to me?”

Doughall made a motion to Adam—a sharp flick of his wrist and forefingers that either meant, “Get out” or “Give us some privacy.” But Freya liked to think it meant, “Stop before ye truly embarrass yerself.” Judging by Adam’s scowl, that was more or less what he thought it meant too.

“I’ll give ye some time to talk, seein’ as there’s nay further damage that can be done,” Adam said tersely. “But I’ll be havin’ a word with ye afterward, Freya. I dinnae care for this attitude.”

He walked out, passing Freya without so much as a brotherly pat on the shoulder. The door closed with an ominous click , leaving the betrothed couple alone.

“Somethin’ to say, or has the cat got yer tongue?” Doughall asked drily, no hint of a smirk on his lips now.

Freya steeled herself. “Och, Doughall, I have plenty to say.”