Chapter 22

22

“ D oughall!”

Doughall blinked his bleary eyes at the carriage and rider coming down the moorland path, not entirely convinced he wasn’t hearing things. The blinding sun hung low in the sky, making its slow return to the horizon, letting him know he had just wasted a day searching fruitlessly for Lewis Brown.

“Doughall, wait a moment!” The voice came again from the rider who now pulled away from the carriage, approaching him more swiftly.

Ersie, half asleep in the saddle, jolted awake, instinctively reaching for her lance. “Is it Lewis?”

“Nay, it’s Adam,” Doughall replied, glancing back over his shoulder to observe the rest of his men. All were slumping in their saddles, their mouths gaping in shuddering yawns, beyond exhausted. “All of ye! Ride on to the castle! Get some rest!”

The men perked up, nudging their horses into a swifter gait, thundering past their Laird in their eagerness to reach their beds.

For a moment, Doughall envied them, thinking of a bed where he might like to rest his weary bones, though not before he had Freya just as exhausted. Just the thought of her in that torn nightgown, trembling and calling out his name, was enough to give him a fresh surge of strength.

Only Ersie remained at his side. He had expected nothing less.

“Where have ye been?” Doughall asked as Adam drew to a halt in front of him. “Ye should have requested an escort.”

Adam waved him off. “We were in nay peril, Doughall. We went to the nearest town to choose a gown for the day after tomorrow.”

“The day after tomorrow?” Doughall frowned, his eyes itchy with fatigue.

“Aye, for the weddin’.”

“That’s when the weddin’ is?” Doughall’s mood darkened. “First I’m hearin’ of it.”

Adam had the decency to look uncomfortable. “I might have forgotten to mention it, with one thing and another stealin’ me attention.” He shook his head, sighing. “In truth, it was me wife who reminded me, but it has to be the day after tomorrow, Doughall, or else we’ll miss the messenger that has been deliverin’ Laura’s letters. I’m nae waitin’ for another month or more to find her.”

“The messenger hasnae been comin’ to the castle?”

Doughall was certain that Freya would not take the news well. She had been thrown into this marriage against her will, and now her family—the people closest to her—were declaring their intention to leave as soon as she was wed. Even he thought that was unusually cruel, particularly from a man he deemed his dearest friend.

“Nay,” Adam replied. “The messenger has been bringin’ the letters to the village healer, who has been bringin’ them to us. On the promise of good coin, we’ve arranged to meet him in another village at a specific time. If we miss him, and he misses out on his coin, I doubt he’ll be so forthcomin’ again.”

Doughall shrugged. “Very well then. Let that be the day.”

It did not matter to him whether he married Freya in a day or a year, as his terms would not change, but he knew it would matter to her.

Why do I care?

That uneasy, tight feeling claimed his lungs again. He had no answer that would satisfy him, but plenty that would only serve to make him feel even more unmoored from himself.

“Excellent.” A weight seemed to be lifted from Adam’s shoulders. “I’ll let ye tell her. Och, and let her ken that there’s a gown waitin’ for her. Me maither is goin’ to give it to the castle seamstress, but it’ll be ready by mornin’.”

Doughall’s eye twitched. Regardless of whether or not Adam was his friend, he did not appreciate him making such casual use of his servants, and without so much as seeking Freya’s opinion on the gown. What if it was not to her taste? She had been given no choice in the marriage—surely, she deserved to have a choice in what she wore?

But he held his tongue and made a grunt of assent. It was probably better if it came from him anyway, so Freya could blame him instead of her family. Easier for her, certainly.

Besides, he had ways of making her forget her troubles, and if that was what it took for her to ignore the fact that her brother and mother would soon be abandoning her, he was more than happy to help replace her woes with sighs of utter bliss. He might even let her touch him, this time.

And I’ll command ye to be as loud as ye please. Scream the castle down, and I’ll reward ye for it.

Doughall found her kneeling in the gardens, tending to a bed of late-blooming crocuses, the petals a spray of bold yellow and dusky purple against the otherwise slumbering flora.

He watched her for a moment, stirred by the sight of her in such a titillating position. The mix of fatigue and how he might soften the blow of bad news had made it even harder for him to wrangle his self-control, his mind feverish with the thousand ways he could play the instrument of her body to hear the rich music of her ecstasy.

Her shoulders stiffened, sensing his presence. “Ye found me, then?”

“Found ye?” He pushed down his wayward desires and crossed the frosty grass of early evening toward her. “Nay. I was told ye were here.”

She peered up at him, nudging her spectacles up, streaking a line of dirt on her cheek. “How lucky for ye. I, on the other hand, had no idea where ye were.”

He frowned, torn between wiping the soil from her cheek and asking why his absence bothered her so much. She had lived with her father and brother all her life—surely, she understood what was expected of a laird and, by proxy, of a lady.

“Lewis Brown.”

Freya’s eyes widened sharply, her breath catching. “W-What about him?”

“He was seen nearby. I went to rip his head off his shoulders.”

Her throat bobbed, the flush in her cheeks paling in fear. “Did ye?”

“We didnae find him, but we will,” Doughall replied, curling his hands into fists to temper his rising irritation.

He did not like to fail, least of all when it could affect someone who was under his protection.

Freya turned her head, staring down at the colorful crocuses. “Well… good, but I dinnae much care about Lewis Brown. I’m nae worried about him, considerin’ I cannae leave the castle without an armed escort, and, truly, I think I’d trust Ersie with me life.” She took a deep breath. “What I am worried about is our upcomin’ weddin’.”

“About that.” Doughall unclenched his hands. “It’s happenin’ the day after tomorrow.”

Her shoulders stiffened again, but she did not look back at him. “All the more reason for me to say what needs to be said, then,” she replied quietly, her voice breathy with something like shock. “I have agreed to the terms, Doughall, but what I cannae agree to is… feelin’ like an outsider in me own home again. Feelin’ like a stranger when I walk into a room and everyone stops talkin’. Feelin’ like I’m… that I… that I dinnae belong and that I am nae worthy of bringin’ into the fold.”

His eyes narrowed. He felt somewhat sorry for her, but he was unsure how her words pertained to him. He had given her the library, had he not? She had befriended Ersie, had she not? He had promised to be decent to her. What more did she want? How was that not belonging when, very soon, she would carry his name and title?

“Ye’ve heard gossip about ye?” he asked, bewildered. “Show me the gossiper, and I’ll have ‘em dealt with.”

“Nay! Nay, it has nothin’ to do with gossip, for pity’s sake. It’s to do with ye!” she retorted, getting to her feet, a yellow crocus in hand. “I cannae wake up and find out from someone else that me husband is missin’. Ye need to share things with me, Doughall. Whatever ye wish to get out of this marriage, we need to be a team, nae two souls driftin’ past each other from time to time.”

She might as well have been speaking an obscure dialect of Greek for all the sense her words made to him. His own mother had rarely made a fuss when duty summoned his father away, though he could no longer remember those days in much detail. If she had quarreled with his father about such things, they had not done it in front of him.

“Ye want me to come runnin’ to ye whenever duty demands me presence instead of actually goin’ where I’m needed without delay?” He sniffed. “That’s askin’ for too much, lass.”

She shook her head slowly. “To think, I crossed out ‘considerate.’”

“Eh?”

“It’s… it’s just good manners to tell yer wife where ye are!” she replied, throwing her hands up. “Nay, it’s more than that—it’s just human nae to want someone else to worry. But I suppose I shouldnae be surprised that that’s beyond ye, since there’s nae a lick of emotion in there.” She stepped forward and jabbed a finger in his chest. “Right?”

He stared down at the spot she had jabbed. “I’ve never pretended to be anythin’ other than what I am, lass. Ye shouldnae be surprised now.”

“Aye, but the thing is, ye are pretendin’,” she said fiercely, strange tears in her eyes. “I thought ye werenae capable of feelin’ anythin’, I really did, but then ye… spoke to me that night, ye shared yer story with me, and ye… left me that bloody book! Ye gave me the library! And since I’ve been here, I ken ye’ve felt things. I ken ye’ve felt anger, for certain, and lust and empathy and… and, aye, jealousy . So, ye dinnae have me as fooled as ye think ye do!”

He moved closer to her. “Careful.”

“Or what? What will ye do, M’Laird?” she challenged, not in the way she had before, where she had invited punishment, but with true vehemence in her voice. A strength that stirred him, despite himself.

He did not answer, gazing down at her lips.

“There’s nothin’ ye can do to me that’s worse than bein’ alone,” she said in a raspy voice, panting hard. “And that’s how ye made me feel today. Alone. Poor, wee Freya—send her off to the library, and she’ll be nay bother. Keep her in the dark, she willnae mind. Doughall, I willnae have a future as… as lonely as me past.”

A peculiar tug caught him in the middle of his chest, that nagging feeling that refused to leave him be. Regardless of how his stern exterior appeared to her, he did not like to see her in such distress.

He brought his hand up, and, to his dismay, she flinched. Had he not made it plain enough times that he would not do anything to hurt her?

Slowly, he cradled her neck, his other hand coming up to hold her cheek. But when he dipped his head to kiss her, certain he could still make her forget her troubles, even if he was the cause of them, she turned her head away. When he moved to kiss her again, she pulled back, glaring at him.

“I dinnae want an emotionless husband,” she croaked. “I dinnae want to marry a block of stone.”

“Too bad that’s what’s happenin’,” he replied harshly, annoyed that she had pulled away from him.

She removed her spectacles and wiped the tears from her eyes. “Well, brace yerself, because life as ye kenned it is goin’ to change. Ye’re gettin’ an emotional wife, and I will fight for what I want.” She put her spectacles back on. “Ye might look at me and think I’m nay more than a mouse, but I willnae let this lie. I willnae be lonely ever again.”

“I dinnae see a mouse, lass,” he said, taken aback by her remark.

She blinked in surprise. “Nay?”

“A mouse hides and scuttles away at the first sign of danger.” He moved toward her again, needing to feel her lips on his. “A mouse doesnae ride out alone to find her missin’ sister, despite the danger. A mouse doesnae try to fight a man like me on every conceivable thing. Whatever ye are, ye’re nay mouse.”

Her eyebrows shot up, the ferocity in her expression softening for a moment as her eyes shone. If he did not know any better, he would have thought he had given her a charming compliment.

“But whatever I am,” he continued in a low voice, “me nature cannae be altered.”

She shook her head slowly. “I dinnae believe that.”

“Then ye’re a fool.”

“Nay. If what ye say is true, then we’re all fools.” She gestured up at the castle. “Everyone who cares for ye.”

Doughall remembered Ersie’s words to him that morning, on the woodland path to the loch, reminding him of what he had once said to Adam—that Adam would not be better off alone, that he ought to chase after Emily because having her around had changed him for the better.

At that time, it had been an age since Doughall had seen his friend even remotely happy, but because of Emily, Adam had smiled again.

But that cannae be me…

Doughall squinted at Freya, not liking the implication of her words. “Aye, most likely ye are. All of ye.”

“Or it’s ye who is the fool,” she replied with a half smile. “And, like I said, I mean to fight for what I want. So, consider this me first stand. Ye might nae be willin’ to share aught with me now, but I’ll share somethin’ with ye.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What might that be?”

His anticipation rose as she closed the gap between them, his mind filling with all of the delicious possibilities. Yes, he was exhausted from the fruitless day, and the dreadful prospect of a wedding the day after tomorrow, but he could muster plenty of energy to satisfy his bride and himself before he finally allowed himself to sleep.

She grabbed hold of his shirt sleeve and started pulling him toward the castle, dousing his desire.

“This is yer lesson in patience,” she told him over her shoulder, and though he could have easily resisted her tugging, he found himself curious enough to let her lead him.