Chapter 25

25

“ I cannae believe he didnae tell ye,” Adam groused, sipping more whiskey than he probably should have at ten o’clock in the morning. “I told him explicitly to tell ye we’d bought the gown already. Speakin’ of which, why can I nae find him this mornin’?”

Freya stared at her reflection in the mirror in the large, mostly empty study that Isla had earmarked as a dressing room for the upcoming nuptials. The gown was hideous, not at all what she would have chosen for herself. But surrounded by her family, and Isla, she did not feel like she could protest.

I must nae make a bad impression.

Old habits, it seemed, died hard.

“He’ll be away with his uncle, helpin’ at the distillery,” Isla replied with an encouraging smile, standing at Freya’s side. “Flynn has been there all night, preparin’ the best bottles of whiskey for the occasion. Poor thing thought he’d have more time—didnae realize we were rushin’ to the altar.”

She flashed a wink through the mirror, that subtle gesture of support more powerful than she could have realized.

Of course, Freya loved her brother and sister-in-law, and she loved her mother in her own way, but not one of them had asked how she was feeling or if she even liked the dress. They were all too concerned about how quickly they could leave to find Laura.

I miss her too. I want to find her too, but one moment of yer consideration cannae be too much to ask, can it?

“Aye, we’re terribly sorry about that,” Emily chimed in, offering her a regretful look. “Truly, we are.”

Adam sniffed. “Of course, we’re sorry to cause ye such trouble, havin’ ye make preparations without much warnin’. I wish it could be done differently, but this is what must happen.” He glanced at Freya. “The seamstress did a good job. I’ll leave coin with Doughall for her, as thanks.”

“It is exactly what I imagined me daughter wearin’ at her weddin’,” Moira gushed with a delighted grin.

Ye’re nae a mouse, Freya. Dinnae be a mouse ever again.

Freya swallowed past the lump in her throat, determined to show some of the strength that Doughall believed she had.

“It doesnae fit me properly, Maither,” she said abruptly. “It doesnae flatter me, either. I think ye must’ve given the seamstress Laura’s measurements. As for the color, I’m nae sure who ye were thinkin’ of when ye purchased it, but it wasnae me or me twin.”

The room fell into stunned silence, so deafeningly quiet that Freya could hear the creak of her gown’s seams as she struggled to breathe in and out.

“I beg yer pardon,” Moira croaked, staring at her as if she were a stranger.

“It’s yellow, Maither,” Freya replied, willing her voice not to falter. “Fortunately, it’s nae summer, or else I’d take one step out of this castle and be swarmed by bees thinkin’ they’d found the buttercups.”

Moira’s eyes widened. “Excuse me? I’ll have ye ken that yer braither thinks it’s exquisite.”

“Adam wouldnae ken a roll of silk from a bale of hay,” Freya said, surprised by her increasing sense of calm. “He probably said it was nice so ye’d hurry up instead of demandin’ to see every gown the dressmaker already had made. I could have gone with ye, but nay one thought to ask.”

Isla put a defensive arm around her shoulders. “I’ve got plenty of gowns ye can choose from if ye like? Och, I ken the perfect one!” She hesitated. “But if ye dinnae like that either, we’ll tear this castle apart to find ye a gown worthy of the new Lady MacGordon. And, most importantly, Freya Kane.”

As Isla’s embrace tightened, it took every speck of willpower Freya possessed not to crumble into the older woman’s arms and weep at her kindness. It was all Freya had wanted—some recognition from someone. In truth, she had expected it from Emily, but Emily had been too busy keeping her husband calm.

He cannae have heard about last night, or he’d be hittin’ the roof.

It did seem strange that no one in the room had been told about the events that had unfolded, but Doughall did prefer to do things his way. Maybe he had wanted to keep it quiet to avoid causing unnecessary worry. After all, the threat had been dealt with—what was there to say?

If Doughall hasnae told anyone, I’m nae goin’ to disobey. Nae that wish, anyway.

“Ye will wear the gown that has been bought for ye!” Moira snapped, getting up from the high-backed chair she had been perched on. “Ye’ll be grateful for it, too! I wore a dress in that color when I married yer faither, so if it was good enough for me, it’ll bloody well be good enough for ye.”

Freya smiled sadly at her mother. “Nay, I’d say that’s another reason nae to wear it.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Moira was turning a rather alarming shade of red.

“Ye loved Faither, that cannae be denied.” Freya took a deep breath. “But I dinnae want the kind of marriage that ye had.” Well enough, since I willnae be gettin’ it . “So, I willnae be startin’ the same way.”

Emily turned her face away, her hand flying to her mouth, her shoulders shaking ever so slightly. Isla squeezed Freya’s shoulder and flashed her another wink through the mirror, while Adam and Moira stared dumbfounded.

Seizing her opportunity, Freya gently pulled away from Isla, taking her hand instead. “Would ye show me this gown ye think I might like? After all, we dinnae have much time left to decide, and I dinnae think I’d make the right impression if I showed up to me weddin’ wearin’ nothin’ at all.”

Moira’s horrified gasp followed Freya and Isla out of the room, and though Freya knew that it would come back to bite her later, it might have been one of the most satisfying moments of her life.

The danger had passed, her would-be killer had been dealt with, and the threats against her had been removed—if all she now had to worry about was her mother being offended, she would count herself lucky.

As the day wore on, crawling through the hours into the bronzed hues of sunset, the initial thrill of the morning’s victory had long faded into hand-wringing, heart-racing turmoil.

Moira had, predictably, made a point of avoiding her daughter. Adam and Emily had been similarly absent, and after helping Freya find the perfect gown, Isla had also been called away to attend to her duties.

It was as if the castle had emptied itself of anyone who might be able to distract Freya from the fact that, come tomorrow, she would get married. Even Ersie seemed to have vanished into thin air. As for Doughall, Freya had not expected to see him, considering his parting words to her, so she did not bother to look for him.

“It has finally happened,” she declared to no one at all in the dense silence of the secret library. “Aye, it has finally happened—I cannae read meself into contentment anymore! Nay, I’m… tired of readin’!”

The realization was a devastating one, for most of her life, she had relied on the comfort of books. She could spend days and days devouring epic stories of all kinds and never feel a jot of boredom or like she should do something else, but the anxiety in her soul had won out. It had robbed her of her usual joy.

This is hopeless.

Setting down The Iliad, which had never failed to transport and cheer her up in the past but had become unreadable, she leaned forward and held her head in her hands.

It was too quiet, the serenity of the library allowing her thoughts to become too loud inside her skull. A terrible, jarring, nerve-wracking chain of thoughts that circled around and around until she would have done anything to make them silent.

She was getting married tomorrow, and her family was already planning how swiftly they could leave the festivities. Her beloved sister was nowhere to be found, and her soon-to-be husband wanted nothing to do with her because she had stupidly judged him based on something she had witnessed years ago, without having all the information.

A husband who would never love her, would never give her children, and would likely never change. Now that she knew, to some degree, how wrong she had been about him, the terms of their marriage were becoming even harder to swallow.

He had never been a devil, not really. And worse, it did not matter.

“So, be a good wife. Ask nothin’ more of me than what I have already offered and given.”

His words echoed in her mind, louder than the rest.

“Enough of this,” she hissed to herself, remembering the strength she had mustered while staring at herself in that awful yellow gown. “Dinnae be a mouse. What would a nae-mouse do right now?”

An idea came to her, so vivid and wonderful that she was up on her feet in an instant, knowing exactly where she might go to chase the clamoring thoughts of tomorrow and beyond from her mind. A place where she could just exist in the moment, and potentially tire herself enough to have some sleep that night.

There was just one problem—how was she going to sneak out of the castle without being spotted? For this, she did not want an escort, not even Ersie.

Come on, Freya. Think. What would a nae-mouse do?