Chapter 6

6

“ Y e are mine to command for the next month,” he growled.

Freya’s heart pounded in her chest as she stood before him, flush with anger. But it wasn’t just the anger that had her blood boiling. Her skin tingled, betraying her, making her aware of every shift in the air, every movement that he made.

It drove her mad—the way her body seemed to respond to this brute. He was a cold, callous man, and yet she could not deny it; there was a pull drawing her in more and more with each frustrating moment she spent near him.

She clenched her fists, willing herself to stay in control as she watched him. The firelight flickered, casting shadows that moved around the room, like spectators eager to get a closer look.

His eyes locked onto hers. “And I willnae allow this behavior again.”

His to command?

Her skin prickled, heat rising in her cheeks and chest at the words, though she tried to convince herself that it was something else simmering within her.

Freya lifted her chin, refusing to step down. “Ye willnae allow me to speak me mind?” Her voice came out sharper than she had intended, but she found she did not care.

He needed to know that she wasn’t some meek, obedient woman he could order about.

Doughall furrowed his brow slightly, his gaze intense as he studied her. “Is that what it was?” His voice dripped with condescension, almost mocking her. “To me, it looked more like ye just wanted to be a hellion, a fool.”

Freya’s temper flared again, her chest rising and falling.

“I dinnae want this any more than ye do,” he continued, his voice as cold as the stone walls around them. “But until we kill the last of yer attackers, we dinnae have much of a choice. If ye cannae see that, then ye’re twice the fool.”

His words hung in the air, reminding her that she was almost killed— and there was a chance that she was still in danger. But the way he said it, as if he was doing her a favor, only fueled her resentment.

“So what?” she hissed. “Am I to never speak another word again? Would ye prefer to gag me, to make it easier?”

Doughall’s gaze darkened, a shadow of something unspoken passing over his face. He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming, the space between them shrinking with each breath.

His voice was a dangerous murmur. “Dinnae tempt me.”

Her breath hitched at the response, her pulse quickening. She tried to ignore the way his words sent a shiver down her spine, the way her body betrayed her mind. Whatever this was between them, whatever he stirred within her, she hated it… and craved it all at once.

He was too close now; she could feel the heat radiating from him.

“Be a good lass,” he said, his voice softening slightly, though the command did not waver. “And this month will pass quickly.”

“And if I disobey ye?”

His gaze burned into hers, his jaw tightening slightly before he spoke. “Disobey me,” he said evenly, “and ye will be punished.”

Punished . The word sent a shiver—of fear or delight, she couldn’t be sure—through her.

Freya swallowed hard, willing herself not to react, not to give him the satisfaction of knowing how his mere words affected her. But her voice betrayed her, quivering slightly when she spoke. “Punished?”

“Aye,” he said. “And ye should pray I never have to.”

The weight of those words pressed down on her, heavier and heavier as they settled in her mind. She needed to regain control, at least over her heartbeat. He did not have that kind of power over her. He could not. She chose to be a lady, but she wasn’t some weak-willed woman who would be brought to her knees by a man’s command, no matter how imposing he might be.

For a moment, the tension between them seemed to break, and Freya took that chance to turn on her heel, moving for the door. She needed to leave, to get far away from him, from this room. She needed to breathe.

As she reached for the handle, she thought she heard something— something soft and low like a chuckle. She almost stopped, almost dared to look back over her shoulder at the man.

It could not have been Doughall. He did not smile, he did not laugh. There was no emotion in that man that wasn’t cruel, hard, or cold.

I must be hearing things.

Her heart was still racing as she made her way out and down the corridor, her hands trembling slightly at her sides.

Calm down, calm yerself.

Her skin was still flushed.

Damn him.

She did not want to admit it, but his words kept replaying in her mind. She could still feel his presence, the way his hand had felt on her wrist. The way his voice, deep and commanding, made her want to obey. She hated it.

When she finally reached her chambers, the warmth of the fire greeted her like an embrace. Freya slumped against the door, letting out the breath she had been holding. Her mind was racing with thoughts of him, of anger and frustration. And of something else.

It only took her a moment to realize that she wasn’t alone.

Standing in the corner, a basin between her hands, was the maid who had shown her to her room when they had arrived. They started, both surprised to see each other.

“What was yer name again?” Freya asked.

The maid blinked. “Ealasaid, M’Lady.”

The maid had introduced herself earlier, but in the haze of her arrival, Freya had forgotten quickly.

She straightened and offered the maid a small smile. “Would ye help me change? I am tired.”

She sighed. She was tired, that much was true. The journey, the day, and the encounter with Doughall had worn her out.

Ealasaid helped her change into a nightdress, and even went so far as to brush and braid her hair, before leaving her for the night. Alone, at last, Freya found herself sprawled across an unfamiliar bed.

The room was larger than her own, though it was decorated rather plainly. There was a warmth to it. The simplicity had a charm that she found comforting. It would do, for now, until she could find herself back at MacNiall Castle—in her room, with her belongings.

“One month,” she told herself.

One month of being near him, of obeying his orders…

I dinnae ken if I can do this.

Sinking into the mattress, she stared up at the dark canopy above. The tension from the day coiled tightly inside her, refusing to unravel. She wanted to but could not stop thinking about Doughall—the way his eyes had darkened in the study, the unmistakable heat between them.

For a fleeting moment, there in the study, she had thought… no, hoped that he would kiss her. The very idea made her stomach flip, and she rolled over, hoping the thought would vanish. But her cheeks burned once more, and all she could do was bury her face in a pillow.

He wouldnae.

Doughall was cold, a man with no time for anything other than inspiring fear and maintaining control. He wasn’t the kind of man to kiss her out of desire—he probably did not desire her at all.

And I dinnae want him to. It’s the fact that he saved me from death that’s muddlin’ me mind.

She groaned in frustration, rolling over again. Closing her eyes, she willed her mind to quieten so she could fall asleep. The firelight flickered behind her lids, and his voice echoed from some dark part of her mind.

Ye are mine to command.