Page 21 of Deceived by the Highlander (Daughters of the Isle #2)
L ady Helga and Miles returned to the stronghold, but Freyja remained, which Alasdair took as a good sign.
If her grandmother disapproved of Ranulph’s wish, he had no doubt she’d do everything in her considerable power to prevent it, which wouldn’t include allowing her granddaughter to spend unchaperoned time with him.
“Ye waited,” she said, by way of greeting.
“I said I would. I’m a man of my word, Freyja.”
“What did Miles want?” She glanced over her shoulder, as the steward followed Lady Helga inside.
Hellfire. For a moment, all his mind conjured up was the letter from Ranulph, but he had no intention of telling her about that, yet.
Freyja turned her curious gaze to him, and he released a harsh breath. Since he had no intention of lying to her, he might as well tell her the truth. “He threatened to come for me if I ever made ye unhappy.”
“Ye poor man. Ye’re truly having a day of it, aren’t ye?” She shook her head. “I apologize on his behalf. But also ye should know if there’s any threatening to be done, I’m more than able to do that myself.”
He returned her smile, since she clearly expected it, but unease stirred deep inside. He knew damn well why Miles had spoken to him. Ranulph had certainly shared with his friend the true reason why Alasdair had traveled to Rum, and this was Miles’ way of letting him know he knew the truth.
“Don’t apologize.” His voice was gruff. “He cares for ye, and that’s a grand thing.”
Her smile faded. “Aye, he does. And I love him dearly. Maybe it’s a strange thing for a Highlander to understand, but I’ve never thought about leaving the Small Isles or the people that live here. I always took it for granted I’d live and die at Sgur, the way my foremothers have for generations.”
He took her hand, and her fingers clasped his.
Such a small gesture, yet it touched something deep inside his chest that he’d scarcely even known existed until now.
“Leaving Sgur doesn’t mean ye’ll never return to visit, Freyja.
I know ’tis not the same, but ye speak as though should ye agree to be my wife, ye’ll never see yer loved ones again. ”
“Ye’re right. It won’t be the same.”
“I’ve heard ’tis good to try new things.”
“Have ye, now? It seems to me if we go ahead with this, it is I who will be doing all the new things.”
“Not so. I’ve never been wed before, and the prospect is daunting.”
“Daunting?” There was a thread of amusement in her voice. “Am I that formidable, then?”
“Without doubt, ye’re the most formidable woman I’ve ever met. Although I confess, Lady Helga is a close second.”
She laughed at that, and the traces of worry that had clouded her face since Ranulph’s collapse momentarily faded. “’Tis true, the women of Sgur are renowned for it.”
“I’m confident I can handle anything ye throw at me.” Although he grinned at her, disquiet whispered in the back of his mind. How would he handle it when she discovered the truth of why Ranulph had made the decision to choose him as her intended husband, and threw that in his face?
“I’m sure ye are.” Then her smile faded into a frown.
“’Tis just occurred to me that ye might not be aware, but Kilvenie Tower will come to me when Afi passes.
He had only one son, and when my father died, Afi told me I would be the next custodian of his estate.
Isolde was always going to inherit Sgur Castle, although now I’m not certain what will happen.
” Her voice trailed away, and she bit her lip as uncertainty glazed her eyes.
He didn’t want her to think he was in ignorance of her inheritance. “Freyja, I—”
“Frey.” Lady Roisin’s urgent call cut him off, and he and Freyja turned to see her younger sister rushing towards them. Freyja sucked in a sharp breath and as Lady Roisin halted in front of them, she took her sister’s hands. Tears filled Lady Roisin’s eyes as she gasped, “Ye must come quickly.”
Freyja glanced at him and the inevitability he saw in her eyes pierced through him like a blade. “Do ye want me to come with ye?”
She gave a brief nod before wrapping her arm around her sister’s shoulders, and they made their way back to the stronghold.
They entered Ranulph’s chamber. Lady Helga and Miles stood on one side of the bed, and on the other side of the bed stood the chaplain. In the corner of the chamber Lamont loomed, a stony expression on his face.
Ranulph lay in the bed, his hands folded on his chest, unmoving. God, he hoped they weren’t too late. Freyja would never forgive herself if she wasn’t by her grandfather’s side at the end.
“Afi.” Her voice was hushed, and before he could think better of it, he stroked his fingers over her shoulder in a comforting gesture. If only there was something more he could do.
Ranulph’s fingers twitched, and he opened his eyes. “Freyja.”
Freyja shuddered before she released her sister and went over to the bed and gently placed her hand over his. “I’m here, Afi.”
“Promise me.” His rasping voice scraped along Alasdair’s senses. He shouldn’t be here at this private time, and yet he could hardly leave when it seemed both Freyja and Ranulph wanted him here.
“Afi, please.” Tears choked Freyja’s words, and he had to forcibly stop himself from going to her. Now wasn’t the time. But God, he couldn’t bear to see her so distressed.
“Ye must give me yer word that ye’ll wed Alasdair Campbell.”
He was so close to achieving the earl’s objective in sending him to Rum. Why then did he have the disquieting urge to sink through the floor?
“I’m—”
“No.” Ranulph’s surprisingly strong denial echoed around the chamber. “I must have peace, Freyja. I must know ye are going to be safe. Promise me on the bloodline of yer foremothers that ye’ll wed Alasdair as soon as it can be arranged.”
“I promise,” she whispered, and the words thundered around his mind, gaining momentum as though he was in a vast, echoing cave. Yet it wasn’t triumph that clutched his heart. It was an overwhelming sensation of suffocation, of something off-kilter.
He didn’t want Freyja forced into this marriage. Even though, after speaking with her grandmother, she had seemed more open to the idea she hadn’t categorically accepted the proposal. Without Ranulph forcing the issue, how else would he win her?
Ranulph released a wheezing breath, and his shaking fingers cupped her cheek.
“Never let yer light dim, my sweet lass. Ye filled my heart with sunlight from the day ye were born.” He reached out to Lady Roisin, who took his hand as he transferred his gaze to her.
“All of my bonny lasses. My three pearls.” And then he once again looked at Freyja.
“Don’t weep for me. ’Tis my time to go and I’m content. God bless ye, my clever bairn.”
It wasn’t the first time Alasdair had been in the presence of death. Several times during the last few years he’d fought for the earl against the MacGregors, clan Campbell’s sworn enemies, and in the haze of blood and mud it was a case of kill or be killed.
He’d never experienced anything like this, though.
His stepfather had died two years ago when Alasdair had been accompanying the earl while he surveyed his many castles and fortifications throughout Argyll.
A messenger had eventually conveyed the news to him, and upon his return to the manor, his mother’s only concern was that Alasdair might now ensure the roof was repaired.
But here, in this chamber, a deep sense of grief wrapped around him as Freyja and Lady Roisin lay their heads on Ranulph’s chest in a gesture that conveyed, more than words ever could, how dearly they loved him.
Lady Helga clasped her hands together and bowed her head as the chaplain murmured prayers, and Ranulph’s hound, Ban, let out a mournful howl.
Unobtrusively, he tried to clear the obstruction in his throat. Goddamn it. He’d only known the man for a matter of days, and yet his death affected him more than his own stepfather’s had, and he’d known him all his life.
But then, Ranulph had never thrown him against a wall in a drunken rage or made him sleep in a broken-down barn in the depths of winter when he’d been a small lad, had he?
Brutally, he pushed the unwelcome memories to the darkest corner of his mind, where they belonged. He’d never be that fearful bairn again. Not now he was one of the earl’s most trusted warriors. Not when he was soon to be master of Dunochty Castle, with Freyja as his incomparable bride.
Not when he could glimpse his barony on the far horizon.
Miles came to his side, sorrow wreathing his features.
“Out.” Miles’ voice was gruff, and after glancing at Freyja, who still clasped her grandfather’s hand as though she would never let him go, he bowed his head and followed Miles from the chamber.
Lamont brought up the rear and closed the door behind them. Unease shifted through him, and he turned to Miles. “I should be with Lady Freyja.”
“’Tis the women’s time,” Miles said. “Lady Freyja will find ye when she needs ye.”
He understood. There were rituals that needed to be done now Ranulph had died, and there was no place for an outsider such as himself. Yet he couldn’t shift the feeling he’d abandoned Freyja when she needed him the most.
With a brusque nod, he went downstairs and left the stronghold. As he stood in the courtyard and sucked air into his lungs, Freyja’s response to Ranulph’s insistence that she wed as soon as possible thundered around his mind.
“I promise.”
They were betrothed. He should send word to the earl to let him know his mission had been accomplished. But somehow that was less important than seeing Freyja again, to make sure that this was what she wanted.
He shook his head, but it didn’t help clear his fogged mind. Ahead of him were the stables, and inexplicably he had the urge to enter them, to be in the place where he had first met her, before he even knew who she was.