Page 24 of Deceived by the Highlander (Daughters of the Isle #2)

A lasdair pressed his forehead against Freyja’s as he sucked elusive air into his lungs. All he could hear was the frenzied hammer of his heart in his ears, as Freyja clung to him as though he was her everything.

Fierce possessiveness burned through him, and he dropped a kiss against her temple. It was only right he was her everything, for she was his, now, and nothing on God’s earth would take her from him.

His Freyja. His bride.

She shuddered, dragging him sharply back to the present. And the precarious position they were in. With more reluctance than the situation warranted, he withdrew from her silken heat, and he swallowed the groan that razed his throat.

He shouldn’t have taken her here in the stables, where anyone might have discovered them. But he didn’t regret it. She was so much more than any of his midnight fantasies had promised, and their marriage couldn’t come soon enough.

I hope ye get what ye deserve from yer subterfuge.

Lamont’s vindictive snarl scraped through his head like the rusted squeal of the door from the old barn where he’d spent bitter winter nights during his childhood. He’d braced himself against Freyja’s inevitable questions, but thank God, she hadn’t mentioned it.

Her legs slid from around his waist, and as her feet hit the floor she swayed, as though she was on the deck of a ship.

He took her hand and pressed it against his chest, and she offered him a small smile.

Her hair was disheveled, her lips swollen from his kisses and a bewitching blush heated her cheeks.

Never in his life had he seen a more captivating sight.

“Are ye all right?” Tenderly, he cradled her face. “Can ye walk?”

“I’m certain I haven’t lost the power to walk, Alasdair Campbell.”

“I have the need to sweep ye into my arms and carry ye back to the stronghold.” He was only half jesting, too.

“Aye, that would raise a few eyebrows.” Then her smile faded. “It feels wrong, feeling like this.”

Hellfire, the last thing he wanted was for her to regret this. “It wasn’t wrong, Freyja. We are to be wed. Ye’re my bride in all but name and we’ll deal with that soon enough.”

Gently, she traced her fingertips over his face. How could such a fleeing touch arouse him so? It took all his willpower not to pull her into his arms and kiss her once again.

“Not that.” Her voice was soft. “Being with ye makes me happy, Alasdair, yet my heart weeps for Afi. It feels wrong to be here with ye, when I’m so sad.”

Relief that she didn’t regret giving herself to him made him strangely lightheaded. He drew in a steadying breath and attempted to straighten her shawl. “If I know anything about Ranulph, it was that he wanted yer happiness above all else.”

It was true. He believed that. But he was also certain Ranulph wouldn’t have approved of what had just occurred. He’d be sure to think Alasdair had taken advantage of Freyja.

But he hadn’t. And neither had he tricked her. His conscience was clear, so why then did a thread of unease lurk in the back of his mind?

“I know he did,” Freyja said, and it took him a moment to understand what she was talking about.

“And I know we always grasp onto life when death’s shadow touches us.

I’ve seen it many times. And yet...” Her voice trailed away, and Alasdair stared at her as an unsavory possibility crawled through his mind.

Had Freyja only responded to his touch as a way to dull the edges of her grief?

“It’s not that.”

“Not what?” God, he didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but this wasn’t how he’d imagined the aftermath of their first time together would unfold.

She cocked her head as though his response made no sense. “Afi’s loss didn’t make me fall into yer arms, Alasdair. I wanted this, with ye.”

He dragged in a long breath and tried to clear his head.

Curse the devil, what was wrong with him?

Freyja was irrevocably his, and her gasps of pleasure still echoed in his ears.

Yet even the fleeting suspicion that she’d not been in full possession of her senses when he’d taken her scraped along his nerves like poisoned thorns.

But his concerns were unfounded. She’d told him so herself. He shook his head at his folly and tucked a curl behind her ear. “I’m glad to hear it. We must make arrangements to wed as soon as possible.”

Concern clouded her eyes. “I know that’s what Afi wanted, but I can’t think of that when we must first put him to rest.”

Her bottom lip wobbled, and he didn’t want to press her, but surely she understood the urgency that they wed without delay. Suppose she’d conceived his bairn?

He wouldn’t risk tarnishing her honor with a delayed marriage. She was a skilled healer, not an ignorant lass, so why hadn’t that possibility occurred to her already?

“I understand,” he assured her. “But Freyja, we—”

The words locked in his throat at the sound of the stable doors creaking open. Freyja darted him an alarmed glance before hastily pulling her shawl over her head, hiding her tangled hair.

Hellfire. He swung about, putting some distance between them, although the very fact they were together in a stall was damning enough.

Maybe he could divert whoever had entered before they saw Freyja, and he marched from the stall, almost tripping over Dubh, only to come face-to-face with Lady Roisin.

She gazed at him, and he had the uncanny certainty she knew exactly what had just transpired between himself and her sister, even though Freyja was out of sight. He cleared his throat and bowed his head. “My lady.”

“I’m looking for my sister. Have ye seen her?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say he hadn’t, when Freyja, with Dubh at her feet, emerged from the stall behind him. Goddamn it, did she have no care for her reputation?

“I’m here, Roisin. Are ye all right?”

Lady Roisin glanced between him and Freyja. With difficulty, he refrained from looking at Freyja himself, in the vain hope that might somehow prove he’d not just taken her maidenhead.

Curse the devil. That was the wrong thing to recall while her sister stood in front of them, no doubt silently judging the pair of them.

“I am.” Lady Roisin shook her head. “I was troubled and needed to find ye.”

“I’m sorry.” Freyja sounded contrite and took her sister’s hands. Should he leave? He felt he should, but he appeared rooted to the spot. It seemed he’d done nothing but intrude in the MacDonalds of Sgur’s private moments of late.

“No, Frey, I’m not troubled for myself. I saw Lamont a while back, and he was deeply affronted, the odious creature.”

Alasdair shot her a startled glance. She’d scarcely spoken a dozen words in his presence before now, and although he barely knew her, he’d not imagined she’d ever voice such a derogatory opinion about anyone out loud, least of all a physician. But then, after all, she was Freyja’s sister.

“He’ll be gone from Kilvenie soon enough.” A thread of bitterness heated Freyja’s voice. “Don’t worry about that.”

“I’m not. And he won’t give ye the chance to dispense with his services, Frey. He’s leaving Rum this very day.”

“Good. No one will weep for his loss. I’ll find a better replacement, and God knows that shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“Aye, but Frey...” Lady Roisin’s voice trailed away, and she gave him an anxious glance.

He wasn’t sure whether to give her a reassuring smile or pretend he was oblivious to the sisters’ conversation.

Thankfully, she didn’t give him the chance to make a choice as she returned her attention to Freyja. “His anger frightens me.”

Freyja wrapped her arm around Lady Roisin’s shoulders. “Ye’ve no need to be afraid of him. He’ll not dare hurt ye. But we’ll warn our people of him, nonetheless.”

“No, ye don’t understand.” Lady Roisin twisted her hands together in clear distress. “’Tis not myself that I’m afraid for. ’Tis ye. I fear what he may do in his anger that Afi chose ye over him.”

“Have no fear of that, Lady Roisin,” he said, unable to remain silent any longer. “I’ll protect Lady Freyja with my life, and ye can rest assured if Lamont threatens her, it will be the last thing he ever does.”

“Lamont won’t do anything.” Freyja dismissed the notion with an expressive wave of her hand.

“He’s full of bilious wind and nothing more.

” She gave her sister a little shake. “Ye must promise me ye’ll think no more of this, ye hear?

And besides, we both know I can take care of myself should the need arise. ”

“The need won’t arise,” he said. “When we are wed, I shall take care of ye and let no one harm ye.”

“Ye have decided then?” Lady Roisin sounded doleful. “I wasn’t certain, even though Afi wanted it so badly.”

Freyja gave him an exasperated look, which took him aback. Why was she irked he’d confirmed their betrothal to Lady Roisin? There was no doubt about it. She’d not only given her word to her grandfather.

She’d given it to him.

“We have,” Freyja confirmed, and he exhaled a relieved breath. For a moment he’d not been certain of her answer. But now she’d told her sister there was surely no way she’d change her mind.

If not for Ranulph’s demise, and the faint threat of Lamont’s wounded pride in some way injuring Freyja, the situation would be amusing. Who would’ve thought a noblewoman would give him such a headache over a simple marriage alliance?

“Ye’ll be leaving the Small Isles?”

“Alasdair cannot leave his fine castle.” She gave him a smile, but it was filled with sadness, and a cursed glimmer of guilt ate through him.

He didn’t know why he felt so wrong-footed whenever this subject was broached.

Women always left their home when they wed.

It wasn’t as though he expected anything outrageous from her, and yet the guilt sat there, like a condemning toad in the back of his mind.

“I know this is yer destiny,” Lady Roisin whispered, and Freyja’s smile vanished.

“What did ye say?” There was a sharp note in her voice, but her sister didn’t appear to notice, or even acknowledge the question.

“But it still grieves me that ye must leave. I don’t know what I’ll do without ye and Isolde.”

“Have ye been discussing this with Amma?”

“No, but there’s nothing to discuss, is there, Frey?”

Freyja tugged her sister close and kissed her forehead, but her gaze clashed with his, and he saw the confusion in her eyes. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve promised to wed Alasdair and I’ll not go back on my word, but how is this following the will of our foremothers?”

“I can’t tell ye things I don’t know. I only feel in my heart ye and Isolde are following the path laid down for ye.”

An eerie shudder inched along his arms. He didn’t know what Lady Roisin was talking about, and he didn’t want to.

All he knew was the memory of their foremothers retained a daunting hold over the MacDonalds of Sgur, and although Freyja had likened it to the pride that caused men to fight to the death to preserve the legacy of their forefathers, he still didn’t see it.

Although he was the reason why Freyja was leaving her beloved Isle, he didn’t want to be painted as the enemy.

“My lady,” he said to Roisin, “I hope ye know ye and Lady Helga will always be more than welcome at Dunochty. ’Tis not my intention to steal Lady Freyja away from her kin.

The Highlands are not so very far from here, after all. ”

Freyja smiled at him, but her sister gave a ragged sigh.

“They are far away enough,” Lady Roisin said. She pulled back from Freyja’s embrace and gazed at her sister. “At least ye’ll be close to Isolde on the mainland.”

This time he kept his mouth shut. To be sure, Dunochty Castle was closer to William and Isolde than Sgur Castle was, but it was still a good day’s ride between them.

“That’s right,” Freyja said. “And when ye visit, we’ll all be together again. It will not be so bad, Roisin, ye’ll see.”

Lady Roisin nodded and Freyja smiled, but Alasdair had the sobering notion that she was trying to persuade herself, more than her sister, of that bright future.

Freyja drew in a great breath and then turned to him. “I must return to the stronghold, Alasdair, and assist Amma. But ye’re right. Once we’ve laid Afi to rest, we’ll arrange our wedding without delay.”

He took her hand and pressed his lips against her knuckles. Their eyes locked for an eternal moment and frustrated lust throbbed through his blood, an inconvenient reminder that he’d have to wait God only knew how long before he could welcome her into his bed.

“I’ll see ye shortly,” he said, and watched as they left the stables.

They couldn’t wed until after Ranulph’s burial. But he had no intention of waiting even a few days before starting the process. First, he needed to send a message to the earl on the next ship to the mainland, to let him know he and Freyja were betrothed.

And then he’d visit the kirk, to arrange their marriage.