Page 37 of Deceived by the Highlander (Daughters of the Isle #2)

C hrist, no.

Like a condemned man, Alasdair’s gaze fixed on the letter Freyja held. She knew the earl had sent him to Rum to wed her.

The air grew heavy and it was hard to breathe, but maybe that was simply the guilt he carried inside eating him alive. She didn’t speak, didn’t accuse him of anything, but she didn’t have to.

The pain in her beautiful blue eyes told him everything.

He released a harsh breath and took another step closer. Once he explained how he’d wanted her from the moment he’d met her, she’d understand. God, surely she would understand.

She straightened her shoulders, and her gaze turned glacial, halting him in his tracks.

“Freyja.” His voice was hoarse. “Ye found Ranulph’s letter.”

What the hell was he saying? He sounded as though he accused her of something. But the truth was far worse. Because he, who had spent all his life saying the right things at the right time, didn’t have the first idea what to tell her to make this horror disappear.

“I wasn’t spying, Alasdair.” Ice coated every word. “Yer leather pouch tore and I intended to mend it.”

“I know ye weren’t spying.” And now he sounded affronted when all he wanted was to find the words to convince her that the letter she had just read wasn’t the full truth. “Freyja, listen to me. This isn’t what ye think.”

She smoothed the crumpled letter on her lap with slow, deliberate strokes, and somehow that was far worse than if she’d spat venom in his face.

“So the earl, yer half-brother, didn’t send ye to Rum to entrap me in marriage to stake a claim on Kilvenie Tower?”

He raked his fingers through his hair and cursed his negligence in leaving the letter where it could so easily be found.

During the last few weeks, he’d convinced himself the circumstances surrounding their marriage were not so bad, but hearing her utter the bald truth out loud was so much worse than anything he’d imagined.

“It wasn’t like that.” Not from the moment he’d discovered who she was. But at Castle Campbell, when Archibald had given him this mission, it had been exactly like that. “Ye’re the only one I’ve ever wanted, Freyja.”

“I’ve no use for yer honeyed tongue, Alasdair. It means nothing to me. If ye knew me at all, ye’d know it’s the unvarnished truth I want, not pretty lies.”

Aye, by God, he knew that about her. He’d known it from the start, when he first found out who she was and had told her how much better it was to tell the truth rather than keep secrets and lies for fear of causing offense.

Her response had stayed with him, a prickle in the back of his mind, no matter how hard he’d tried to ignore it.

“I’d far rather face an unfortunate truth than be victim of a pretty lie.”

He hadn’t seen her as a victim. He still didn’t. But it didn’t change the fact he’d kept the truth from her. But of one thing he wasn’t guilty. “I never lied to ye, Freyja.”

For the first time, anger flashed in her eyes, and she surged to her feet, the letter floating to the floor, forgotten.

“Ye lied to me from the moment we met. The only reason ye sought out my company was because yer precious earl demanded it from ye.”

“No. When I first met ye in the stables, I had no idea who ye were. Ye bedazzled and intrigued me from that moment, and that’s God’s honest truth. When I found out yer name, it seemed like fate, and that had nothing to do with the earl.”

She scoffed. “Spare me yer flattery. How many years did ye and yer half-brother plan this? Were ye just waiting for my grandfather to fail before ye struck?”

Her accusation speared through him, sharper than a blade. He wanted to deny every word, yet the truth was he had no idea how long the earl had planned this. But at least he could answer for himself.

“I knew nothing of this until the earl confided in me, a week before I arrived on Rum. Freyja, ye must understand. I didn’t know ye then, and I didn’t know Ranulph. The earl swore me to silence, and he has my fealty. How could I have told ye his plans without betraying his confidence?”

“So ye betrayed my trust instead.”

“I cannot change the past. No one can.” And if he could, would he? Would she have still wed him if he’d told her the truth from the start?

He’d been so convinced that she wouldn’t. But maybe he’d been wrong. Yet if she’d refused him, they wouldn’t have shared these last few weeks together, and even if it damned him to hell, he knew he would’ve done anything to ensure he had, at least, those memories.

“I thought ye were so noble.” Her voice cracked and it was like a blow to his heart. “Agreeing to Afi’s outrageous request. But I didn’t see the truth. It wasn’t what he wanted. ’Twas your plan all along to force me into marriage.”

Her accusation burned through him, even though he deserved it. The earl had wanted Kilvenie, whatever it took. And if he hadn’t obtained it through a peaceful marriage alliance when Alasdair had married Freyja, he would’ve found another way.

And Ranulph knew that. But still he hadn’t agreed to force Freyja’s hand. Until death had loomed over his shoulder, and he hadn’t wanted to leave Freyja unprotected.

Aye, the truth was he deserved her condemnation. But the knowledge of how she now despised him pierced him to his core.

“Is that what ye think of me?” His voice was hushed, and his gut knotted at the prospect that Freyja, his Freyja, could think so ill of him.

Something flickered over her face. Regret? Despair? He couldn’t tell, and it was gone so fast perhaps he’d merely imagined it after all.

“I don’t know what to think of ye.” There was no mistaking the anguish that threaded through each word and lacerated his soul. “I thought ye were so keen to wed because ye cared for me. Because ye wanted our life together to start as soon as possible. What a damn fool I’ve been.”

“Ye’re not a fool.” Goddam it, how could he make her see that, however shadowed his reasons had been for going to Rum, nothing about their life together was a sham? “I do care about ye. I always have. And that’s why I wanted to marry ye as soon as possible.”

“Are ye sure it’s me ye care about?” Bitterness shivered through her words.

“Or were ye more concerned about Kilvenie slipping through yer fingers?” She swept her hand around, encompassing the bedchamber.

“Or maybe it was Dunochty ye feared losing? I overheard Mistress Campbell telling ye she suspected yer castle and I were connected, and we are, aren’t we?

I’m the reason the earl bestowed ye Dunochty. ”

He recalled that conversation with his mother.

He’d hoped Freyja hadn’t overheard and when she hadn’t remarked on it later that day, he’d been thankful.

But she had heard. And she’d pieced the truth together.

He could say nothing. But she already knew the castle was a new acquisition, and if he didn’t tell her the truth now, she would only think the worst of him.

“Ye’ve seen the manor. ’Tis in no fit state for a lady such as yerself.

” He swallowed the rest of his explanation when she made a sound of disgust. There was no help for it.

She wasn’t the kind of woman who wanted the hard truth interwoven with sweet-smelling honeysuckle.

He sucked in a deep breath. “What I said is true. And the earl knew it. But aye, he bestowed Dunochty as a wedding gift, and that’s the reason why I hadn’t found the time to ensure the castle was running as it should have been before we arrived here. ”

“What a grand prize I was. Kilvenie Tower and Dunochty Castle in one fell swoop. Is that why ye coerced me when I was at my most vulnerable, Alasdair, as a way to ensure I couldn’t change my mind and ye wouldn’t lose yer fine estates?”

He reeled at her accusation, denial and horror intermingling deep inside his chest like a malevolent canker. That she could even think such a thing, let alone throw it in his face.

He hadn’t forced her. He would never force her, even if his life depended on it. But her scathing words echoed in his head, regardless.

Christ, was that really what she thought?

Is that what I did?

Acid scalded his throat as guilt ripped through him, charring his heart.

Archibald’s orders had been clear. Before he’d arrived on Rum, Alasdair had been willing to seduce Freyja to secure her hand and ensure the earl claimed Kilvenie.

But even then, before he had met her, he would never have forced her. He would never force any woman.

But now, confronted by the anger in Freyja’s beautiful blue eyes, his convictions withered to dust. Even though, in the stables, he hadn’t planned to seduce her, it didn’t negate the fact that, when he’d first met her, seduction had been in the back of his mind.

She glared at him, as though his silence was somehow a reflection of his guilt. “Do ye have nothing to say, Alasdair?”

Quick thinking and pleasing words had been the backbone of his life for as long as he could remember. He’d learned when he was still a young lad it was the best way to distract his mother when her resentful eyes had fallen upon him. It had become a habit without him even realizing it.

But he understood it now for what it was. Not that it mattered. Freyja was not his mother, and he didn’t want her to see a pale facade of the man he really was.

Yet the man she saw when she looked at him was one she believed would force her against her will. He was sickened to his soul and had no more pretty words left inside him.

“Well?” Her demand rattled through his head, and he forced himself to look her in the eyes. Her bonny eyes, that had once looked at him with such affection.

“We’ll discuss this when I return from Edinburgh.” He sounded as though they were discussing the weather. Thank God she couldn’t see how his heart cracked inside his chest.

“Ye’re still going to Edinburgh?” Incredulity pulsed through every word.

“Aye. The earl commands it.” Was that a trace of bitterness in his voice? He scarcely cared. Whenever Archibald had summoned him, he’d dropped everything without a second thought to be by his side. It was the way it had always been, and always would be.

But he’d never experienced this thread of resentment before.

“Oh, of course.” Derision dripped from every word. “Ye cannot possibly ignore the earl’s summons. Go, then. Accept his pox-ridden barony since that’s all ye care about, but I won’t forget this, Alasdair Campbell. Ye can be sure of that.”

“I’m not asking ye to forget about it. I’m asking ye to give me a chance to explain when I get back. Is that too much to ask?”

“There’s more to explain?”

He couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t damn him further in her eyes, but there had to be something that would make her see their marriage wasn’t the lie she thought it was. With three weeks apart, surely he’d find the right words so she’d understand.

He had no choice but to leave, yet every instinct he possessed pounded through him to go to her and pull her into his arms. To beg her forgiveness and tell her—

God help him, why was it so hard to tell her how much he loved her?

But the prospect of spilling his heart at her feet and having her crush it with cold disdain was too great a risk.

But even worse than that was the fear she wouldn’t believe him.

“Aye. We’ll speak when I return.” Somehow he managed to sound as though this conversation wasn’t ripping him apart, and since he couldn’t trust himself not to kiss her farewell if he stayed a moment longer, he gave a sharp bow of his head before swinging on his heel and marching from the chamber.

When the door closed behind him, he leaned his back against it and screwed his eyes shut. All would be well. He had to believe that.

The alternative was too bleak to even consider.