Page 45 of Deceived by the Highlander (Daughters of the Isle #2)

A lasdair pulled his sword free and watched the life drain from Colban MacDonald’s eyes.

With their leader dead, it was doubtful the men he’d gathered would pose any danger, and besides they would be long gone from the tavern by now, since clearly Freyja’s sleeping draught hadn’t kept them unconscious for as long as she’d anticipated.

But he fully intended to see Colban’s cousin, Peter, brought to justice.

Freyja would never be threatened again, and he released a jagged sigh of relief that in this, at least, he had not failed her.

They’d pile the bodies onto the horses and return to Dunochty where he’d send the earl another message. But more important than that, he would speak to Freyja.

The way she’d greeted him on the road earlier had given him a flicker of hope that all was not lost between them.

He hoped to God he hadn’t imagined the concern in her eyes for his safety when he’d told her he was riding to the tavern.

He couldn’t wait to get back to her. He might even catch up with her on the road before she reached the castle.

He swung about, anticipation and hope that his future might not be as bleak as he’d feared only this morning pounding through him, and then froze at the sight of Freyja in the clutches of a mad-eyed Lamont.

Christ, no. His heart thundered in his ears, momentarily drowning out every other sound, and for a terrifying moment the world blurred. Why is she here?

She was supposed to be safe from harm, on her way to Dunochty. But the question didn’t matter. She was here. And she’d been captured by Lamont.

“We meet again, Alasdair Campbell.” Contempt dripped from every word, and without taking his eyes off the physician, Alasdair dismounted, placed his sword on the ground, and raised his hands.

His dagger remained hidden, and if he could just get close enough without rousing the other man’s suspicions, he’d take him out like a mad dog.

“Lamont. Release Lady Freyja. Whatever it is ye want, we can talk about it like civilized men.” He took another step closer until he was standing next to Clyde, who had also dismounted.

“Civilized? Campbells don’t know the meaning of the word.

As for ye, ye’re not fit to lick my boots.

” The poisonous gleam in the physician’s eyes chilled him to the bone.

He well remembered their confrontation in the stables, just after Ranulph had died, when he’d warned Lamont to never speak so disrespectfully about Freyja again.

When he’d told the other man he wasn’t fit to wipe her boots.

It seemed Lamont hadn’t forgotten, either. Christ, was this some kind of twisted retribution because he’d defended Freyja against the physician’s slander?

“I know all about ye,” Lamont continued, “and ye’re nothing but a bastard to yer core. Even yer own father couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge ye.”

He’d had far worse insults thrown at his head, and while he’d never wanted Freyja to know the truth about his past, it no longer mattered. Nothing mattered except getting her away from Lamont before he injured her.

Or worse.

No. He wouldn’t think about that.

“Were ye working for Colban, Lamont?” Freyja said as her gaze caught his, and when Lamont’s attention wavered from him, he understood what she was doing. As one, he and Clyde stealthily moved forward another step as the physician glared at Freyja’s head where he grasped her hair.

“Working for that pup? Don’t insult my intelligence.

I’ve known his father since we were lads, and I stayed with him after ye killed Ranulph with yer primitive concoctions.

Colban was still so infatuated with ye even after ye wed Campbell, it was clear he intended to have ye one way or another.

Not that his father realized. I’ve been biding my time with Colban these last few weeks, and it’s fortunate my men and I found him where ye’d tied him up.

At least the MacDonalds of Tarnford Castle know a woman’s proper place, and it isn’t meddling in affairs she should leave to her betters. ”

Alasdair kept his mouth shut but only because it was clear Lamont was mad, and the slightest word might push him over the edge. If he pushed that blade into Freyja’s neck, nothing would be able to save her.

“I didn’t kill my grandfather, and ye know it.”

He and Clyde inched forward since Lamont was fully focused on Freyja, but even though he knew what she was doing, he wished she wouldn’t provoke the physician.

Lamont bared his teeth. Alasdair had the surreal sensation the other man had forgotten he and Clyde even existed.

“I know what I know.”

Lamont didn’t raise his voice, but an eerie shudder skittered along his spine at the man’s tone. Freyja was barely a horse length from him now. All he needed was another moment and he’d reach her.

“Ye and yer wretched foremothers, polluting the Small Isles with yer evil ideas for generations. I know what ye are, Lady Freyja of Sgur Castle.” He released her hair and drew back his hand that held the dagger. “ Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. ”

It all happened so fast. As he lunged forward, Freyja twisted around, dipping low, before springing up and smashing the underside of Lamont’s jaw with the palm of her hand. The physician reeled and Clyde pulled Freyja to safety as Alasdair pulled out his dagger.

He ducked to avoid Lamont’s frenzied attack, before spying an opening and plunging his blade deep into the other man’s heart.

*

By the time Alasdair and Clyde had gathered the bodies and secured them to the horses to take back to Dunochty, Freyja had tended to their wounded man whose arm was now in a sling.

He raked his fingers through his hair as he watched her close her satchel, but all he could see in his mind’s eye was how Lamont had wrenched her head back, and the gleam of his dagger as he’d held it against her neck. He doubted he’d ever forget the cold terror that had gripped him at the image.

Freyja glanced up at him and their gazes meshed. Now the aftermath of the skirmish had been cleared up, he had no excuse not to talk to her, but even now the words wouldn’t come.

He dragged in a deep breath. There was one thing that required no words, and he pulled out the letter he’d written her in the early hours of this morning. Was it really only this morning? It felt like a lifetime ago.

“Freyja,” he said, but he got no further as she pressed her hand against his chest, and he damn well forgot how to breathe.

“Alasdair, ’tis not true.” Urgency thrummed through each word, and he nodded, even though he had no idea what she was talking about. “My foremothers weren’t witches. I’m—I’m not a witch. There are no such things as witches.”

Bemused, he gazed at her. “I know that.”

She released a ragged sigh. “I was certain ye did. Ye’re not driven by wild superstitions like some. But Lamont—”

“Never think of Lamont again. He’d lost his mind, Freyja. Ye must know that.”

She didn’t look convinced. “He’s always believed these things. But I’d never harm anyone with my knowledge, Alasdair. That is not a healer’s way.”

Before he could stop himself, he took her hands.

“Ye’re truly the most talented healer I’ve ever encountered.

” He recalled the medical books he’d wanted to give her.

If they had arrived before she’d read Ranulph’s letter, would that have been enough for her to understand how deeply he admired her?

“Lamont’s evil will never touch ye again, and neither will Colban or his kin. ”

She gazed at him, her blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and he wanted to kill both of those bastards all over again for causing his brave wife a moment’s fear.

Yet as those images unfolded once again in his mind, a realization struck.

It would have been far harder to rescue Freyja without harm, had she not managed to shove Lamont back.

“How did ye know how to escape his clutches, Freyja? ’Twas an impressive move, I must confess.”

“Oh.” She gave a small smile. “Isolde showed me. ’Tis not simply the sword she is proficient with.”

“Thank God,” he said with feeling. Silence fell between them, and with Clyde standing grimly behind Freyja, and their injured man slumped over his horse, he could scarcely tell her how much he wanted to make amends for the past. Instead, he released her hands and handed her the letter.

She frowned at it in evident confusion before breaking the seal and reading the contents, while he stood like a dumbstruck fool, waiting for her reaction.

Her confusion transfigured into shock, and she looked up at him. He offered her a smile that hurt every muscle in his face.

“Ye’re granting me custodianship of Kilvenie?” Her voice was hushed as though she didn’t believe the evidence of her own eyes. “Ye haven’t spoken to the earl of this, have ye?”

“Aye, I’m granting ye custodianship. And no, the earl knows nothing of this.”

She looked back at the letter and swallowed. “I didn’t expect this. I am not certain what to say.”

“Well,” he said before he could think better of it, “that’s a first.”

She gave a small laugh and his heart lightened at the sound. “Freyja—”

“We should return to Dunochty.” Clyde cast a dark glance between him and Freyja, and even though it seemed Clyde was always interrupting them at the worst possible moments, Alasdair couldn’t disagree with his sentiments.

They needed to return to the castle so this mess could be dealt with.