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Chapter Six – Freya

My first marriage lasted a sennight.

I wished I could say my visions had not come true, but they had. Swiftly. And violently.

My da did not believe in magic and fearful for our clan, for our survival, had wed me to Donald whilst promising me if Donald ever laid a hand on me again, Da would come for me.

Donald had not believed my vision either.

I wagered Donald would be a believer in my visions now—if he were alive, but he wasn’t, the fool.

Laird MacKinnon had come for me. Just as I had seen. Just as I had said. Old man. Lecher.

He had climbed on top of me and would have taken me as clumsily and thoughtlessly as his son had, but Donald had stumbled into our bedchamber after drinking in the Great Hall half the night. He’d stabbed his da in the heart with a dagger—just as I had told him he would. That was all I had seen transpire with my own two eyes. The rest, I’d heard after I’d managed to escape the castle unnoticed in the uproar. I had intended to try make my way back to my home, to my da’s protection, but there had been no need to make the attempt on my own. Da had sent men for me. They’d met me on the trail I’d been fleeing down.

I sat on my bed, staring at my bedchamber door. I was sick of this room, but Da had ordered me to stay in here as he continued to question each member of our clan, searching for the traitor who had freed the MacDonald “emissary”, as he still erroneously believed Laird MacDonald to have been. I felt guilty about that, but nae so guilty that I had admitted anything. Laird MacDonald had risked himself to help me, the daughter of his enemy, and though I fully believed he had been at my home for nefarious purposes, I did not regret freeing him to save his sister.

I was loyal to my clan, but I’d seen in my mind’s eye how Bran would have tortured Katherine once he retook Eilean Donnan. I could not allow the woman, sister of our enemy or not, to be a casualty of a war she had not started.

So here in my bedchamber I remained, where Da felt I was safest, as he searched for the traitor who didn’t exist and sought my next husband. Da believed in my visions now and had promised this time to allow me to choose a man who’s future I did not fear. I had demanded his vow not to allow Yennifer to threaten to use Vanora to force my hand ever again. He had given it, knowing, I was certain, that I had concluded that there was no choice but to sacrifice myself so the clan would not be destroyed by MacDonald.

My gut twisted at the prospect of another marriage, but Da still needed to protect the clan and win back Eilean Donnan and my own interference had prevented Bran from doing that. I had tried to use my powers to see my da’s future, the course of attack he should take to win the castle on his own, but as Morgana had said, my powers were my curse. I only saw blackness when I looked for visions that might help my clan or myself.

The creak of the door jerked me from my thoughts. The door swung open, and Vanora flounced in, eyes sparkling with mischief and a conspiratorial smile curving up the corners of her mouth. I waved her over with an impatient motion as the guard who had been assigned to watch my door shut it.

Vanora dropped upon my bed, the soft feathers sucking her in and the bed tilting ever so slightly. She held out a sweet treat to me, which I eagerly plucked from her hand and popped into my mouth. Sweets were my weakness. “What is occurring?” I demanded.

“Great lairds have been streaming into the castle all day to make a bid for yer hand! They all wish to wed ye now that word has spread that yer gift of sight is real! Is it nae wonderful? Da has been speaking with lairds all day! Mayhap, ye will get to wed someone ye desire?”

I tugged my hand away. “These men want me to use me,” I muttered. “And this is nae a gift!” I tapped my eyelids. “It’s a curse. I only ever desired to be wanted for myself, and now there is a string of men here who want me for what they hope I can do for them.”

The door swung open with a loud creak, followed by the thud of the guard assigned outside my bedchamber door hitting the ground. And in my doorway a stranger with a shiny bald head and beady, dark eyes appeared. My heart raced at the sight of him, and I scrambled to my feet, pulling my sister behind me. I noticed the unmoving guard outside the doorway, his body sprawled awkwardly on the floor. The stranger’s presence was imposing and unnerving. I caught a whiff of the man—a mix of leather and mead with an underlying hint of something sinister.

As he thudded into the room, my sister’s slight frame trembled against my back as I stood ready to defend us. “Who are ye?” I demanded, my voice catching.

He smiled, displaying rotted teeth that made my stomach clench. “I’m about to be yer husband, lass. ”

I opened my mouth to scream, but he tore across the room, men streaming in behind him, before I could get any words out. He clapped a sweaty palm over my mouth, jerked me to him, and ordered one of his men to contain Vanora. It was a needless order. She dropped into a dead faint before the warrior reached her—ever the skittish cat. My own legs threatened to stop supporting me. When a man wearing the simple unadorned dark brown wool habit of a priest entered my room, my legs did buckle, and my heart plunged.

This was my fault.

I had taken something that was not mine to take, and Morgana’s mama had died because of my thoughtless actions. We had not meant harm, but nor had we thought beyond ourselves. I had wished to control my future, I had wished to wed for love, and now, I could see clearly, those wishes would never come true.

My arm throbbed where the stranger with the rotting teeth gripped it. I would have protested, but if he let me go, I was certain I’d fall. I had no desire to appear weak in this moment. The priest moved to stand directly in front of us. From somewhere deep inside of me, in a reserve of mettle I had not known existed, I found the will to make my legs lock in place as the priest said, “Laird Matheson, are ye ready to begin the ceremony?”

His answer was a grunt, and the priest launched into the vows. My stomach knotted with each word he spoke, and perspiration dampened my back, my underarms, and my upper lip. When Laird Matheson finished his vows, the priest looked to me. I pressed my lips together when asked to repeat my vows, and I glared at Laird Matheson and the priest.

“Ye do nae want to attempt to defy me, lass,” Laird Matheson said .

“I will nae wed ye,” I growled. Where were my da’s men? Why had no one come to save Vanora and myself? I looked to the door, and Lord Matheson chuckled, and at my feet, Vanora moaned and started to stir.

“If ye’re looking for someone to come to yer rescue,” Laird Matheson said, “ye should nae. Yer courtyard and great hall are filled with men vying to wed ye. Yer da is verra busy, meeting with prospective husband’s for ye.”

He would be sitting in his solar, working to make the best alliance for our clan. Meanwhile, I was about to be taken right out from under his nose. A mocking smile curled Laird Matheson’s lips. I suppose my realization of what was happening showed on my face. He gripped my chin, and I drew back, but there was nowhere to go. He had me locked in place. He brought his face a hairsbreadth from mine. “Ye are a beautiful lass. A foolish one, too.”

“And how, pray tell, do ye think me foolish?”

Vanora moaned again, and I willed her to stay silent and still, so that she might be forgotten in this horror. But, of course, she did the opposite. She pushed herself upright, looked up, and opened her mouth, as if to scream, but Laird Matheson barked, “Secure the lass.” The two warriors standing to the right of us had Vanora in their grasp, jerked to her feet, and one smacked a hand over her mouth. Vanora’s eyes went wide, and her arms flailed for a moment, before she was contained.

“Do nae hurt my sister!” I hissed.

“Or what?” Laird Matheson mocked. “What will ye do?”

“I swear to ye,” I seethed, my head pounding with fear and rage, “if ye harm my sister, I’ll kill ye!”

Laird Matheson threw his head back and laughed even as his grip on my chin grew so tight pain danced up the sides of my jaw and made my eyes water. “I’m glad to see ye will be a spitfire wife.” He covered my mouth with his in a hard, punishing kiss. My stomach roiled, and I had to fight the instinct to gag as his hot, wet lips moved against mine.

It was not my first kiss, but it was every bit as unenjoyable as the kisses Donald had forced upon me. I willed a vision to come. Something I could use to convince the man not to wed me, but nothing came. Tears burned my throat, but I swallowed them down, refusing to show weakness. When he broke the kiss, he released my chin and waved a hand at the warrior who was covering Vanora’s mouth. “Put yer dagger to the child’s neck,” Laird Matheson said.

“Nay!” I cried out, trying to jerk out of his grip, but it was useless. Laird Matheson was much stronger than I was.

“Ye will wed me,” he said, his tone unbending, “or I will have my man slit yer sister’s throat. I do nae want to hurt her,” he said. “I only want ye and the power ye will bring me with yer gift to see the future.”

I was a fool. I’d stolen the witch’s goblet and been cursed for it, and then I’d marked myself for ruin when I’d announced it in front of an entire courtyard of people. I’d ensured that a tide of men seeking power would come for me—each believing I could deliver it into their greedy palms.

Laird Matheson’s warrior set the tip of his dagger to Vanora’s smooth, white skin, and within a breath, a drop of blood appeared and rolled down Vanora’s neck. Her frightened gaze met mine and widened with a silent, desperate plea. My thoughts spun chaotically in my head as I tried to find a solution, turning over ideas and discarding them as quick as they came to me.

“I can nae conjure a vision on command!” I said. “I may nae even have one to help ye.”

“Ye’ll conjure one now, or yer sister will die.” He inclined his head toward Vanora, and the man with the dagger at her neck pressed harder, cutting off her air. Her face paled as she gasped for breath, and tears flooded her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She whimpered softly, a sound that tore at my heart. I wanted to rake my nails down Matheson’s face. I wanted to gouge his eyes out. Or gut him with the dagger his man held to my sister’s neck. I wanted to gut him with my own bare hands.

Instead, I placed a palm on his cheek and concentrated with all my might. Visions danced on the edge of my mind, but none were clear. Fog clouded everything. I forced myself to breathe slowly. Cool air moved in and out of my nostrils. I blocked all noise except the beats of my heart. Thump. Thump. Thump . The fog lifted slightly. Out of the darkness, an image formed, then two, then three. My head throbbed, but more visions cleared the canvas of my mind until I saw five images.

I met Laird Matheson’s gaze. “The Campbells will attack yer castle. Raise the bridge. Boil sludge and burn the men attempting to scale yer wall. Then ye will be the victor.” A wave of exhaustion hit me, and I started to move my palm, but Laird Matheson grabbed me in an unrelenting hold.

“What else?” he demanded.

I stared into his eyes as disgust curled in my belly. Greed was the fastest downfall of any man. I did not need to put my palm back on his cheek. Another vision hit me in the gut. “Ye will ride through the mist the night the battle is over to see yer lover—wife of Laird Campbell. If ye do this, ye will ride off a cliff to yer death.”

“Do nae give me lies because ye worry I’ll give attention to another.”

“I welcome yer turning yer attentions to another,” I flung out, which got me slapped. The hit was hard and sent my head in the other direction and put unwanted tears in my eyes. I blinked them away before I turned my face to his. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. He’d split my lip. “If ye do nae heed me, ye will die.”

“I do nae believe ye.” He slapped me again, first one side of the face, then the other. The sharp crack echoed in my ears and wobbled the floor beneath me. More tears blurred my vision, but I would not let them fall. I blinked rapidly and saw Vanora. The knife had pricked her neck, a single drop of blood running down her skin. I gasped.

“Will the blood ye see next be dripping from her lifeless body?” Matheson pushed me away with a cruel smile.

I looked at Vanora, remembering the time we were small and she sliced her arm open. I pestered the healer until she taught me how to dress the wound and kept it up long after Vanora had grown tired of the whole ordeal. I could not lose her. When I did not speak, Matheson drew his hand back to slap me again.

“Ye do nae strike fear in me with yer bluster!” The words exploded from my mouth.

His face hardened at my words, and he struck me once more. This time, my knees buckled. I fell, catching myself on my hands and knees. I breathed in through my nose, the floorboards just below them. I forced myself to stand, and when I straightened up to look at him, I saw more clearly this time. Blood flowed freely down Vanora’s neck, and the fear on her face sent a sharp pain through my heart.

“I’ll wed ye,” I blurted. I had no other choice. But at least I knew this smug man would soon be dead. “Ye do nae believe me now,” I said, my voice hoarse. “But ye will.”

He chuckled and signaled toward the man with the dagger. “We shall see if ye speak truth.” The man pulled the knife away from my sister’s neck. Matheson nodded once more, and I felt a sharp tug on my arms. Two men dragged me from the room, Vanora soon following.