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Chapter Eight – Freya

The laird hunting me and his men caught us at the edge of the path to Morgana’s cave.

I could see the cave at the top of the ice path. Once we were there, I was going to beg her to take away this curse. And if she refused then Vanora and I would head quickly home. I stepped a tentative foot on the ice that never thawed when hands snaked out of the dark and wrapped around my waist. With a jerk and a twist, I was rotated to face a beast of a man. Behind him on horseback sat his four companions.

My first thought as I stared at them was that I should have listened to Vanora when she’d said she heard horse’s hooves. I’d dismissed her insistence as her normal skittishness. In my defense, I had paused briefly to listen, but nothing sounded in my ears beyond the roar of my own blood pumping desperation to my limbs, heart, and head to reach the witch and beg her to take my gift from me.

My second thought was direly belated.

I should have headed straight for home. Now, I was not only going to be saddled with this heinous curse, but I was also going to be forced to wed once more. The truth of the matter was plain enough by the one man in the brown priest’s habit. I shuddered at the thought and my insides knotted with dread.

I wanted no part of having a husband ever again. What I had to show for my past marriages was scars, seen and unseen, and a rage that burned so hot I was being scalded from the inside and out. Men took what they wanted. Roughly. Cruelly. Threateningly. And I had no choice but to submit to the pokes, pinches and slams of their bodies into mine. The grunts like swine. There was no pleasure. I was their wife, their property.

And my da—my teeth clenched in frustration and confusion. I knew he had not chosen the husbands for me beyond Donald, and I knew he must have thought he had no choice but to make alliances with the men who took me and wed me, yet, knowing these things, I could not help but feel abandoned by him. And then I felt guilt. He was laird. He was trying his best to defeat the MacDonald—the man I had aided—to save our clan. Yet, questions had begun to pepper my mind. Had he tried hard enough for peace? Had MacDonald refused? Then again, Da could not trust the word of a man who had broken the alliance once before. And yet, I could not forget how MacDonald had attempted to defend me.

“Freya Sinclair do ye willingly take Laird Buchanan as yer husband?” the priest demanded.

I blinked, realizing I’d gone far away. I struggled to focus, but my mind was trapped in sludge. Each thought took a great amount of energy to form. We’d travelled for three days, barely sleeping, with nothing to eat but berries. Escaping had taken a toll, but not as great a toll as my life as a wife. I was surprised to find my arm extended and a cord wrapped around my forearm to bind it to Laird Buchanan. I clenched my teeth to stifle my sudden desire to giggle hysterically. I was being wed again, and I had not even truly been aware it was already occurring.

“Nay,” I said as I had at my other three weddings .

Again, a dagger came to Vanora’s neck. She didn’t flinch anymore. Our eyes locked, understanding passing between us. I’d grown more timid and she’d grown bolder. Strange that. I swallowed the bitterness clogging my throat. “Nay willingly, but aye.” I couldn’t make myself be totally cooperative, but I would capitulate the required amount to protect Vanora.

The priest began the ceremony, and I allowed my mind to wander to the dreams I had let go of, dreams of wedding a man I loved who loved me in return. I no longer wanted any man.

My arm was suddenly jerked, and I looked to the right to find Laird Buchanan glaring at me. “Say yer vows.”

Time moves slowly when you are waiting for something good, some hope. But bad things? They come at you with the speed of a violent storm wind. “I Freya MacLeod—nay, Matheson…” I did giggle then. It erupted out of me, forcing my clenched teeth open, demanding to be released. What was the last name that had been forced upon me?

“Sinclair,” Vanora supplied, drawing my gaze back to my sweet sister. She winked at me, and I smiled back. There was the hope I had to cling to. In darkness, if you looked long enough, there was almost always a sliver of light to guide you through the roughest parts.

“I, Freya Sinclair, do pledge to take this man as my husband.” Those were not the vows. I knew very well they were not, but they were close enough in my estimation. The priest seemed to agree as he nodded and pronounced us wed. We were not by the laws of our land. I shuddered at what was to come next. It was the consummation that would make me Lady Sinclair.

Was this to be like the first three times I’d been wed? I had not cared for being thrown upon a horse and ridden home to the safety of their castle to then be immediately bedded. But given the alternative of being bedded here on the forest floor, I prayed to be tossed onto the horse like a sack of grain. And in an attempt to make the outcome true, I tried to twist toward the riderless horse to mount it, but I was immediately jerked back around, and my newest husband said, “Nae so fast, lass.”

I frowned. “Are we nae riding hard toward yer home to gain the protection of yer castle?”

“Nay before I bed ye,” he replied, dragging me away from his men. Behind me, Vanora’s gasp reached my ears. My entire body stiffened.

He stopped and turned to face me, brown beady eyes finding mine. “Aye. Yer visions for yer other husbands started after ye were wed and bed.”

“Nay,” I countered, my rising hysteria making me hot all over. “My visions do nae have anything to do with my being wed and bedded.” I’d not been wed when I’d had the vision of Donald killing his father, but I could see by the disbelieving look on Laird Buchanan’s face that my words fell on deaf ears. He yanked me to him, lifted me, and tossed me over his shoulder like a sack of grain I had only a breath ago wished to be treated as. Another wish gone awry. The air left my lungs in a whoosh as his shoulder dug into my stomach, and all the blood in my body started a painful slide toward my head with each of Laird Buchanan’s heavy-footed steps toward the woods.

I’d been bedded by three men and never had it brought anything but pain. I knew it was coming, but I needed time to gather my courage to face it once more. I was pulled upward so fast that the world tilted. Then I was slung to the ground with such force that my head hit, bounced upward, and stars danced in my eyes. Pain exploded in my head and a high-pitched sound rang in my hears.

This man was different than my other husbands. I sensed the danger in his already aggressive moves. His smell of death. The way he looked at me as if he would devour me. I was the prey, and he was the hunter. My duty was to protect Vanora, and yet when he ripped off my underclothing to gain entrance into my body and spread my thighs with a force that left my inner thighs screaming, the things I knew shifted.

I could not, I would not be used and abused without a fight. He yanked my arms above my head with one hand and pressed them there, his palm against my wrists. Sharp pebbles and sticks dug into the sensitive flesh of my hands.

My heart pounded a beat that was surely leaving bruises on the inside of me as Laird Buchanan yanked down his own braies and there was proof of his dark heart. He was aroused by the promise of the pain to come for me. Fear filled my mouth with a metallic bitter taste, and blood pumped hard through my veins to pulse the one by my right eye and between my collar bones. I had only one way to fight that I could think of. As he started to lower his body, I jerked my knee up to hit between his thighs. He grunted, but before he could roll away, I brought my knee up again and once more.

He released my arms, fell to the side, and I did not waste a precious breath. I scrambled to my hands and knees, then hand over hand for a breath, till I gained my feet to run. Was I thinking logically? No, no. Logic had no place now. Self-preservation had taken over. I raced down the path away from him, feet pounding against the hard frozen dirt to send jolts through my body that rattled my teeth. The thick gnarled roots in the dirt dug into my feet as I ran through the thin soles of my shoes. Cold air burned my lungs making each breath hurt, while tree branches, bare from winter’s kiss, scraped my arms and legs, opening my skin to leave lines of blood.

“Ye bitch!” came a roar from behind me, which made me cry out in fear and push my legs so hard they burned with the effort of my escape.

“Ye’re going to pay for this!” came another bellow from Laird Buchanan. It was closer and louder and ratcheted up my fear so that the ache in my chest moved down my stomach to make a solid block of ice there. I looked back as I ran to judge how close behind Laird Buchannan was, and that was a terrible mistake. My foot caught a root, and I flew forward onto my stomach. Pain erupted on contact in my chest, stomach, and head. I no more than got my hands under myself to push up again, when Laird Buchanan grabbed me from behind, flipped me over and hit me so hard with the back of his hand that my head jerked to the side, my lip split, and blood filled my mouth.

I dug my hands into the dirt, gaining fistfuls, and threw it at his eyes. With a roar, he hit me again, my head jerking the other way, and my cheek throbbing. Then I was shoved back onto the ground and his heavy boot, smelling of a stable, pressed upon my chest as he looked down at me. “I’m going to show ye what happens to disobedient wives.”

“And I’m going to show ye what happens to vile husbands,” came a deep voice from behind me.

“He’s nae my husband,” I managed to mutter before my world went black.