Page 103 of Taming the Highland Misfits
* * *
Alex could feel Freya’s gaze on him as though it was the touch of a hand. She stood stock still as she watched him, hardly moving or taking her eyes off him. At first, he had found it deeply annoying, but now that he was accustomed to it, he felt sorry for her. No, that was not entirely true; he felt angry with her–why would she not just leave him alone?
The first morning after he came back he had found her standing outside his small chamber, and he was startled to see her. She looked troubled, but he had no wish to engage her in a long conversation; he had to think of an excuse.
“Alex, I must speak to you,” she told him. “We need to speak about the wedding arrangements and?— ”
He held up a hand and gave an irritated sigh. “Freya,” he said irritably, “I am just about to start my day and the men are waiting for me. I do not have time for this.” He pushed past her, but she ran after him.
“When will you have time?” she demanded.
Alex ignored her, and began to run faster. He was a strong man who was wearing breeches and she was a much smaller woman wearing a dress–she could never hope to catch him. She watched in frustration as he mustered the day shift of the guards; he had probably forgotten about her already.
However, as she watched him run away from her, she realised that there were other ways she could reach him. Physically, she was no match for him. Unlike one of his fellow men, she could not tackle him to the ground and force him to listen to her, but she could wear him down with sheer persistence. Did she have the mental stamina for that, though?
There is only one way to find out,she thought grimly. She strode onto the first level of the ramparts where she had seen Alex go to speak to one of his men, then stood casually looking over the edge of it. Fortunately, the level above it overhung the one they were standing on, so the rain did not soak them, although it blew uncomfortably into Freya’s face.
Nevertheless, Alex pretended not to know that Freya was following him, hoping she would go away, but when he turned around to retrace his steps, he saw her leaning nonchalantly on one of the crenellations of the battlements. She was evidently admiring the view, but Alex was not fooled. Freya was waging war on him, a war of attrition, where she would do her level best to wear down his patience and finally bend him to her will.
He gritted his teeth and made to push past her again, but at the last moment, she turned and stepped in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. He almost growled. “ I do not have time for this, Freya,” he muttered, hoping that the guard he had been speaking to would not hear. They were already whispering about him and Freya, he knew.
“Then when will you have time?” she countered, keeping her tone sweet and pasting on a little smile. Her face looked pleasant, but her eyes told a different story. They were dark with anger.
“I do not know,” he replied. “I have to work some extra hours today because one of my men is sick. I?— ”
However, at that moment, one of the guards called him and he looked up to see the man waving urgently. “Excuse me,” he said hurriedly, as he took Freya by the shoulders and pushed her out of his way, saying a silent prayer of thanks as he ran away from her. He had been about to run out of excuses.
That time Freya did not pursue him, since the situation looked genuinely urgent. She merely sighed and followed him at a distance, and watched as he dealt with his men, seeing his firm but fair authority come to the fore as he dealt with them. Eventually, it was time for him to once more do some weapons training with his men, and he strode out with a blunted sword to do battle.
He looked magnificent, she thought; no one could match him in height, speed, or strength, but now and again one of the men would overpower him and he would find himself lying on his back on the ground, protesting vociferously. However, it was all done in a good-humoured way, and though Alex always conceded with mock anger, all of the guards knew that none of their bouts, even if someone was hurt, was personal. It was merely part of their training.
Now Freya gazed at Alex’s body, its powerful muscles flexing and his feet pivoting on the flagstones, keeping him perfectly balanced as he parried his opponent’s weapon and thrust with his own. He was the epitome of all that was perfectly, potently male, and her feminine core responded to him in the most primitive way. She felt herself moisten in the secret place that made her a woman, and a sweet pulse began to beat there as the object of her desire flaunted himself in front of her.
Alex knew he looked his best when he was fighting, and he suspected that Freya did too. He might be trying to avoid her, but despite himself, he always fought and trained more intensely when she was there. He was a man, after all, and all his instincts told him that he had to secure a woman’s approval and favor so that they might bear children together. Nature had designed him that way.
Freya watched until he was finished. She realised that she was wasting her time standing where he could see her, so she walked to his chamber door and stood outside it for what seemed like forever. Every time she heard a noise she jumped, and after a while, she wondered if she was wasting her time. Then suddenly the noise of heavy footfalls sounded on the floor just beyond the bend in the passage. Freya steeled herself.It must be him.
Alex was exhausted, not least because he had been suffering under the emotional strain of being under Freya’s watchful eye all day. All he wanted now was to throw himself onto his bed, close his eyes and rest.
As soon as he rounded the corner of the passage that led to his chamber, however, he realised that it was not going to be an option. Alex started as he saw the tall slim figure of Freya standing in front of the door, blocking the entrance. He knew he would not be able to go in without pushing her away or lifting her, and he growled inwardly in anger. She was glaring at him, and the closer he got to her, the more clearly he could see that she was not to be dissuaded that time. He was going to have to speak to her.
However, it was the last thing he wanted to do, and he had to make at least a token effort to put her off.
But Freya spoke before he had the chance. “Alex, do you not think this has gone on long enough?” she asked, and her voice was almost a growl. “We need to talk about whatever is troubling you.”
He held up a hand and shook his head. “Not now, Freya.” He looked around him. “People are passing and will see us.” It was a feeble excuse and they both knew it.
Freya gave a cynical laugh. “In all the time I have been standing here, no one has passed. Anyway, in what kind of world can a woman not talk to her betrothed? We are doing nothing wrong.” She took one step closer to him and narrowed her eyes. “Speaking of betrothed, we are still engaged to be married, are we not? Because no one has told me otherwise.” She looked at him with a challenge in her eyes.
Alex sighed. Then, after a quick look around, he opened the door to his bedchamber. “Come in,” he said quietly. “We should talk about this in private.”
Freya’s heart was racing as she stepped through the door into his bedroom. In all the years she had known him, she had never set foot in this room before. She looked around with curiosity to see what his inner sanctum looked like, since she was a firm believer that a room’s decor reflected the personality of its owner.
Alex’s chamber had plain white walls, an ordinary wooden floor with a brown woollen rug on it, a table beside the bed, a chair, and an armoire for his clothes, all made of some kind of cheap wood she could not identify. There was only one picture on the wall, and none of the carefully crafted molding around the ceiling that she saw in her own bedroom.
However, there was one piece of stunning artwork in the humble room. Spread on the bed was a colourful patchwork quilt made of many different fabrics in various shapes, then embroidered in a variety of colours.
Alex saw Freya admiring it and said, “My mother made it. She was an artist with fabric.” His voice sounded so sad that Freya looked at him with pity; he had truly loved his mother, but did he love her, Freya, anymore?
