Page 113 of Taming the Highland Misfits
* * *
Freya went down to the dungeons in an attempt to see Alex that day. She had not tried before, since she had believed in his guilt, but now her belief was wavering. However, a beefy guard now stood in front of the entrance to the prison and barred her way. He knew her reputation for hot-headedness, so he said gently but firmly: “I am sorry, Mistress, but I cannae let ye in. Those are the Laird’s orders, an’ I cannae go against them.”
She stared at him, stupefied, for a moment, before the fire came back into her eyes, and she whipped around to storm back to the dining room. However, when she arrived, there was no one there. Everyone, even Bearnard, had left, and she slumped onto a chair in an agony of despair. It was absolute cruelty that her father would not let her say goodbye to the man she loved, and it was not like him. Had those really been her father’s orders or had they been relayed by Aidan or Gerald? Whatever the truth was, she had to see him, and time was running out. She had less than a day now.
What am I going to do?she thought.He must think I have abandoned him, and he is convinced I still believe in his guilt.
Then she thought of the prospect of war with the MacNeills.Could life become any more bleak?she wondered. How could two families who had hitherto been friends and allies become enemies almost overnight? It made no sense at all. She sighed and went back to her room, where she poured herself more wine, and eventually fell asleep.
* * *
Alex was beyond exhausted since he had not been able to sleep for days. The irony was that he was free to sleep whenever he wanted to, since there was nothing else to do. He knew that that was his last day on earth, and since he had only a few hours left, he thought of Freya.
He remembered the day he had seen her in one of her first ball gowns at a ceilidh her father had been giving for her sixteenth birthday. She had not quite developed her feminine curves at that time and was still a little on the skinny side, but he could already see the woman she was going to become. He chuckled as he remembered how proudly she had strutted among the guests, accepting congratulations and compliments.
He had caught her eye and smiled at her and she had beamed at him in return, then walked over to greet him. He bowed to her and said, “Happy birthday, Freya. I hope you will enjoy yourself tonight, and may I say how lovely you look? That shade of blue really flatters you.”
She looked pleased, but a little taken aback by his remark about the colour of her dress. It was not the sort of thing most men noticed. “Thank you,” she replied. “I am surprised my father did not invite you. You would have been most welcome.”
“He did invite me,” Alex replied. “But I told him I had to finish my shift first. If I go off to a party in the middle of an evening’s work, the men will all lose respect for me. It will seem like one rule for me and one for them. I will be there in an hour or so.”
“Hmm, I had not thought of that,” Freya said pensively. “How conscientious you are, Alex. I wish there were more men like you.”
He shrugged and smiled at her, but just then another young man came to claim her attention. She gave him a regretful glance and allowed herself to be led away. He watched her, feeling jealous as she entered the Great Hall, wishing he could go with her.
Afterwards, when he had smartened herself up and entered the Great Hall, he had seen Freya dancing with several different young men and looking so happy and animated that he had not wished to disturb her.
However, she caught sight of him, rushed over to him, then threw herself into his arms. They spent a magical evening together and both knew after that night that they belonged together. It had been one of the most joyful nights of his life.
That had been six years before, and much had happened since then. Their love had been unspoken then, and when they had confessed it to each other, it became a living thing. Now it was about to die with him. He had no expectations of a life after death, and he was sure that Freya would soon move on with her life. After all, there were plenty of young men who would jump at the chance of marrying a rich, beautiful young woman.
A spear of jealousy pierced him as he thought of her bearing another man’s children. They would all likely have fiery red hair and the kind of crazy but loving temperament that she had. If only they could be his!
He wondered what time it was. The minutes of his life were ticking away and he was spending them alone; there would be no one to comfort him in his final moments. His uncle and brothers would only hear about his death once he was dead, and they would be devastated, especially when they found out the manner of it.
Yet now that he had resigned himself to his fate, it did not seem so bad; after all, it would be over very quickly–he hoped. His one regret was that he would not be able to say goodbye to Freya. As well as that, he wondered if he would be granted his last wish to be executed beside the stables, and if Freya would come–or be allowed to come–and see him in his final moments.
* * *
Freya did not manage a whole bottle of whisky, though she did drink several glasses, thinking that it might be enough to make her a little drowsy, but it had no effect at all. She calculated the time at around midnight. Dawn would be in five hours, and her heart was aching. Alex had only five hours to live, and that was the moment when she decided to go and kiss him goodbye at the scaffold. She would wear the dress she had been wearing during their first kiss so that she would have the same dress on when they shared their last one. It might be a little tight, she thought, with a flash of humour, but she would squeeze into it somehow!
Freya was not sure if she could watch the hanging itself, so she decided to ask Alex if he wanted her to stay when she kissed him. The night was going to be endless.
22
However, the night was not endless. In fact, it seemed to race past. Freya was afraid to close her eyes in case she fell asleep and missed the break of day, so she lay awake in the darkness with only the moon outside for company. This was a form of comfort; as long as the moon was in the sky, dawn was not breaking.
When Freya heard the timid tapping at the door she thought at first she was imagining things, but when the knocking continued, she tiptoed to the door and said cautiously, “Who’s there?”
“It’s Bearnard,” came the soft reply. “Let me in, Freya.”
Freya opened the door to admit her brother; he entered quickly and Freya shut the door as softly as she could. “Bearnard, why are you here?” she asked, puzzled. “You are the last person I expected to see.”
“Are Mhairi and Caitrin here?” His voice was so soft Freya could hardly hear him.
“Yes,” she answered, “but they are sleeping in their own chambers.”
“Good.” He sounded relieved. “Freya, I must speak to you. I have just found out a few things that you need to hear. We must stop the execution.”
