Page 75 of Taming the Highland Misfits
Freya was fuming, but there was nothing she could do. She could not fight against both her father and her brother, but then, she reminded herself, Alex was tough. A little rain would not kill him. It was a small consolation though, and she felt dreadfully guilty.
Despite her annoyance, her mind drifted back to their dance, and Freya felt herself enveloped in Alex’s embrace once more. She was slightly tipsy, and the effect of the wine made her feel as though she was floating on a fluffy cloud, breathing in his scent, feeling his body so close to hers that…
Suddenly the carriage jolted and came to a thudding halt. Freya was thrown forward and almost ended up on the floor, but Bearnard broke her fall by catching her in his arms. The carriage was rocking violently and she could hear the sound of clashing metal and men’s voices yelling and cursing in fury. She dared not look out, but she knew that a fierce sword fight was taking place, and one of the combatants was Alex.
Freya’s heart lurched and she sent up a frantic prayer that he would be safe. Her father was so inebriated that he had only a vague idea what was going on, and he stood up, hitting his head against the roof of the carriage, and reached his hand out to open the door. Bearnard and Freya were on the other side of the vehicle, just out of reach of him, and they were being blocked by Aidan, who seemed to have frozen in fear.
“Bandits!” Bearnard cried. He pulled out a small knife, the only weapon he had to hand. It would be hopelessly inadequate against a sword, and the outlaws might even have muskets.
By that time, Laird Murdaugh had pushed the door open and was about to step out when it was shut in his face with a bang. “Stay inside, you fool!” Alex cried. He disappeared as quickly as he had appeared, and the fighting went on. Freya and Bearnard held their father down while he struggled to get to the door, seeming not to understand what was happening. Aidan was sitting motionless in his seat, seemingly frozen with fear.
Just then, the door was wrenched open and for a second they saw a black-masked face, but it was quickly pulled back into the darkness, the door slammed shut, and there was an ear-splitting scream from outside. They heard the sound of something heavy falling to the ground, then the noise of hoofbeats disappearing into the distance, and after that nothing but a terrible silence.
“Oh God!” Freya cried, terrified, “what if they have killed Alex?”
“They did not kill me, Freya.” Alex’s head appeared through the window. He was breathing heavily, obviously exhausted, but there was a wickedly triumphant glint in his eyes. “I might have killed one of them, though. We were taken by surprise, and two of our men were overpowered, but only our Captain was seriously hurt. We have dispatched a carriage to take him back to the healer as fast as we can.”
Alex leaned his head on the edge of the open window, suddenly feeling utterly exhausted. He was soaked to the skin, and his best clothes had been ruined. He had not been expecting to use his professional skills that night so he had obviously not dressed in his uniform of tunic and breeches. However, it was a small price to pay, since Freya was safe. Clothes were replaceable; she was not.
“Alex is riding in the carriage with us,” she declared firmly. Aidan opened his mouth to object, but Freya jumped forward and clamped her hand over it. “Now listen to me, you cowardly swine.” Her voice was throbbing with rage. “Alex has just saved your life, and you are grudging him a seat in our carriage? I am ashamed of you, ashamed to be your sister. Now sit on the floor and let him have your seat.” She looked as though she was going to haul her brother off the seat and do him some serious harm.
She never knew whether Aidan would have complied or not, because Alex said: “No, Freya. I must take care of my men and tie up the robbers. Go back home and I will follow when I can.”
“Alex, are you sure?” she asked anxiously. “You look dreadful, and you are soaking wet. Here, take this.” She picked up a travelling blanket and gave it to him. “It might keep you a wee bit warmer.”
“Thank you.” Alex smiled at her as he threw the blanket around his shoulders.
“It is we who should be thanking you, Alex,” Bearnard said warmly. “What you did was very brave. I am only sorry I was no help to you.” He looked ashamed.
“You would only have been in the way,” Alex assured him, smiling faintly. “But thank you for the thought, Bearnard.”
Bearnard beamed at him. Alex had always been his hero.
Freya looked around to see that her father had passed out in a drunken stupor, and she growled with anger. Aidan looked as though he was just about to do the same, but she had no more energy left to reprimand him.
When she turned back to the window, Alex was gone.
* * *
Somehow the carriage managed to limp home, although it was almost daybreak when they rattled through the main gate. Freya knew that it would be pointless to wait in the courtyard for Alex, so she shot a disgusted look at her older brother and her father before setting off to her own room.
She knew she would not sleep until she was sure he was safe, and reasoned that she might as well be comfortable while she waited and worried.
Freya put on her nightclothes without waking Mhairi and climbed into bed. She had thought that she would lie awake worrying for hours, but once she was lying on a soft mattress between clean, cool sheets, she found it too much of an effort to stay awake. In spite of her resolution, her eyes drifted closed and once more the music of the dance came back to her.
Every step she had taken returned with complete clarity, and as she gazed up into Alex’s golden-brown eyes, she saw that they were shining in a way she had never seen before. She was mesmerised. What was that look? Was it mirrored in her own eyes? She hoped so.
Then she felt a wave of sadness wash over her as she thought of the beginning of their evening. How could such a wonderful night go so wrong so quickly? It was with that disturbing thought that her eyes closed again, only to open a moment later as she heard a tentative knock at her chamber door.
She sat up, listening carefully, but the knocking had stopped, and she was curious and puzzled. She got up from bed and walked to the door, then stood indecisively for a moment before opening it cautiously.
On the other side stood Alex, dripping wet, filthy, and sporting a deep cut on his right arm, which he was holding tightly with his left hand.
“Alex!” Freya cried, horrified at the state he was in. She pulled him inside the room and took his right arm, then, having moved his hand out of the way, she looked at it carefully. The wound on it was perhaps three inches long, but it did not look deep and she could tell that the bleeding was slowing down. “Come and sit down.”
Freya ushered Alex into a chair by the fire then stirred the flames into life and packed cushions around him before pouring him a glass of wine. “I will send for a hot drink for you,” she said, moving towards the bell that would summon a maid. “You need something to warm you up.”
“No!” Alex’s good arm shot out to grasp her hand. “What will the staff think if I am found in your bedroom? Your reputation will be ruined.”
