Page 77 of Taming the Highland Misfits
“I am so glad you said that,” Freya breathed. “I could not bear to be married to any of them, especially Gallagher. I would run away, but Alex, I would only run to you. You are the only man I want, or have ever wanted. I love you, and I will always love you.”
“And I will always love you, my Freya.” He reached for her hand, picked it up, then kissed it. His voice was infinitely sad as he said: “I am grateful for every moment I have spent with you. I don’t think there are many men who can say they have truly fallen in love, but I have, and even if I am not able to spend the rest of my life with you, I have memories that will last forever.”
Freya was furious. “Are you giving up?” she cried angrily. “You say that you love me, then you talk about what you would do if I married someone else. Have you not heard a word I have said, Alex MacNeill? It isyouI love.” She poked him in the chest with her forefinger then went on. “I want to marryyou!” Another poke. “And I do not want to hear any more about the Gallaghers, or the Robertsons, or the McMillans! They are all bloody repulsive!” She paused for a moment to catch her breath. “Why will you not fight for me? Go to my father. Don’t ask him, demand my hand in marriage, and I will refuse to marry anyone else but you. If all else fails we can elope, but Alex, I would really rather not do that. I want our families to be able to celebrate with us, and rejoice in our happiness.”
Alex gazed at her in admiration. Freya was afire with passion–on the edge of losing control, in fact. He had never known anyone else who could completely abandon herself to her emotions the way she could.
Even her body was in the grips of it. Her flame-coloured hair, which had hitherto been carefully coiffed, was now so untidy that the tangled strands shone around her head like a halo in the growing light. Her expression was one of grim determination. She was like a storm, a gale, a tidal wave–a force of nature.
Alex had never met anyone quite like her. He realised at that moment that he had to fight for her, because she meant everything to him and he seriously doubted that he could live without her. Yes, he could marry someone else and perhaps be content and live a good life, but he would never be able to truly love again.
He smiled at her and placed a soft kiss on her lips, but what he really wanted to do at that moment was to lay her down on a soft bed and show her how much he loved her, wanted her, and adored her.
Freya saw his emotions in his face, and sighed. “I wish we could run away somewhere together; forget my family, forget my father and just live in peace. No clans, no wars, nothing to disturb us.”
Alex nodded. “So do I,” he replied, sighing.
“You know, there is something I have never really thought about before,” she mused, looking down at her flat stomach and smoothing her hands over it. “Would there be children?”
For a moment, Alex looked at her blankly, then he grinned. “Oh, yes!” he cried. “At least a dozen!”
Freya giggled. “I am afraid you will never get that wish,” she told him. “I think perhaps two or three will suffice.”
Children. Alex had never thought of himself as a father before, and the idea both excited and terrified him. How would he cope with so much responsibility? What if he was a complete failure?
“I hope I can be a better father than either of ours,” he said sadly.
Freya tilted his chin up so that he was facing her. “You will be a wonderful father,” she murmured. Then she became brisk. “But we have to be married first. Now, let’s make a plan.”
“Your father will never agree to this,” he said gloomily.
“Why should he not?” Freya was angry once more. “You are the nephew of a Laird, and you saved his life, which is one of the reasons why he made you Captain of the Guard in the first place. Surely that counts for something?”
Alex thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. He thought back to that awful night when they had fought off the bandits. He had been riding behind the Laird’s carriage; he was not on duty, but something inside had warned him that danger was afoot that night. He could not put his finger on what it was, but decided it would do no harm to stay close to him and his family.
The outlaws had thought they had the element of surprise, but they were wrong. Alex had been scanning the bushes and trees as he rode past, and since he had alerted the other guards to his strange premonition, they were all ready. They all thought he was a little mad, but it did no harm to be wary. It was just as well he had done so, because a few moments later, when all hell broke loose, they were prepared.
The former Captain of the Guard, Andy McGraw, had been a tall, serious man with a bushy black beard and mesmerising blue eyes. He was in his middle years and as fit as Alex, but he had been stabbed through the chest during the battle between the robbers and guards, and had died soon afterwards.
Alex had always been destined for the Captain’s position, and Andy McGraw’s death had merely accelerated that promotion, but not in the way Alex wanted.
Once he had recovered from his hangover the next morning, Laird Murdaugh had had to be reminded about the happenings the night before, of which he only had a vague recollection. After being reminded of everything that had transpired, he called Alex to his study the following morning and made the announcement that he was being promoted immediately.
Alex was overjoyed, although a little uncertain. “Thank you, M’Laird, but are you sure I am up to the job?” he asked cautiously.
“If I didn’t think so, I would not be giving it to you,” the Laird said firmly, smiling.
When Aidan came in he said very little, but when Laird Murdaugh announced that he was promoting Alex, his face had turned thunderous and he had walked out of the room without a backward glance.
Gerald Patterson had been outraged when he heard the news. “M’Laird, he is too young!” he cried. “He does not have enough experience for a position of such responsibility. Give the position to someone older with knowledge of what is needed to carry it out well.”
The Laird had stood up and looked at his steward with a dangerous light in his eyes. “Please tell me why I employ you,” he said in a dangerously calm tone.
“To give you advice and help you make the right decisions.” Gerald Patterson was baffled. Why was he being asked such stupid questions?
“The thing about advice,” the Laird said, as he stood upright and folded his arms across his chest, “is that it can be given, but it does not have to be taken. You see, Gerald, I happen to think Alex is the best man for the job. If you disagree with me, well, that is your right, and I do not grudge you your view on the matter. However, it need not be the same as my view. My opinion, as the Laird, is more important than yours. My decision stands, and Alex MacNeill will be promoted to Captain, starting immediately. I expect you to support my decision, but if you feel you cannot, then you are quite free to find employment elsewhere.” He raised his eyebrows in enquiry, and Patterson nodded, realising that he was not going to change his employer’s mind.
“Very well, M’Laird, I respect your decision,” he said with a respectful nod. Then he gave Alex a venomous look. “Congratulations,” he tossed over his shoulder as he left the room.
