Page 100 of The Speed of Lightning
If the mission had proven anything, it was that war would soon rise again. And when it did, she wanted him to march into it certain that she was—now and forever—entirely his. She was ready to confess her love, to be his wife in every sense, not merely his companion.
As she leapt over the burn toward Inverlussa, she wanted to sing, to wrap her arms around herself with happiness. She pictured them before their fire, children at their feet. Children—that was exactly what she wanted with him. Headstrong, blond little versions of Calum. She would take a dozen.
His plan would work. She felt it in her bones, knew it in the deepest reaches of her heart. He was too good a man for God to ignore. No one she had ever met was like him—not as kind, not as faithful, not as hopeless at language or keeping a room neat, or as steadfast at loving her.
As she emerged from the hidden path just outside her father’s auld longhouse, her spirits dipped. She stopped at the stone fence, staring at the home that held such painful memories, unwilling to go inside. She sucked in a breath, forcing her feet forward. Papa didn’t live there anymore. She didn’t live there anymore. That time of pain, anguish, and fear was over for good—and Arne MacSorley deserved his present.
The gate squeaked as she pushed it open, her heart thudding as her feet ground along the pebbled path. She climbed the three steps to the porch and lingered at the alder door. It was new—heavier, sturdier than the last. No doubt one of the men had reinforced it after the attack.
Beside her, muddy-pawed Bog swiped at the door, leaving a fresh scratch. She winced, leaning down to stroke his neck. “Stay here, Boggy. I’ll only be a minute.”
He whined, tilting his head toward the door.
She stood and cracked it open—only to shove it shut again when he tried to shoulder inside, nearly catching his head. “Och, what are ye doing? How is it you’ll listen to your da and no’ to me?”
Dropping her voice an octave, she tried Calum’s tone. “Back.”
Bog’s ears pricked, and he stepped away.
“Back, I said.”
He made a tight circle and moved to the porch’s edge.
“Sit.”
The dog sat.
“Guard.”
He shifted, alert and watchful.
She rolled her eyes. Perhaps it was the deep voice. As she opened the door again, he gave a plaintive, panting whine, nearly breaking his post.
“I’ll only be a minute, ye big baby.”
She slipped inside the darkened longhouse, surprised to find none of its thirty-three inhabitants at home. Restlessness clawed at her, a sharp, panicky feeling as if the walls were closing in. Nearly twenty-six years of confinement felt as nigh as the day she had been scalded. Irrationally afraid, she stumbled forward, arms out, groping for the back window.
She fell three times—over trunks, makeshift pallets, and a wooden toy or two—finally reaching the rough-hewn boards of the wall. She felt for the window shutter, but it was nailed shut, another likely precaution from the attack.
Sparks flew from the back of the room into a tinderbox, the flame licking upward and illuminating Papa’s face.
All thought dissolved in her mind; her hands trembled. They hadn’t been face to face since the day he became chieftain. He held out the flame, lighting a candle in an unseen figure’s hand.
Rory’s dark eyes held a look she’d only seen in Calum’s—but this was different: crude, lustful. “You’re late.”
Fear leapt into her throat. “BOG!”
It was all she managed before Rory stormed across the room, covering her mouth with one large hand. He pinned her to the wall as she kicked and struggled. Bog’s claws scraped against the wood, sniffing at the door. Dear God, if only she could scream.
“Wheesht. Don’t be afraid. We just want to talk with you, Freya.”
She shook her head furiously, lashing out like a wild woman. Her fingers broke free long enough to rake across his cheek.Papa was on her in a second, pinning her arms. Rory struck, his hand connecting with her cheek in a furious slap.
“BOG! BOG!”
Papa clamped his hand over her mouth and nose, holding until her lungs burned. Bog barked and gouged at the door while she thrashed, struggling for precious air.
His eyes bulged, bloodshot and wild, sweat rolling down his brow despite the chill. His hand trembled with rage. “If you scream again, I’ll end you. I swear it.”
