Page 106 of The Speed of Lightning
Hector shook his head. “He’d ken it, too.”
For ten years he’d prayed daily for God to mend his clan—yet never once had he asked why he had been born into it. The truth pressed on him like a vise. He had thought he came to change his clan. Perhaps it was God who meant to change him.
Chapter 29
LEALT, JURA - FEBRUARY 23, 1387
Freya woke to pounding on Fraser’s door. Bog exploded in furious barking, claws raking the wood as if he meant to rip through and devour whoever dared knock.
Fraser stumbled from his room, hair wild, shouting for the caller to name themselves—but his voice was swallowed by the dog’s howls.
“It’s Calum?—”
At once, Bog fell silent, then bounded with joy, tail lashing the air.
Freya slipped from bed, murmured an apology to Fraser and Gavina, and hurried outside with the dog.
The moment she saw Calum, the memories of the day before surged back, pressing like a weight on her chest. She ought to tell him everything—yet the words died on her tongue when she met his exhausted, worried gaze.
“Why weren’t you at home?” His voice was rough, frayed by sleeplessness.
Her throat tightened. She pulled her plaid closer around her shoulders, eyes still heavy with sleep. “I felt safer here. I thoughtyou would stay in the south and head straight to Knockrome. I’m sorry—I should have left a note.”
He pulled her into his arms, unaware of the fear knotting her chest as her eyes flicked to the trees and brush, half-expecting Rory to be watching.
“No need to apologize. I’d prefer you stay with Fraser on training nights myself.”
He squinted through the dark at the linen wrapped around her hand. “Did you cut yourself?”
Her heart stilled, but she kept her expression light. “A blister.”
He rolled his eyes. “You spend too much time worrying about the state of our floors, MacSorley. Every time I come home you’re bent over them scrubbing. I’m telling ye, it’s a fruitless endeavor between my boots and Bog’s paws.”
She gave him a smile as he lifted her open palm and kissed it. “I think you’re right. It’s fruitless.”
It was explanation enough, and he let it rest. The shadows under his eyes told of a punishing night; sweat still clung to his skin from the drills. He didn’t ask what had driven her to Fraser’s, and she didn’t offer. They walked home in silence, her mind circling back to the afternoon—the hunger in Rory’s gaze, her skirts being wrenched up, her father’s cold indifference to her shame.
Later, after Calum had bathed and crawled into bed, he reached for her as always. And for the first time since their wedding night, she hesitated. Exhaustion pressed down on her. All she wanted was to sink into his arms, confess everything, hear him promise that Rory’s words—and hands—could never touch her again.
Instead, she lowered herself into the chair, palm pressed to her pounding skull.
“What’s the matter?”
She forced a faint smile and shook her head. “It’s nothing… just a headache. I knocked it on the wall earlier. It throbs when I lie down.” Her voice caught, eyes dropping. “I think I’d rather stay in the chair, if that’s all right.”
He’d straightened, asking softly if there was anything he could do for her. She only shook her head, the movement sharp enough to make her temple throb, and murmured a refusal.
So he left her to the chair, to the crackle of the fire and Bog’s steady snore.
She sat hunched forward, hands clasped in her lap, eyes fixed on the shifting flames. As she spun her mother’s ring round her finger thoughts circled and collided—Calum’s quiet concern, Rory’s vile words, her father’s hand crushing her mouth and nose, her own hesitation at the bedside. Again and again she turned it over, trying to decide whether to speak, to keep it buried, or to try and correct the horrible mess she’d made.
By the time the fire burned low, she still hadn’t chosen.
The following day passed in its familiar pattern. She prepared breakfast, saw to the chores, whispered her prayers, returned his kiss before he and Bog left for the hunt. Yet when he lingered in the doorway, his hand warm on her cheek, she wavered.
“Are you sure there isn’t anything the matter?”
Everything was the matter, and she didn’t know where to begin. Instead, she touched her aching temple and forced a small smile. “Just a headache. I’m hale. Truly.”
