Page 127 of The Speed of Lightning
“You are John’s shame. The daughter he sired on Iona after creeping to your mother like a harlot after their divorce was finalized and he remarried.”
The king’s voice thundered over the chamber. “Enough. Stop speaking!”
Rory either hadn’t heard or refused to care. “Your mother was Amie of Garmoran.”
Freya shook her head. “My mother was Amie Godfrey, a scribe.”
“She was the the king’s first wife, you little twit. Ragnall met her on Iona, saw her wealth and her standing, and claimed her for himself. When her belly swelled, he demanded to know whose child she carried. She told him the truth to be rid of him, but he would not be swayed. He went straight to the king, offering to take the burden off his hands—for a price. And theking agreed. Neither Ragnall nor John ever wanted you.No onehas ever wanted you.”
The words rang through the throne room—until another voice broke through, clear and steady as a bell.
“It is a lie.”
All heads turned toward the alcove, where a woman cloaked in purple slid from the shadows. Her bearing was regal, her gray head high.
“Hold your tongue, Rory,” she commanded. “You were once a trusted man in my husband’s retinue, and now you betray that trust for your own gain.”
Silence rippled through the hall.
Alexander Stewart rolled his eyes with disdain. “Get Marjorie out of here.”
Her eyes flashed. “I will not be cast from my own court. Lay a hand on me, and you will bring down this kingdom, and Scotland’s as well. Address me properly—Queen Marjorie, brother.”
Dómhnall shifted uneasily on the throne. “Mother, go back to your quarters.”
She marched forward with the authority of a queen, her backbone forged from iron. “Not until I have said what I must. Then I will go.”
The king’s chin quivered like that of a chastened boy. He sank back onto the throne. “Very well.”
Marjorie moved to Freya, eyes sweeping her from head to toe. She nodded slowly. “Yes. She is the very image of Amie MacRuari—save for the eyes. One blue, one green. Those are John’s eyes.”
The bare statement shook Freya like a thunderclap, and she swayed.
“Mother—” Dómhnall began, but she silenced him with a raised hand.
She lifted Freya’s trembling hand, examining the ring on her finger before slipping it off. “Terra vel mari meus es?1—‘By land or sea, you are mine.’ Amie’s wedding ring. Did you know?”
Freya swallowed hard. “I knew it was hers. I didnae know it was from her marriage. I didnae know she had married anyone but my father.”
She shook her head. “Ragnall and Amie never married. It was a quick handfast, I believe. He was paid to keep her and her child safe and comfortable—to look after them, and yes, to keep the matter at a distance.”
Marjorie’s gaze softened. “Amie and John were married for only four years. What are women but pawns in the schemes of men? Cast hither and yon, shuffled away when necessary. Your mother was a great noblewoman of the MacRuari line, heir to her brother Godfrey, Earl of Ross. The last living member of her family. The storied lands of Garmoran were hers, with all their wealth and strength.”
Freya wobbled, unable to believe what was being revealed. “I thought her only a scribe on Iona.”
“She was, after her marriage had been drained of all the wealth and lands. When she lost favor with the Council. When the need for stronger alliances arose, John set her aside. My father, Robert of Scotland, gave me to him in her place—along with Knapdale and Kintyre. A portion of Amie’s lands reverted to her in the divorce as part of the bargain.”
Marjorie cleared her throat. “She lived cast off in Iona for more than a decade. But John never stopped loving her. I was his companion, yes—but she was his one great love. He went back to her, once, after our marriage. And you are the child of their bond. Had she remained at the nunnery, she would have been forced to give you up as a foundling—a fate neither she nor John could bear.”
A lump rose in Freya’s throat, tears blurring her sight. For the first time, her past was whole.
“It is not true that John did not want you,” Marjorie said firmly. “Had affairs been different, I believe he would have recognized you with his name. But he could not risk his alliance with Scotland, nor the stability of his new marriage. He confessed all to me. And I forgave him. Noble marriages are made of bargains, child—but love finds its way, despite them.”
Freya swallowed the lump in her throat. “I met him only a few times on Jura. He was kind.”
Marjorie’s lips curved in a restrained smile. “Aye. He was. Your care was always a concern. Ragnall swore to him that he did his best, but it was apparent that you were...” She paused. “Unhappy. There was little he could do from afar.” Her gaze raked over Freya. “It appears the extra funds he sent your father for better care were at least spent wisely.”
At this, Freya bit her tongue. It would do no good to reveal that Papa had likely squandered every cent John ever sent her. No wonder Papa bound her so tightly to his will. No wonder he had kept her underfed and ugly. From the moment of her birth, she had been nothing more than a means to secure a greater and greater fortune—the curse he could not untangle himself from, needing the money yet holding no love for her. The realization struck her to the core. Now he was gone, and with him the curse that had shadowed her life was at last undone.
