Page 27 of The Speed of Lightning
Fraser’s eyes bulged, darting from Freya to him. “Of course no’!”
The denial rang too loud, but Calum let it rest—for now. His gaze shifted to Freya, whose face had gone pale. “Are you all right?”
She nodded quickly, rubbing her brow. “It’s late. Papa will be looking for me. Fraser, could you take my embroidery to Gavina, and bring next week’s items to the longhouse tonight?”
“Of course, love,” Fraser said, worry creasing his brow. “Best no’ get on your father’s bad side.”
Freya nodded, a slight tremble in her hand as she passed her basket over the fence. “Thank you. I’ll see you to—I mean, next week. I’ll see you next week.”
Fraser winked at her again. “Aye love, hurry along.”
Calum watched her walk toward Inverlussa, looking suddenly upended. He waited until she vanished around the bend before turning back to Fraser.
“Her father still rules over her?”
Fraser’s nod was short and grim. “With no tolerance for dissent. Ten long years for the lass. I only hope marriage mends it for her.”
Calum thought of Rory—oily mustache, ingratiating smirk, the dozens of times he’d undercut men who crossed him—and felt certain marriage would mend nothing.
Tossing Fraser a thanks, he jogged after Freya and caught her on the path. “Wait, MacSorley!”
Her shoulders rose and fell with visible frustration, but when she turned, her expression was calm. “Ye cannae stay away today.”
The question burst out before he could stop it. “How did your father meet Rory MacDonald?”
She blinked, surprised. “Papa made repairs at Ardtornish. Rory was there. Have you met him? He’s most…handsome.”
A blast of hot jealousy fired over him and his voice ground out. “Aye, we’ve met. Cannae say I’ve ever paid much attention to his looks.”
Her eyes lifted as they passed beneath the rowan. “When will he be?—”
In his rush to be done talking about jobby-bag Rory, he trod over her question. “No’ for weeks. Perhaps two months.”
For an instant, relief softened her face. “Oh. I suppose I should walk the rest alone. Being his betrothed, it wouldnae be proper if?—”
“Please,” he insisted, kicking himself. “Let me see you home. After everything, it’s the least I can do.”
Freya crossed her arms, pulling her plaid tighter around herself. “But if you take me home, won’t it appear as if…”
He played dumb, knowing that it would look as though they were courting, and liking the idea very much. “As if?”
Her tongue brushed her lip. “As if you and I…since the ceremony. Since what everyone thought.”
Frowning, he tried to follow. “What did they think?”
Color blazed across her cheeks. “That we were lovers. That you plotted to ruin the ceremony and take me away. That I was in a delicate condition. My father still believes that was the way of it.”
It was the first time he had ever bothered to consider that Ragnall could think her capable of such a thing. He lowered his voice, reminded that for Freya everything was far more precarious than for himself. “Nothing could be further from the truth.”
“Aye, well the two months I spent with your maw caused quite a bit of gossip. But no bairn was ever born, and you never returned.”
The words had the slightest bitterness to them, and he felt embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I should have returned…”
Eyes huge, she pressed a hand to her forehead. “No, I didnae mean—I certainly didnae spend ten years looking for you.”
The truth paid him another stinging, hot slap but he managed to chuckle along with her. “Aye…of course no’.”
She straightened, her tone brisk. “I only helped you because you needed help. That’s all. I acted without thinking of the consequences.”
