Page 42 of The Speed of Lightning
He raked a hand through his hair, a bright lock falling across his cheek. “Father Timothy thinks the record marks you illegitimate only because your father was heathen—not of the Christian faith.”
He meant to soften it, but she spoke the words herself. “I am a bastard, then.”
“No.” He shook his head sharply. “Think of it as protection. I believe your mother loved you enough to secure you the sacraments. You were born at the Augustinian Nunnery of Iona, baptized that very day—against your father’s will, it seems. It doesnae mean he’s not your father. It means, in law, you belong to the church. You are Christian.”
He leaned closer, his voice firm. “And most importantly, it means your betrothal to Rory is unlawful. Future handfasts arenae recognized by the Holy Church for its members. Your mother saw to it that you could never be bound that way.”
Stunned, she stared at the paper. “My father willnae like that.”
Calum snorted, pointing to his eye. “Nay, he didnae. He learned the hard way that by attacking you he undid what he’d planned.”
She looked down at the banns spread across her lap, still reeling. “Oh Calum, what have you done? Why did ye no’ let the matter rest? You could still undo it.”
A deep frown pulled at the corners his mouth. “Your father signed the banns. The king sealed them. It cannae be undone, even if I wished—which I assuredly do not.”
“Papa agreed?”
His mustache quirked as he rubbed the bruise. “The man had little choice once I carried off what he prized most. It probably didnae hurt that I had Hector standing right behind me. He haggled a bride-price, though he wouldnae part with atocher?2 no matter how hard Hector and I negotiated. In the end, I let him keep his coin.”
Freya’s heart sank. “How much did you agree to pay?”
“One thousand, five hundred gold nobles.”
She nearly fainted with shock. “That is madness, Calum. For me? That’s years of wage!”
“Aye. Ten years of wages.”
Her breath caught. It must be every coin he had ever made—given up for her. Dizzying awe swept through her. “You’ve sacrificed everything.”
He leaned closer, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, his hand warm around hers. “I didnae lose a thing. I got exactly what I wanted.”
Candlelight gilded his lashes, and her chest tightened at the gentleness in his eyes. “What did he give you?”
“He gave me my wife.”
Her heart twisted at the word, at the tenderness in his voice. It was too much, too beautiful. “You could still undo this. Give me back to my father. Reclaim your fortune. Take me to the nunnery, if you’d like. I can scribe as my mother did. Forget that this whole incident ever happened.”
His inked hand came around the back of her neck. “I will never forget it happened, Freya. You are my fortune. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.” A strange pull started between them as he leaned closer, his nose brushing hers, his voice a whisper. “Belong to me, Freya. I will treasure you until the end of my days.”
The words lit something long darkened in her heart, and she closed her eyes, knowing she was done for. The same feeling she’d been unable to articulate at sixteen surged to life, reawakened by the promise of freedom she had dreamed of for ten long years.
When she opened her eyes, she found him watching her with an intensity she hardly recognized. His thumb swept over her cheek, then over her bottom lip. She stilled, unable to comprehend what was rising between them. It was familiar and yet new, thrilling and terrifying.
Slowly, his eyes fell toward her mouth, and she let him lean closer. Like iron to lodestone she felt drawn, her heart whispering what it might be like to hold happiness for the rest of their days.
A tremble passed through her as she lifted a hand to his bearded cheek, needing something to steady her.
As naturally as breathing, her lips parted. His eyes closed. And then—Odin’s nightgown, they were about to kiss.
The realization startled her. She jerked, knocking her teeth into his. Pain shot through her sinuses, her eyes watering as he drew back, letting out a loud oath and clutching his mouth.
“Sweet juniper, I’m sorry.” She covered her eyes, feeling both naive and inexperienced. Shivers filled her belly, leaving her disoriented, afraid to meet his gaze. Part of her wanted to vanish into the rafters, safe and unseen—yet another part longed to finally, fully live. And Calum made her feel alive.
The gray of his eyes crinkled with humor as he eased back to a respectful distance. “Forgive me. You’re so lovely I couldnae help myself. Saints, I feel like a lad again, saying and doing the most awkward things.”
She bit her lip, her heart beating the same truth. “I’m only Freya MacSorley. Surely the least of all your paramours.”
He shook his head. “You’re Freya MacSorley—the lass I’ve thought of every day since I was eight summers. There is none like her. My friend I’d keep forever, if only she would accept me.”
