Page 55 of The Speed of Lightning
Realizing he was losing himself, he pinned Ragnall, crushing his face into the dirt. Bowing low, his voice rumbled beside the man’s ear.
“That woman is my wife—mine, not yours. And you nearly killed her. Hear me now: I’ve never touched her. She is innocent—and more loyal to you than you ever knew, you bloody fool. But her worth lies not in purity, nor in blood, nor in beauty, but in her heart and soul, placed there by God himself. If you, or anyone, call her curse again—if you so much as look at her with contempt—I will gut you like the cowardly animal you are.”
Lightning split the sky, striking earth beside them and showering dirt across Ragnall’s face. He stopped struggling. A strange satisfaction lit his features, as if he had turned from midnight to midday in an instant. Calum froze, baffled—until barking reached his ears.
On the shore, beside Murdoch and Da, stood Freya with her hand twined in Bog’s scruff. Her chin quivered; she pressed her lips tight, blinking fast. She exhaled, eyes glassy, though no tears fell. “I tried to tell you, Papa—the night ye burned me and cast me out.”
Calum’s gut twisted. She had heard his rage. She had seen him beat her father bloody. Heard him promise to kill the man. “Freya?—”
Da touched her elbow. “Come, lass. Let’s visit Mariota.”
She wiped raindrops from her face and shook her head. “I came for Bog. I should’ve stayed at the bothy. But now Papa knows the truth.” Her gaze swept the crowd. “And everyone else, I suppose.”
Ragnall, blood streaking his face, rasped, “Do you see what this dog you wed has done to your papa?”
Freya stepped closer, her voice steady. “Aye, I see it clear enough. You’ve heard it from us both—our marriage is friendship, just as it was ten years ago when I helped him into the bay. There’s nothing improper between us. He took me to a healer and did right by me because he was honor-bound. He is a good man, Papa. He is the tànaiste. Leave him be.”
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the men.
Shame burning in him, Calum climbed off Ragnall. “Let me walk you home.”
Her eyes shone brighter, her composure taut as glass. “No. Stay and finish your training. I’ll take the dog home and see you tonight.” She turned swiftly, whistling to Bog, and hurried up the bank.
Ragnall staggered upright. “MacSorleys, observe the change in my daughter. Do as you will, but I’ll bow no more to these MacLean pretenders.” A third of the MacSorleys followed him toward his longhouse, but Balder lingered, drifting back into formation with his peers.
Da stooped, lifting Ragnall’s dirk. He held it high. “The matter is settled twice over. Cù Cogaidh is my tànaiste, your leader. Do you understand?”
The men straightened, heels together, chins high. “Aye, Cù Ceartas!”
Calum’s eyes followed Freya’s path, torn between her and his duty. Heart heavy, he turned back to his men. “Ten laps around the field. We begin now. Move!”
Chapter 14
INVERLUSSA, JURA - NOVEMBER 10, 1386
The sky burned red as Calum descended the path through the trees, his stomach cramping at the thought of facing his wife. His steps slowed as the trail dipped through the oak grove toward home.
When the bothy came into view, he halted. It no longer looked so ruined. The tufty grass had been cleared away from the walls, the walk swept, a wreath of holly hung on a door scrubbed clean of moss.
A savory scent greeted him as he pushed inside, and his mouth watered. He stopped short. The flagstones, once gray with grime, gleamed pale ivory. A bright quilt covered the bed. Two worn but welcoming chairs faced the fire. The splintered table wore a linen cloth and a pot of rosemary. Along the far wall, a board served as a desk, his papers stacked in neat order, quills corralled in a cup. Their trunks were tucked up into the loft, and bundles of thyme and verbena hung from the rafters, perfuming the air.
And at the hearth stood the most beautiful lass he had ever seen. Hair piled atop her head, leine of pale blue tucked up on one side, she stood barefoot, ladling supper into a bowl. A buttongaped at her neckline, baring a velvet inch of skin—and he felt thunderstruck.
He cleared his dry throat. “Evening.”
She hummed a tune, a smile curving over the most perfect, pouting lips he had ever seen. Thought deserted him, swept away by a sudden surge of longing. All he wanted was to draw her close, to kiss her as he had the night before.
Setting a bowl on the table, she beckoned him over with a curve of her finger. “You look pure done in.”
The humor of it wasn’t lost on him. Being attacked by one’s father-in-law and beating him bloody was, in truth, exhausting. “Aye—it was a day.”
He shrugged off his plaid. She held out her hands for it, and after a moment’s hesitation he passed it over. He unbuckled his cuirass and chausses she waited patiently, taking his sword, belt, and armor. “I’ll see to these. Eat your supper.”
As she climbed the ladder with his things, he caught a glimpse of shapely bare calf just before he stumbled over a yelping Bog.
Her head popped from the loft. “Careful. He’s been underfoot all day—big lad in a small bothy. Did anyone claim him?”
Calum sat and unfolded a napkin, still dazed by the meaty supper waiting for him. “Em…no.”
