Page 78 of The Speed of Lightning
King Dómhnall folded his arms, his gaze heavy on her. “Is that true?”
Her heart plunged. “Yes, but?—”
“Why did you marry Calum MacLean?”
Silence fell over the hall and Freya swallowed, on the spot and aware everyone in the room was listening. Not wishing to contradict her husband, she tried to explain. “Calum has told you—we are friends. We have known each other since childhood. I hold him dear to my heart. He took me for help, as he said.”
The king’s voice cut in, sharp. “And when did you consent to wed him as a result of that help?”
“When I woke from my fever. I was sick for ten days after being scalded. He had made the arrangements—to protect me, to wed me, to do the right thing.”
Dómhnall’s brow furrowed. “A fever. Hardly a lucid mind, then.”
Her hands balled into fists. “No—no?—”
The king’s embroidered slipper began to tap against the plank floor, sharp and deliberate. “Your father tells me you have managed to remain pure. That MacLean has not touched you, has not brought your marriage to completion. He confessed this himself during a guard training weeks ago.”
Calum’s eyes snapped up, contempt distorting his face as he fixed his gaze on Ragnall.
Her heart sank, knowing where this was leading. “I am pure,” she whispered.
Behind her, she felt Calum rise, his solid presence pressing against her back.
Rory’s expression was full of false sincerity. “Lady MacLean and I courted before Laird MacLean stole her away. It was a love match. I believe she has kept herself pure for me, so we may handfast as true husband and wife.”
Her mouth fell open. Words abandoned her, her mind reeling at the audacity of his lie, the depth of his corruption.
Rory lifted his chin, voice full of false righteousness. “I make no secret of my love for Lady MacLean. But she has been poisoned, her mind twisted by the man who stole her from her father in the night and locked her away in Moy Castle for a month. She lives now in fear and confusion. Her father pledged her to me first. The banns were signed. By law she was already my wife.”
“They were not sealed by Chief MacLean,” Calum burst out, taking a threatening step toward him. “Ours were signed by John of Islay himself. Your so-called banns were nothing but a promise of a future handfast, and the Church does not recognize such pledges. Freya is a daughter of the holy Church. She cannot be bound by heathen custom.”
Ragnall snorted, loud and cutting. “I never raised my daughter in the Church. She is Juran, as her mother was, sworn to the auld ways of the Norse. Any record otherwise is a forgery.”
“Papa!” The cry ripped from her throat. To hear him betray her mother’s faith so brazenly, to see him standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Rory, sickened her to the core. Whatever bonds of loyalty had held her to him until now were shattered.
King Dómhnall stepped closer, his sharp eyes measuring her. “A claim easily proven. If you are truly Christian, recite the Apostle’s Creed.”
Her stomach dropped and she strained to remember what an apostle was. A long, stifling stretch of silence passed, and she looked at Calum, his brow beginning to knit.
Dómhnall chuckled darkly. “Perhaps something simpler. Recite the paternoster.”
Heat burned in her throat. Her eyes stung. The word meant nothing to her. She swallowed hard, forcing her voice steady. “I—I believe in the man-God Jesus. I know there is one God, three in one—Father, Son, and Spirit. Through him all things were made. I—I believe he came and died for his people, to save them from sin and despair, and rose from the dead.”
From beneath the bench, Arne MacSorley poked out his head. “He is a King, Freya. Dinnae forget.”
Grateful for the boy’s small but loyal voice, she lifted her chin. “Aye. He is a King. One who hears prayers, who answers swiftly. I believe he knows me… even if I dinnae fully know him.”
A low chuckle rippled through the MacDonald guard. In seconds it grew into sweeping laughter, echoing off the rafters. Her chest clenched, shame and fury burning in equal measure. They were laughing at her.
Calum stepped forward, planting himself squarely between her and the king, his shoulders back and his gaze like iron. “As good a confession of faith as any creed. Do you dare mock her for it?”
Dómhnall shrugged. “I asked for the paternoster, the simplest of all Christian instruction, and she failed to prove herself a true member of the Holy Church. I have word from the Abbot of Iona that the record of the birth was likely a forgery. He has already issued a dispensation for the annulment of your marriage. She proves him correct.”
Calum burst with fury. “Fingon MacKinnon is as corrupt as the Wolf himself!”
The king raised his hands for silence. “Enough. This is clearly a quarrel between two former rivals. It seems to me Laird MacLean has acted out of jealousy. Rory has given me no cause to doubt him as a trusted member of my guard. As for Laird MacLean, it remains to be seen where his loyalties lie.”
Anger twisted in her chest as she felt Calum stiffen beside her. It took every shred of restraint not to seize his sword and cut down this smug pretender of a king for daring to insult him.
