Page 88 of The Speed of Lightning
He snorted. “Am I? The clan cast me out. The king’s cast me out.”
Their words faded into the hush of the hills, but movement among the boulders ahead caught his eye. A figure stepped out, and then several more—MacKay guard, swords drawn, eyes cold and resolute. He’d been to Sanaigmore a few times before, but had forgotten the covert way they conducted patrols.
The guard looked him over, voice sharp as steel. “State your business.”
Calum drew Freya closer. The MacKays had borne more attacks than any clan since the Wolf began his conquest, and he knew their suspicion of strangers.
“Bjorn and Anna MacLean of Jura. We seek Chieftain Angus MacKay on trade, in service to Chieftain Ragnall MacSorley of Somerled’s line.”
The guard, tall and broad-shouldered, eyed them with doubt. “You come to trade in a winter storm?” His gaze slid over Freya, lingering on her mouth with obvious lust. “Though it seems you’ve brought fire enough to warm more than snow.”
Calum stepped forward, voice hard. “Careful where your eyes wander. They may not find their way back.”
“We meant the lass no harm.”
Bog growled low. Freya’s hand tightened on Calum’s, warning him to hold, as she slipped into a silken laugh. Her fingers traced the badge pinned to the guard’s chest, lingering just long enough to make Calum want to send his fist through the man’s gleaming teeth. “Pay no mind to my husband—he’smore bark than bite. Though…” Her gaze slid toward Calum, lashes dipping, voice a velvet purr. “…I admit, the bite is impressive.” She let the words hang before turning back to the guard, eyes bright with mischief. “Tell me, what better time to speak of a timber trade than in the coldest days? Jura’s shores are heavy with it. Yours…” Her gaze wandered, slow and deliberate, to the barren hills beyond. “…are bare.”
The guard softened, sheathing his sword. “That’s all you had to say. How long will you stay?”
Freya smiled as if their arrival were chance. “We’d meant only the day, but the snow may keep us longer. Is there an inn nearby? One you might recommend?”
The man’s face lit. “Ardnave, north of here. The beds are most comfortable. I’d show you myself if I were free.”
Like hell you would.Calum glowered. She was weaving her tale too well. He tried to steady the dark spike of jealousy twisting through him. It was for the mission, for him. He had nearly mastered his expression when she looked at the guard—and winked.
He snatched her hand, yanking her back to his side. “Are we free to go?”
The guard stepped aside with the others. “Aye. Keep to the roads. Wander, and our watchmen will see you off our land.”
Calum nodded curtly, dragging Freya with him.
She chuckled as they climbed the next hill. “Did you see that? What a fool. Amazing what a bit of flattery can do with a man so—” She stopped at his sharp look. “What’s the matter with ye?”
“Nothing.”
“Have I upset you?”
Irritation built in his chest. “Nay. Just noting how effective you are at telling a story.”
“And I see why Rory stood no chance at Duart’s gate. You may hide what you look like, but you cannae hide what you are.”
He stopped short, anger flaring. “You cannae understand what it is to be hated for how you look. What you are.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh I cannae? Freya the Foul, remember? My father dressed me as a lad, shaved my head, disguised me. Worse, the person I am was hidden from everyone because they couldnae get past it.”
He grunted, unwilling to concede she had a point. “I can never remove these marks, no matter how much I want to. I hate them.”
“Why would you want to?
By the saints. “I just do.”
“They’re only marks. Your father bore the same, and he was one of the most respected men in the Isles.”
“They’re heathen marks, a reminder of my cowardice the day I received them.”
She stopped, hand on her hip. “Do you think me daft?”
In three months the lass had grown into her voice. She no longer stayed quiet or cowered. He had helped give her that confidence, but in this moment he didn’t like it. “Of course I?—”
