Page 99 of The Speed of Lightning
Freya tugged on his plaid. “Calum?”
“Aye?”
“Did I make ye proud?”
“Oh lass, I—” He froze, looking down. Her eyes roamed over him, her hands following. His mouth went dry as Somerled’s bones. “I couldnae take my eyes off you.”
She smiled, eyes half-lidded as she curled around him. “Nor I you, my braw lad. Though I wish ye’d shave this ridiculous beard.”
He shook his head, voice catching as her fingers brushed his chest, one slipping beneath his beard to stroke the wolfhound etched on his skin. “It’s for cov-cover. It’s verra bad to have an identifying mark the size of a map across…your…neck…”
Her hand slid inside his tunic, stroking his chest. “I like it. Quite a lot.”
“Do—” His voice cracked again. He cleared his throat, wondering who was pursuing whom. “Do you?”
She nodded, rising on her toes, arms winding around his neck. Moonlight shimmered off her bottom lip as she nervously licked it, and his heart skipped as if catching a glint of gold. The air hitched between them, pulling them closer.
And then…Bog sneezed. Once. Twice. A third time.
Freya let go, laughing, her forehead falling to his chest.
Fury flared through him. He shook his fist at the dog. “Och, ye flea-bitten scunner, ye ruin everything! First my wedding night and now?—”
As quick as a sword dance, he was silenced. Freya bounced onto her toes, drawing his face down, pressing him into the warm, yielding pillow of her lips. They moved against his mouth with gentle, sliding strokes, and he responded, tightening his arms around her in disbelief.
At long last, Freya MacSorley was kissing him.
Chapter 27
INVERLUSSA, JURA - FEBRUARY 22, 1387
Soft falls the frozen winter night
Howling wind, the hoarfrost bite
Within his eye reflected light…
Changed by her mission, changed by love, Freya’s hand flew to the page, determined to set in ink the truth she saw in the boy she had loved all her life. Words long buried in her heart spilled across the page. She summoned the wolfhound etched upon him—lines winding from fingers to hand, from arm to chest and neck—the living mark that bound him to his clan, and first bound him to her.
In her mind, the inked beast stirred, its knots and runes rising with his breath, as if it might tear free of his skin. She saw the swell of his chest beneath it, the ripple of muscle lending the creature life, the silent promise of his power. She felt the fear of his enemies, reading the wolfhound before they ever dared test his strength. Within the ink they saw the myth; within his body, they would meet its truth.
…Legend whispered on the wind.
She lowered her quill, easing back in her chair to study her work, feeling as though her husband loomed right beside her.
“The Wolfhound.”
By the fire, Bog lifted his head.
“Not you, Boggy.” Her smile lingered on the words. “Da.”
At the sound of his master’s name, the dog’s long, whiplike tail drummed against the footstool, scattering her embroidery across the floor. The sudden mess jolted her from her scribing fog.Dear faeries…Arne’s gift!
The lad was turning eleven today, and she had embroidered a woolen kyrtill to match his father’s, the same acanthus stitched along the sleeves and hem. She had promised to deliver it while he was out pulling nets with his father, so the boy would find a surprise waiting when he returned.
Snatching her cloak, she hurried out the door, whistling for Bog, praying she wasn’t too late.
Even as she ran through the rain and gloom, blissful happiness poured over her like sunlight, every step fueled by the thought of Calum. At last there were no questions between them. For more than a week she had tested her new freedom with him—holding his hand, kissing him at will, flirting without shame—and she loved every moment of it. She thought of the way he had held her that morning, his hands tender, his kisses lingering. He loved her, of that she was sure, and she was more than ready. The thought made her stomach flip.
