Page 84 of Married to the Ruthless Highlander
“Neither did I.”
Doughall’s eyes clouded over as he began to tell her what had occurred between her collapsing in the Great Hall and that verymoment—how Flynn had been in love with his mother, playing a long and wicked game to make her his own, resulting in the death of both his parents.
“He thought ye’d figure out the truth,” Doughall concluded wearily. “And I can fathom why. Ye’re wise, ye’re wily, ye’re sharp as a blade, and once ye decide on somethin’, ye dinnae let it go. I’ve nay doubt that if ye’d continued to try and solve the mystery, ye’d have found him out. So, he did to ye what he once attempted to do to me maither. Like her, ye survived it too.”
Freya stared up at the rafters for a long while, watching old cobwebs flutter in the cold draft, trying to wrap her head around what she had just heard. She had liked Flynn, had sensed no danger from him, but something came back to her as she sifted through the annals of her memory.
When she had encountered Flynn in the hallway on her way to the empty study, with the book and the note behind her back, she thought she had seen him look at her strangely. That must have been when he decided to act, plotting to end her search by poisoning her cider.
“He was hidin’ at the distillery, nay doubt makin’ the poison under the guise of preparin’ whiskey for the weddin’,” she whispered. “He didnae hear that Lewis had been killed.”
Doughall shook his head. “Nay, he didnae.”
Freya turned her head and looked at him, her heart aching for him. He could hide most things behind that disciplined, blank expression of his, but he could not hide the anguish in his eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Doughall,” she whispered. “I’m sorry ye had to kill him, and I’m sorry ye had to find out like this.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “He should have never come after ye.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “How do ye feel?”
“Like I’ve imbibed somethin’ I shouldnae,” she replied with a dry laugh. “How long have I been asleep?”
“About a day,” he replied. “Yer braither stayed. He decided to delay his search for yer sister. Now that ye’re awake, I can have him take me place.”
Freya flinched as if she had been struck, confused by the feeling of abandonment that swept through her as he let go of her hand and moved to stand.
Was he really going to leave her? Did he not understand that it was him she wanted at her bedside, not her brother?
“Very well,” she muttered. “I suppose ye have other things to do. The weddin’ is over, after all. Ye can resume yer old way of life.”
He halted, staring down at her with a raised eyebrow. “I beg yer pardon?”
“What? If me braither is here, ye dinnae have to worry about takin’ time away from yer duties to tend to me. That’s what ye meant, is it nae?” she replied more tersely than she had intended.
But what did he expect? She had just found out that Flynn had tried to kill her, and now he was foisting his responsibilities on Adam. She figured her husband could not wait to get away from her.
He stood over her, hooking his fingertips beneath her chin. “Have ye forgotten that ye’re me wife? I willnae be farther from yer side than just outside that door. This is yer home, I am yer husband, and ye belong to me. Ye are me responsibility and mine alone.”
Belong to him, never to be loved by him, never to have everythin’ that I dreamed of.
She realized that if she died, she would have gone to her grave never experiencing all the things that she had hoped for. She would have gone to her grave as a mouse who had never spoken up when it mattered, too afraid of rejection to make demands of the man who had crept in and stolen her heart.
“But this… was nothin’ more than a forced marriage,” she reminded him, though she had long stopped thinking of it that way. “I dinnae want to be yer responsibility. I dinnae want to be yers if bein’ yers is a pretense. I want a marriage that is everythin’ a marriage should be. I want bairns. I want… love and a future where I dinnae see me husband in passin’, asif we’re nay more than acquaintances. I want… marriage, nae an alliance. And if ye cannae give me that, then I’ll return to MacNiall Castle, where at least I can be lonely on me own terms.”
Doughall sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned over her, one hand braced on either side of her head—a gesture that should have been menacing, but it brought back memories of the very opposite. In his presence, she could not help but feel safe… and knew she would miss it if she left.
“If it’s bairns ye want, that’s what we’ll have, but I wouldnae start temptin’ me just yet,” he purred, his eyes glinting with something like amusement. “Ye havenae recovered yet, and I willnae have Sorcha scoldin’ me again if she catches ye exertin’ yerself. Before I have ye, I want ye well again.”
Freya blinked, a warmth that could have been bashfulness or a fever rushing into her face. “Ye… changed yer mind?”
“Love, I’d give ye the world if ye wanted it,” he replied. “We can start with a bairn. I think it’d do me some good. Ye’ve already made me want to be a better man, love—a bairn could only help that along.”
She gazed into his gleaming eyes. “Do ye mean it?”
“Have ye ever kenned me to lie?”
“Well, nay, but?—”
“Then take me at me word.” He dipped his head and gently pressed his lips to hers, as if he feared he might break her if he put too much passion into the kiss.
