Page 22 of Married to the Ruthless Highlander
At least she seems pleased.
Perhaps that was worth enduring the discomfort of the coming month.
Doughall had spent most of the day holed up in his study, though it was in part to avoid any conversations about feasts. His aunt and Moira would be relentless in their planning, he was sure. And Freya—he had no desire to see her just yet. Not after how heated things had gotten in this same room last night.
He leaned over the letter he had started writing, quill in hand as he stared at the mostly blank parchment. He had intended to write to Adam about everything that had happened over the past few days, but every time he started, he found himself unable to focus. His mind wandered, but no matter how he tried to bring it to heel, it always seemed to return to Freya, to the threat that hovered above her.
She would have been killed, but not before unspeakable things had occurred. The more he thought about it, the more he wished he could kill them all again and again, in the most horrendous ways—in ways that would befit his unofficial title.
And then there was the one on horseback. The coward that had fled. A loose end, still out there somewhere, still a threat. That thought gnawed at him, teeth sinking in deeper and deeper. Until that man was dead, she wasn’t safe.
With a frustrated sigh, Doughall rose from his desk. He paced the room for a moment, before turning to the door. He stepped out into the hallway. He needed to tell Adam what had happened… but perhaps it would not be a terrible idea to includeherin such messages.
A servant was standing outside his room, waiting for a message or a command.
“Bring Freya Kane to me study,” he ordered, his voice carrying down the hallway.
The young man nodded and offered a bow, before disappearing from view.
Doughall returned to his desk, leaving the door slightly ajar as he sat back down. Rubbing his temples, he thought of how to explain it all to his friend—to her brother. As much as he hated to admit it, he had almost failed to keep her safe. She had run off, nearly died, and if he had arrived only a few moments late…
A sound in the hall drew his attention. He looked up, expecting to see Freya standing in the doorway, but it was the servant again. His face was pale, and he was wringing his hands nervously.
“Laird MacGordon…” His voice trembled. “I-I couldnae find her.”
Doughall’s eyes narrowed. “What do ye meanye couldnae find her?”
8
Where the hell is she?
Doughall tore through MacGordon Castle like a man possessed. He flew down every hallway, through the kitchens, and started bursting through the doors of each room. But she was nowhere to be found.
I saw her earlier. Where could she have gone?
Blood pounded in his ears, his frustration mounting with every passing moment. The thought of her slipping away—or worse, someone taking her—was unbearable. He had brought her here to protect her, and now he had lost her. The castle, the home he knew like the back of his hand, suddenly felt like a labyrinth.
Servants moved around him, everyone searching.
Doughall moved down a hallway, one he had avoided for some time, one that held memories he had hoped would not surface again. There was no reason she would be here; he had ensured that all the doors had been locked save for when the rooms were cleaned a few times a year.
And then he heard it.
“Oh God. Please, nay. Please?—”
He recognized her voice. He recognized the hushed whisper that came from behindthatdoor.
Doughall froze, his breath catching in his throat. The door before him was one he had not opened… in decades. It was his mother’s room once, and it had remained how she had left it.
He had given Freya the freedom to go wherever she pleased, but this room… he had not even thought to warn her to stay away from it. His breath hitched as he heard another sound from within, a gasp and another whimper.
He did not think as his hand moved for the hilt of his dirk, drawing the short blade as he burst through the door. He entered ready to kill, ready to do whatever he had to if it meant keeping her safe. His eyes scanned the room wildly, looking for any hint of danger.
But there was none.
Freya sat in the chair near the window, her eyes wide and startled, a book open in her lap.
Slowly, she rose from her seat as she stared at him. “What is the matter?”
