Page 57 of Married to the Ruthless Highlander
“If she’s marryin’ into this family, love,” Flynn replied, humor in his voice, “she cannae get scared easily.”
Those words rang in Freya’s ears as she hurried down a shorter hallway and up a winding staircase to the eastern tower.
Opening the cover of the book to make sure the letter was still there, something became very clear in her head—this was no note from a lover or a suitor, but an outright threat.
22
“Doughall!”
Doughall blinked his bleary eyes at the carriage and rider coming down the moorland path, not entirely convinced he wasn’t hearing things. The blinding sun hung low in the sky, making its slow return to the horizon, letting him know he had just wasted a day searching fruitlessly for Lewis Brown.
“Doughall, wait a moment!” The voice came again from the rider who now pulled away from the carriage, approaching him more swiftly.
Ersie, half asleep in the saddle, jolted awake, instinctively reaching for her lance. “Is it Lewis?”
“Nay, it’s Adam,” Doughall replied, glancing back over his shoulder to observe the rest of his men. All were slumping intheir saddles, their mouths gaping in shuddering yawns, beyond exhausted. “All of ye! Ride on to the castle! Get some rest!”
The men perked up, nudging their horses into a swifter gait, thundering past their Laird in their eagerness to reach their beds.
For a moment, Doughall envied them, thinking of a bed where he might like to rest his weary bones, though not before he had Freya just as exhausted. Just the thought of her in that torn nightgown, trembling and calling out his name, was enough to give him a fresh surge of strength.
Only Ersie remained at his side. He had expected nothing less.
“Where have ye been?” Doughall asked as Adam drew to a halt in front of him. “Ye should have requested an escort.”
Adam waved him off. “We were in nay peril, Doughall. We went to the nearest town to choose a gown for the day after tomorrow.”
“The day after tomorrow?” Doughall frowned, his eyes itchy with fatigue.
“Aye, for the weddin’.”
“That’s when the weddin’ is?” Doughall’s mood darkened. “First I’m hearin’ of it.”
Adam had the decency to look uncomfortable. “I might have forgotten to mention it, with one thing and another stealin’ me attention.” He shook his head, sighing. “In truth, it was me wife who reminded me, but it has to be the day after tomorrow, Doughall, or else we’ll miss the messenger that has been deliverin’ Laura’s letters. I’m nae waitin’ for another month or more to find her.”
“The messenger hasnae been comin’ to the castle?”
Doughall was certain that Freya would not take the news well. She had been thrown into this marriage against her will, and now her family—the people closest to her—were declaring their intention to leave as soon as she was wed. Evenhethought that was unusually cruel, particularly from a man he deemed his dearest friend.
“Nay,” Adam replied. “The messenger has been bringin’ the letters to the village healer, who has been bringin’ them to us. On the promise of good coin, we’ve arranged to meet him in another village at a specific time. If we miss him, and he misses out on his coin, I doubt he’ll be so forthcomin’ again.”
Doughall shrugged. “Very well then. Let that be the day.”
It did not matter to him whether he married Freya in a day or a year, as his terms would not change, but he knew it would matter to her.
Why do I care?
That uneasy, tight feeling claimed his lungs again. He had no answer that would satisfy him, but plenty that would only serve to make him feel even more unmoored from himself.
“Excellent.” A weight seemed to be lifted from Adam’s shoulders. “I’ll let ye tell her. Och, and let her ken that there’s a gown waitin’ for her. Me maither is goin’ to give it to the castle seamstress, but it’ll be ready by mornin’.”
Doughall’s eye twitched. Regardless of whether or not Adam was his friend, he did not appreciate him making such casual use of his servants, and without so much as seeking Freya’s opinion on the gown. What if it was not to her taste? She had been given no choice in the marriage—surely, she deserved to have a choice in what she wore?
But he held his tongue and made a grunt of assent. It was probably better if it came from him anyway, so Freya could blame him instead of her family. Easier for her, certainly.
Besides, he had ways of making her forget her troubles, and if that was what it took for her to ignore the fact that her brother and mother would soon be abandoning her, he was more than happy to help replace her woes with sighs of utter bliss. He might even let her touch him, this time.
And I’ll command ye to be as loud as ye please. Scream the castle down, and I’ll reward ye for it.
