Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
T he flames burned bright and warm in the fire James had built for them in the small clearing. It was dark by then, the sun having set long before. Under the glow of the flames, Freya’s red hair seemed to be another blazing fire that surrounded her pretty face, but where James had once seen nothing but joy, there was now an emptiness that startled him.
He was well aware of the fact that he had concealed several things from her. In fact, he had concealed most of his past, telling her only his name and a few details about his travels to the Isle of Rum. None of it was fair to her; this secrecy, this reluctance he had to tell her the whole truth. But every time he parted his lips to tell her exactly where he had come from, to tell her of his real past and the fact that he was the son of a laird, the words died in his throat before he could utter them.
He didn’t know how she would react to them. He didn’t know what she would do, what she would say to him once she knew the whole truth, and the uncertainty of it was what gave him pause.
No, that wasn’t right, he told himself. He had to be honest—if not with her, then at least with himself.
The truth was he remembered things now that were less than ideal, and one in particular stopped him from telling Freya the truth. The very reason for his travels was to seek a blessing from Saint Cuthbert’s relic—the saint’s finger bone, which every MacGregor man had visited before his betrothal to his wife. Before long, James was meant to be a married man. Once he would return home, he would have to wed.
Had his parents already found a suitable match for him? Had they already arranged everything to their liking, ensuring a strong alliance for the clan?
It didn’t matter to James. The mere thought of marrying another woman made his chest ache with guilt, and that was enough to confirm to him that he had truly fallen for Freya. He couldn’t imagine another woman sharing the rest of his life with him and having his children.
Whether that was something Freya wanted, though, was still to be determined. Perhaps if he wasn’t such a coward, if he was more open to the idea of sharing his past with her, he wouldn’t have to wonder—Freya would have already given him an answer, and regardless of what that answer would be, he would know for certain. And yet, even that wasn’t enough to motivate him to reveal everything to her.
Living in this limbo was better than rejection, than facing the possibility that he would have to fight hard for this marriage.
Even if his parents hadn’t found a suitable wife for him, there was no telling if they and the council would accept Freya as the next Lady of the Clan. She was a peasant lass. She was a healer from a small village and had none of the upbringing required of a laird’s wife. And as much as James didn’t care about any of this, he couldn’t help but fear his parents and the council—his mother, more than anyone else—would be against their union because of it.
After a meagre dinner of what little they had left in their bag, James grabbed a stick off the ground and began to idly whittle it down to a point, just to have something to do with his hands. Across from him, Freya still sat with her bag against the tree, her eyes having fallen shut. She wasn’t sleeping, though. He could tell because of the way her breath caught every time she inhaled, her chest stopping for a brief moment at full expanse.
Neither of them had managed to relax, despite being in safe lands now. James couldn’t blame her; how could she relax next to a stranger? Because that was precisely what James was to her now—a stranger, and one who refused to tell her who he truly was.
On the other hand, James had even more to consider now. He had thought that once his memory resurfaced, once he realized who he was, everything would be easier, but the reality he found waiting for him was much different than he had hoped. He had known himself to be a warrior, but he had never expected he would be the son and heir of a powerful laird. He had known he must have had some sort of complicated past, but this was beyond his wildest imagination. And at the same time, he felt that the part of him that had once been Nathan was now fading away.
And as it faded, it was replaced by a terror that Freya would not like what was left behind.
What if she only liked Nathan? What if she daesnae like me?
When James looked up at her once more, he found her staring at him through half-lidded eyes. She seemed exhausted, just like he felt, but there was more to her gaze than weariness. James felt as though she was dissecting him, peering right through him, and he couldn’t help but wonder what it was that she saw.
“I’m still the same man,” he said softly, his voice carried by the soft breeze. Perhaps it wasn’t entirely true, but it wasn’t a lie either. “We’re still the same, Freya.”
There was silence, heavy and uncomfortable. With a flick of her hands, Freya pushed her fiery hair behind her ears, a heavy sigh escaping her.
“I dinnae ken if that’s true,” she admitted just as softly.
James didn’t know how to convince her when he could hardly convince himself of it. After a moment of hesitation, he shifted closer to her so that they were sitting side by side, their arms brushing against each other.
“I cannae blame ye,” he said. “But maybe I can show ye.”
Freya turned to look at him with a curious gaze in her eyes just as James reached for her, cupping her cheek gently. Despite the tension between them, he felt her lean against his palm, accepting the touch with ease.
Perhaps it was a mistake, leaning in to kiss her. Perhaps it would be easier if he simply let this unnamed thing between them dissipate without ever acknowledging it again. It would hurt them both, but they would recover with time.
Yet all he could think about was kissing those rosy lips again. He didn’t want to let Freya go. All his life, he had given everything for his clan—he had fought in battles, he had dedicated his time and his body to its protection, and he had been prepared to endure anything for his people. This one time, he wanted to be selfish.
And so he kissed her. It was a gentle kiss, a simple press of his lips against hers, giving her enough time to pull back if she so wished. Even so, he tried to pour everything he felt for her in it and show her that even if he had changed, nothing between them had.
Not only did Freya not pull back, but she even parted her lips to deepen the kiss. She breathed softly against him, the air between them charged with the intensity of their combined desire. James couldn’t resist grabbing her waist and pulling her close, the need to feel her body pressing against his own so overwhelming that he was almost vibrating right out of his skin.
There was no denying it. He had fallen for her and no excuse was enough to stop his feelings from blossoming more and more with every passing day. There was something special about Freya; he had never met a woman who was at the same time as fierce and as caring and loving as she was. He didn’t think he would ever find another, either.
No matter the hardships they would face, no matter the opinion of his family and the council, James had made up his mind. This was the woman he would wed.