Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
F reya
No work and all play make Freya a cranky mob wife. 'Scuse me. Fiancée.
I’m still getting used to the title. The ring already feels like an extension of me. Not only did he pick a gorgeous, flawless, brilliant diamond, but the piece is just—me.
He chose a ring so perfect that if I had my phone, I’d change his contact from Freaky Freddie to Frisky Fiancé . But I don’t have a cell phone, and I’m still confused, and I’ve heard nothing from Callum.
Hence, there are no current plans for a wedding. Wearing the ring has been enough to appease him. With my whole world changing, I’m leery of making a lifelong commitment.
An engagement can be broken .
A marriage cannot. When I say vows, I mean them. I wish the Kings would realize that.
The girls at the firm have been told I’m back on the island, visiting my dear Aunt Mary. That she recently had a health issue, that she begged for me specifically, and that, in my selflessness, I’ve gone to stay with her and nurse her back to health.
It’s a laugh.
The last time something was in my care, I was tasked with watering our neighbor’s plants while she was on a month-long Alaskan cruise; I partied, forgot to water them, and they all died.
All the Kings in Glasgow and everyone on the island have been told I’m underground, hiding from the Hoax somewhere in the English countryside till we get this sorted out.
Sorted out meaning…what?
I don’t yet know.
Maybe my people will finally come to their senses and remember who I am. From the outside looking in, it is a wee bit suspicious, especially how I carried on, partying to celebrate my win in court. How will I convince everyone I’m innocent while untangling myself from the Hoax’s name?
Callum says I can’t, and my job is to lay low, stay safe, and do as I’m told.
A feat I fear is too great for me to accomplish.
I’m out of my element now, relying on two men instead of myself. Fredrick to provide for me and protect me here in Inverness. Callum to sort out my life with the Kings. Christmas Day, over wine and pudding, Callum tried his best to avoid the subject, the conversation ending with him saying these things take time, that I’m impatient, and for ONCE, can he be the one in charge, and can I shut my wee mouth?
Wee mouth? HA! I could fit a whole haggis between these MAC Frost Pink lips.
Since my haggis-sized mouth gets me in trouble, I stay busy. With Christmas come gone and packed away, I turn to other projects. Wee Inverness is a beautiful blank slate with clean lines and good bones. It’s a grand castle perched over a gorgeous river and quaint town, deserving of being her best, so I dive into renovations and let Callum sort out my life.
I’m installing an infinity pool, a rock waterfall wall dipping into a round in-ground hot tub, and a koi pond.
Also, I’m working on a surprise for Fredrick’s garden. With a wee sneaky bit of help from Morven and her eccentric, reclusive artist husband, I’ve commissioned a piece for the garden's center. I want him to be able to visit anytime.
Fredrick is actively trying to keep me busy as well. It takes a lot of work. Especially when it’s a holiday and he knows I’m missing the family, like today, New Year’s Day. We rang in the new year with champagne and sexy times at midnight. It was fantastic; I’m still glowing.
Now, as we have been doing every morning since I officially took up residence in his—our—lovely owners’ suite, we sit and have breakfast. We prefer the round table with the two chairs in the small living room off the main bedroom. Together, we sip coffee and nibble breakfast as we discuss our day.
Taking a sip of black coffee, he flips open his laptop, asking me ever so casually, “What would you like to do today?” as if it was just a typical day, with two average newlyweds—yikes, engaged people—ready to spend the day together.
We do make a striking couple.
Now, with more money than God, no need to work, and nothing but time on my perfectly manicured, diamond ring-covered fingers…what would I like to do today?
“Hmm…” I flutter my lashes. “I want to put on a black dress, high heels, a generous spray of Gucci Floral, and march into a courtroom to kick some ass.”
“In time, ma chérie.” His voice dips, his gaze lowering. “Have you considered another career in case it proves too dangerous for you to be back in the courts?”
His words hit me hard. “Seriously? Are things in Glasgow looking that bad for me?”
“I worry for you. I’m thinking maybe keep an open mind.” He offers a soft smile. “That’s all.”
I sit there, stunned. I am a fierce female solicitor. It’s my identity, my drive, my passion, my life. Have I thought of what I would do if I can’t go back?
Walking the halls of Wee Inverness, Happy prancing at my side, his wee bell tinkling, this place is becoming more and more like my new home…I may have toyed with the idea of installing a fantastic west-wing spa and an east-bridal suite.
The estate would be a breathtaking place for weddings.
The wee thought may have slipped into my mind .
“Currently, I have no plans to change careers.” I stab a berry with the prongs of my fork, popping it into my mouth. “We shall see.”
“ Vivre l’instant present . Let us focus on the present moment.” He gives me an easy grin. “There must be something touristy you’d like to do today?” His eyes brighten. “Maybe a historical site with a detailed tour?”
I cast back my mind back, scanning childhood dreams of where we would travel when we finally left our isolated yet beautiful island. Wanting him to enjoy our day, too, I need a suggestion to quench his love of history. “Edinburgh Castle,” I say. “I’ve never been there. Have you?”
“I’ve not.” His dark eyebrows shoot sky-high. “But you? You’re Scottish.”
“Aye! Born and bred.” I hold my Tunnocks teacake up in the air with pride. “Long live Scotland.”
“How have you not been to Edinburgh?” he asks. He pours me a tassie of tea with a skoosh of milk, passing it to me.
“Thank you.” I take a deep sip of the delicious tea, confirming he’s gotten the ratio perfect.
“Do islanders not travel?” he asks.
“We’re not the only ones.” Peeling back the silver-and-red wrapper of my teacake, I inform him, “You’d be surprised how infrequently we in the United Kingdom do ‘tourist things’ even though they are right under our noses. I have a friend at the firm.” A pang for my old life hits. “She was from a small town in England, living only an hour's train ride from London, and had never been. One of the most important cities in the world.” I shake my head, stunned. “Can you imagine? ”
“I cannot.” He goes pensive. “The French explore and appreciate every inch of their beautiful country, from the cities to the Riviera to the peaceful countryside.”
“Of course they do, because you all have a different wine and cheese to try at every stop.” I eye him. “France is so beautiful. There is so much culture. And my goodness, I loved the food. Do you miss it?”
He casts his gaze over his hands. “Too many memories.”
“Understood.” I keep it light. “I adore Scotland, but France beats us in the delicacy department. We have haggis and sausage. There’s only so much ground meat product one can partake of.”
His nose wrinkles as if he’s smelling the stuff. “What’s haggis?”
“Did we not have it at the pub on St. Andy’s Day?” I try to remember. Only chains and riding crops are coming to mind.
“I can’t say that we did.” A mischievous smile. He’s thinking of the same memory.
“I guess we were doing things other than eating sheep entrails—never mind. You don’t want to know what haggis is made of. Trust me.”
“I’ll take your word for it. And I think Edinburgh will make for a perfect day trip.”
I’m always so impressed with how quickly he can type. His fingers fly over the keyboard as he searches.
I am the one at Norse Garden who always steers the ship and makes the plans. I must say it’s nice to have someone besides me and Jesus take the wheel for once. With his elite upbringing, extensive travel experience, and excellent taste, Fredrick’s almost as good a planner as me.
Och. Confession—even better than me. Le sigh.
Letting him do his thing, I flip through the newspaper he brings to the room every morning for our morning routine. I’m beginning to enjoy the feel of the paper between my fingers, missing my news app on my phone less and less. I sip at my soy latte sprinkled with cinnamon while nibbling at the warm chocolate croissant he ordered.
It's funny how quickly we’ve grown comfortable in our routine, how he’s come to know all my likes and, more importantly, dislikes—veggie quiche, I’m looking at you, spinach and onions have no place at breakfast.
Fifteen minutes later, he snaps his laptop shut. Putting my paper down, I give him my full attention. “Lay it on me, tour guide. What are we getting up to on this lovely New Year’s Day?”
“I’m so glad you asked.” His brown eyes sparkle. What I used to confuse with cockiness I now know is a mischievous warmth. “First, we’ll drive to Edinburgh.”
“Complete with our entourage, I’m sure.”
“Absolutely.”
“Can we spare a wee bit of security today? Pretty please? Everyone will be so hungover from New Year’s Eve that looking for us will be the furthest thing from their Hoaxy minds.” I gasp a breath after my monologue, trying to describe the wave of emotion that comes over me on this sunny winter day. “I want to feel…”
He fills in my thoughts. “ Normal?”
“Aye. Thank you.” We’ve also been known to complete one another’s sentences, which makes Morven’s eyes roll to the back of her head. “I’d like to feel normal for a day.”
“Thankfully, there is nothing normal about you, Freya Burnes.” He waits a beat before saying, “But I’ll see what I can do.”
He loves to please me, and I try to reciprocate. I hope he sees that when I finish the garden.
Not wanting to be a problem, I say, “Whatever you think is best, of course, but I would love a casual day in the crowd, which is difficult, surrounded by burly circus men.”
“We’ve been over this. Alex is not, nor has he ever been, a member of Fossett’s Circus. Though I must admit that mustache is from another place and time.” He leaves no space for me to chime in. “Moving on. I’ve blocked the day off into four, three-hour events.”
“Of course you have,” I tease, though I’m starting to fall for his direct, organized ways. I realize he’s not stuffy; he knows what he likes and is confident about his choices.
“Three-hour drive, followed by a three-hour tour and visit at the castle, then a three-hour shopping spree?—”
I hold up a finger, making an important point. “Where we will be purchasing wool sweaters to add to our collection.”
“Absolutely.” He nods. “It’s kind of our thing.”
“We are up to three sets. Harrods, the ones Morven brought us back from her trip, and those flashy green-and-pink golf ones we ordered after too much champagne last night.”
“Three sets are not nearly enough.” He shakes his head. “ After we shop, we’ll dine at a local pub. No haggis, I promise. Then, three hours home.”
"Just in time for our nightly cuddles with Happy.”
“Yes, he’s dying to know the ending of Air Force One .” He grins.
I smile back, imagining our peaceful evening routine after such a busy day: the two of us cuddled on the couch in our similarly styled couture pajamas, Happy curled up in his favorite resting spot on the top of the sofa cushion behind the back of Fredrick’s head as we watch movies.
Never having been allowed to waste time as a kid, Fredrick missed all the best American films, and I’ve taken it upon myself to catch him up.
Right now, we’re on a Harrison Ford kick.
Returning to our day, I ask, “What does our time in the castle consist of?”
“I’m glad you asked!” He flips his laptop open, reading aloud. “‘Embark on a guided tour. Go behind the scenes of the castle with a knowledgeable guide. Many claim this is an excellent way to spend a day—Marvel at the Crown jewels. Admire the oldest set of Crown jewels in the British Isles, first used together in 1543. Visit St Margaret's Chapel. Step inside Edinburgh's most ancient building, constructed around 1130 by King David I. See Mons Meg?—’”
“Mons Meg?” Sounds suspiciously like something minge-y.
He nods. “Mons Meg. It says here: ‘Look down the barrel of this massive siege gun capable of firing a 150kg gunstone up to two miles away.’”
“A cannon?”
“Not sure. But then we explore vaults, journeying into the areas that once held notorious pirate captives.” He stops, eyes lingering on my body in the thin white robe I wear. “I could think of a naughty thing or two to do to you in those vaults.”
“Och, stop.” I flush, waving him away with my hand. “Please. Back to business.”
“‘Witness the One o’clock Gun. Watch as the One o’clock Gun is fired each day’—so it must be a cannon,” he holds up a finger, “‘excluding Sundays, Good Friday, and Christmas Day.’”
“Whew.” I flip my hair. “Not our holiday, good. Open on New Year’s Day. Continue.”
“‘Take in the stunning views,’” he reads. “‘Soak in the breathtaking panoramic views of Edinburgh from atop Castle Rock.’”
“Och, selfie time!”
He groans inwardly, but I know he loves the pictures I snap of us on my digital camera. “Then we’ll grab a bite to eat in the Tea Room located at the highest point of the castle.”
“Love that!” A tea room means chocolate and pastries. My mouth is watering.
Reading my mind, he says, “I’ll be finding you some source of protein as well.”
“Spoilsport,” I joke, loving the TLC.
“You’ll need sustenance other than flour, sugar, and butter because we will climb the Lang Stairs. Here it says: ‘Count all 70 steps on these original entrance stairs to the castle, then pass through Portcullis Gate: Walk under the menacing spikes of this fortified gateway, built nearly 450 years ago.’”
“Och! My calves are already feeling the burn.”
He raises one brow. “I’ll massage them tonight.”
“I’m sure you’ll try,” I tease. “And I’m sure the tour guide will provide us titillating dates and historical facts to get your blood flowing.”
“And I’m sure the sights will provide lovely backdrops for the million photos you demand of us, and the Tea Room will give you the daily sugar rush you require.”
“To get up the seventy stairs.”
“Protein builds muscle, which—never mind.” He closes the laptop with finality, standing and stretching. “Shall we get ready for our day?”
“Let’s.” I join him, stretching up to wrap my arms around his neck for a kiss.
The kiss leads to tongue. I pull back to ask, “Tell me. What would you do if you had me all to yourself in one of those pirate vaults?”
“Mmm…all kinds of things, but what I want to do now is see what you’re hiding under that flimsy robe, then bend you over this table and have my way with you.” He smooths his hands over my ass, cupping my curves.
His touch sends a shiver down my spine. With a playful tone, I tease, "As tempting as that sounds, we should probably save that for another time. We have a castle to conquer first."
Chuckling, he reluctantly releases me, and we set about getting ready for our day of adventure.
As I brush my hair until it gleams down my back, I can’t help but feel that we make the perfect pair.
Our meeting in the foyer punctuates my thoughts. We look at one another and laugh. We’ve unknowingly coordinated our travel wear, both in blue and white. I wear modest pearl earrings; my money piece is a breathtaking pearl necklace made of three strands, each a wee bit longer than the first, so they layer beautifully. I’ve paired it with a navy high-neckline fluttery skirted dress and no tights despite the cold—I will always sacrifice for fashion—with a cream-colored calf-length down coat, gloves, and scarf to fight the chill.
He wears a navy-and-white striped sweater, a white-collared shirt underneath, and a long, navy wool coat.
“You look very French. I love it.” Easing over to him, I lock arms, taking us in. Secretly, I love the way we look together. I lie in bed at night, smiling about our matching sweaters. That is why I make him take so many photos with me. “Great minds think alike. We match.”
He raises a brow. “You’re going to take too many pictures of us today, aren’t you?”
“Aye, you betcha!” I pat the matching cream leather bag at my side. “I’ve got my camera tucked away right here, love.”
We settle into the warm back seat of the sleek black Bentley limousine, carefully folding and storing our outerwear for our arrival. As we drive toward Edinburgh, the anticipation builds within me. I can't help but feel grateful for having him by my side, guiding me through this new, unsure chapter of my life .
Sneaking a peek at him next to me on the black leather back seat of the car, I take in his profile—is it possible the man is even more handsome from this angle? That thick head of hair most men would kill for. The jaw locked in thought as he gazes out his window.
I run my hand up the back of his head, fingers sliding through his silk-like hair. “Your kids would have fantastic hair,” I say.
“So would yours,” he says.
I think about what our children would look like. Would they have his dark eyes and my contrasting light hair? A baby black pearl. Or a wee, curly-haired, green-eyed brunette?
A thought crosses my mind. I’m engaged to the man—no wedding plans in sight, still—and I don’t even know. “Do you want children?”
“Absolutely. I want the wife, the marriage, the family. The happy household.” His eyes lock on mine. “I want it all.”
My uterus throbs, my minge pulsing.I’m picturing chiffon and flower girls, sugared roses and a three-tiered buttercream cake from the bakery in Glasgow.
I lean over, kissing him and murmuring against his lips. “Have you ever had sex in a car?”
To which he replies with the most beautiful words. “Any time before you doesn’t exist in my memory.”
I memorize his words, wanting to write them down, to keep them forever.
This man almost has me ready to plan our wedding.
Almost .
He reaches over me, radiating heat and energy, and pushes a button. I watch as a dark, smoky privacy screen rises between us and the driver.
I shift closer, feeling the heat radiating off him as his hand moves along my thigh, inching my dress higher. The car hums with the low murmur of the engine, creating a deeper sense of privacy in the cab.
His touch ignites a further desire in me, and I can't resist. "I hope you're not planning to take advantage of me in this secluded space," I whisper against his ear, my breath hitching as his fingers trace patterns higher up my inner thigh.
A wicked grin spreads across his face as he leans in, his voice husky with wanton desire. "Who said anything about taking advantage? I believe you wear my ring." His words send a thrill through me, and I bite my lip to suppress a moan. “You belong to me. I can do as I please with you.”
Our lips reconnect, igniting a flame of passion between us. His hands roam freely over my body, teasing every inch of skin they touch. I feel the heat between my legs intensify as his fingers dance along my thigh, inching closer to where I ache for his touch the most.
“Tell me what you want,” he whispers low against my ear, warm words caressing my skin.
I guide his hand to where I need him most, feeling the anticipation building with each teasing caress. “I want to come.”
“And you shall have everything your heart desires.” His fingers tease the area just where the tops of my thighs are pressed together, stroking a lazy finger up and down between my thighs. “But to get what you want, first you have to share with me your filthiest fantasy.”