Chapter 6 #2
She shook her head. “Gavina’s is just around the bend, and it’s not heavy.”
Ignoring her, he lifted the basket and started down the path toward Fraser’s cottage. She lingered beside the rowan, watching him walk away, and he turned back, feeling as though he were coaxing a skittish pony. “Are you afraid I’ll sail away with you?”
Her mouth twitched, half-pursed, half-amused, before she followed after him. “Where were you off to? I ken you must have more important things to do today.”
“No’ until Friday do I have anything to do. Da has gone south to deal with a clan matter and left instructions with Maw that I am to rest until he returns.”
They leapt over a muddy stretch in the road.
“Why are ye no’ at home gathering dust, then?”
He shrugged. “To me this feels like gathering dust. No battles to fight, no missions to complete, no dispatches to write, no guards to drill. Just miles of road to run, stag to hunt, and pretty lasses to walk to Lealt.”
Her head snapped toward him. “You’ve been out walking with Astrid MacNeil?”
The lass was impossible to compliment, batting each one away like midges. “How do you know about Astrid MacNeil?”
She paused at Fraser’s fence. “I saw all the lassies you danced with. And took to the marsh. I remember Astrid MacNeil was your particular favorite.”
He tugged gently on a fletter, unable to help himself. “You should have come out of hiding and joined me.”
Her eyes widened. “At the marsh?”
He chuckled. “I meant for a dance. Or just to say good day. Although, come tae think of it, I wouldnae mind taking you to a marsh.”
Scarlet flooded her skin, rising from her neck to the tip of her nose and across her brow. Yet she brushed past his flirtation with practiced ease. “Aye, I’m quite good at catching natterjack toads. It would make a blithe evening.”
Fraser’s door opened and he descended the stairs, waving. “Calum, how nice of you to visit. I thought you’d be off with your father on clan business.”
Irritation prickled, and Calum rolled his eyes. “As did I. Seems he wishes me to rest. Though the king has given me other tasks while I’m here. I was waiting for Master MacFadyen’s return from the north to attend to it.”
Fraser leaned over the fence. “Other business?”
“Aye. Perhaps you could help me instead. Have you heard of the one called the Storyteller?“
Fraser’s face lit, brows high, mouth splitting in a grin. He winked at Freya. “I certainly have.”
Startled to have found a lead so quickly, Calum pressed. “You’ve heard the stories?”
“I’ve heard them all. The Hound of Jura, the Raid of Lochbuie, the—”
“Wait. Lochbuie?”
Fraser chuckled, winking at Freya again. “Aye. The tale of how you helped Hector MacLean take it from the MacFadyens without bloodshed, becoming Commander of the MacLean Guard.”
Calum frowned. “But that was years before the war with the Wolf.”
“A’course. Then Lochindorb—that one’s my favorite, though you barely feature in it. And the series of the Shield’s exploits on Skye—”
Horror clenched Calum’s gut. Dómhnall had been right. The Storyteller had to be from Jura. It was the only explanation. “Fraser…there’s not an easy way to ask this, but are you the Storyteller?”
Fraser erupted, laughter hacking out of him until he wheezed for breath. “Nooooo…”
Relief loosened Calum’s chest. “That’s good to hear.”
Fraser dabbed at his eyes, still grinning. “Why?”
“Because the king has tasked me to find this Storyteller and bring him to Ardtornish. The man has thieved my father’s missives, and that’s a crime. He’ll face trial.”
All humor drained from Fraser’s face. His head swiveled to Freya, her eyes wide. “Trial? But why? The stories havenae harmed anyone.”
Calum scoffed. “Yet. The fool has disclosed my identity all over the Isles and Scotland. That’s why I’ve been sent home by the king. We need to fortify our defenses and raise a guard. This Storyteller has put us all at risk of
retaliation blethering at the expense of your safety.”
Fraser stepped back, thunderstruck.
Calum’s suspicion flared. “Do you know the Storyteller?”
Fraser’s eyes bulged, darting from Freya to him. “Of course no’!”
The denial rang too loud, but Calum let it rest—for now. His gaze shifted to Freya, whose face had gone pale. “Are you all right?”
She nodded quickly, rubbing her brow. “It’s late. Papa will be looking for me. Fraser, could you take my embroidery to Gavina, and bring next week’s items to the longhouse tonight?”
“Of course, love,” Fraser said, worry creasing his brow. “Best no’ get on your father’s bad side.”
Freya nodded, a slight tremble in her hand as she passed her basket over the fence. “Thank you. I’ll see you to—I mean, next week. I’ll see you next week.”
Fraser winked at her again. “Aye love, hurry along.”
Calum watched her walk toward Inverlussa, looking suddenly upended. He waited until she vanished around the bend before turning back to Fraser.
“Her father still rules over her?”
Fraser’s nod was short and grim. “With no tolerance for dissent. Ten long years for the lass. I only hope marriage mends it for her.”
Calum thought of Rory—oily mustache, ingratiating smirk, the dozens of times he’d undercut men who crossed him—and felt certain marriage would mend nothing.
Tossing Fraser a thanks, he jogged after Freya and caught her on the path. “Wait, MacSorley!”
Her shoulders rose and fell with visible frustration, but when she turned, her expression was calm. “Ye cannae stay away today.”
The question burst out before he could stop it. “How did your father meet Rory MacDonald?”
She blinked, surprised. “Papa made repairs at Ardtornish. Rory was there. Have you met him? He’s most…handsome.”
A blast of hot jealousy fired over him and his voice ground out. “Aye, we’ve met. Cannae say I’ve ever paid much attention to his looks.”
Her eyes lifted as they passed beneath the rowan. “When will he be—”
In his rush to be done talking about jobby-bag Rory, he trod over her question. “No’ for weeks. Perhaps two months.”
For an instant, relief softened her face. “Oh. I suppose I should walk the rest alone. Being his betrothed, it wouldnae be proper if—”
“Please,” he insisted, kicking himself. “Let me see you home. After everything, it’s the least I can do.”
Freya crossed her arms, pulling her plaid tighter around herself. “But if you take me home, won’t it appear as if…”
He played dumb, knowing that it would look as though they were courting, and liking the idea very much. “As if?”
Her tongue brushed her lip. “As if you and I…since the ceremony. Since what everyone thought.”
Frowning, he tried to follow. “What did they think?”
Color blazed across her cheeks. “That we were lovers. That you plotted to ruin the ceremony and take me away. That I was in a delicate condition. My father still believes that was the way of it.”
It was the first time he had ever bothered to consider that Ragnall could think her capable of such a thing. He lowered his voice, reminded that for Freya everything was far more precarious than for himself. “Nothing could be further from the truth.”
“Aye, well the two months I spent with your maw caused quite a bit of gossip. But no bairn was ever born, and you never returned.”
The words had the slightest bitterness to them, and he felt embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I should have returned…”
Eyes huge, she pressed a hand to her forehead. “No, I didnae mean—I certainly didnae spend ten years looking for you.”
The truth paid him another stinging, hot slap but he managed to chuckle along with her. “Aye…of course no’.”
She straightened, her tone brisk. “I only helped you because you needed help. That’s all. I acted without thinking of the consequences.”
If her explanation was meant to placate him it had the opposite effect.
Her words hollowed him, disappointment settling deep.
Ten years he had carried her in his heart, yet she seemed to hold nothing of him in hers.
Hatred for Rory flared sharper, though he forced a chuckle.
“Aye, we barely knew each other. Beyond a sword dance when we were eight.”
“Aye,” she agreed much too quickly. “By all accounts we were enemies, you and I.”
Wounded, his laughter died away. He fixed his eyes on the rubble circling the town instead of her face. “Let’s hope no’ still enemies. Da will need at least one MacSorley to stand against your father.”
She glanced toward her longhouse. “Speaking of which, I ought to go before he comes looking. I’ll see you at the meeting in a few days?”
He forced a pleasant look, though the thought of her locked in that house curdled his stomach. “There’s no meeting.”
Her steps slowed. “Oh?”
“My parents are holding a ceilidh Friday’s eve, in honor of my return. The whole clan will be there. Did your father no’ mention it?”
Confusion flickered across her face before she rallied with a too-bright smile. “That’s right. The ceilidh. …Of course.”
Disbelieving her, he pressed. “He willnae let you attend, will he?”
Her empty hands twined together. “I wish I could.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You’re twenty-six, no’ a bairn. Tell him you’re going—and then go.”
“I…I cannae.”
Feeling as though he were swinging out over a black crevasse, he stepped closer still, searching her eyes as they blinked back a prickle of tears. “Ye can, lass. What are you afraid of? Ye can tell me.”
She tried for a smile, but it wavered. Her teeth caught her lip. “His mind…it’s no’ right.”
A half smile tugged at his own mouth. “Come. We’ll share a dance at last. You’re well auld enough to choose for yourself. What’s the worst that can happen? I’m here now. I’ll still protect you.”
Her gaze dropped to her shoes. “Ye dinnae understand. I rely on him for everything—my home, the food in my belly, the clothes on my back. I cannae defy the one who provides for me. He is the only father I’ll ever have. I owe him obedience.”
He gave a short nod, though it twisted his gut. “I understand.”
She nodded too, looking bereft, and started toward home.
A thought occurred to him and urged his tongue to speak, but he held it. Don’t say it, his mind urged. She’s made her feelings where you are concerned perfectly clear. Don’t be thought a fool.
But when she drifted farther away, the auld offer burned through his restraint. He jogged forward, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Freya?”
She turned. “Aye?”
Closing the distance, desperate to keep her from slipping away, he lifted his ink-stained hand to her cheek. “I can still take care of us both. No fathers to disappoint.”
The fullness of her mouth drew up, and she blinked hard, a tear trickling down her cheek, an unhappy smile contorting her features. She sniffed. “I know ye can. But I must be going home.”