Chapter 10 #2
“I’d sooner crawl naked up Sgùrr na Cìche in an ice storm than return you to him. Especially injured and vulnerable.” His voice was steady, unyielding. “He attacked you, cast you out in the dark, treated you as if you were nothing. He’s a right bawbag. You’re no’ going home.”
The words struck the weak points in her armor, crushing her heart with their truth. She tried to brush them aside.
“He didnae mean—”
Calum’s expression twisted with disbelief, as if she’d spoken madness. “Do you hear yourself? He did mean it. He meant to harm you. He meant to maim you. You did nothing to deserve it.”
“I shouldnae have made him so upset—”
“He is your father. You are not responsible for his happiness or his temper. End of.”
“I snuck out—”
“You did nothing to deserve this, MacSorley. Get that through your head. He had a loss of control so severe it nearly killed you. Do you understand? I sat outside this door while you hovered near death, begging God to spare you, unable to even hold your hand. You almost died—I almost lost you—”
Her eyes grew hot and she turned away, fixing on the rosemary beside the bed spilling from a jug, her heart aching with the urge to argue.
“Ah, no. Dinnae cry. That’s not what I meant—I should have said…I’m sorry. I’ve been practicing for days what to say, and that wasnae it.”
She steadied herself, swallowing her remorse. “What did ye practice?”
Shifting in his seat, stretching his legs, crossing and uncrossing them, he seemed to be stalling. He cleared his throat. Then cleared it again. “My parents sit out under the stars whenever they appear.”
Already she was lost. “What—”
He looked up at her with a boyish grin. “Da says they conceived me under them.”
The boldness of it sent her reeling. “Och, Calum. That’s what you’ve been practicing?”
A rumble of laughter shook from him. “No—wait…that’s not…”
Her cheeks burned, and she pressed her hands to them, unable to stop her own laughter.
He scooted his chair closer. “That’s what I want to do with you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“No, no, not that—though I cannae deny that the thought’s crossed my mind—”
“Och!” She buried her face in her hands. “Calum, you’re embarrassing me. I’m no’ a tawdry flirt.”
Still laughing, he touched her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, I keep making it worse. I mean…
My parents are happy—they still love each other, still spend their nights under the stars.
That’s what I want for us. For you never to know another day of sadness.
To have a family that’s all ours, loads of children, time together under the stars, the whole… thing.”
Disbelief broke over her. “Happiness?”
“Aye.”
“You still think you want to wed me?”
At that, he blinked, startled. “I dinnae think. I know.”
She was stupefied. “You dinnae know what you’re saying.”
Sliding a hand into his tunic, he drew out her leather pouch. From it he unwound a cord and removed a folded slip of vellum. “This is for you.”
Her hands trembled. “Is it from my Papa?”
He shook his head. “The king.”
Cold shock slithered through her, freezing her insides as he pressed the small square into her palms. She slid her thumb beneath the wax, opened the missive, and read.
John of Islay, by the Grace of God, King of the Isles.
Know ye that We have given consent to the contracting of matrimony between Tànaiste Calum Bjorg MacLean of Jura and our beloved Freya Anna of Iona.
In witness whereof, We have set Our hand and caused Our great seal to be affixed at Ardtornish Palace, the 18th day of October, in the fiftieth year of Our Reign.
John, Rex Insularum
Witnessed: Hector, Chief MacLean of Lochbuie
Freya traced the ink with trembling fingers, unable to believe what she held. “Why has the king sealed the banns?”
“I thought it prudent to have them signed by the highest authority.”
“This isnae correct.”
Calum’s brow knit. “What do you mean?”
“It says ‘beloved Freya Anna of Iona.’ I am not from Iona.”
He shifted, uneasy, as though weighing how much truth she could bear.
“The church required proof of your parentage for the record. I didnae know your mother’s surname, and your father refused to give it.
Inverlussa held nothing of your birth. But my parents remembered your mother was Christian, that she bore you during pilgrimage to Iona.
So I sent Father Timothy to search the records there.
By some miracle he found you, April 1360.
You are of Iona…recorded as illegitimate. ”
He spoke slowly as if she were still fevered, and for moments she wondered if she was. Her mouth fell open. “You must have the wrong record.”
Calum tugged at his collar, swallowing hard. “Your mother was Amie Godfrey of Ross?”
Her heart plunged. “Aye.”
He raked a hand through his hair, a bright lock falling across his cheek. “Father Timothy thinks the record marks you illegitimate only because your father was heathen—not of the Christian faith.”
He meant to soften it, but she spoke the words herself. “I am a bastard, then.”
“No.” He shook his head sharply. “Think of it as protection. I believe your mother loved you enough to secure you the sacraments. You were born at the Augustinian Nunnery of Iona, baptized that very day—against your father’s will, it seems. It doesnae mean he’s not your father.
It means, in law, you belong to the church. You are Christian.”
He leaned closer, his voice firm. “And most importantly, it means your betrothal to Rory is unlawful. Future handfasts arenae recognized by the Holy Church for its members. Your mother saw to it that you could never be bound that way.”
Stunned, she stared at the paper. “My father willnae like that.”
Calum snorted, pointing to his eye. “Nay, he didnae. He learned the hard way that by attacking you he undid what he’d planned.”
She looked down at the banns spread across her lap, still reeling. “Oh Calum, what have you done? Why did ye no’ let the matter rest? You could still undo it.”
A deep frown pulled at the corners his mouth. “Your father signed the banns. The king sealed them. It cannae be undone, even if I wished—which I assuredly do not.”
“Papa agreed?”
His mustache quirked as he rubbed the bruise.
“The man had little choice once I carried off what he prized most. It probably didnae hurt that I had Hector standing right behind me. He haggled a bride-price, though he wouldnae part with a tocher2 no matter how hard Hector and I negotiated. In the end, I let him keep his coin.”
Freya’s heart sank. “How much did you agree to pay?”
“One thousand, five hundred gold nobles.”
She nearly fainted with shock. “That is madness, Calum. For me? That’s years of wage!”
“Aye. Ten years of wages.”
Her breath caught. It must be every coin he had ever made—given up for her. Dizzying awe swept through her. “You’ve sacrificed everything.”
He leaned closer, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, his hand warm around hers. “I didnae lose a thing. I got exactly what I wanted.”
Candlelight gilded his lashes, and her chest tightened at the gentleness in his eyes. “What did he give you?”
“He gave me my wife.”
Her heart twisted at the word, at the tenderness in his voice. It was too much, too beautiful. “You could still undo this. Give me back to my father. Reclaim your fortune. Take me to the nunnery, if you’d like. I can scribe as my mother did. Forget that this whole incident ever happened.”
His inked hand came around the back of her neck.
“I will never forget it happened, Freya. You are my fortune. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.
” A strange pull started between them as he leaned closer, his nose brushing hers, his voice a whisper.
“Belong to me, Freya. I will treasure you until the end of my days.”
The words lit something long darkened in her heart, and she closed her eyes, knowing she was done for. The same feeling she’d been unable to articulate at sixteen surged to life, reawakened by the promise of freedom she had dreamed of for ten long years.
When she opened her eyes, she found him watching her with an intensity she hardly recognized. His thumb swept over her cheek, then over her bottom lip. She stilled, unable to comprehend what was rising between them. It was familiar and yet new, thrilling and terrifying.
Slowly, his eyes fell toward her mouth, and she let him lean closer. Like iron to lodestone she felt drawn, her heart whispering what it might be like to hold happiness for the rest of their days.
A tremble passed through her as she lifted a hand to his bearded cheek, needing something to steady her.
As naturally as breathing, her lips parted. His eyes closed. And then—Odin’s nightgown, they were about to kiss.
The realization startled her. She jerked, knocking her teeth into his. Pain shot through her sinuses, her eyes watering as he drew back, letting out a loud oath and clutching his mouth.
“Sweet juniper, I’m sorry.” She covered her eyes, feeling both naive and inexperienced.
Shivers filled her belly, leaving her disoriented, afraid to meet his gaze.
Part of her wanted to vanish into the rafters, safe and unseen—yet another part longed to finally, fully live. And Calum made her feel alive.
The gray of his eyes crinkled with humor as he eased back to a respectful distance. “Forgive me. You’re so lovely I couldnae help myself. Saints, I feel like a lad again, saying and doing the most awkward things.”
She bit her lip, her heart beating the same truth. “I’m only Freya MacSorley. Surely the least of all your paramours.”
He shook his head. “You’re Freya MacSorley—the lass I’ve thought of every day since I was eight summers. There is none like her. My friend I’d keep forever, if only she would accept me.”
Drawn back to the shade of their rowan tree, Freya felt the answer already written in her soul. “I accept ye, Calum MacLean.”