Chapter 27 #2
She cried out, Bog exploding against the door, claws raking. “There were many!”
“WHO?”
A scream tore from her throat.
Rory cursed at the rattling door and yanked the candle aside.
Freya collapsed to her knees, trembling, clutching her scorched hand as Bog’s barking began to quiet.
Rory loomed over her. “The woman was said to be dressed in foreign fashion, with a subtle accent. By all accounts, the evidence stacks neatly at your feet.”
Freya shook her head. “I was with Grufa and Balder MacSorley on Saint Valentine’s Day.
Grufa has been trying to convince me to return to our gods.
I brought the prayer book to share Calum’s God with them—to speak of Jesus.
I wanted them to understand my questions about the Norse faith. To see if they had answers.”
It was another truth, one she carried with pride. She knew they’d been watching her, tracking her steps. And Grufa—though at odds with Papa—was still a man he respected more than any MacLean. He was the perfect cover.
Papa’s lips thinned, his mouth blanching as he pressed them tight. “Grufa says you left his home just before dark. But what about after?”
“I went home, Papa. I saw Inga MacLean on the way—we walked right past this house. Gavina and Fraser can attest we passed them in Lealt later. We were home all night. Calum had an early morning hunting the next day in Glenbatrick with the clansmen there and didnae return until after dark the following evening. But surely you know this already, you’ve been watching us. ”
Papa said nothing. Relief broke over her in a rush, leaving her weak-limbed. Calum had thought of everything that night. They had kept to their ordinary routines, slipping west only after the cover of sunset.
Bog clawed at the back window, shutters snapping against their restraints.
Rory loomed over her, waving the parchment. “It doesnae mean you couldnae have written this.”
She shook her head fiercely. “It’s not my hand—you both know that.
Compare it to our failed contract. I did not write it.
Please…please let me go. We’ve given you no trouble these three months, Papa.
We’ve respected your chieftainship. I beg you—Calum will be home from the hunt any minute.
If he finds I’ve been held and questioned, I fear what he’ll do. ”
Rory’s temper broke. He seized her arms and slammed her back against the wall. “You were supposed to be mine. Mine. And he’s stolen you. How dare you raise his name? How dare you break the contract we had?”
She shuddered but forced her spine straight. “He’s my husband, Rory. How can I no’ speak his name?”
Rory shook her until her teeth rattled. “He’s no’ your husband—not yet. Is he?”
Terror clamped her chest. Still, she met his eyes, her voice trembling but unyielding. “We said our vows before the church, with witnesses. Our union blessed by God. He is my husband, Rory. The king gave him a choice—and he chose me. He chose me.”
Rory wrenched her up, crushing her against his chest. “If you’d only waited a few more days, we were to be handfasted. Instead you ran to him.”
“I was scalded. I needed care.”
Papa’s voice rose like fire. “You provoked me that night! You snuck out. It was your fault this ever happened. How are we to believe the burns were severe? Only your word—and that cur’s son, MacLean.”
Rory’s hands fisted in her skirt. “Then let us see the proof. If they were so severe, there will be scars.”
Terror locked her chest. She shoved at him, her voice breaking. “There are! Stop—don’t touch me!”
The door thundered on its hinges. Bog’s roaring shook the walls.
Rory pulled at her skirt as she fought to hold it down. “Rory, dinnae—stop!”
Bog’s barking turned feral. Pain shot through her shoulder blades as she was smashed against the rough wall, her skirt tugged over her legs. His forearm pressed against her throat, choking the breath from her lungs.
With one hand she clutched her skirt, trying to keep herself private, but Papa stepped forward, holding her arms. In the next second her skirts were yanked over her waist. Eyes bulging, she could do nothing as they took in the pink and brown rippled scars.
Rory’s face twisted—not with pity, but disgust.
Papa looked revolted. “There are scars.”
Struggling to move her head, she nodded. She wanted out. She needed Calum. Dear Jesus, save me…
With a jerk, Rory withdrew his arm. She sank to the floor, covering herself, shame flooding her. Auld feelings of humiliation she hadn’t felt in months crashed over her.
Towering above her, Rory sneered. “I’m still willing to have you. The rest of you is desirable enough. If your marriage hasnae been consummated, it can be annulled. We already have the dispensation.”
Her throat burned, but she dared not argue—terrified they would try to verify her purity next. She staggered up, aiming for the door, but Papa blocked her path.
“Have I not put up with enough of your insolence? Enough of the curse you’ve been to me? After all you’ve put me through this past year, you’ll make it right. Rory still wants you, and he’ll pay double your bride price. Leave MacLean. Say the word, and it’s all undone.”
Something flared inside her—a spark of God-given truth. She straightened, voice low but steady.
“I’ve never been a curse.”
Rory burst into hysterical laughter, shaking his head as if she were a fool. “Do you really think I entered into a marriage contract with your father unaware of the kind of wife I was getting? Aside from looks and lineage—you’re nothing, Freya.”
Tears clogged her throat. She shook her head, edging around the furniture toward the door.
But Rory pressed on. “I’ve followed you.
I know your friends—Fraser, little Arne MacSorley.
I know those who mock you when the clan gathers—Anneli.
I know you bathe wild at Lealt Linn when the weather is warm, the days you bring your embroidery to Gavina’s.
Every summer but last. Too cold, wasn’t it?
Disappointing. I think about summer all winter long—about you in that water.
“I know you’ve lied to your papa for years, taking advantage of his trust. I know you were closer to Tyr and Mariota MacLean than you ever admitted.
But most of all, I know this—you killed your mother, harmed your father, and if you’re the Storyteller, then you’re to blame for the deaths of ninety-one of your clan.
What will they say when they learn the truth? ”
Her stomach clenched, nausea clawing her. “I’m no’ the Storyteller—”
He gestured to Arne’s gift. “Still desperate to win approval. Still trying to show you’ve changed—that you’re not the girl in trousers with a shorn head and shame in her eyes.
Mariota polished the outside, but the inside is still blemished.
What would she say of you now, knowing your words led her to the Wolf’s axe?
“And Tyr… what would he think if he knew his son abandoned his clan for you? Cast out, penniless, no longer a chieftain—all because he pitied you. All because you couldn’t let him make his own escape ten years ago. You cursed him, Freya. You cursed him.”
He shoved her. She screamed, crashing to the floor, skittering through the rushes on her hands and knees.
“If you’re the Storyteller, you murdered his parents. You exposed every man of his team. You’re the reason King Dómhnall disbanded them. The reason the Wolf rules Ardtornish.”
She shook her head, voice breaking. “I’m not—I didn’t—”
The door shuddered on its hinges. Bog’s howls split the air.
Rory’s face twisted. “Calum’s no’ in love with you.
Has he told you so? Why hasnae he bedded you?
Can’t you see? It’s pity. Just pity. Look at your legs—no wonder he hasn’t touched you.
He’s always been bound by honor. It all makes sense now.
You provoked your father, and the scars trapped him into marriage. ”
As he voiced every one of her deepest fears, she scrambled to her feet and bolted for the door.
Papa caught her arm. “If he’s not bedded you, it can be undone—”
She screamed, wrenching free with all her strength. “I dinnae want it undone! Leave me alone!”
Rory lunged, but she ducked beneath his grasp and tore through the door, sprinting for the gate.
Bog raced at her heels as she flew past a stunned Ogilhinn without returning his wave.
Shame burned in her gut—for Mariota, for her tales, for her mother’s death, for ten years of lies to her father, for the stories that had brought ruin on her clan, on the man she loved.
Tears streamed down her face as she drove herself faster along the road out of town.
Needing only one person, she ran until her legs buckled before the crooked stone in the burial ground. Collapsing to her knees, she wrapped her arms around it, sobs tearing through her chest. “I’m sorry, Mama…I’m so, so sorry. I need you. Please come back. Please.”
Feelings of inadequacy she hadn’t felt since the night her legs were scalded erupted through her.
Her presence brought misery and harm to everyone around her.
It had led to her mother’s death. Better that she had burned in the fire than harmed her innocent mother.
And now Calum—thanks to her interfering in his ceremony ten years ago, he’d truly lost everything.
His gold, his home, his mission, his parents, his clan.
He didn’t deserve one thing that had happened to him in the past four months, and it was all her fault.