Chapter 8
Fire and Truth
Freya had never been kissed before. Other women her age had had their first kisses, but she was a laird’s daughter and known to be pretty bristly, so nobody had ever tried. She’d always had too much pride to make the first move.
It was a warm, thrilling feeling, shooting through her and warming her chest. Brendan’s lips were warm and soft, pressing neither too hard nor too gently. She found that she’d placed her hands on his shoulders, quite naturally, and their bodies just seemed to fit together.
Her eyes were closed—she knew that much about kissing—and so when Brendan’s large, warm hands closed around her waist, Freya jolted, the sensation overpowering, making her legs threaten to buckle.
She rose up on her tiptoes, pressing herself against him, wanting to chase the delicious pulse of desire just starting to wake up inside her.
Her hands shifted up to the side of his neck, and then to cup his cheek and wind in his hair, pulling him against her, wanting, even though she wasn’t sure what she was asking for, or even what she wanted, or even what he should be wanting…
Laird Grahame won’t want an impure bride, suggested a small, perfectly clear voice at the back of her mind. If ye give yer maidenhead to a grumpy young man who lives in the forest, ye cannot marry a laird after that. Ye would have to stay with him.
What a pity.
She smiled against Brendan’s lips, pushing against him, running her tongue along the seam of his lips. If he would just…
He pulled back abruptly, and Freya very nearly lost her balance, staggering forward.
She felt cold without his warm body pressed up against hers.
She could still feel the shape and heat of his lips, and the desire building up inside her was not fading away.
She blinked, like a newborn kitten seeing the sun for the first time, and stared up at him.
“What did ye do that for?” she managed at last, her voice a little hoarse.
Brendan was red in the face, his eyes sparkling in a strange way, and he was breathing heavily through his mouth.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he burst out, lifting a shaking hand—shaking—to rake through his hair. “That wasn’t proper. It wasn’t yer fault, ye are just a wee lassie, ye wouldn’t to know. I’m older, and I’m the man, so it was my responsibility.”
Her eyebrows shot up towards her hairline. “I’m sorry, what? Ye are the man? What’s that supposed to mean?”
He was turning redder by the minute. “Ye know what I mean.”
“I really don’t.”
“Well, women can’t act as men do, can they?”
She leaned back, fixing him with a stare. “Ye know, I am understanding less and less of what ye are trying to say, lad.”
He sighed. “Women’s reputations are much more fragile. Men can bed who they like, when they like…”
“Ha!”
“… but lassies are expected to be different. Chivalry dictates that I should never put ye in a position where ye could be compromised, and kissing ye did it very neatly.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “Ye can’t believe all that nonsense. Chivalry? I’m no damsel, in case ye haven’t noticed. As for kissing, it doesn’t matter who kissed first. I kissed ye back, remember?”
He fidgeted. “It hardly matters. I should have taken responsibility. This… This was a mistake, Freya.”
A mistake. That simple word hurt more than she could have imagined.
He made a mistake. He never wanted to kiss me. Or perhaps he did, but decided he wouldn’t kiss me, and simply made a mistake. It doesn’t really matter what happened. It mattered that he didn’t want it to happen.
He doesn’t want me.
“Oh,” she said, the word coming out sharp and disappointed, despite her desperate attempt to sound unconcerned.
Brendan worried at his lower lip, eyeing her. “Ye aren’t upset, are ye? It was just a kiss.”
“To hear ye talk, ye would think it was the end of my life as I know it,” she snapped. “I’ll not try to kiss ye again, if that is what ye are afraid of.”
She wouldn’t kiss him again. He didn’t want to kiss her again. Freya was a little horrified to feel her heart sink. The plain fact was that she wanted him to kiss her again, wanted him to touch her, to touch him, to explore that terrifying and thrilling feeling that had swept through her.
She wanted more.
It doesn’t matter what I want.
“Fine,” Freya heard herself saying. “Ye want to call it a mistake? Fine. It was a mistake. It’s done. Forgotten. I’ll not talk about it anymore, happy?”
She sounded like a child, she knew that. A spoiled child, throwing a tantrum because she couldn’t get what she wanted. Freya knew that, and yet she couldn’t stop. Disappointment spread through her, numbing her and making her feel small and silly.
“Freya…”
She turned her back. “I should go back to the convent. They’ll be worried about me.”
He hurried after her as she began to walk away.
“Well, let me walk ye back, Freya.”
“I know the way,” she responded sharply.
It was beginning to drizzle, and she put her head down, wishing she had her wimple back.
The cobblestones were slick under her feet, and puddles were already forming around them.
She tried to walk faster, but Brendan easily kept up with her, striding at her side, even when she was practically jogging.
“Ye don’t understand,” he continued, voice low. “I’m… I’m an unlucky man.”
She snorted. “What, did ye kick a black cat? Or any cat? Ye probably deserve yer bad luck, then.”
“That’s not what I mean. What I mean is, bad things follow me. It happens again and again. Trust me, I know what I’m speaking of. Ye think ye know me, lass, but ye don’t.”
She stopped dead, whirling around to face him. “Well, how am I meant to get to know ye if ye don’t speak to me, Brendan? I don’t expect ye to unburden all yer secrets, but can’t we even be friends? Can’t we try?”
He stared down at her, eyes heavy and tired. “We both know, Freya, that ye want to be more than friends.”
She flinched at that, feeling a little ashamed. “And ye are angry? Upset? Disgusted? What?”
He chuckled mirthlessly, shaking his head.
“Ye are a beautiful lass. I like ye, and perhaps I was tempted a little—no sense in lying about it—but temptation passes. Ye are one of the nuns I am meant to protect, so long as ye stay up at that convent, and I could no more lay a finger on ye than I could any of the other lassies. Ye would do well to keep yer distance from me. I don’t say this to humiliate ye, or to let ye down gently, or any of that nonsense.
It’s the plain truth. If ye know what is good for ye, ye will lie low at the convent and steer clear of me, aye?
I’m not for ye, lassie, and ye certainly are not for me.
In time, ye will see that I was right. I’ll not discuss this further. I can’t.”
She swallowed thickly. “You say ye don’t want to humiliate me, but I’m feeling fairly stupid at the moment, Brendan.”
“Freya…”
“Nay, nay, I get it. I’m too proud to beg or to force my company on somebody who doesn’t want it. Look, I’m tired. I’m going home, aye?”
“Aye,” he took a step towards her. “I’ll see ye home, and…”
“No,” she interrupted, shaking her head. “No, I’d like to be alone.”
“It’s dark and dangerous.”
She smiled faintly up at him. “I’m a nun. Who’d hurt a nun?”
He stared down at her, a frown appearing between his brows. Freya turned on her heel and strode away, footsteps ringing out on the cobbles.
She wasn’t particularly surprised when she heard footsteps following her. There he was, right behind her, about ten paces back. When she stopped, Brendan stopped. He lifted his eyebrows questioningly.
“Are ye following me?” Freya asked dryly.
“Following ye? What a question. Nay, of course not.”
“I said I didn’t want ye walk me home.”
He nodded. “Aye, and I respect that. I’m not walking ye home, I just happen to be walking in the exact same direction as you.”
Freya glowered at him. “Liar.”
“That,” he said blandly, “is not a ladylike thing to say, pet.”
“I’m going to kick ye so hard in the shins that ye—”
“I’d hurry on if I were ye,” he interrupted. “The convent might close up its gates.”
She pressed her lips together. “Why don’t ye walk in front of me, then, if we’re both just going in the same direction?”
He pursed her lips, considering. “Nah, I don’t think so. This is a comfortable pace for me.”
Growling, Freya spun around and stamped off into the forest. He followed, laughing quietly to himself.
Brendan followed her almost all the way home, ten paces behind.
He never spoke to her, walking quickly with a thunderous expression on his face, brow furrowed, head low, shoulders hunched.
He wasn’t happy, that was clear, and Freya couldn’t seem to think of a single thing to ease the tension of the moment.
So, she contented herself with scurrying along beside him, trying to keep up.
She’d never admit it, but in the deepest, darkest parts of the forest, where silence hung like a heavy, dark blanket, she was glad to have Brendan with her.
He stopped at the edge of the treeline, just as the ground started to slope down towards the convent.
It was well-lit there, with lights strung up between the gardens.
Generally, a few of the nuns would be moving around the grounds, even at such a late hour, but nobody was out tonight, probably because of the rain.
Freya paused for a moment. She knew that if she turned, she’d glance back up to where Brendan stood, hands shoved in his pockets, watching her. She knew he was watching her.
But then, he’d told her she was no different to him than the other nuns, and that she should steer clear of him. He hadn’t even spoken to her on the way back. Freya clenched her jaw, and forced herself to stalk forward. She didn’t turn back.
When she finally did, just after reaching the first raised vegetable plot, there was no sign of him. He was gone.
Freya’s head was full of the day she’d had, and of the kiss, as she approached the convent. She didn’t even see the cloaked figure, standing under the jutting lip of the convent roof, until it detached itself from the shadows and lunged at her.
She gave a squawk, flailing backwards and landing on her backside in a muddy puddle. The figure threw back its hood. Senga.
“What are ye doing, ye silly goose?” she hissed. “Where have ye been?”
“It’s a long, long story,” Freya responded, getting to her feet. Her dress was ruined, and she quietly cursed her own clumsiness. “Ye will never believe what—”
Senga lunged forward, grabbing her shoulders. “Ye don’t know what has happened. Soldiers came. The Abbess came out to meet them, told them to leave, but they were so cruel and so threatening.”
Freya felt the color drain from her face. “Were-were they here for… me?”
“I don’t know,” Senga sighed. “The Laird and his council hate us, we know that much. We’re too loud and outspoken.
We educate the common folk and speak up against injustice, and we have the audacity to thrive.
We’re in danger, and have been for a while.
The doors are all locked, except this one.
We never lock the doors. Ye were going to be locked out, except that the Abbess was sure ye were coming back, and had me keep an eye out for ye. ”
Freya swallowed thickly, suddenly terrified at the idea of being locked out of her only safe place, in the cold and rain, with darkness falling heavier with each passing moment.
“What about Kyla?” she managed.
Senga shot her a disapproving look. “Kyla is fine, despite ye abandoning her in town. She spent a while looking for ye, longer than she meant to. Ye shouldn’t have left her, Freya.”
Freya felt a rush of shame. The truth was, she’d hardly thought of Kyla. Her head was too full of Brendan.
What sort of friend am I? Kyla would never have abandoned me.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
Senga hustled her inside, closing and locking the door after them.
It was just as cold inside, and Freya had begun to shiver, feeling the cold seeping in her bones now that she had stopped walking fast. Senga looked around carefully, and then turned and strode down the hall, leaving Freya to follow her.
“Don’t apologize to me,” she said briskly. “Apologize to Kyla.”
“I will,” Freya promised, hurrying after her. “I was thoughtless. The truth is, I’ve never had many friends, and certainly none that cared much for me. I got used to being selfish, to only thinking about myself. But I know that’s no excuse, and I’m going to tell Kyla so.”
Senga seemed to soften a little, throwing her a wry smile. “Kyla will forgive ye. Really, there was no harm done, but there could have been, ye understand? The town was swarming with Grahame soldiers. It was like they were looking for something.”
Freya stopped dead, cold fear trickling down her spine.
They are looking for me. And if they can’t find me, the next thing they’ll learn is that I was seen with a man, a local man. And they’ll come looking for him.
“Brendan,” she breathed aloud, turning around and making to stride down the hallway. Senga grabbed her, hauling her back.
“What are ye doing?”
“He walked me home,” Freya explained, struggling to free herself. “I have to warn him. If I run, I might be able to catch up with him, and—”
“He’s gone, lass! Don’t be a fool. Ye will do him no good by running through the forest after him,” Senga hissed. “I can’t let ye go. The Abbess said ye aren’t to leave the convent, not until things have died down. It’s for yer safety as well as ours.”
“I won’t stay here!”
“Ye owe us that much!”
Freya stopped struggling. “I… I suppose I do owe ye a good deal,” she murmured.
Senga straightened her tunic. “I’m sorry, lass, but I’m sure Brendan will be fine,” she said softly, laying a hand on Freya’s shoulder. “Ye will be safe here for now. Just keep yer head down for a while, eh? It’ll all blow over. In the meantime, the Abbess wants to see ye as soon as ye are back.”
Freya grimaced. “Am… Am I in trouble?”
Senga sighed. “Very much so, aye.”