Chapter 13
Commotion
The kiss shot through Freya’s veins like ice water. She barely had time to register the fact that he was kissing her—again—before she was pulling back.
“I’m sorry,” Brendan burst out, eyes wide. “I shouldn’t have. That wasn’t—”
“Do ye mean it?” Freya interrupted. “Are ye going to regret it in a moment, or tomorrow, or the day after? Is it just because ye are still a wee bit delirious?”
He winced. “That’s a fair comment. I-I don’t think I’ve been fair to ye, Freya. I explained things badly, and I’ve kept things from ye.”
She swallowed, holding his gaze. “What sort of things? A secret wife somewhere?”
He chuckled, and shook his head. “Nay, nothing like that. I’ve not been honest with ye about who I am.
Ye, ye told everybody who ye were right away.
There’s no dishonesty with ye, Freya, no disguise.
But me, I’ve been wearing a mask for as long as I can remember.
I told ye once I was an unlucky man, and I hold to that.
Disaster and danger follows me, and any man with a shred of decency would want to protect the ones he cares for.
Even if that means keeping them at arm’s length. ”
“Ye have certainly done that,” Freya responded, trying for a wry smile. “I don’t know when to give up, do I?”
Brendan reached out tentatively, fingers grazing the curve of her cheek.
“Stubborn as a mule,” he whispered, and it really did sound like a compliment. “Heaven help the man who gets in yer way, lassie.”
She lifted her own hand, placing it over his where it lay against her cheek.
“I’ve never thought much about men before,” Freya admitted, feeling nervous for some reason. “Never thought much about marriage, until my father agreed to a match I couldn’t live with. And then I met you, Brendan. I can’t explain it, but ye… Ye fascinate me. I can’t stay away.”
“I don’t want ye to stay away,” Brendan responded, his gaze hungry. “I know I should want ye to stay away, to be safe, but gods curse me, Freya, I want ye.”
She kissed him then, diving forward and fitting her lips to his, fingers curling around his neck.
His arms slid around her waist as if it were the most natural position in the world.
Desire snaked through her, hot and insistent, and when she felt his warm palm on the curve of her thigh, she gasped aloud.
Brendan pressed his lips against the side of her neck, where a pulse point thrummed under the skin. Then, somehow his hand was underneath her skirts, skin on skin, and Freya could think of nothing else but the points of contact.
His hand skimmed higher, dancing along her inner thigh now, and Freya’s breathing grew more and more ragged.
“Ye have no idea how lovely ye are,” Brendan breathed, his words a whisper against her neck. His fingers slid against the join of her legs, tracing out a line, and Freya jolted without meaning to do it, and tightened her grip around his shoulders.
A gasp was all that escaped her lips.
They lay in the bed together, afterwards. Freya couldn’t quite remember at what point they’d moved from the fur rug by the fire into the bed, only that Brendan had made as if to lift her up bodily, and she’d shrieked and slapped his shoulder, reminding him of his fresh wound.
He’d laughed at that, wrapping his arms around her and calling her his clever little healer. Freya smiled at the memory, curling up tighter around him.
They were both naked, skin heating against skin, the blankets, and furs tangled around them. The bed was narrow, only large enough for one, so Brendan lay on his back and Freya curled herself around and over him, careful not to jostle his wound.
He’d told her by now how he’d gotten the initial cut, and how it had been damaged and opened up further.
“They didn’t follow me here, though,” he remarked idly, winding a lock of her hair around his fingertip, admiring the color in the sunlight. “We’re safe.”
“I don’t feel safe,” she admitted. “I never feel safe anymore. What are ye going to do? They’ll make trouble for ye. And if that barkeep led them to ye once, he can do so again.”
“Ned knows my routes, to be sure,” Brendan conceded, “But he doesn’t know where I live, or where I go besides his pub. I’ll not see him again, and I’ll change my routine. I should have done it before, but I like the sameness. I like that idea of something about my life being familiar.”
She tilted her head up at him. “What were ye, then? Before?”
He only hesitated for an instant. “A soldier.”
That wasn’t the whole story, of course. Freya knew that at once, even without his eyes shifting guiltily away from her. She felt a flare of disappointment that he wasn’t willing to share his secrets with her yet, but remembered what the Abbess had said about the matter.
I’m patient. I can be patient.
“It’s all right,” she heard herself say, pressing a kiss to the curve of skin and muscle where his shoulder met his chest. “Ye don’t have to tell me anything yet. But whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not so bad.”
He smiled affectionately down at her, smoothing his hand over the crown of her head.
“Ye always like to see the best in people, Freya. Has anyone ever told you that?”
She was momentarily taken aback.
“No, actually. Nobody’s ever told me that.”
He held her gaze for a moment, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.
“The truth is,” he said slowly. “The truth is, Freya, that I—”
He was interrupted by a flurry of barking from Argentum, who had deigned to leave them alone and sleep undisturbed by the dying fire. He was on his feet now, aimed towards the door, hackles raised and tail down. Glancing back at them, he barked once more.
Come and look, Freya fancied he was saying. Quickly!
“Someone’s coming,” Brendan muttered, the lazy affection disappearing from his gaze, replaced by grim urgency. “We should get dressed, Freya. Quickly.”
She didn’t need to be told twice. They both stumbled out of bed, Brendan wincing as the movement tugged on his sore abdomen, pulling on the clothes they’d so carelessly abandoned an hour or so earlier.
It felt like a lifetime ago.
Argentum kept barking, prancing around by the door, wanting to be let out. Once she had her shift on and her boots—she was hardly dressed, but felt a little better than being in her skin—Freya edged closer to the window, peering out.
“Freya, don’t,” Brendan warned. “Get back from the window. Don’t let them see ye.”
“Them? Who do ye think it could be?”
There was only one answer, surely. The Grahame soldiers from before, of course. They were either on her trail or Brendan’s, perhaps both.
Brendan didn’t answer. He only shook his head, pulling a shirt over his head and yanking on his boots.
“Are we going to run?” she asked, pitching her voice over the incessant yap of Argentum’s barking. “We can hide in the forest.”
“They’ll wait for us here. Wait for me, rather. Stupid, stupid!” Brendan muttered the last part to himself, lips pressed tight. “I told myself I had to be ready to drop everything, to leave anything behind, and yet here I am, unable to leave. What did I think would happen?”
She crossed the room, taking him by the shoulders and giving him a firm shake.
“You’re scaring me now, Brendan. What is going on? What aren’t ye telling me?”
He pulled away. “There’s no time. Quick, run and hide in the barn. I’ll meet ye there, and we’ll saddle up a pair of horses. I’m tired of hiding. Ye are right; we’d best run. Give me a moment to collect some things. Go, go!”
It didn’t feel as if there were any time to argue. Snatching up her cloak—still wet from the previous night—Freya threw open the door. Argentum pushed past her legs, racing forward, barking at the still-unseen enemy.
Not unheard, though. Freya could hear hoofbeats echoing through the forest.
“Argentum!” she hissed, making a lunge to grab him, but the dog sidled away, gaze fixed forward.
There was no time to coax him away to safety.
Biting out a curse, Freya hurried into the barn.
Inside, the animals were clearly unsettled, snorting and tossing their heads, straw crunching under restless hooves.
She turned to the door, holding it open just a crack, in time to see Brendan striding out of the house.
“Hurry up, man,” she whispered. “They’ll be here any moment.”
But Brendan wasn’t hurrying. In fact, he strode out, face grim and drawn, and stopped. He placed his hands on his hips and stared out into the forest. Waiting.
A second later, a horde of men on horseback thundered out of the forest, the noise of their hooves almost drowning out Argentum’s frantic barking. They circled around Brendan, and Freya pressed her hand to her mouth to smother a yelp.
It was clear that they were Grahame men, the distinctive tartan fluttering around their shoulders as plaids, or around their knees in loose, heavy kilts.
Run, Brendan, she prayed, willing him to move, to run, to do something beyond standing there, tight-lipped, watching the men circle him. They were all armed, all of them, each man clearly a warrior.
A younger man than the rest, dark-haired and dark-eyed, rode through the center of the courtyard, peering down at Brendan from horseback.
He was handsome, his even features only marred by a vicious scar that ran down one cheek.
Argentum’s barking reached a fevered pitch, and the man glanced down at the dog.
“Come, Argentum,” he said, voice carrying easily, “I would have thought ye would remember me.”
A cold feeling raced through her. Stifling a gasp, Freya took a step back from the door. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the crack, however, and couldn’t stop watching.