Epilogue
“Now, ye just stay quiet, ye wee—” the matron said, or began to say, before Freya’s elbow connected with her nose.
It made a satisfying crunch.
Desperate to get away from Brendan’s pleading gaze, she turned and fled into the cool darkness of the Keep.
Where am I going? Where am I going?
She didn’t give herself time to answer that question. Breaking into a run, Freya sprinted across the Great Hall, running until her lungs began to sting. Her wrists throbbed, her head pounded, and there was a painful yawning in her stomach, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten much today.
She reached the end of the Hall, and took a corridor at random, suddenly desperate to be out of the oppressive building again and into the open air.
I’ll go back to the convent, she thought dizzily, before remembering that she could not go back, that Senga, Kyla and Astrid were no longer her friends. She skidded to a halt, gasping for breath. In the silence, she clearly heard echoing footsteps hurrying after her.
“Wait up, lassie.”
Painful regret and desire swirled together in Freya’s gut, a potent combination. She turned, almost against her will, and of course, there he was.
Brendan stood at the other end of the corridor, a great space between them.
“Were ye following me?” she found herself saying. What a stupid thing to say.
Brendan took a few steps towards her. “Aye, of course. Were ye running away?”
She folded her arms. “Of course I was. Aren’t ye pleased, Brendan? Despite all the lies and all the deceit, everything worked out for ye in the end. Ye won the lairdship and a bride in one swoop. Ye barely had to lift yer sword.”
He shuffled a little closer, smiling wryly. “The duel was yer idea, may I remind ye? Cleverly done, by the way, saying it like that. Ye would make a good politician.”
She tossed her hair back. “I would make an excellent politician. And… and I did not want ye to die, ye know.”
He bowed his head. “I know. And ye must know that I’ll not hold ye to any betrothal.”
She snorted. “I should think not.”
When had he come closer? Or had she gotten closer to him? Some of the panic was fading away now, and Freya was feeling more like herself.
It was over. Laird Grahame was gone. He wouldn’t bully the McInnes Clan—or any clan—ever again. She wouldn’t be forced to marry him. She was free.
Now what?
“If ye don’t wish to remain here,” Brendan said, “where will ye go?”
She swallowed. “I-I don’t know. I’d go back to the convent, but… I said some things to Senga, Astrid, and Kyla that I wish I hadn’t. They were so kind to me, and I was so ungrateful. I can’t go back.”
Brendan chewed his lower lip, gaze fixed on her. It made her shiver to have him look at her like that.
“They’d forgive ye,” he said at last. “I went to the convent to find ye, before I came here. Senga told me that there’d been sharp words, but she said that she’d argued with her friends before, and they always made up.
They’ll have ye back, Freya. In fact, I think ye should go back, at least once, to set things straight with them.
They are yer friends, lassie. They said so. ”
To her horror, she felt tears pricking at her eyes. “But the things I said…”
“Forgiveness covers all sorts of things, Freya,” Brendan said firmly, although there was a softness in his voice. They were about ten paces apart now, and Freya was not sure how the distance had been breached. Had she come to him, or did he come to her?
Did it matter?
“I’m sorry I lied to ye,” he confessed at last, voice quiet. “I should have told ye the truth, but I could never pick the right time to say it.”
She swallowed, looking away. “I overreacted, I am aware of that. I was upset because ye hadn’t trusted me because I… because I wanted ye to trust me.”
“I wanted to trust ye too, lass, I just… Och, I was afraid. I’d already fled my duty once before, and I—”
“Ye didn’t flee yer duty,” she interrupted. “Ye did what ye had to, Brendan. And now, ye can make it all right.”
He glanced up, meeting her eyes. For a moment, the air seemed to crackle between them.
I still want him, more than anything. I think I… I think I love him.
Her throat tightened, and she had to look away.
“I don’t have a place here,” Freya said, her voice quiet. “Even if ye did win me in a duel.”
He gave a snort, taking a few steps closer. They were almost face to face now, close enough for him to reach out and take her hand.
“I didn’t win ye. I only freed ye, Freya. I love ye, lassie. I think ye must know that by now.”
“Not exactly. I mean, ye did tell me to go.”
Pain tightened his face. “I… I thought I was doing the right thing.”
She smiled wryly up at him. “Perhaps it was. Perhaps yer bad luck has moved on to me.”
He shook his head. “No, Freya. The truth is, I’ve considered ye as mine for longer I’d care to admit. I want ye to stay, Freya. I want ye to marry me. Not in whatever awful role my father had planned for ye, but as my equal, my partner. As the Lady of the Keep.”
She looked up, slowly, meeting his eyes. His gaze was fixed on her, intent and hungry and hoping, and she felt her heart skip a beat.
“I don’t know if I can,” she murmured.
“I’m not offering anything easy, Freya, ye know that.
It’ll be difficult. I’ll have to work hard to undo the damage my father has done, to say nothing of winning the trust of my clansmen and of other lairds.
But I can do it. And if I have ye by myself, I feel as though I can do anything.
I’ll never lie to ye again, lass. Not about the smallest thing. ”
She reached up, hesitantly, taking his face between her palms.
“Ye swear it?” she whispered.
He nodded, resting his forehead against hers. “For ye, Freya, I’d do anything.”
She was kissing him before she knew what she was doing, her arms sliding around his neck. He gripped her waist, pulling her in tight against him, and she gasped into his mouth, nipping his lower lip.
Freya was faintly aware of voices and approaching footsteps, maybe belonging to the advisors. They halted abruptly and hastily hurried away. She bit back a smile.
Best to give us a minute, lads, she thought, amused.
“I’ve wanted ye in the worst way, Freya,” he gasped, when they broke apart to breathe. “Let’s schedule the wedding soon, eh?”
She grinned, pressing her nose against the side of his neck.
“I think that’s a very good idea.”
“Just a moment, though,” he said, pressing a kiss against her forehead, and twisted to shout after the frantically retreating men.
“Lads! I’m going to need somebody to take a message to the Priory of St. Deborah.
As well as that, ye’ll need to pop by a wee farm nearby—I need somebody to fetch my dog! ”
Two Days Later…
The Keep was alive in a way it had never been, or so Maggie kept saying. She was thrilled to be Freya’s chief lady-in-waiting, although she was admittedly not very good at it.
That didn’t matter. If Freya was to be Lady Grahame, she had to make friends, and quickly. The old laird had left too many enemies behind him for them to rest on their laurels.
The wedding celebration had been hastily cooked up. On account of the hardships the common folks were facing, Brendan had decided to have a modest feast and celebration, and Freya agreed with him.
We’ll be a new type of laird and lady, she thought. We’ll be the kind who take care of their people, who care for them.
Of course, time would tell, and that was what the rest of the Highlands were waiting to see, all the other clans and their rulers—what time would say about the new Laird Grahame and his Lady.
She was determined they’d be impressed.
Of course, change started at home, and already plans had been put in motion to pull back the soldiers still loyal to Laird Grahame and stop the slaughter and atrocities in outlying villages.
Steps were being outlined to stop the starvation in some parts of the clan, and to unify and make peace with other clans that the previous laird had estranged.
In short, there was a lot of work to be done. Freya was equal parts terrified and thrilled at the challenge.
After all, I won’t be doing it alone. I’ll be doing it with my husband.
The word sent a thrill through her, where once it had been full of dread and foreboding. The wedding was set to take place that day, although a few very important guests had not yet arrived.
Freya was pacing up and down the battlements, wind whipping her hair and skirts about her, looking down at the land surrounding the Keep.
“Can’t we go in, m’lady?” Maggie pleaded, teeth chattering. “I’m frozen.”
“Just a bit longer, Maggie,” Freya responded. “I’m waiting for someone.”
As she spoke, a procession of women—nuns—came out of the trees, heading straight for the Keep. Sucking in a breath, Freya peered over the battlements, the dizzying height no longer a source of anxiety.
There were various men and women around the outside of the walls, workers, farmers, foragers, and so on, and all of them stopped to gawk at the procession of nuns making their way grandly towards the Keep.
The Abbess led the way, head held high, a faint smile on her face. Behind her followed a train of nuns, some of whom Freya recognized, some of whom she didn’t.
She recognized the pair of young women gathered together, directly behind the Abbess.
“Kyla!” Freya yelled, waving her arm frantically. “Kyla! Astrid!”
The wind whipped away her words. The Abbess didn’t seem to hear, but Kyla paused, putting a hand on Astrid’s arm. The two girls looked around, and then Kyla finally looked up. She gave a shriek of delight, pointing upwards. All of them began to jump up and down, waving madly.
They had sent letters, of course. Freya had written to the convent and the Abbess almost as soon as Brendan had asked her to marry him. It was a long letter, pleading for forgiveness and explaining the situation. She hadn’t known whether to expect letters back or not.
Well, she’d gotten them. Each of the girls had written, and so had the Abbess.
Of course, one of her friends was missing—Senga.
It was a piece of bad luck, that was all, involving a bad head cold that left her, in Kyla’s words, “dripping like a leaky bucket”.
Senga had written to explain her absence and convey her disappointment.
Freya understood, although she wished that Senga could have been there for her wedding.
It doesn’t matter, she told herself with a grin. There’s always later. I can visit the convent any time I want. Senga can come here, once she’s recovered, if her duties allow it.
We have time.
She put aside her disappointment at missing Senga, concentrating on the women who had come to meet her. Astrid was grinning up at her, any animosity forgotten. Kyla, of course, had probably forgiven her the moment she’d walked away.
One day, I’d like to be as kind and forgiving as Kyla. As outspoken and courageous as Astrid. As responsible and patient as Senga.
But that is what friendship is all about, isn’t it? Learning from each other, and bringing out the goodness in each other.
Not that I’d know, of course. I never had many friends myself. Not until now, at least.
Freya found herself smiling so widely she thought her cheeks might rip. She just knew that when she went down to meet them, her cruel words, her venom, would be forgotten and forgiven.
Forgiveness feels… refreshing. Like dipping in a cool pool.
“Who are they?” Maggie asked, shuffling up to stand beside Freya. “Will they be staying a while?”
“I hope so,” Freya answered. “And as to who they are, well. They are my friends. My friends.”
Thank you for reading my story!