Chapter 24 #2
“I—I can scarcely remember now, but I believe I said you and Miss Niven were likely to be soon betrothed.” Gordon dragged his hands down his pale cheeks. “I’m terribly sorry. I—I didn’t intend to … I didn’t realize—”
“It’s all right, Gordon. I’ll explain it to Miss MacLeod.” He only hoped she’d listen to him. “How did you discover there was any discussion of a betrothal between me and Miss Niven in the first place? The clan members were not made aware of it.”
“Miss Niven told it to my sister Davina. They’re great friends, you know. They have been, since they were girls. I believe Miss Niven felt the need to confide in someone.”
Yes, that made sense. Of course she’d felt a need to tell her troubles to her friend.
Lorna wasn’t in love with him, and never had been. She thought of him as a brother. The morning Freya awoke after her accident, when he’d gone to see Lorna and had asked her if she’d take the lairdship in his place, she’d confessed to having tender feelings for James Baillie.
It was as perfect an outcome as he could have hoped for, given James was madly in love with her as well, and had made himself and Callum perfectly miserable over it.
But that was all forgotten now. James and Lorna had shared more than one dance last night, and by the looks of it, they were well on their way to a courtship.
Meanwhile, Freya had fled the drawing room last night. Not because she was ill, but because the news of his courtship had hurt her. She must love him as much as he did her. Or she had, before this. God only knew what she must think of him, now that she believed he’d betrayed her.
He had to see her at once and explain it all to her, before his courtship disintegrated before his eyes. He rose and strode toward the door, but paused when Gordon jumped to his feet, alarmed. “Where are you going, Ross? I advise you not to do anything rash.”
“Too late.” There was no use counseling restraint to a man in love.
He was going to do something rash. It was as good as done already.
Gordon called after him, but he ignored him and marched from the breakfast parlor to the staircase, and from there up to the guest wing on the third floor.
He stopped in front of Freya’s bedchamber. All was quiet on the other side of the door.
Too bloody quiet.
“Freya?” He knocked once, loudly. “I need to speak with you at once. Open the door.”
The only reply was complete silence. Not a single breath came from the other side of the bedchamber, and there wasn’t a hint of approaching footsteps.
“Freya? I’m coming in.”
It would have served him right if she’d barred the door against him, but no. The knob turned easily in his hand. He pushed the door open and stepped into the bedchamber, his heart hammering in his chest.
He’d make this right. Once he’d explained it all, she’d understand.
She had to.
“Freya, I …” He trailed off as he glanced around the bedchamber.
There was a dark green velvet ribbon and a handful of hairpins on the dressing table, but that was all. The grate was cold, and the bed was made, the coverlet pulled neatly over the top of the pillows, as if no one had slept there last night.
There was only one thing in the bedchamber that indicated Freya had ever been there.
There was a gown on the bed. It was dark green silk, a few shades darker than her eyes. She’d laid it out across the foot of the bed with exquisite care, the skirts carefully smoothed, and lined up on the floor beneath it was a pair of matching dark green slippers.
He fingered a fold of the gown, the silk slippery between his fingers, then let it go again.
Otherwise, the bedchamber was empty. The dark blue cloak she’d worn on the journey from Dunvegan to Kildary was nowhere to be seen, and her sister’s half boots—the ones that were a size too large for Freya—had also disappeared.
She was gone, and every trace of her had been erased, as if she’d never been here at all.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, stunned, his chest echoing with emptiness.
“She left early this morning.”
He looked up. His mother was standing in the open doorway. “Dunvegan?”
“Yes. She’s gone home.”
“How?” Dunvegan was a three-day journey from Kildary.
“The Lelands left for Plockton at sunrise. They agreed to take Freya in their carriage. She’ll be safe with them, Callum.”
He nodded.
“She found out about the betrothal between you and Lorna.”
He choked on a hollow laugh. The betrothal that never existed.
His mother took a few steps into the room, and pushed the door closed behind her. “I have no idea how she—”
“Gordon Corbett told her. He didn’t mean any harm.”
His mother frowned. “How in the world did Gordon find out about—”
“His sister Davina. It seems Lorna needed a confidante, so she told Davina, who told Gordon.”
“Ah. That makes sense. I can understand Lorna wishing to confide in someone, but she might have chosen more wisely than Davina. Davina’s a dear girl, but she isn’t known for her discretion.”
“Freya would have learned of it sooner or later.” He stared down at his hands. “I should have told her myself. I should have explained the situation from the start.”
Why hadn’t he done so? He’d had so many chances to tell Freya the truth, but it had taken him so long to realize he was in love with her, and then she’d had her accident, and …
And so, instead of telling the truth and trusting Freya to listen to him, he’d made a bloody mess of everything.
His mother sighed. “You should have told her, yes, but it was not a typical betrothal, or even a betrothal at all. I can’t speak for Freya. I don’t promise she’ll forgive you for keeping the truth from her, but I daresay she’d listen to your explanation, at least.”
“Did she say anything before she left?” He swallowed. “I just … I can’t believe she left without a word to me.”
“I think she was afraid to see you, Callum.”
“Afraid? You think Freya’s afraid of me?” The word was like a dagger buried in his chest. She’d been afraid of him, once. Had he hurt her so badly she was again?
“No. Not of you, Callum, but of herself. I think she was afraid if she saw you, she wouldn’t have the will to leave you, and she didn’t want to stand in the way of you doing what you felt was best for the clan.”
“That sounds like her.” She had every right to despise him, yet even so, she was still putting his well-being first.
“You’ve made mistakes, Callum. Goodness knows there isn’t a thing in the world more misguided than a man in love.” She took his hand. “But a few mistakes don’t mean you don’t deserve happiness.”
They sat there on the edge of the bed for some time, neither of them speaking until at last his mother roused herself. “Well, then. What now?”
He squeezed his mother’s hand and rose to his feet.
“Callum?” His mother glanced up at him. “Where are you going?”
“To Dunvegan, to fetch my lady.”