Kate Robbins - The Highland Chiefs Series 03 (3 page)

Thundering along the road brought back memories just as painful, albeit not horrific. Far from it.

Engaging Fergus meant he would have to encounter the man’s sister. Freya could be a problem. She had been his lover and almost had his child—she should have been his wife.

Circumstances were never in their favour, however. Thoughts of her fiery hair and passionate kisses sent his head spinning. Had it really been that long since he held her and lost himself in her sweetness?

Their lovemaking had been almost savage. A chance meeting on the road had sparked a fierce fire between them despite the bitterness between their clans and particularly his father and her brother. Back then he was certain nothing could stop them.

But something had stopped them. And in the end, despite the pain he had buried, he was not so sure it was not for the best. Had he brought Freya to Dunrobin, she would have been subject to his father’s abuse and now Alexander’s. As much as he hated to admit it, she had been safer with her brother all along.

Somehow, those musings did not soothe the ache in his chest or the tightness in his loins at the thought of her radiance. To have her beneath him and hear her cry out his name at her release was his most precious memory.

Ronan drove his destrier harder.

The MacKays were key to everything. Ronan smiled inwardly. Surely, his father grimaced from Hell, and he hoped Alexander caught a case of the running guts.

Nearing dusk, Ronan spied an inn which would provide safe haven through the night.

Now, as he and Allain settled into their chambers, he allowed himself one moment to envision a day when perhaps he and Freya could stay here while travelling to Tongue for a visit. Peace, perfect peace would see her in his arms, lying in this exact bed where he know rested, her curves moulded into his body and her breath steady on his chest. He could almost feel her there with him as his loins tightened with the image.

He sat up and put his head in his hands. While his last parting with Fergus had been more than cordial, and subsequent meetings since, fair and productive, he had not seen Freya in two years. Her parting words were, “
Ronan, I cannot marry you. Not now and not ever!
”

His heart had clenched so hard he was sure he would drop to the floor. How could he see her on the morrow and not claim her again? She was his. Always. Somehow, he had to make her see that.

Chapter Two

Tongue, Scotland

The clouds in the distance were almost black.  From her vantage point, at the top of Castle Varrich, she could see for miles. Freya MacKay held fast to the stone wall as she scanned the mountains to the east; the wind tugged her hair in the opposite direction. She estimated they might have an hour before the storm hit.

“Here you are.” Her brother, Fergus, emerged from the belly of the watchtower. “It is nearing time to go to the chapel.”

Her stomach clenched. Was that a sign?

She let out a deep sigh. “Fergus—”

“Freya, not this again.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Rorie is a good man and your betrothal strengthens our bond with the MacKenzies.”

“I know that, Fergus. And I do not wish to cause trouble. It is just—”

He gathered her into his arms and rested his chin on top of her head. “You were reckless back then.”

She nodded.

“And your heart was broken.”

“Aye,” she whispered.

“But that is all in the past. You made the right choice by letting him go.” He squeezed her tighter. “The best way forward, lass, is with Rorie.”

“I know you are right. I just cannot shake
him
from my mind today. I have spent so much time trying to forget him and for some reason today feels like all that time has been wasted.”

“How so?”

“I do not know.” Freya paused, thinking, then pointed to the east. “Look, Fergus. A storm rolls in.”

“Aye, and yet another reason to get you inside. Come, we must share the noon meal with the MacKenzies.”

A loud, thunderous boom resonated around them. Fergus took her hand in his and urged her toward the steps leading below.

Freya scanned the village once more. Rain had just begun across the plains to the east. She squinted. Was it her imagination, or could she see something moving ahead of the rain?

“Fergus, I think there are riders coming in.”

He leaned forward across the stone wall.

“Who would chance getting caught in that?”

They watched as the riders moved through the town and on toward the road leading to MacKay House. For one brief moment Freya was certain one of them was Ronan.

But that could not be.

“Let us return to the house and find out who our new guests are.”

Freya followed her brother down the winding stairs, her trepidation growing by the second. She dared to wonder what she would do if it
was
Ronan.

She shook her head. There was no possible way it was him. She had made her intentions clear the last time she had seen him at Dunrobin. And besides, even if it was him, why would she assume his presence had anything to do with her?

Fergus and Ronan had mended much of the torn fabric between the MacKays and Sutherlands over the last two years. Not all was resolved, but at least no one feared surprise and savage attacks from either side anymore.

They entered the castle and went straight to the great hall. There, by the stone hearth, stood two men warming their hands.

“Sutherland,” Fergus said. “Welcome.”

Freya froze as a man turned and locked gazes with her brother.

“Fergus,” Ronan said. “’Tis no pleasure visit I seek. I come bearing grave news.”

Freya stood rooted to the floor. He looked so different from the young man she had called her lover. His hair was shorter and his eyes were harder. The face she knew so well, that once held a carefree demeanour, had been replaced by a hard, almost angry, expression. His body was more heavily muscled as well.

Two years had turned him into a grown man. Freya’s belly fluttered and her pulse quickened. Entranced, she moved toward her brother.

“Freya,” Fergus said. “Ask Alice to prepare a trencher and some ale for our guests.”

Ronan continued looking at Fergus as he spoke. Freya stared hard at him, willing him to meet her gaze. After an age, he slowly shifted his attention to look her. A great surge washed over her.

Who did she think she fooled? She could never forget the way he had made her feel; his hot breath on her neck, his hands cupping her backside as he thrust into her body, chasing his release.

She felt her cheeks flame. The fire in his eyes cracked the ice wall she had built around her heart.

“Freya!”

Fergus’s urgent tone startled her out of her trance. Ronan’s gaze was still upon her as she turned to leave.

This was bad.

As she made her way to the kitchens, Freya contemplated the change in him. She had always loved how his dark eyes appeared almost black.

She could almost feel his arms around her again; muscular and powerful. She had been denied the security and passion he gave her for far too long.

This was very bad.

In the kitchen, the cook, Alice, yelled at Hugh MacKay.

“Will ye move yer big lout self out of my way before I boil ye down for stew!”

Hugh winked at Freya. “I am not going anywhere until you let me help you carry those platters over to the great hall.”

Alice slammed her hand down on the table. “And why do you think I’d need help from the likes of you? I have been running this kitchen for longer than you can remember. I drop one pot of stew and everyone treats me like a wee bairn.” The woman thrust her hands on her hips, lifting her chin high. “So, get out of my kitchen or you best be careful of what I put in yer food.”

Hugh shook his head. “Fine. You can tell that to Fergus when he sees you carrying the platters yourself. I am only doing what he told me to do.”

For a moment, Freya was certain Alice might relent, but then she pursed her lips.

“Out!” she said, pointing to the door.

“Daft, stubborn woman.” Hugh’s mutterings followed him out the door.

Alice turned and looked like she might pitch into her next, prompting Freya to raise her hands in defence.

“Do not look at me like that. I know better than to challenge you, and if Fergus wants to take you on, then that is up to him.”

Alice smiled. “Very well then, lass. Thank ye for that. What is it ye want?”

Alice was well aware of her affair with Ronan two years ago so she was not sure what the woman’s reaction would be regarding his return.

“Fergus wants me to bring a trencher and ale to the great hall.” She paused. “We have unexpected guests.”

“More! I thought that MacKenzie lot were all here by now.”

“Aye, they’re all here.” A great knot crept into her belly. “These two men are not MacKenzies. They’re Sutherlands.”

Freya held her breath.

“Sutherlands? Lass are you unwell? You look like you’ve seen a spirit.” Alice’s mouth then formed a silent ‘Oh.’ “Do you know why
he
is here? Now, of all times?”

She agreed. The timing of his arrival was a bit much to absorb. What could she do? Set to become betrothed to Rorie MacKenzie on the morrow, how could she promise herself to another with
him
present? She could not bear the thought of it now. How would Ronan react once he discovered she would soon belong to Rorie?

The day she had left him she told him it could never work. There had been too much damage between their clans for an alliance of marriage to cause anything but more grief.

Her heart tightened as she recalled the pain in his eyes when she said goodbye. Now there was no pain; just heat and anger.

“I do not know why he is here. All he said was that he had grave news.”

Alice smiled. “Well then lass, let’s get that trencher and ale over to the great hall. Perhaps we will learn what has occurred then.”

* * *

Ronan paced. He had to shove away his urge to run after Freya and take her in the nearest dark corner. His passion for her had not waned one bit in the last two years, and seeing her again ripped the old wound wide open.

She had been sixteen summers when they met and secretly carried on the affair for several weeks as tensions escalated between their clans.

His father’s threat upon her life had been the breaking point for Ronan’s tolerance of the man’s evil. After he had killed him, he was certain he and Freya could be together, but she would not have him.

And he had let her go.

When she left, she had taken his heart with her.

Ronan shook the painful memories away. He had come for another reason and it needed to be addressed.

“My father had a younger brother,” he said to Fergus. “If you think Artair Sutherland was evil, there exists no fitting word for his little brother.”

He saw Fergus’s fists clench. “I cannot believe there is anyone as mad as your father.”

“I understand why you feel that way, Fergus.” His father had been responsible for accusing Fergus of a horrific attack on the MacKenzies which landed him in the Edinburgh Castle dungeon. He had also been responsible for the death of Fergus’s brother, William. Both events were terrible and worth the fury emanating from Fergus MacKay at the moment. “But I assure you, Alexander Sutherland is worse—much worse.”

“Tell me everything.”

“My grandfather banished him. I do not know much about what exactly occurred, but his cruelty was said to be such that they drove him off Sutherland lands altogether. He has been gone for a dozen years or longer. Yesterday, Bishop de Strathbrook arrived at Dunrobin and handed me a writ of bastardy. ’Tis been validated and signed by King James. My uncle has successfully claimed the earl’s title, the chiefship—everything.”

Ronan found the words incredible even as he spoke them. His uncle posed a great danger to the entire region and he needed Fergus to see that. “I watched him run his sword through two men without blinking. Fergus, if he gets it in his head to pick up where my father left off, there’ll be nothing left of the Highlands to claim.”

“How many men?”

“Several dozen, and a trebuchet. By the looks of his armour, I’d say he has amassed a small fortune, so my guess is, he could pay for many more men and weapons. Add to that, those still loyal to my father? Aye, I’d say he is a real threat.”

Fergus moved to stand by the fire.

“Christ. We are only now recovering from the damage done by your father. What do you suggest?”

“I say we hit him fast and hard before he gets a chance to settle in.”

Fergus nodded. “I agree. The MacKenzie is here and I expect he will agree as well.”

“The MacKenzie is here?”

“Aye.” Fergus approached Ronan and placed his hand on Ronan’s shoulder. “He is here for Freya’s betrothal to his son Rorie.”

Ronan’s guts dropped. He had not considered her with another. Part of him had hoped to one day rekindle the intensity they once had.

“’Tis a good match lad; he is a good man.”

“Fergus, you do not owe me an explanation. Freya made her wishes quite clear when we parted. I came here with no expectation from her.”
Liar
. “’Tis your help I seek to bring my uncle down before he burns us all to the ground.”

“Aye, and you have it. I’ll collect the MacKenzie and meet you back here.”

Ronan let out a great sigh as he watched Fergus leave.

“Are you well?” Allain asked.

“Aye. I am. Fergus was easy to convince, and for that I am grateful. We must stay focused on this task. Any distraction could mean our downfall.”

Right on cue, his biggest distraction entered the great hall with servants in tow, carrying food and drink. Ronan’s guts rumbled in approval.

“My lords, please eat,” Freya said, lowering her gaze.

How he longed to take her in his arms.

“We are indebted to you,
my
lady.”

His address to her caught her attention. She glanced up and a brief smile passed over her face before she masked her expression and dropped her gaze again. He had broken through, just a little, but he had chipped away a sliver of the mountain of awkwardness between them. He could not have been more pleased.

Allain needed no further invitation and had already heaped a trencher full of meats and bread and cheese. Ronan’s belly reminded him of his own hunger. As the succulent juices of roasted boar slid down his throat, he became more and more aware of Freya’s presence. She had taken a seat near the stone hearth and though she was behind him, but he sensed every shift of her body, every sigh on her lips.

Without turning, he was certain she had turned around and was staring at his back. Considering the position she was in with the impending betrothal, he would not openly challenge her intended or do anything to bring dishonour to her. Still, he desperately wanted to get her alone and let her know he still wanted her more than his next breath.

Ronan pushed his trencher away, its contents half eaten. He needed to say something to her but did not want to draw anyone’s attention. He pushed back his chair and turned toward the hearth. She had already gone. Damn!