Kate Robbins - The Highland Chiefs Series 03 (7 page)

Ronan understood. Fergus had laid it out clear enough. There was not now, nor would there ever be, a chance for them to be together. He had suspected as much, but now that he knew it, his heart sank. She is his. His!

He pushed his chair back and stood. Freya had still not lifted her head to meet his gaze. “I ken, Fergus. But know this,” he said pointing at Freya. “There sits the vessel which holds my heart. I will never stop wanting her, no matter how many alliances are at stake. And until a priest blesses her as married to another, I will not give up hope that somehow, someday, she will be mine.”

Freya’s head shot up, her gaze locking with his. Her eyes were wide and a smile slowly spread across her features telling him everything he needed to know. She was his. She knew it and would not deny it.

Just then, a flurry from the entrance to the great hall caught his attention. A young lad tore into the hall and ran straight to his master. Fergus stood and placed his hand on the lad’s shoulder as the lad bent over to catch his breath.

“Christ’s teeth, lad. What is it?”

“’Tis the lass, the one we captured two years ago,” he flicked his head in Ronan’s direction.

Ronan’s guts lurched. Muren?

“Aye, she and your mother have been taken by a large number of men on horseback. The villagers said the leader was head to toe in armour, like a great iron beast, they said.”

“I ride,” Ronan said, striding toward the door.

Fergus caught up with him before he reached the end of the table.

“You are going nowhere, yet,” he said. “Not until we amass our army as planned. He wants you to come. Do you not see? He is using your sister and mother as bait.”

“Just like you did,” Ronan said before he could think the better of it.

“We never had any intention to harm her and we did not.”

“No, you did not, because she,” he said pointing to Freya, “helped free her.” Ronan broke free from Fergus’s grasp. “You cannot keep me from going to help my family, and you have made it quite clear I have nothing to protect here.”

With one look back at Freya he left the great hall in search of his horse.

Chapter Six

“Did you need to drive the dagger further into his heart?” Freya practically screamed her accusation at Fergus. She paced, trying to decide if she would follow Ronan or not.

“Freya, there was no point in giving him false hope.”

“By God, Fergus, the man has lost everything, and now possibly his closest family too? You could have shown some compassion.”

“What would you have me do? Leave my two new bairns and tear off across the country with half the men required to do the job properly? I cannot stop him if he feels duty bound to go after them, but I can advise him. And from where I stand, he is being lured!”

Freya winced when the last part of Fergus’s argument ended in a roar. He rarely raised his voice to her, though he had done so many times to others. She stared her brother down. He was laird here and knew the ways of war much better than she, but he did not know Ronan like she did. He was not reckless, but he was, no doubt, hurting like no other time in his life and she was helpless to ease his pain.

But what could she do? If she followed, what assistance might she provide? She was good with a bow, thanks to Nessia, and her uncle Hugh had taught her to wield a small sword. But she lacked the physical strength to do much more than scrape her enemy. Still, Ronan and his captain were no match for what awaited them at Golspie if even half of what Ronan had said was true.

Freya thought about Ronan’s half-sister, Muren. Fergus had agreed she be held captive for a short time in retaliation for a brutal assault on a MacKay tenant’s daughter. Though he had ordered no harm come to the lass, he had not been aware of her delicate nature. Freya could not bear the thought of her in the watch tower and so had freed her. Unfortunately, Fergus had misunderstood the scenario and blamed Nessia for the deed. Thankfully, it all ended well in the end—except for Muren. Her gentle nature had not improved over time, and Freya feared the girl would never survive this abduction. Especially at the hands of those who would not be gentle with her.

“Fergus, we must do something,” she said. “I know not what, but I cannot sit here and do nothing.”

“I know, lass, but if we stick to our original plan, we will be successful in the end. Sometimes for the greater good there are—”

“Do not say it!” She moved past him and on toward the door. How could he be so cruel to consider them casualties already? She raced to the stable in the hopes of seeing Ronan; Fergus, shouting her name, followed her nearly the whole way.

When she got there, Ronan was just about to mount his horse. Thank heavens she had caught him. She approached him with caution. As if he sensed her, he turned and locked gazes with her. She raced to him.

“I could not let you leave like that,” she said.

He smiled, deep creases appearing in his cheeks. How she longed to trace them with her fingers.

“I am pleased you did, Freya.”

Her heart hammered at the sound of her name on his lips.

“I wish to go with you. I believe I can help.”

His eyes widened and then his jaw set. “As much as I would love to take you away from here, there is no way I would put you in that man’s path. He does not know what you mean to me and I would not have him discover it.”

“Ronan, I wish things were different.”

“As do I, my love, but for now you must stay and I must go.”

Allain coughed behind her, prompting her to release her hold on Ronan.

“Freya, I want you to return to the house and help my wife with the bairns,” Fergus said, his tone firm.

She turned to glare at him, expecting to see fury in his eyes. What greeted her instead was closer to sympathy. “Say your goodbyes, love, and go to the house—please.”

Fergus never said please. Ever. She turned back to Ronan and mouthed goodbye and I love you. Heaven help her, she had to fight back tears. Would she ever see him again? Her heart thudded hard in her chest when he mouthed the same back to her.

She turned away from him with an ache in her chest, retreating to the house before she changed her mind and went anyway. Fergus was right, she could not help him. She only prayed to God now that someone could.

* * *

Freya’s figure faded in the gathering mist as she retreated to the house. Ronan turned back to mount his horse and attempt to steady his heart when a large hand grasped his shoulder.

“Not so fast, lad,” Fergus said. “I am asking you for one night to let me figure out what I can do to help you. I cannot raise the numbers we need to defeat him any earlier, but I might be able to assist you and your captain. Will you give me one night to form a plan?”

Ronan’s head began to spin. Was there more Fergus could do? Was it right for Ronan to ask it of him? All of this trouble was because of him. All of it. Here before him stood a man who had almost lost a child today and still he offered to help.

“Fergus, I cannot ask it of you. You must care for your own and I will care for mine. When the army is ready, bring it and I will gladly stand by your side while we defeat this enemy together. But I cannot ask you to do more than you have already committed.”

“You can and you will. Allain, take the horses back to their stalls then fetch Neville and Colin. We will sort this out,” he said, facing Ronan again. “As sure as there is breath in my newborn babes, I am certain Alexander Sutherland will not harm your mother or sister. But if you tear across the country without a plan, I assure you, the blood spilled will be yours. Now, come inside and we shall solve this together.”

Ronan followed Fergus back into the great hall and took a seat near him. Before long the hall was filled again with men arguing about the best approach and the best plan of attack—immediately, and later with the army.

His thoughts drifted from time to time to Freya and her declaration. The barrier between them was not breached, but at least he was certain she felt the same way for him as he did for her. He could face anything, or anyone, as long as he had her love to return to.

* * *

Freya paced in her chamber. Ronan had stayed.

Her belly churned as she weighed the decision before her. Never had she been at such a crossroad—honour versus love. She put her head in her hands. Ronan would leave here on the morrow and she might never see him again.

Looking out over the kyle from her chamber window, a tear tricked down her cheek at the thought of anything happening to him.

Voices at the end of the hall drew her attention to the door. Footsteps stopped and then a chamber door opened and closed. Fergus had gone to bed. She was about to turn back to the window when another, more distant door opened and closed again. Someone else was sleeping up here?

To whom would Fergus offer a family chamber? Unless the MacKenzies had come back—or he had offered it to Ronan. Her belly fluttered. She would never sleep now with visions of him lying on a bed just a few feet from her.

She paced again. This was harder than envisioning him gone. Her skin tingled and her pulse quickened as her thoughts drifted to him undressing to ready himself for bed. Freya walked to the door and reached for the latch—her hand was poised mid-air. Should she go to him? How could she consider such a thing when it would dishonour both of them. True, she was not yet betrothed to Rorie, but she was promised to him.

She spun around and dashed to the window. She leaned her cheek against the cool stone to temper her heated flesh. It did not help. Nothing would help except the incredible release she experienced when she was in Ronan’s arms.

She wanted him. Needed him. Honour be damned! Could she live with herself if he was murdered by his uncle upon arrival at Dunrobin? Knowing they could have shared their love for one another just one more time? Circumstances may have worked to keep them apart up until now, but she had one night to make him hers—to brand him on her skin for all eternity.

She straightened her gown and turned toward the door. Decision made, she reached for the latch with trembling fingers. Outside her chamber, she waited for any signs of movement in Fergus and Nessia’s. All was quite so she crept on toward the chamber she suspected Ronan had been given.

Freya placed her ear to the door for signs of movement inside. She heard a loud sigh and footsteps. Whoever was inside was awake. She grappled with knocking versus opening the door a crack, and decided on the latter since knocking might alert Fergus.

Lifting the latch to his chamber, Freya pushed the heavy door open a crack and peered inside. Ronan stood with his back to her, gazing out the window. Soft light bathed him from one candle burning low on a table near the bed and the embers from the fire in the hearth.

She pushed her way inside and closed the door without making a sound. He did not move as she padded across the chamber and slid her arms around his torso. Thick muscles flexed under her hands and his sharp intake of breath told her he had not heard her approach.

“Freya,” he whispered. “Are you really here?”

“Aye, Ronan. ’Tis me.”

“You should not be here. ’Tis not right.”

She stiffened. Would he reject her? She had not considered that. Instead of letting go, she held on tighter and buried her face in his back, inhaling deep. His scent, so clean and intoxicating to her, always made her belly flutter, as though that one sense alone was enough to make her ready for him.

“You will be gone from my life tomorrow and I may never see you again,” she said. “If this is the only night we ever have under the same roof again, I want to spend it in your bed. I want you, Ronan.”

His heart thudded beneath her hand, steady and hard and increasing with each passing second; his breath grew deeper and faster.

Ronan grasped her fingers and peeled her hands from his chest. Freya could not measure her disappointment. He was rejecting her. She fought the tightness in her throat and the burning in her eyes.

He released her hands and turned around, lifting her chin so she could look him in the eyes. She did not know what she expected to find in his gaze, but her blood surged in her veins when she discovered the passionate heat she remembered. His eyes were black with passion and his mouth was set in a hard line.

“Freya,” he said, inching closer. “You have my heart and soul. I would give you my body if it is your wish.”

Her heart soared. She smiled and reached up to draw him toward her. Their lips parted and she sucked in a deep breath as his mouth brushed across hers. She tugged on his head to seal the kiss but he resisted. Instead, his tongue darted out to trace her bottom lip before taking it between his teeth.

She shuffled her body closer to his and rubbed against him. He was hard and ready for her, and she ached to feel him inside her.

He responded by gripping her hip and pulling her closer, grinding himself against her. Freya moaned as he held her head in his other hand and pulled her in. His tongue thrust inside her mouth in search of hers. She grabbed the sides of his head and tasted him, their tongues tangled and their breaths coming faster.

Freya’s thoughts fled until only one remained—him. All of him, on top of her, and inside her. Her heart pounded as she poured all the heartache and sorrow and love she felt for him into that kiss. If they never got another chance, she had make sure he would never doubt her love again.

The back of the bed bumped her legs and only then did she realize he had moved them toward it. He released her hip and head and unfastened the ties at the side of her gown in record time. His mouth broke from hers to trail hot kisses across her jaw and down her neck. She turned her head and moved her hair to give him better access.

“Christ, you taste as good as I remember,” he said. “I am going to have you all night, Freya. You do realize this.”

“I have no other wish,” she said in a breathless voice.

He pulled her gown up over her head and tossed it behind him. Her nipples hardened under his hot gaze. His near growl sent a fresh wave of heat to her core. Ronan leaned forward and touched the tip of his tongue to her nipple. She quivered in response.

He bunched up her shift, and in one swift movement, that too was discarded. He stood back and gazed upon her naked flesh. While he stared, he removed his tunic and boots as well. His shirt was last to go, and while his gaze drifted over her body, she took the time to do the same to him.

He was bigger than he had been when they parted. He was still a large man then, but now his muscles were thicker and more defined. She could hardly get her arms around his chest earlier and now looking upon him, she understood why. Thick and curved, she reached her hands out to torso. He sucked in his breath when she leaned forward and flicked her tongue over one taut nipple. When she grazed it with her teeth, he groaned.

“Freya, I want to go slowly, but will not be able to if you keep doing that.”

Go slowly? Not if she could help it. She wanted him to ravage her, to unleash the intensity and desperation she knew was just beneath the surface. She gently bit his nipple. His body jerked and his breath hissed through his teeth.

Freya’s feet then left the floor and her back made contact with the bed moments later. Ronan spread her legs wide and rubbed the tip of his erection against her moist heat before sliding inside her until she was completely filled with him. She gasped at the sensation.