Kate Robbins - The Highland Chiefs Series 03 (15 page)

His uncle leaned forward. “Do you?” He cocked his head to the side. “Then let us test that shall we?” He waved one of his guards forward. “Bring the fiery haired lass to me,” he said.

What in Hell’s name? Ronan’s fists clenched.

“For someone indifferent to the lass, you appear quite interested in my intentions right now.”

Ronan slowed his breathing and worked to calm his thudding heart. “I am interested as to why you think I care about what happens to her. In fact, I wonder why she is still here? Why not send her back to her brother?”

“Her brother refused to die, and I suspect will be on my doorstep before long claiming vengeance.” He flicked his hand to the side. “Or some such noble nonsense. The only thing that matters in these games of war is the individual pieces we have to play against one another. You are here and seemingly on my side. I need to find out just how loyal you are.”

A sick ache filled Ronan’s guts. Somehow he knew what was coming, and he prayed Freya had the strength to endure it. He prayed he did. Staying close to his uncle and privy to his plans was bigger than he and Freya, however, and they would both have to sacrifice for the greater good of the lives of all those at stake.

In that moment, having steeled his resolve to the task, Ronan was certain he was about to lose Freya forever and a numbness passed through him. He would never feel anything ever again.

The guard entered with Freya by his side. She did not struggle. She had no idea what was about to happen. Ronan swallowed hard. She had dark circles under her eyes and they were red rimmed. Had she wept? She would be the only one of the two now who could, for once he was done with this deed, there would be no going back. She would never forgive him and he would never forgive himself. From this moment on, she must be his enemy in every sense including in his heart.

Chapter Fifteen

Freya kept her eyes downcast. She had no idea what was going on, just that the guard had said the earl and his nephew had business with her. Sutherland had said she would be married to Ronan upon arriving at the castle and based on his cool reception last evening, she was sure he had now relinquished that wish. Would they let her go? Unlikely. What, then?

“It appears we need to establish the connection between your family and mine, lass,” Sutherland said.

Freya’s head shot up. She locked gazes with Ronan, whose expression was masked to a point she hardly recognized him. Did he play a game with her? Did he mean for her to deny their relationship—or former relationship?

“My lord, I know not of what you speak. Our families have no connection.” She glanced back at Ronan again. Nothing.

Sutherland’s brows raised and he smiled. “Is that so?” He stood and walked toward her. “You see, I am not convinced of it. I believe there is something very real between the two of you, and I cannot have my nephew, who has pledged his allegiance to me and my campaign, holding anything back from me.”

Freya’s belly dropped when he lifted a lock of her hair and held it to his nose, inhaling deeply. She recalled his arousal from the night he had abducted her. She could not help the terror seeping into her belly and coiling around her heart. Did he mean to take her with Ronan watching?

“Uncle, I assured you, the MacKay lass means nothing to me.”

Ronan’s flat tone was hardly recognizable to Freya. Was he truly indifferent to her then? If so, how far would he allow his uncle to go to prove his so called allegiance. Damn the both of them! If they wanted to toy with her, she would not give them the satisfaction of her fear.

“What must I say to convince you, my lord?” She lifted her chin. “Your nephew means nothing to me either.”

Freya watched Ronan’s brows draw together slightly and then even out again. Bastard!

Alexander looked back and forth from Ronan to Freya and back again. “Very well. You have both made it clear you mean nothing to the other.”

Freya’s belly churned as she awaited her fate.

“Freya, sister of the MacKay, you shall marry me, the Earl of Sutherland, and we will unify the north through marriage.” He leaned closer and the stench of him made her guts roll. “I cannot wait to hear you scream beneath me,” he said in a low voice.

Freya gasped. Marriage to this monster? Sweet Lord in Heaven, she would never survive a night with him. His eyes sparkled at the horror she must be portraying on her face, if it was even a quarter of what she felt.

Freya turned to Ronan. He may not love her any longer, but surely he would not see her repeatedly raped by the man he himself considered the most deranged and savage beast he had ever encountered. She poured every ounce of fear and pleading into her expression when Sutherland turned around to fill goblets with sweet wine.

Freya beseeched him in silence. Though his gaze never left hers, there was no recognition that he understood, or cared. Sutherland returned and passed them both goblets.

He raised his in salute. “To a fine alliance.” He tapped his goblet off hers and then Ronan’s. He then drank deeply, urging her and Ronan to do the same.

Ronan finished his wine and placed the goblet on a table. “Congratulations.” Then he left the great hall, leaving her alone with her future husband.

Sutherland licked his pale lips as he refilled his goblet. Freya pressed hers to her mouth and bit down hard. She needed to muster her courage and focus on something to bring her through this nightmare. She thought of Nessia and the barins, of her siblings. They would need her to stay strong. She prayed she could endure this—endure him.

Freya held out her goblet. He smiled and filled it again.

When she emptied it a second time, he tsked at her. “My dear, you really must slow down. We will be wed tomorrow and I want you in your full capacity when I take you.” He walked around behind her and again smelled her hair. “Oh, how I will make you scream. Do you like pain, Freya? You can never know true pleasure unless you have known the full extent of pain. And I will give you both.”

Freya held on to the contents of her belly by a thread. She would drive a blade in him before he showed her the extent of such pain. Aye, she had known true pleasure, even if the man no longer cared for her and would leave her with a vile beast. Freya knew enough of pleasure to distract Sutherland long enough to drive a blade somewhere deep inside his body where it would spill his life’s blood and rid the world of his poison once and for all.

What she needed to do now was to ensure he trusted her enough to let her get close. If she came on too strong, he would suspect her falsehood. If she showed too much fear, she would arouse him too much and he would surely take her then and there.

She turned to face him with as much humility as she could muster. “My lord, as my husband, it is your privilege to teach me any lesson you feel is necessary. I cannot promise I will always be willing, as I have never had a firm hand when it comes to my behaviour.”

His nostrils flared as he inhaled and a pleased smile spread across his face. Her ruse appeared have the desired effect on him. “You will learn your place, young Freya. I intend to make sure you crave the pain from me as much as the pleasure.”

Freya forced a smile as he leaned down and placed cold firm lips against hers. When he leaned back, something like anger flickered in his eyes.

“You do not yet know how to kiss a man, but you will learn. Have the maids bring your bath to your chamber this evening and you may dine there with the bastard’s mother and sister. They may attend you until we are wed.”

With that, he turned and left the great hall. Freya’s knees buckled and she slumped to the cold stone floor. Her breath came in great gasps. Blood pounded in her ears, and the walls spun around her. She swore images from the tapestries dotting the walls mocked and taunted her, their jeers ringing in her ears. She was going mad. Freya focused on her breathing, searching for enough calm to provide some clarity to what had just occurred.

When she had entered the great hall, she had no idea what to expect. Nothing could have prepared her for the horror she had discovered and was about to face. She feared she would need strength she did not possess.

Freya placed her head in her hands and wept. She wept for her past and for her future. She wept for loved ones lost and for family she would never see again. She wept for the love she would never have again.

After her tears dried, she wiped her eyes and made to get up to return to her chamber. A noise from the doorway caught her attention and she looked up to lock gazes with Ronan. His expression was pained as he watched her. She opened her mouth to speak and he shook his head.

She needed him now more than ever and he would not help her. She was already dead.

* * *

Ronan turned away from Freya and the scene in the great hall. He had heard every word his uncle had said to her. Blood pounded in his ears at the thought of the man laying one finger on her, much less taking her to his bed.

He stalked out of the castle and onward until he came to the soldier’s quarters. He hunted until he found what, or rather who, he sought.

Taking him by the arm, Ronan led Neville to the stables. “Do you think you can get out of here undetected?”

“Aye, I have done it twice already. No one seems to care about me. They’re all too afraid of your uncle.”

“Well, that is a good thing. I want to know if Fergus lives and I want to know the condition and location of his army.”

Neville’s brow furrowed. “And what assurances do I have that you do not betray us?”

That was a good question. “None. But if you find out this information for me, I will share what I know with you and then you may do with it what you will.”

“That is a fair deal, Ronan. I will return here tomorrow. Meet me back here and I will share what I have learned. You have my word.”

Ronan watched Neville slink out the back of the stable and prayed no one else saw him. His mind buzzed with the information he had acquired in the past day and the implications. If his uncle was to succeed, he would bring about the worst kind of devastation upon the land. Regardless of anything else, Ronan could not let that happen if he could help it at all.

He made his way back to the castle to find his uncle. Perhaps if he got the man drunk, he would not be able to perform with Freya. Christ, just the thought of it brought his meal close to spewing from his mouth.

Ronan eventually found his uncle back in the great hall, surrounded by his captains. They were bent over a map and marking off sections. When he spied Ronan, he waved him over.

“Here is where the battle will claim the MacKenzies, young Ronan. If you wish, I will let you rule over the north once I claim the throne.”

Ronan found it to be a minor concession considering how much the north would lose in the process.

“You are too kind, Uncle,” he said.

Without warning, he backhanded Ronan, snapping his head back. Ronan’s cheek burned and blood dripped from his lip. He wiped at it with the back of his hand and stared hard at his uncle who pointed a fat finger in his face.

“You mock me again and you will not live to see the morrow. Any concession I allow you will be at my mercy and from what you have earned and nothing more.”

This was the kind of treatment Ronan had known from his father. He had let his guard down for a brief moment and was now grateful for the reminder exactly what he was dealing with. He would not even think of him as uncle any longer, merely a man, without title or deserving of that respect. Ronan knew how to play this game.

“I do not mean to mock you. ’Tis a generous gift you offer me and I am grateful.”

Alexander’s eyes narrowed. Ronan would not even swallow while under the man’s scrutiny. He had learned from a very early age how to mask fear. Long moments ticked past while he waited for Alexander to either slay him or accept him into the inner realm of his confidence.

Finally, a ghost of a smile hinted at his lips. “You would do well to remember it.”

Without another word for him, Alexander turned back to the maps and to his captains. Ronan learned that everything he had said the night before was in fact exactly what he had planned. With the element of surprise, the man actually had a chance to succeed which was the frightening part. What he did not know was how many people around him were not loyal. Even if he and Neville were in the minority of loyalty to Alexander Sutherland, Ronan was confident their efforts could trip the plans sufficiently to prevent any serious damage.

The evening passed without incident. Ronan, armed with Alexander’s battle plan, longed to share the information with Neville and send it out across the land, but he would need to keep it to himself for one more night.

His thoughts drifted to Freya on many occasions. He had not needed to worry about Alexander’s intentions that night, as it appeared the man had some sense of attachment to the sanctity of marriage before bedding her. Ronan nearly burst out laughing. If he only knew how little both he and Freya had respected that in the past he would slay them both where they stood.

Late that evening as he lay in his bed, Ronan thought about how he would react when forced to watch her marry the next day. Would he allow it to happen? Could he even stop it if he tried? If he jumped in and was killed, he would not be able to get word out about the planned attacks. But if he allowed it to go ahead, Freya would surely suffer tortures beyond reason at the hands of the worst demon who ever called himself a man. His hands were tied. He was damned if he did and damned if he did not.

He tossed and turned until daylight broke out across the ocean beyond the back gardens. The one person whose judgement he trusted the most was likely dead, so Ronan tried to imagine what Fergus would do if he were here. Damned man would find a way to save Freya and get word out.

Realizing the uselessness of his sleepless night and the lack of clarity hours of agonizing had earned him, he left his chamber to walk to the beach. Once there, he gazed out over the ocean as the sun rose. The sky streaked yellow and pale crimson, as though forewarning of the evil brewing in the day ahead. Would the sky not even give him respite from his worries?

Scraping his hand across his face, he cursed his cowardice. How could he let Freya go on believing he would not come to her aid? It was cruel and made him no better than his father. All he had to do was raise a finger to her and then he would be just as bad as Alexander.

Perhaps he fought a losing battle.

Perhaps he
was
as bad as they were.

He turned back to the castle and walked across the gardens toward the falconry, as a distraction, he told himself. The new hawk had broken its wing and the falconer was attempting to heal it.

“How fares our new hunter?” he asked Rob, the falconer.

“Fine this morning, my lord,” he said.

Ronan stopped for a moment and looked at the man. He had addressed him as per usual and for a brief moment, Ronan was drawn back in time to a month ago when aught was normal. Though a month ago, when he did think things were normal, he had no idea how much he still loved Freya. Should he regret everything that had passed?