Kate Robbins - The Highland Chiefs Series 03 (20 page)

“And you were willing to sacrifice me in order to learn those details; I understand it, I just don’t know if I can forgive you for it.”

He lowered his head and nodded once. “I understand. Will you come with me and let me protect you?”

“Aye. I will do that. You owe me that much.”

He leaned toward her mouth once again, but she turned away. “We must make haste from this place, Ronan. The guards have come back every hour to check again, and if that is their schedule, they will return again soon.”

“Very well,” he said.

Freya detected the sadness in his voice. She would have liked to erase it, but she could not deny how she felt. While he might have thought his actions were for the greater good, the reality was he had played her like a pawn, and there were no guarantees how much abuse she might have suffered in the process.

They climbed the steps out of the crypt and returned the altar to its rightful place. Once outside, they raced to the stable, and then farther on without incident until they reached the camp. The bishop had some difficulty with the pace so the younger guards had carried him the last several yards.

Now in Fergus’s tent, she could not sit still.  She was restless and edgy from the past two days. Finally, Fergus stood in front of her and grasped her shoulders, forcing her to stop pacing and look up at him.

“You must settle, Freya. Come and have something to eat, and a cup or three of ale. You are safe from harm here. I know you have been through much, but you need to let your body and mind settle.”

He was right, but it was easier said than done. She had been working so hard to survive for the past two days that it was not a simple matter of settling down. She accepted the cup of ale from her brother and downed it, nearly choking in the process when some of the liquid went down her wind pipe.

Ronan entered the tent then; his brows drew down when he saw her pacing.

“My sister and mother are secure in Neville’s tent,” he said. “Freya, are you unwell?”

“She is having difficulty finding calm after her ordeal,” Fergus said. “I have seen it in the men after a fierce battle from time to time. They cannot calm their nerves and continually pace until they fall down from exhaustion. If you have any suggestions, I am all ears.”

Ronan said nothing, but walked toward her. Freya’s body seemed to jerk in all directions at once. The hairs on her body stood on end, and her mind raced, unwilling to accept that she was finally safe.

Ronan wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. Her body jerked an involuntary protest, but he held fast and hushed her quietly in her ear.

“I am here, lass,” he whispered. “Shhhh.”

He slowly rocked her back and forth until after what seemed like an age; her body began to calm. She opened her eyes to discover Fergus had made himself scarce and that she and Ronan stood alone in the middle of his tent.

She slid her arms around his waist and held on tight. He had contributed to what she was going through right now, so she felt it fitting he help fix it. He swayed with her for a long time, until her limbs ached. Finally, when she sagged against him, he swept her up and laid her on the furs that had been placed on the ground for her makeshift bed. Ronan turned her on her side and then curled in behind her. In her semi-awake state she did not have the strength to protest.

With his arms wrapped tightly around her, and his warm breath on the back of her neck, Freya drifted into a deep slumber.

Chapter Twenty-One

Heavy mist crawled across the battlefield as Ronan surveyed the scene. His uncle had not attacked during the night, and had yet to gather this morning. Though it was only daybreak, Ronan would have expected an assembly of his men by now. Instead, all was quiet, and that did not sit well with him.

Fergus came up along-side, together with the MacKenzie and Rorie and a contingent of warriors.

“Ready, MacKenzie?” Ronan asked him.

“Aye, I am ready,” Rorie said. “It will take us a day and a night to reach MacDonald. If he does not kill me on sight, I may have a chance to convince him to join our cause. Still, I believe I am the most logical choice, as you are needed here. The old laird is still imprisoned at Edinburgh, so ’tis his son, Angus, I’ll have to deal with. Let us hope he is of a better temperament than his father and a little less lustful of our lands.”

“Aye, let us hope. His father means to have them. I should be going with ye,” Kenneth said.

Rorie shook his head. “No. If he sees you coming, he will not listen to a word you say. We both know I have a better chance of convincing the man, as he does not know me other than I am your son.”

“This entire business is based on trusting one another, and the only way forward,” Fergus said. “Angus appears to be of calmer nature than his father, and he has had to lead the clan in his father’s absence these two years. I believe he will listen to you, Rorie.”

Ronan shook his head. With enemies coming from all sides, how was he to push forward? Which brought forth another troubling thought.

“Fergus, the MacIntosh is expected here today. He will ally with us to get rid of my uncle, but how do you think he will react about the business with the king?”

“I trust MacIntosh more than any man I have ever met,” Fergus said.

“Your loyalty is commendable, Fergus, but what will he do? You know as well as I that MacIntosh is a staunch supporter of the king and I need to have an understanding of how he will react if he learns we intend to challenge him.”

Fergus drew a deep breath. MacIntosh was honourable, but could he be trusted with their cause? “I will speak with him when the time is right. We will secure his help to capture your uncle and push the reinforcements back to the lowlands, but leave the other business to me. Rorie must be back here within in two days, with or without MacDonald. Though I would prefer with.”

Ronan nodded and turned toward Rorie. “God speed lad. I wish you luck and safe travels.”

Rorie mounted his horse and grinned. “Good luck to you too,
lad
. I suspect you’ll need it more than I.”

Ronan smiled and watched Rorie and his men ride off. His gaze drifted back to the battlefield. Still no sign of Alexander. An uneasiness settled over him. The man was predictable in his unpredictability. If he was not here, it meant he had set forth another plan.

He returned to the tent and to where he had left Freya sleeping. She finally settled down and thankfully slept through the night. He lifted the tent flap and peered inside. She was curled up underneath furs exactly as he had left her.

He knelt beside her and brushed a flaming lock of hair from her face. Freya’s cheeks were flushed. He placed the back of his hand on her forehead and winced when he touched too warm, clammy skin. She had been through much in the past days, the last thing she needed was an illness on top of it.

Ronan looked around the tent and spied a basin of water and cloths. He went to the water basin wrung out a cloth to place on her forehead. When he did, she stirred, her eyes fluttering before she opened them. Her glazed gaze concerned him. She blinked several times before focusing on him.

“Ronan? Where am I?” she asked.

“Hush, love. You are in Fergus’s tent. We found you last eve and brought you back here.”

“Your mother and sister?” she whispered as her eyes fluttered shut again.

“Perfectly fine. You needn’t worry about anything, love. You are safe and I will not let anything happen to you.”

His words seemed to spark something within her. Her eyes flew open and flashed toward him. She struggled to sit up but he held her shoulders down.

“Freya, you do not look well this morn. You must stay here and rest until your fever passes,” he said.

“I am angry with you, Ronan, and I do not intend to stay in this tent with you any longer. Where is my brother?”

“He is outside with MacKenzie waiting for Sinclair and MacIntosh to arrive.”

She pressed her lips into a straight line and turned her head away when he tried to place a fresh cool cloth on her head again.

He drew a deep sigh. He supposed he would have to endure her anger. He had brought it on himself and would have to find a way forward with her, despite her obvious disdain for him.

“Would you like me to fetch my mother and sister to tend to you?”

She turned her head toward him but would not meet his gaze. Freya nodded and turned away from him again.

“Very well.” At the tent’s entrance he looked back over his shoulder to find her watching him. “I will wait for you to forgive me, Freya. Even if it takes forever.”

* * *

As the tent flap slid closed, Freya watched Ronan’s shadow disappear. She closed her eyes to keep her tears from spilling. It was so hard staying angry with him, but her mind would not let her forgive so easily.

She was weary. She touched her fingers to her cheeks, concern filling her when she felt the heat rising from them. She sat up and reached for the basin of cool water to refresh the cloth. She placed one behind her neck and another on her forehead drinking in the soothing sensation.

A moment later, Morag and Muren entered the tent, their eyes wide.

“Freya!” Morag said, rushing over to her. “Ronan said you are ill.”

“I seem to be running a fever.”

Morag touched her cheeks, and forehead. “Aye, a fever indeed. Your eyes are glazed, lass. You’ll need fluids and coriander.”

“I am fine, Morag. Only a little weary is all.”

Morag tsked. “Muren, take Neville with you and fetch some coriander from the garden and refill this basin. Hurry child, we must catch this before it gets worse.” She pulled the furs back which caused an immediate shiver to race through Freya. Morag’s eyes went wide. “My lord child, you are soaked through your clothes. We must get you out of these and into something clean and dry.” She called to Muren as she was about to leave the tent. “Tell the men to stay away and bring me something for her to wear.”

Freya was well aware there would be nothing in a camp for her to wear with an army of men, save for a linen shirt. Though, it was certainly better than nothing. Morag helped Freya sit up and removed her gown and shift. The cool air was not comforting against her hot skin, rather, it made her tremble and quake.

“I need to get some linens if there are any to be gotten,” Morag said. “Cover yourself. I will be back in a moment.”

Morag was not gone from the tent longer than two minutes when Ronan returned. His was face drawn tight and his eyes showed his concern.

“Freya, how do you fare?”

“Do not come closer,” she said. “I am not decent. Your mother has taken my clothes and has gone to find fresh linens. Though, I do not know where she will find any in an army camp.”

Ronan smiled. “You do not know my mother,” he said. “If ’tis something to wear you need, you may have my shirt.”

She shook her head. Wearing something that smelled of him would not help her resolve to remain angry with him.

“I insist, Freya.”

Before she could protest, he had removed his tunic and was pulling his shirt over his head. Freya closed her eyes and turned away from him. If she opened them, he would be naked before her, and even in her vulnerable state, she could not resist him.

Her eyes flew wide open when she felt him tugging on her shoulders. “Ronan, what are you doing?”

He was trying to sit her up with one hand while putting the shirt over her head with the other. Her gaze flicked down over him to discover he had put his tunic back on. She sighed with relief, grabbing the shirt from him.

“I can do this,” she said. “Please, turn your back.”

His response was to raise one eyebrow. “Freya, I have seen your naked flesh many times.” His voice was pitched low.

“Aye, at times when I was more valuable to you than a pawn, Ronan. Now turn around. You do not get to see me so again.”

He frowned but did as she asked. “Ever?” He spoke so quietly, she questioned whether or not she had really heard him.

Freya pretended she did not hear, so did not respond. “I am done. You may turn around again.”

When he did, his expression was strained. Like she had hurt him. Her chest tightened, but she needed to stay true to her beliefs in that his actions had been wrong.

“Are you in here bothering her when I asked you to stay away?” his mother said from the entrance.

Ronan’s gaze flicked down over her frame again then he turned away. “I was just leaving.”

Morag returned to her and began her ministrations. Over the next few hours, she forced various liquids into her. Freya drifted in and out of consciousness, only barely aware of what was happening outside. Morag would shush her each time she asked what was happening, only to say there was no battle.

Long after the sunset, Fergus entered the tent.

“How is she?” he asked Morag.

Freya lacked the strength to speak for herself, so kept her eyes closed.

“Her fever has broken, but she is exhausted. She is in no danger, Fergus, but will need to rest for a couple of days.”

“Aye, we will be here for a few days yet,” he said.

“What has happened? Where is Ronan?”

Fergus sighed heavily. “He is speaking with the MacIntosh about our plans to attack the castle on the morrow.”

“So soon?”

“Aye. Sutherland needs to be removed immediately before he can cause more damage.”

Freya wanted to ask about the plan, but could not get her mouth to form the words. She had to content herself with listening.

“What about the soldiers he hired? How will you contain them?”

“That is a bigger problem. We have enough men to contain them when the time comes. Ronan assumes they are paid lowlanders and once Sutherland is killed, they can be paid and sent on their way. If that is the case, it could work. If they are here for more passionate reasons, we will be involved in a very bloody fight.”

“How do you plan to get rid of him?”

Fergus chuckled. “I can see where Ronan gets his strategic mind.”

“Do not change the subject,” she said, though Freya heard mirth in her tone.

“We are still working that out. Will she need anything tonight?”

Frey felt a hand brushed the hair from her face. “She just needs rest. Ronan should sleep elsewhere this night.”

“I will not be the one to tell him that.”

“Nor I,” she said. “She will have to battle it out with him in the morn.”

Freya tried moving her limbs to turn over, but they would not do her bidding. She wanted to sit up and tell Fergus he could inform Ronan to sleep anywhere but with her, but her dulled mind would not allow it.

She was aware the moment he entered the tent. Though her thoughts were hazy, her body was more than aware of him. Always.

“How does she fare?” She heard concern in his voice.

“She is in no danger, but your mother says she needs rest.”

“Then she will get it.”

Fergus chuckled

“Why do you laugh?”

“I am looking forward to hearing her reaction when she wakes in the morn to find you lying next to her.”

“She will not be awake by the time I rise.”

“We have a plan then?”

“Aye, we do,” he said. “We go before dawn.”

“So be it.”

“So be it indeed.”

Freya heard nothing else after that, as the sleep she had been fighting pulled her under. The last thing she registered was a heavy arm wrapping around her middle.