“Freya?” said Wallace quickly, falling into the trap that Padraig had set. An immediate expression of startled hope passed over his face. Wallace smoothed down his eager expression before Padraig had a chance to turn to see it. “Ah, maybe then I might pop over awhile. Um, if there’s time…”
His head still turned away from Wallace, Padraig smiled a long, slow grin. “You best get a move on, lad. I said we’d be there soon!”
The sun was setting in the sky as Padraig ushered Wallace into the small cart he had waiting for him outside the croft. It was a long way off the beaten track, up here in the Highlands, and so making the way across the bumpy wild terrain was no small feat. Within about twenty minutes, the darkened silhouette of the keep pulled into view.
“Wallace!” Freya’s high voice rang out. A fervent look on her young face. She wasted no time beating her way through the darkened pebbled path over to where the cart waited.
“Och, hello there Freya. Fancy seeing ye here!” said Wallace, as casually as he could. He looked around innocently, trying to pretend that he had not just trekked through wild countryside on a rickety cart, over crag and bog to get here.
Wallace could not help being stunned at the sight of Freya, who shimmered under the light of the moon, its pale rays washing her clear skin in its pure glow.
“But… daes yer father ken?” asked Wallace hesitantly as they set off, Padraig cracking the whip on the pony ahead of them. Freya just chuckled, and Padraig answered for her.
“Dinnae ye fash yer head. It’s about time we took ye into the town. The laird has enough to worry about right now tae be noticing what yer doin’—and anyway, I will keep an eye on ye both!”
This was enough explanation for Wallace, who was still marveling at the turn of events. He glanced over at Freya, staring out across the silent landscape, and wished he was bold enough to place a hand on Freya’s shoulder.
In silent bliss, Wallace and Freya traveled on through the dry and craggy landscape, heading into the warm throng of folk swarming about the town’s tavern.
Dismounting from the cart, Wallace helped Freya disembark. He hadn’t noticed before, but she had changed her clothing, and was now struggling slightly with a long gown as she stepped out of the pony trap.
“Thank ye,” she murmured daintily, whilst holding on tight to Wallace. They gingerly picked their way through the grass, over to the clearing, and then along the path into the tavern.
Wallace, who had never been there before, was taking it all in, every sight and sound taking him by surprise.
Freya though seemed well acquainted with the hostelry and wasted no time cutting through the throng to the bar, where a red-faced barman smiled.
“Greetings my lady!” he announced, swiftly presenting the pair with a wooden jug.
“An’ dinnae forget the love cup!” reminded Freya. Wallace wondered what her meaning was, but then saw it as the cheery barman fetched down a large wooden quaich from behind the bar.
Wallace eyed the cup curiously. Of course, he had used a quaich before, but not one which was so ornate. On the edges of the circular vessel was the inscription, Craig.
Mixed emotions stirred within him as he traced the lettering with his index finger. It was crowded in the barroom, and several florid men in tartan and trews stood behind him, watching curiously.
Wallace knew that as a stranger, he was bound to attract their attention, but busied himself with filling up the quaich with the contents of the jug, which looked like a fine single malt.
“Slainte!” he said, watching her face. Then, emboldened by the cheering from the crowd, he pushed the cup towards her slightly.
For a moment, he thought she would not take it. But then, Freya picked her end of the wooden quaich up and positioned it to his lips. “Here’s to yer good health too!” she toasted.
As she did so, Wallace’s eyes wandered across the bar, suddenly connecting with a bloodshot pair standing by the tavern entrance. They belonged to a face he was not expecting to see. His pinkened gullet was bloated with drink. Wallace’s heart skipped a beat. Hughie! The nincompoop whom his mother had entrusted to light the fire on the moors! He was standing at the rear of the room, inebriated as ever and glaring over at him.
It was impossible to know if he was staring because he recognized him, he was trying to give him some message, or just because he was too deeply in his cups to know what was going on. For a moment or two, Wallace looked on, watchful for signs that the clan drunkard was about to give him away, but the moment passed. Before he knew it, Hughie had melted back into the sea of cheering faces.
“And many more, too!” Freya said, immediately bringing Wallace back around to reality. In front of him was her laughing face, wild and vivacious, eyeing him with curiosity.
“Slainte!” toasted Wallace again, feeling his cheeks color a deep red—and it wasn’t just the whiskey burning a passage through his gullet. He was buzzing simply from seeing Freya there. And not only just seeing her.
On the one hand, he wanted to see Freya again; on the other hand, she brought up difficult feelings for him.
One thing he had not been expecting was for her to seem so happy to see him again. Although the pair had gotten into the habit of hunting together, she had been reticent to acknowledge anything other than the friendship growing between them. And now here she was, ginger-gold hair tumbling down over her shoulders, gazing shyly at him.
“So then, did ye have a look at the fair earlier on?” Wallace asked her, mainly to break the uncomfortable silence that was opening up between them.
“Aye,” said Freya, handling the end of the quaich and taking a sip of the drink. Then she dabbed her face with a handkerchief and smiled. “It would have been better to have some company, though,” she said.
Wallace looked down. “Aye, I had to tend to the sheep,” he mumbled. It was hard meeting her in the eye when he thought of his mission. “Besides, it’s just for townspeople really,” he added.
“Och, yer one of us now!” insisted Freya. She had finished the dram, and was now looking around to requisition some of the wine flasks now being passed around.
Wallace glanced through the hot, packed tavern. The town’s fair had brought merriment to the village. All day had been given to Highland games and dancing. Now, since the night had fallen, the revelers had sought the comfort of the town’s inn. As they arrived, so too did a gaggle of men, flushed and rowdy from playing shinty.
The roar from the crowd almost drowned out the sound of the pipers playing from the corner of the barroom.
“Aye, I dinnae ken about that,” Wallace said uneasily. Freya was sparkling tonight, even more than usual; the orange light from the bar lamps cast a soft glow over her cat-like features. Shadows elongated from all four sections of the room, casting crazy angles and excited faces at them from all over.
“Dance! Dance! Dance!” chanted some men from the back of the room. Freya and Wallace turned a moment, distracted by the noise. One of them pulled a woman across the room and started dancing.
A huge cheer went up from the crowd as the pair cavorted about the width of the tavern, to much clapping and shouting.
“Dance, lad!” one of the men mocked, and Wallace turned quickly around, on his guard for one second, but then relented on seeing the man’s friendly eyes.
All the same, a familiar reticence crept upon Wallace. He would like nothing better than to take Freya by the hand and lead her to the dance, but shame and fear stopped him.
“Come on, dance!” another jeered. Freya’s eyes twinkled over at his, even more intoxicating than usual. Wallace noticed that she had on a dress he had never seen before, in flowing blue taffeta. The pale color set off the spark in her hair and the glint in her eyes to perfection.
Looking at her, Wallace felt a shiver deep from the base of his spine, going all the way to the top of his neck. The unusual heat and the excitement of the fair had combined to produce a merry atmosphere, the like of which Wallace had neve
r seen before.
Then, finally, after thinking about it for what felt like hours, Wallace took Freya by the hand and led her into the dance.
The wine they had been drinking created a gladness in their hearts. In particular, it flushed the heart of Wallace, who was perhaps not used to either so much liquor or excitement.
“Och, I thought ye’d never ask!” laughed Freya as he pulled her onto the dance floor, to general cheering and applause. “I didnae even ken if ye had legs, let alone if ye could dance!”
“Wheesht!” said Wallace, unable to stop laughing. Her smile was infectious, as was the music and the wine. The tune the harpers and pipers were playing seemed to get louder still as the pair of them cavorted a reel.
“Yer a canny dancer! Who taught ye the reel?” Freya asked, as the warmth from her hand dispersed into the heat of Wallace’s body. Instantly, Wallace felt his belly warm.
“Taught?” Wallace said, puzzled. “I’ve nae danced afore tonight!”
“Wheesht! That cannae be true!” Freya argued. She looked shocked but impressed at the same time. “Ye’ve nae danced a reel afore?”
“I’ve nae danced at all, darlin’,” Wallace explained. Freya’s face was a picture of horror.
In the heat of the moment, with the drinking and the dancing, Wallace didn’t really have the heart to point out fully the starkness of his upbringing. Dancing and laughing just weren’t things that had figured much in his life up until this point.
Freya looked shocked and took him firmly by the hand, to lead him into the next dance—a jig, which the band was beginning to strike up.
“Well then, Wallace, let’s see what we can dae about that!” she grinned. “I’m going to dance ye so hard, it’ll feel like the last twenty-one years in one night!”
And she wasn’t kidding. Wallace had never had so much fun before, but beneath the weight of the dance, he felt his legs begin to give way. Dancing as hard and fast as he could was taking its toll. The fact was, he was unused to this. Then, without any apparent warning, he stumbled a little, almost falling on top of her.
“Och, mind my manners!” he apologized, straightening her up and helping her brush down her dress.
“Dinnae fash. Nae harm done,” said Freya. To his intense surprise, she was staring at him intently.
For a moment, Wallace looked around him, just in case she was actually looking at something else. Seeing his confusion, Freya just smiled.
He could take it no longer. He had to explain himself to her.
“Freya, I…” he began.
“Och, why so earnest?” she asked, balking at his change of expression. “I’ve nae seen ye so happy!”
Wallace took a step backward, blindsided. It was true that his heart was glad with wine, but deep down, he knew that it was more than this.
“I dinnae ken I ever have been this happy before,” he admitted, before taking another swig of the wine, which he grasped as they went around the room in their dance. “The thing is that, Freya, I’m nae used tae it. Life with the clanless has been all about hate and suspicion. Tonight has shown me tha’…” not knowing how to finish the sentence, his voice trailed off, full of emotion.
“Life can always be like this if ye want it tae be, ye ken, Wallace,” Freya replied, her shapely face made softer by the hazy lights around the bar.
“But can it be?” he murmured, unsure. Nothing in his life had ever felt this way before.
“Of course it can. Ye just have to want it, that’s all. Ye dae want it, dinnae ye?” Freya asked softly.
“Mmm,” mumbled Wallace. Noises swirled about his head, the music and shouting from the crowd getting louder and louder. All that mingled with the whiskey and wine was coursing through Wallace’s veins to bring about a very agreeable stupor.
He tried again. “Freya, I must tell ye something,” he began, but the words he tried to utter got stuck somewhere down in his gullet.
Freya leaned forwards. “Nae Wallace, later,” she smiled, her voice barely audible over all the noise that the band was making.
Then something rose from deep inside Wallace, overwhelming him. The world slowed down to a crawl, and the music, which had been so loud, melted away.
He was kissing her, his lips locking with hers. It came out of nowhere, suddenly and completely. And even though this very thing had been his sole thought for hours, it still came as a total surprise to him.
A shudder ran from the top of his neck across his shoulders to his fingertips. Having Freya in his arms was doing untold things to him—both to his body and his soul.
As Freya’s gentle face leaned towards him, a rush like the tide took him. This was unlike any feeling he had ever had for a girl before.
Her sweet scent lingered deliciously around him. The pair remained interlocked, kissing, standing still in the midst of the packed room.
Wallace felt his head spin woozily as the band played on.
Chapter Eleven
Wham! A deep thrill penetrated the depths of Freya’s stomach and traveled all the way to the ends of her hair. All her senses were on fire, and Wallace was the flame lighting her.
And the kiss…at once tender and divine and somehow on another level, but also very real.
Freya felt her heart beating wildly, like a butterfly in spring. Everything that her friends had told her was true, and more besides. A tingling sensation buzzed and burned within her, consuming her like a piece of driftwood in a tide.
Wallace’s lips carressed her own; they were soft and gentle against her tender flesh. Freya had never been kissed before, so she didn’t know what to expect exactly, but she had imagined it might feel rough and chafing.
Wallace’s lips glided across hers like silk, simultaneously combining gentleness with friction. A sweet ache grew at the apex of her thighs and spilled out into her petticoats.
Wallace’s breath was sweet, yet masculine. His body pulled her in like a current, urging her to take more of him. His scent hovered in the air, swirling with fresh perspiration and mystery. No matter how much they kissed, it would never be enough.
“Aye!” a huge roar came up from the thronging crowds jostling behind them, but they were both so entranced that neither of them paid it much attention.
Freya searched Wallace’s amber eyes. For the first time since they had met, he looked at peace, the troubled quality which usually inhabited his gaze erased—at least, for the moment.
“Och,” growled Wallace, as if in the grip of something that he could not control. He moved from her shoulder and began nuzzling down toward her chest. Freya could see his face change as he broke from the thrall of his emotion. Now he was wearing an expression of shocked horror.
But if the kiss had come as a surprise to Wallace, it was not quite so much to Freya. She had seen the longing in his eyes, even if he himself was not aware of it. All the signs were in place well before this evening’s frivolities had gotten underway.
“Wallace?” Freya asked hesitantly as he pulled away. Behind them, the crowds cheering became energized.
“Och, Freya, um…” faltered Wallace. She could see his mind whirring. This was difficult for him, she understood that. Perhaps better than Wallace understood himself. “It’s alright, ye ken. It’s alright to be…” She left the suggestion dangling in the air as Wallace’s eyes opened even wider.
“Listen, let’s sit down,” suggested Wallace urgently, dragging her to a pair of stools at the edge of the room. His eyes combed the barroom nervously. Freya followed his gaze and read his mind.
“He’s nae looking, dinnae fash,” she smiled with a nod to Padraig, who was standing in the corner of the room, laughing with one of the harpers.
The musicians had taken a break. They were just about to strike up again when Freya turned to Wallace, fastening her hand softly over his.
“Wallace,” she began. Her heart had been pounding ever harder since the moment of their intimate encounter. From his first touch, all her senses had started burning and bu
zzing with an intensity she had never felt before.
Freya had heard about this feeling from her companions, but it had never happened to her before. She had never really believed their tales to be real. But here she was; her body humming and throbbing, begging for more of his touch, more of him. Self-consciously, they gazed at each other, as though they had never really perceived the other properly before.
“Wallace, I…” began Freya again, attempting to lead him into another kiss. She could already feel a tingle around the edges of her lips.
But Wallace just blinked at her for a moment, before decisively saying, “Nae.”
He withdrew his gaze and his hand. For the barest of moments, Freya was left blindsided, in shock. What if she had read the situation wrong?
Highlander’s Twisted Identity (Highlanders 0f Clan Craig Book 2) Page 9
