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“I do not understand.”
“They may deny a plea to arms from an ally, given the stakes.”
“It would seem likely, as they’ve done so once before.”
“But for family? They would not hesitate, even if it meant open rebellion against their king. Indeed, my mother’s clan would welcome the fight.”
“For family? But we are not . . .” Freya snapped her mouth shut. Her eyes widened as Rory’s grip tightened ever so slightly. “Rory, you cannot.”
“I can, and I will. Marry me, Freya. And we will take Edyington back together.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Why did she not say yes?
Rory thought for certain his plan would be the answer to Freya’s predicament. Married, they could appeal to the council with a good chance of success. With Waryn men and Clan Kerr at their back, they would easily reclaim Edyington. The base Edward so desperately wanted would be theirs.
His brother-in-law would be dead, of course, but there was no hope for it.
“I will not marry you, Rory.”
Her hands slipped through his.
Rory stepped back, stunned. “I’ve thought on this carefully, Freya. I’d not begun this mission seeking a bride, nor you a husband, but ’tis a solution to your problem. Once you are wed, neither your brother nor grandmother will have leverage over you any longer. Though it will anger the king, I’ve no doubt expelling his men from Edyington will accomplish that feat. And,” he smiled, “we desire each other. This evening is proof enough of that.”
“Desire is not love, Rory.”
His short laugh did not seem to please Freya, but his reaction had not been planned. Some of his speech to her had been, but since he hadn’t expected her to reject him, Rory was wholly unprepared for this conversation. “Love? Freya, you were never to marry for love. Few of us do.”
“Except in your family?”
“’Tis rare, I will admit. But we’ve found something here.” He indicated the two of them. “My heart has stirred for the first time in many years, Freya. And I know you feel something for me too. Tell me you do not.”
Her raised chin and pursed lips confirmed his words.
“With Haydn and now Galien’s marriages, there will be more pressure than before, especially on the eldest males in my family, to marry. My mother has spoken of it more times than I can remember of late.”
“And I will do as a wife?”
“Aye.” Shite. “Freya, I meant only—”
“You meant only that, once again, you seek to rescue me. This time, by sacrificing yourself. ’Tis noble of you, Rory.”
This woman was maddening. “So you do not wish to be rescued, then? Will you remain here and wait for your grandmother to find a suitable husband? Wait long enough and your brother and perhaps the king will find you here. If Lady Miriel does not see the deed done first. You would so easily forsake Loretta, Sir Walter, and the others because you’d not found love?”
She wished to murder him, aye. But the words were truer than Freya would admit to herself. And it seemed she began to realize it too. Moments ago, they’d shared a passionate embrace, one that had convinced Rory his thoughts had not run as mad as he’d first suspected when the idea entered his mind. A way to aid Freya, to further the Brotherhood’s mission of maintaining a safe corridor for travel across the border, even amidst the chaos. And as he’d told her, the passion between them was not insignificant. Rory had been with enough women to know there was something very different about his feelings for Freya.
Love? Never again. But desire and protection and a compatibility that could endure? Aye, he and Freya could have that, he was certain of it.
“Marriage cannot be . . . easily undone, Rory.”
“Nay,” he agreed. “It cannot.”
“Why?” she asked. He understood the question. The answer, less so.
“You care for your people,” he said, unsure if this would be the explanation Freya needed. “My parents have fought for many years for one purpose, to keep us and the people of Bristol safe. Their siblings and nephew and nieces, my mother’s clan, nothing but that matters to them. Not who will be the next king of Scotland, nor Wallace’s rebellion, or even the king of England’s whims. How those things affect their family, perhaps. But otherwise . . .” He shrugged. “It matters little, though do not tell my cousin Galien I am less enthusiastic than he about Wallace’s cause. He cares deeply for it, and indeed I’d be pleased to see Scotland freed from Edward’s rule, but . . .”
“But you care more for your own family than the cause.”
