Seventeen
Ada did not sleep again that night, so when morning came, at first she was glad for it, but then she was loath to leave her shelter and face William. His words of rejection resounded in her mind. She had been foolish to think he would ever want her for her. No one ever had. She pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples as all the things he’d said to her last night ran through her head for the thousandth time.
Freya whined beside Ada and stuck her paw on Ada’s leg as if to say things would be all right. Tears burned her eyes as she patted Freya’s head. They dripped one by one onto the dog’s pure-white coat, and Freya stuck her snout under Ada’s hand.
Ada’s thoughts tumbled one over the other as she absently scratched Freya. She was humiliated, and she did not want to see William, but what choice did she have? He was her husband. But what was his intention for their life together if he did not want them to know each other? Did he plan to ignore her? Leave her at a castle and never return?
The thought had her on her feet and out of her shelter in a flash. Ire boiling, she stomped through the snow, spotting William, Grant, and Marjorie across the way packing the horses. If William intended to soon deposit her somewhere to live her life alone, childless, and loveless, she would hear it now. She would prepare herself for what was to come. Both Marjorie and Grant stopped what they were doing and looked at her with matching shocked expressions.
“What?” she demanded, her fury and humiliation mounting. “Have ye nae ever seen an angry wife?”
“We’ll just let the two of ye have a moment of privacy,” Marjorie said, and when Grant did not respond but continued gawking at Ada, Marjorie elbowed the man. Ada frowned. Why was Grant acting as if he’d nae ever seen a vexed woman?
Before Ada could thank Marjorie, William turned toward her. “Nay, dunnae leave. The two of ye mount the horses. They’re ready.”
“Afraid to be alone with me?” she challenged. “Dunnae tell me a fierce warrior such as yerself kinnae control yer lust?”
A tic started at his jaw, and his gaze glittered dangerously. “Dunnae push me, Ada.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Grant take Marjorie by the elbow and lead her to the horse they were to ride, which he then moved away. “Or ye’ll what?” she bit out. “Humiliate me? Ye’ve already done that.”
He flinched. “I am sorry I hurt ye. Ye forced me to be truthful. I did nae wish to—”
“I ken it well,” she interrupted, the blood in her temples pounding with anger that he could not see she had worth beyond her stupid, ill-working gift. She crossed her arms over her chest. “What do ye intend to do with me?”
“I intend to help ye mount after ye fetch yer gown and don it.”
She sucked in a sharp breath and glanced down at herself. She quickly covered her breasts where her nipples were straining against the thin material of her léine, but she did not retreat for her gown. She would have her answers. “Ye ken what I mean. What do ye intend to do with me when this mission is over?”
She could see him working his jaw back and forth, as if he did not want to answer her, and part of her mind warned her to leave it alone. But the other part, the part that would know the hurt to come to prepare for it, demanded she push forward.
“Go dress, Ada. Let us leave the future for another day.” His emotionless voice answered her where his words would not.
“Do ye intend to leave me in some remote castle to live alone? Was that yer plan all along?”
His eyes darkened with some emotion she could not name. A long silence stretched, and the wordayefinally ground out between his teeth.
Her face grew hot with her shame. “Well, I’m certain it will be a great relief to ye when the mission is over,” she said, not caring that she sounded churlish.
His jaw tensed, and for a moment she thought he would not respond, but he finally said, “Aye,” again, and that agreement made her throat tighten with unshed tears.
Swallowing, she shoved back her shoulders, gathered the tattered remains of her pride, and turned on her heel without a word. Never would she allow him to hurt her again. She made her way to where her gown was hanging and took the cold, stiff material in her hands to dress. As she adjusted her gown, she considered everything. Maybe she would flee to Iona Nunnery as she and Esther had planned before William had appeared. Her mother had been raised at that nunnery, and Esther had come from the nunnery to be Ada’s companion after her mother’s death. The nuns knew this. They would accept her, shelter her. Ada knew it was not far from the MacLean holding. All she needed to do was escape William once they were close to his home.
“Ada?” Marjorie said at Ada’s back, startling her.
She glanced behind her to look at Marjorie, who set her hand upon Ada’s shoulder. “Are ye all right?”
“Aye.” She sniffed. “’Tis nae any less than I should have expected. I kenned well I was only ever to be wed for that stupid gift.”
“Oh, Ada,” Marjorie said, pity in her tone. “I believe William is being cold because he cares for ye and he dunnae wish to.”
Ada snorted at that, and before she could even reply, a wave of sensation swept through her and nausea sent her to her knees in the snow. She began to retch, her gut clenching into knots. Stars peppered her vision, and the very ground seemed to tilt.
“Ada?” William’s voice sounded so concerned, almost loving. But it was false. A lie.
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Go away!” she moaned, hating how much she longed to have him truly care. Another convulsion took her, and she doubled over, her hands sinking deep into the snow. Her hair hung down either side of her face, perilously close to where she had just been sick. She wanted to care, but she felt too awful to move it.
Hella and Freya appeared to her left, whining and barking, and her hair was swept back off her face. She knew without looking that it was William. She could smell his manly scent and feel the heat only he radiated.
