Her boots slipped, but she held firm, her thighs trembling with the effort to make the next incremental step. To freedom—she blinked back the tears scouring her throat—if not to freedom, to independence. She’d given her heart to Theo and he’d used it against her.
‘Freya, stop!’
Her head jerked around, to see the man she had convinced herself she would never see again, standing beneath the wall, wearing his wedding suit, his dark hair speckled with the snowflakes that had begun to fall.
He clapped his hands, blew into them. ‘Come down, before we both freeze.’
‘I can’t. I won’t… Iwon’tmarry you.’
He gave her a brief nod, his expression grim, and more serious than she had ever seen it before. ‘Okay…’ he said, simply.
For a moment her heart sang. He sounded so sincere, as if he truly respected her. Perhaps this hadn’t been a trick to get her to come back here, to make the land deal with her father… But then her mother’s letter came back to her.
I believed I loved your father when I married him. I was young and foolish and besotted. He had sworn to protect me. To care for me. That ours would not be a typical royal marriage. But once we were wed, I soon realised that I was trapped here, Freya. With a man who was not capable of love. Over the years I tried to change him, to make him love me, but if men can change who they are, it is not within a woman’s power to do it for them. And when I met Danny, I knew—after only a week together that Christmas—that this was what I had been seeking all along. Not infatuation, but companionship, connection, chemistry, yes, but also love. And I could not fight for our loveless marriage any longer.
The tear fell, freezing on her cheek, but she turned back to the wall, determined to ignore Theo. If she could just get over the wall, this time. Prove to herself that she was stronger, better without his help. Then the shattering pain in her heart would eventually ease.
It has to.
But as she strained on the rope, her feet skidded again. A symbol of her weak foolish heart.
Suddenly she felt the rope tighten, and tug against her gloved hands.
‘Hold on, Freya. I’m coming to help you.’
She looked down to see him climbing the rope, hand over hand, with the easy agility she lacked.
‘Go away! I can do it on my own.’
He reached her. His hands clasping the rope above hers, his big body cradling hers and shielding her from the cold and the six-foot drop below them.
‘I know you can,’ he whispered against her neck. ‘You can do anything you set your mind to, Freya. But let me help you get over the damn wall this time.’
‘I won’t go back. I’m not getting married,’ she announced furiously. ‘I don’t care about the deal you made with my father. And I have my brothers’ guardianship papers with me. As soon as I get to Switzerland, I’m going to send for them. And neither of you can stop me.’ The words barrelled out in a rush of recrimination.
She wanted to be angry with him, she had to ignore the rush of heat as his breath warmed her neck and made her skin tingle. And the foolish clattering of her heart.
‘It’s only six more feet to the top. You’ve got this, Freya, but you have to let go with this hand,’ he said, clasping her fist.
Even through her gloves she could feel his strength.
‘Now, Freya,’ he demanded. And like all the times they’d made love, when he’d taken control of her pleasure, her yearning, she found herself following his instructions instinctively.
Inch by inch, as he guided her, they edged upwards. Finally she was able to clasp the top edge of the wall. Bracing his feet against the brick, he boosted her the rest of the way. Suddenly, her legs were straddling the high wall and she was looking down at the palace gardens, blanketed in snow. She could see the chapel lights in the distance, where their wedding had been due to take place. Her heart twisted under her ribs, the betrayal a wound that couldn’t be healed, no matter how many walls he helped her climb.
He swung a leg up and over the wall and sat facing her. Their breathing frosted in the night air.
‘What made you run this time, Freya?’ he asked, but the question was devoid of accusation, or anger. Instead she heard the note of something else… Yearning? Fear? She couldn’t besure, but she didn’t trust her ability to read him any more, because she’d been fooled by her heart before.
‘Was it the marriage, or was it me?’ he asked.
She could tell him about her mother’s letter, about the things she’d realised, the strength it had given her to stick up for herself again. But it wasn’t her mother’s story that had given her the courage in the end. It was the knowledge she deserved so much more than he had offered her.
‘Both.’ She looked out over the landscape, the foolish tears falling down her cheeks. ‘I’m in love with you, Theo. I have no control over that… But I won’t let you take my freedom from me.’
He nodded and scooped a tear off her cheek. Apparently, this wasn’t news to him.
Her heart shattered all over again. To realise she’d been right. He’dknownhow she felt and he’d used her feelings against her.
