It wasn’t his death that bothered him; it was the familiarity of the battle, the way his body seemed to know what to do before he even had the chance to think about his next move. It was the natural instinct to fight, to wield a blade.
Memory rushed back to him in waves—brutal battles fought in the past, the clash of steel against steel, the smell of blood heavy and sickening in the air. He remembered the battlefield, but he also remembered a castle, its stone dark and shining under the morning sun; a pair of hands tenderly cradling him as a boy; faces that resembled his own. Each flash of memory brought back with it yet another, the recollection of his past happening so fast that it seemed to be almost instantaneous.
And with the rush of memory came the knowledge that the town they had just been in was not a safe place to be. He recognized it now. He knew to whom the land belonged.
“Nathan? What’s wrong?”
He knew Freya was speaking to him, but it almost felt as if she were underwater. He couldn’t seem to focus on her words—couldn’t process the information as he stared at the red stain on the tree.
“Nathan? Are ye?—”
It was like her voice was fading in and out. He couldn’t absorb anything. Even when he was able to drag his eyes back to her, he almost felt as if he were looking at a different person entirely. He couldn’t explain it. He couldn’t properly verbalize it. She was still Freya, but he was no longer him.
He could blame the overly protective instincts, or the level of adrenaline and rage he felt, perhaps. He could place the blame anywhere that he wanted—but now he knew.
He wasn’t Nathan. He could never be Nathan again, not really. Even if before this moment he had entertained the idea that even remembering who he was wouldn’t mean anything, that nothing would change. He had thought he would be able to choose who he was and what happened next. He was so naive, so foolish; because he wasn’t Nathan, he was James MacGregor, the oldest son and heir of Laird MacGregor. The firstborn who had been through battle after battle, who had defended his clanand his people from harm time and time again under his father’s guidance, along with his brother. He was meant to be a laird one day, and that had made him plenty of enemies in his lifetime.
And he had unwittingly brought Freya into the heart of the territory of one such enemy.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“What is it?” Freya asked, the words catching in her throat as she grabbed Nathan by the shoulders, giving him a gentle shake. Something had come over him—something had rattled him, and Freya doubted it had anything to do with the men he had just maimed and killed, considering that they had both been quite certain of his past life as a warrior. Surely, a man like Nathan had to have seen plenty of death, just like Freya had. If she wasn’t rattled by the sight, then it was unlikely that he would be.
And yet, as she watched him it was clear that something had shifted within him, something that she couldn’t quite recognize. His eyes were wide, his breath shallow; the skin of his face seemed to pale under the meagre gray sunlight that reached them in the woods, through the branches and the clouds that covered the sun. His hands, where they hung by his hips, were trembling.
Freya had never seen him so rattled before, and she never thought she would.
“We must leave,” said Nathan without providing any other explanation. “We must leave immediately. It isnae safe here.”
Freya watched him as he grabbed her horse and stomped his way back towards the main path. She hesitated, but there was no stopping him. Even when he must have known she wasn’t following him, he pushed through, guiding the horse swiftly back.
Having no choice but to follow, Freya rushed after him, the words tumbling past her lips before she could help it.
“What is the danger?” she asked, her heart beating thunderously in her chest. In the time she had known him, Nathan had been a pillar of strength and calm. Never before had Freya seen him frightened, not even in the face of immediate danger, and so whatever he perceived as danger now had to be much worse than anything they had already encountered on their way. “Nathan! Stop! Tell me what’s wrong.”
Nathan came to a sudden halt, his head whipping around to look at her. At first, Freya thought he was furious with her, though she could not claim to know why. But the more she looked at him as he stood there in silence, the more she realized it was not fury she saw in his gaze. It was a haunted look he gave her, one that sent an unpleasant chill down her spine.
“I’ll tell ye everything,” he promised. “But we must leave. I’m asking ye to trust me.”
What other choice did Freya have? With the frantic way Nathan gathered all their belongings and their horses, forcing her on her saddle so they could keep riding, there was nothing she could do but follow him, trying her best to not lose track of him through the forest as the sun began to set in the horizon, plunging the world first in a blazing orange glow and then in near total darkness.
Even as the sun set, Nathan didn’t stop riding. The cold wind whipped Freya’s face, chilling her to the bone even through her clothes. The sparse light of the moon was the only thing that illuminated their way, and it was hardly sufficient in unfamiliar lands.
Or are they unfamiliar only tae me?
There was a suspicion at the back of Freya’s mind that Nathan knew precisely where he was going now. There was an urgent energy to him which spoke of him having a certain destination in mind, one that was much more concrete and real than the general direction they had been following all this time.
Had he remembered something? Had the fight with the men or perhaps his surroundings triggered something within him?
No matter how much Freya wanted to pester him, Nathan would not slow down even for a moment as they rode through the night, and so she could hardly ask him everything she wanted to know. She would have to shout for her voice to be heard over the wind that rushed past them and with how insistent Nathan had been that they were in danger, she was reluctant to make asound louder than a whisper. If she did, she feared she would suddenly bring the wrath of whoever was against them upon them immediately, even if it seemed to her that she and Nathan were the only ones on that road.
Besides, she had the growing suspicion that Nathan would not be pleased with her if she was too loud. Even as they rode, he looked around frantically, as if constantly trying to locate a threat.
It was only late that night, in the deep darkness of the woods that Nathan finally brought his horse to a halt.
He had little choice. Both their horses were exhausted and parched, their pace slowing down no matter how much effort she and Nathan put into making them move faster. They needed their rest, and so did Freya.
As Nathan dismounted his horse and went over to Freya to help her do the same, she grabbed his shoulder, fingers curling into the firm muscle there. This time, she wouldn’t let him slip away from her without an answer.
