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Freya finally managed to get out of that plaid and into clothes she had left on a previous visit to her sister and brother-in-law. She noticed the marks on her body when she undressed but tried not to pay too much attention to them. Looking at them reminded her of what had happened last night, and that was something she didn’t want to remember at all.

She had no interest in whatever marriage she had ended up in. Marriage was something she had promised herself she would never engage in. Marriage was something she would never submit to.

Once, she had had a romantic soul. She had watched the other girls around her get betrothed and find romances of their own. It was natural for her to want her own romance, to have her own love story.

But she had learned that love was dangerous and was never worth it. The lad who’d sworn he loved her at a cèilidh had only meant to ruin her so her father would have no choice but to hand her over along with her dowry.

She had tried to pass it on to Skye, but her younger sister was her own person. She had never missed it. Not once. Not until lately.

Once, Freya had proudly proclaimed she would never fall in love. She’d reiterated it to her sister just a few months before the babe was born.

“Never,” she had said. “Nae once. Nae ever.”

Skye had been sitting on the window seat with her feet tucked under her, one hand resting on the swell of her belly, and she’d raised an eyebrow in a way that was entirely too much like their mother.

“Ye say that as if it’s a thing ye can decide.”

“It is.”

“Freya, ye cannae decide nae to catch a cold.”

“I can if I stay away from the sneezing.”

“Is that what men are? Sneezing?”

“Most of them, aye.”

Skye had laughed, then winced and rubbed the side where the babe had kicked. “And what about Dougal?”

“Dougal’s yer husband. I like Dougal fine. But I have no wish to marry him. He is good for ye, though. Ye have proven that by making a life with him, Lily, and yer bairn.”

“That’s nae what I meant, and ye ken it. I meant that ye watched me fall in love. Ye were there for all of it. Did it look so terrible?”

Freya had looked at her sister then, flushed and heavy and happy, with her husband’s plaid pinned over her shoulder and his child under her hand, and something had twisted under her ribs that she’d told herself was indigestion.

During parts of it, Skye had looked absolutely devastated. She had been heartbroken over some of Dougal’s decisions, afraid the man did not love her as she loved him.

It had all worked out in the end, but it only reminded Freya how difficult love was. Of how dangerous it was to allow one’s heart to open and accept another.

She had goals, family, and a life she loved. What use could marriage possibly be for her?

“It looked like it was for ye,” she had said. “Nae for me.”

“Ye’ll change yer mind,” Skye had told her, still gently rubbing her belly. “I ken ye are about to tell me that ye willnae change yer mind, but I have faith ye will.”

“I willnae,” Freya had stubbornly responded. She hated the way her sister could predict her.

“Ye will. And when ye do, I’m going to be unbearable about it,” Skye had quipped.

Freya had shot her a look. “Ye are unbearable about it right now. How much more unbearable must ye be?”

“Ye ken me, Freya,” Skye had teased with a twinkle in her eyes. “I can be very unbearable.”

Freya had not dignified that with a response.

The two of them had sat there for a moment, each lost in her own thoughts.

It didn’t matter what her younger sister had said. She wasn’t going to change her mind on this. Marriage and love were not something that she had any use for.