She cleared her throat nervously. “Shall we go downstairs and talk, Ian?”
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her with him into the bedroom. “No. I like it here. I’ve been in here many times, know what’s in all the drawers and cupboards. Even lay in the beds.” He laughed.
Freya felt slightly sick. “I know you have.”
This seemed to surprise him. “Yeah?” He laughed again, the dark eyes narrowed to slits. “Your old man knew something was wrong too, but he could never catch me. I read all the letters, saw the pictures of you. I used to lie on his bed reading them while he was downstairs watching the TV.” Recollecting this seemed to amuse him. He kept laughing, shaking his head. “He bought a gun, you know? Thought I didn’t know about it, but I knew everything going on in this house.” He grinned. “I used to come in and move furniture around. That really foxed him.”
Freya didn’t dare look at her watch but surely Flynn would be here any minute.
Please hurry, Flynn!
Briefly through her mind shot the alarming possibility that while waiting, he’d dropped off to sleep. She glanced at Ian standing in the doorway, legs apart, hands hooked into his jeans belt. Although he was thin and wiry, she suspected there would be considerable strength in those sinewy arms. Perspiration trickled down her back. The situation was impossible. She was at his mercy if Flynn didn’t show up. She must keep him talking.
“I…um, I’m sorry you felt the need to frighten an old man, Ian. What had Archie done to deserve that?”
She saw his fists clench and took a step back.
“What did he do? He wouldn’t come and help poor mom. I came here when she had the stroke, ran like the devil through the woods, ran in and shouted up the stairs, he used to keep the door unlocked then, but when he came down and I told him what had happened he said he couldn’t help. A doctor and he couldn’t help! He dialed 911, told me to go home. Well, it was too late and it was all his fault.”
“Oh, Ian. Archie was a surgeon, not a medical man. I doubt he could have helped your mom.”
“You’re talking rubbish like him! Listen to yourself, talking to me as though I’m an imbecile. Have done from the beginning.”
“What…?”
“Yeah. The squirrels. I do you a good turn and you speak to me like something you’ve wiped off the bottom of your shoe. Well anyway,” he giggled, his gaze flickering over her, “I think it’s about time you apologized to me.”
Freya had backed into her bedside table as he approached, and feeling behind her, clasped the heavy alarm clock. As he reached out and grabbed her, she swung her left arm out, aiming for his head. But he was too quick. Catching her arm, he wrenched it. She yelled and the clock fell to the floor. The movement made him stumble, and still clutching Freya tightly they fell onto the bed together.
His breath came in short gasps. “Stop struggling,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want you to understand that you can’t treat me as though I’m a nobody. Do you hear me?” But Freya, in no mood to listen, twisted, kicked, and bit, yet she was no match for him. “Stop it,” he said again angrily.
Suddenly, bright lights swung across the bedroom window and tires screeched on the gravel below.
Ian lifted his head. “What the…?”
“Flynn! Flynn!” she screamed. Ian clapped his hand over her mouth but she bit it hard and he released her, yelping in pain. Freya screamed again at the top of her voice.
“Flynn!”
Ian jumped off the bed, ran to the window, looked out, and fled from the room. Freya stumbled from the bed out onto the landing and saw Ian disappear into the bathroom. As she ran down the stairs she could hear Flynn continually ramming the back door, followed by a loud splintering noise as it crashed open.
He burst into the kitchen the same time as her.
“The bathroom,” she said breathlessly.
Flynn took the stairs two at a time, calling over his shoulder, “Get the police.”
Trembling violently, she called 911 and gave the details, assured to hear officers would be there very shortly, but still alarmed by the sounds of scuffling and banging coming from above. She ran back upstairs to the bathroom.
Flynn had Ian face down on the floor, and sitting astride him had pulled his arms behind his back. He was talking, breathlessly. “Keep still,” he ordered. “Keep still and I’ll release you. Ian?”
“Yeah, yeah, I heard you, okay? You’re hurting my arms.”
Flynn slowly stood and let Ian get up. He slumped on the edge of the bath, his head down.
“What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” Flynn asked him. “Breaking in here, knowing Freya was alone, scaring her half to death. What did you intend to do, for heaven’s sake?”
“It meant nothing, Mr. O’Neill,” Ian’s voice cracked. “I was only trying to get back at her for taking my job away.”
“Ian!” Freya said, anger making her voice shrill. “It was not nothing. You really did scare me. He has,” she said turning to Flynn, “been coming into my home, and when Archie was alive too, on regular occasions. That’s why Archie got the gun. Ian knew about it.”
. “You little jerk!” Flynn said quietly. “Think yourself lucky the police are on the way otherwise I’d knock the living daylights out of you.”
Bright headlights blazed across the window. Freya went across and looked out. “They’re here now,” she said.
“Aw, please, Freya, I’m sorry.” Ian turned to Flynn. “Mr. O’Neill, I wouldn’t have hurt her. Honest.” He began crying and Freya turned away. He had terrified her, but she felt a pang of remorse thinking of his future. She hurried downstairs and opened the front door. Flynn had followed with Ian, still mumbling how sorry he was, that he would never have hurt her. He sat on the bottom stair, a picture of abject misery. Freya looked at Flynn, bit her lip, and felt again that twinge of sorrow as two officers walked into the hallway.
“Hi,” Flynn said to the senior-looking man. “This is Inspector Rupert Collins, Freya,” he said.
The younger officer clamped a set of cuffs on Ian.
“Oh!” Freya said. “Is that necessary?”
“From what I understand, Ma’am,” Inspector Collins said, “Ian broke into your house, so yes, as a precaution until we get to the station.”
“He doesn’t look a threat to anyone now,” Freya said. “Just an anxious, scared kid, and I suppose I’m partly to blame for tonight. I dismissed him, my father had done the same before me.” She shrugged. “They won’t be too hard on him, will they?” she asked Flynn.
He put his arm around her shoulders and Freya leaned into him. He felt safe and strong. She slipped her arm around his waist, her hand touching his bare skin where his shirt had come loose, and she smiled with pleasure feeling his flesh quiver.
“I suppose that’s down to you, honey,” he said. “What do you think, Rupert? If Freya doesn’t want to press charges? Though,” he added, “I’m not so sure.”
“I understand what you’re saying, Miss Martin.” Rupert Collins said. “He looks innocent enough now, but he did break and enter. You were very lucky Flynn happened to be in the vicinity.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Flynn said.
Freya squeezed his waist. She was beginning to feel much better.
“I’m not making excuses for him. But he has no one, has he? I mean, what will happen to him? Jail?”
“Maybe. Thing is, I do know a bit of Ian’s background. He’s a sad, misguided kid living alone who should be getting help, and I think it’s time for the courts to be involved. Hopefully they’ll get him some sort of welfare help.”
“I think Rupert’s right, Freya,” Flynn said. “The boy needs help.”
She nodded. “Okay. But he didn’t harm me. I want him to have a fair deal. And if at all possible, not prison.”
»»•««
Flynn looked at the broken door as they walked past the kitchen.
“That will have to be fixed,” he said.
Flynn pulled her into his arms. “That scared the living daylights out of me. How do you feel, my love?”
Freya felt his breath on her face and she smiled. “Absolutely fine now.” They looked into each other’s eyes for seconds before Flynn slowly lowered his head and placed his mouth on her parted lips. Her arms wound around his neck, she moaned, arched toward him, and they kissed greedily, searching. His hands ran down her back, pulling her tighter against him. She writhed, wanting him even closer, all her inhibitions gone, wanting only this moment, this man. Flynn raised his head.
“I want you like crazy!” he whispered hoarsely against her mouth. “Have wanted you like this since the moment I first saw you. I love you, Freya, adore you, want to marry you and have lovely red-haired children with you. But first, I need to know…you had something to tell me?”
Freya stepped back and took his hand. Their eyes stayed locked together as she walked him to the sofa. There in the soft light from the lamp and the fire she wound her arms around him, her face close to his. “I love you,” she said softly.
Flynn slipped the wrap from her shoulders and Freya felt empowered, beautiful, and very desirable as she watched his face.
“You are so gorgeous!” he said.
Freya closed her eyes and lost herself in the passion of his embrace.
Chapter Twenty-Five
All plans for Freya’s business were suspended. Flynn had suggested they extend Byron, turn it into a small unique hotel affiliated with the golf club, with a manager in residence, and Freya had agreed willingly. Although she hadn’t intended it to happen, over a few weeks the house had gradually lost its grip on her emotions. There had been too much unhappiness there for her to feel comfortable.
She had discussed Pamela with Flynn, and he’d agreed they should do whatever they could to make her remaining days as fulfilling as possible, something Freya felt would have pleased her father immensely.
After the honeymoon, they would live at Flynn’s house on the hill, and Freya looked forward to it.
“You look so happy, honey.” Lucy hugged her. It was the night before the wedding and she’d been out for a meal with Tim. He popped open the bottle of champagne he’d brought with him and filled their glasses. “To tomorrow and yours and Flynn’s happiness,” he said to Freya.
Freya raised her glass, caught the look in Lucy’s eyes, and smiled. Her best pal was going to be okay.
»»•««
The ceremony was hastily arranged. Margaret organized everything for the wedding breakfast, leaving Flynn and Freya free to rush through the legalities. Freya’s mom, Sammy, Joe, and Peaches arrived and were staying at Byron House. Lucy stayed in town at Tanya’s. Suze, pregnant again and thrilled to be expecting twins, was unable to attend.
The day was beautiful, and Freya wore the dress Tanya had insisted she have as a gift. A simple ivory, silk, and lace creation, it felt divine as she slipped it over her head. Sammy and Lucy stood back, looking at her.
“Oh, my! Wait till Flynn sees you,” Lucy said.
Flynn had asked her to carry white and red roses. “With my hair?” she’d said.
“You know how old-fashioned I am.” He’d grinned.
Freya had snuggled closer. “Explain.”
“Mm.” He’d kissed her neck softly and murmured, “Red roses whisper of passion, white roses breathe of love, and we, my love, have both.”
Freya had pulled back in surprise. “Why, Flynn, that’s lovely! Who said it?”
“Besides me…I have no idea, but will you carry them?”
She did. And on the happiest day of her life, standing beside Flynn in the sun-drenched lounge of her home among her family and friends, she became his wife.
»»•««
They were on the overnight twelve-hour flight from Los Angeles to Glasgow. From there they had a five-hour drive to the ferry that would take them to the Isle of Arran for three days, for Freya to soak up the atmosphere of Archie’s birthplace, Flynn said. He’d insisted on this prolonged honeymoon, so that after Arran they could travel to Dublin, Mickey’s birthplace, and from there a flight would take them to the Caribbean and Parrot Island, the last stop on their trip.
Freya and Flynn each had a glass of champagne. Flynn placed his glass on hers and leaned over to kiss her. “I love you, Mrs. O’Neill,” he whispered.
“Two days,” Freya said. “Only two days I’ve been Mrs. O’Neill.” She moved closer. “And this is the first night I haven’t fallen asleep in your arms. You know how much I love that. How much I love you.”
The flight attendant collected their glasses, the lights in the cabin dimmed, and Freya snuggled closer to her husband. They leaned together, heads touching, hands clasped, and the steady drone of the aircraft sped them across the ocean on the first stage of their new life.
About the Author
I am retired, living on the Gold Coast in Australia, where luckily, the weather allows me to write outside most days. I love creating characters, plots and sub plots in my romance novels, which I hope bring pleasure to readers.
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