by Lisa Torquay
That night, Drostan and Freya lay entangled on the straw mattress while their bodies went back to a restful state. Her husband took her with such excruciating tenderness it dazed her.
They spent the afternoon packing and tidying the cottage as their family would ride out before dawn next day.
She would miss these few days with him and Ewan in cosy proximity. It had been a long time she did not feel so safe and…yes…warm. Darn, how she had missed him. The dimension of it clear after this time here. And now they would have to go separate ways again. She did not want to be bitter about it. Rather, she wished for gratefulness he came to her. And that they got these few days at least.
But she and Ewan would go back to being on their own with the grimness and strain it entailed. Which saddened her. They could do it no doubt. With an experience of four years, it would be no problem. Four unhappy years, you mean. She would use these weeks to think through a solution to this predicament. The bright side was that they would be near the McKendrick and in a relatively safe place. That would have to suffice for the time being.
“I will assign a footman to stay with you in the cottage.” Drostan started. “He will help you with the heavy chores and protect you.”
“Ewan and I did fine on our own.” The presence of servants had become an alien thing since she left the manor. It would be awkward to say the least.
“You did a good job of it.” He admitted. “But understanding the circumstances, I will take the required action.” His muscled arms tightened possessively around her.
It was relieving to have her husband’s support though Lairds would be Lairds. “I had forgotten how overbearing you can be.”
“Overbearing, woman?” His large hand splayed over her navel. “Is it so when I want safety for my family?”
She kissed his bunched shoulder. “You might have asked me at least.”
“I promise to ask you in the future.” His manly nose merged in her dishevelled hair.
Her eyes lifted to him. “In what, for example?”
“Hm, let me see.” His torso came over her. “Do you want me to kiss your lips or your neck?”
A laugh breathed out of her. “My neck.” She decided. And he grazed his stubble along it, eliciting a moan from her.
“Should I caress your right or left breast?” His drawl already a caress.
“Both.” Se dared.
“Wise choice.” A hand rested on her breast while his sensuous mouth sought the other.
By then her body temperature had risen considerably.
His old whisky eyes raised to her, fiery in the candlelight. “See? I can be very accommodating.”
“When convenient, you mean.” Her fingers dived in his smooth wavy strands.
He nibbled her lower full lip while his hands and hips were doing funny things to her. “Not only then.” His mouth suckled on her upper lip. “Here is one more accommodating choice.” He kissed her fully before continuing. “Which position do you prefer?”
As she turned her back to him to cradle his manhood suggestively, he groaned.
“Hell, wife, you will finish me up!” He ‘accommodated’ himself in her, nonetheless, and his fingers found her centre.
Strangely, they stopped talking at that point.
“Come, Ewan, let us go up the horse.” Freya told the boy next morning.
The first grey lights rose in the east promising a cold day with no sun. Despite the dampness in the air, there was no sign of rain yet.
“Where are we going, mama?” Dressed in his warmest clothes, he sounded eager for his new adventure.
“Back to the cottage by the loch, mo balach.” Drostan intervened, as he loaded saddlebags on Threuna.
“I like it there, papa.” He said as he played with Reul’s mane.
“You and your mother will stay in it for a while.” After checking if the bags were tied firmly on the horse, he helped Freya up.
“And you?” His identical eyes turned to his father disappointed.
“I will go to the manor.” With decisive movements, he mounted Threuna. “We will all be reunited as soon as we can.”
“Will Loch live with us?” Little fingers stroked the horse’s neck.
“Yes. But you have to promise me you will take good care of her.”
“I will, papa.” Naturally, the footman would help him with that.
They rode down the track, leaving this lovely place behind. The rain of the previous days rendered it slippery, so they should be extra careful. Freya expected the trip offered no surprises. If they rode steadily, they might arrive in good time.
Two hours with the swaying defeated Ewan who fell asleep in his mother’s arms.
“Is he too heavy?” Drostan turned to his wife. “I can pull him to my horse.”
With a half-smile to him, she answered. “Thanks, but he is not too heavy. Not yet.”
He nodded and changed subjects. “I am assuming the attack we suffered on the road came from Ross too.” His stance had become serious.
“Yes, Ross told me he had a finger in it.” She owned.
“When did you plan on telling me about it?” His scowl left no doubt about his anger.
“I did not.” Their stares clashed.
“You would take this on you alone.” The accusation rang true.
“I was going to try.” She did if her running from Ross was any indication.
“Why?” Masculine fists pressed the reins. “Why did you not tell me anything before you left our marriage?” His old-whisky eyes hardened in the lead light. “Why did you not come clean when I found you?”
These were the questions she did not want to answer. A Laird threatened of death had all the right to attack the clan threatening him. Keeping him in the dark did not help his own safety, she was aware of it. At this, she did not balk at what to say, what to do. There was a possibility they went through winter and dealt with this only in spring. By then, a line of action might have occurred to her.
“You know why. I wanted to avoid a clan war.” She gave simply.
His irises darted fury at her. “Do you think I would be so irresponsible as to launch my clan into war without trying to find a reasonable solution to this?”
“What I know is that Ross would.” She devolved with certainty.
“Ross does not decide if the McPhersons go to war or not.”
“True.” She agreed. “But he does not play clean.”
“No power-hungry man does.” Right he was, naturally.
His life remained still in danger. That was all she had in her mind. Should Ross or James sniff them they would not hesitate to use everything available to reach their goal. Too many things were at stake here and she did not have the luxury of making a mistake and risking everything.
“No.” She uttered.
“You must promise me you will not hide anymore of this from me.” He demanded.
“You are not the only thinking head in our family.” Her nostrils inhaled deep air for patience. “The decisions concern us both.”
He twisted an obstinate glare at her. “Promise me, Freya!”
Ewan on her arms, she gave the glare back. “I cannot promise something I am not sure I will fulfil.”
“Bluidy hell!” He growled, raking his chestnut hair vexed.
To be frank, she could not promise something she already did not do.
“But you will inform me if you are with child again.” He said after a moment.
Her heart somersaulted with the idea. A joyous idea. It had taken a year for her to conceive Ewan. There should be little reason it would not be so a second time. “Yes, I will.” She compromised, understanding she would not be able to cope with two children if this dire state of things continued. She would need his support.
“if I miss out on my children ever again, I swear I will eradicate that bluidy Ross from the face of the planet.”
Freya looked directly at him then, figuring out he felt robbed of Ewan’s first years. “I did not
do it on purpose, I hope you believe it.”
“Of course I do.” Rage dripped from it. “But it makes nothing easier.” He faced ahead, giving her a grim profile.
“I reckon it does not.” And his pain made her want to cry a river of regret. She wished she had spared him this. It gave her the impetus to drive a knife into her kin herself.
She never stopped to consider how her husband would react to the fact they made a son. Clearly, he would not be happy to ignore he had an heir. Beyond this, she possessed no clues for how he would feel. Now she did. The whole affair looked much worse under this light.
The weather held as they made good time. Their cottage by the loch not so far as the manor, which meant they reached it by sunset.
Drostan took Ewan to his chamber and put him to bed. Their boy fell asleep a few miles back as he chatted and alternated horses most of the way.
Freya stood at the threshold watching her husband preparing to leave. There was no way she could take her eyes from him. A few days were too little after years of distance. And they would not see each other so soon.
Sensing her attention on him, he lifted his to her. They held it for long minutes, several undercurrents running between them. At last, he strode to her and banded her by the waist. Without a word, his sensuous mouth dived onto hers, and they locked in a long deep kiss that almost transformed her in a puddle at his feet.
He came up for air and their gazes merged anew. His lowered to her swollen lips. “Send word if you need anything.” He rumbled, lips touching hers, unwilling to go.
“Yes.” She had time to breath before he took her mouth in another deep kiss.
Finally, he gathered strength enough to mount his horse and ride with the remaining light.
CHAPTER NINE
Days later, Freya cooked by the fire when she heard Ewan giving orders to his toys and started banging the wooden horse on the wooden troll. The boy had been at odds since they arrived and she did not know how to make it better.
“The horse will pass!” He ordered the troll.
Worried, she crouched by his side. “What is it, my love?”
He did not look at his mother. “The troll will not let the horse pass to the manor.”
“What is there in the manor?” She asked, guessing the answer.
“The horse’s father is there.” It came as no news for her he missed his father.
“Can the horse not wait a little to visit his father?” The suggestion caused his beautiful eyes to go to her.
“The horse wants to go, and the troll is horrible!” He banged the horse on the troll several more times.
“Come, my love, let us walk by the loch.” She tried to distract him.
“No, no, no!” He burst into crying and screaming.
This young he was not yet familiar with every scale of possible feelings, or how to deal with them. He climbed to her lap, she cradled him in her arms, and let him cry as much as he needed. Missing a father was such a cruel emotion. She added one more imaginary stab in her kin.
Since they came back, the days and nights dragged like eternity. They went on long walks around the loch, played, chatted. Ewan fished with the footman, learned to care for Loch, gathered the last berries. Or climbed trees as he so much liked. They baked shortbread, sang, read. Nothing seemed to have any taste, any enthusiasm.
With each hollow, frosty night, her longing increased tenfold. She did not decide if it was better to have spent those days with Drostan or if they made it worse. The notion she bore years of it nearly overwhelmed her. That he was at arm’s reach, yet so distant turned it bitterer.
But she forced herself to live through it. It could not be that impossible to overcome this. She had gone through tougher despair. And survived.
“Is anything wrong with the boy, my lady.” The newly arrived footman interrupted her musings from the entrance. A burly black-eyed, black-haired lad of about twenty.
“I do not think so, no. Thanks, John.” The servant bowed and walked back outside where he was cutting logs for the fire.
They stayed on the floor until Ewan calmed down.
“I baked a honeyed cake.” She said when his crying waned. “Would you like a piece?” The sweet taste might soothe him for a while.
“Yes, mama.” His cherubic face streaked with tears, his skin red and eyes puffed. It broke her heart to see him like this.
“Come then.” An encouraging smile forced its way into her lips.
A throat cleared in Drostan’s study while his attention fled outside the window, somewhere two miles away. Abruptly, he turned his head to find his steward, Mitchel, looking expectantly at him. “I asked if ye want me to send someone to mend old Dunn’s roof, my Laird.”
Dunn? His memory tried to retrieve whatever it had retained of their conversation. Yes, Dunn, the tenant, had a leaking roof. “Sure.” He agreed, not even remembering the cost. “Do it.”
But if someone asked him if he remembered a certain wife’s auburn hair shining by the fireplace, he would describe each unruly ringlet. If someone asked him why his son nicknamed the mare, he would descant about boys’ imaginative minds. And if someone asked him if he was happy spending his nights in an empty bed, he might call the cad out.
Damn it to hell!
“Tell Lachlan to go with you. He is good with handy work.” The Laird completed absently, and finished the meeting.
His nostrils expelled forceful air as he tried to keep his mind on his clan’s tasks. It had not been easy though. Almost a week had passed, and it was getting no better.
A rasp on the door announced Fingal. “Did you want to see me?”
“Come.” He invited.
“How are things?” His brother asked. “I have not had the chance to talk to you.”
“Shady.” The Laird answered. He had not gone into many details about his absence, but he would have to take this up with his brothers and father soon. “I will explain everything after dinner.”
“Alright.” He answered as he sat in front of the massive desk.
“A marriage proposal came from The McTavish.” He got straight to the point. “For you.”
“Thinking of leg shackling me, are you?” He crossed his arms over his considerable chest.
“Only if you do not oppose.” As the Laird, it was his duty to find advantageous matches for his siblings. Even though Aileen got herself abducted by the McDougal and ended up married to their old clan enemy.
“Let me hear it.” Fingal did not conceive it unrealistic to make an alliance by marriage.
And Drostan himself had married by arrangement. At the time, he found nothing to complain about. Both McPherson and McKendrick Lairds had signed a marriage contract long before the wedding itself. He and Freya became betrothed two years before the ceremony. They knew each other from the usual gatherings of clans in festivals, weddings or burials. After the betrothal, though, they saw each other on a more…intimate basis. For him, she had been the most beautiful lass in the whole Highlands with her curves, her hazel expressive eyes and her riot of auburn curls. Together with her eagerness for him, which enthralled the groom-to-be. Even though they had kissed and touched all too often, they kept the best for last, so to say. And his memories of their wedding night were fervent to say the least.
The newlyweds settled so comfortably into married life Drostan believed that to be the rule. Only to be proven wrong in less than a year. But until then, it had been pure bliss. He never gave much attention to his feelings for her. Never labelled what they had, never examined them too closely. When she disappeared, his emotions became so ragged and muddy, he stopped considering them altogether. And buried them deep into his lonely nights.
The discovery of her whereabouts, with his son in tow, unearthed those muddy emotions he could no longer recognise. The years of estrangement, though justifiable, had done a good job of making him sceptical about the whole affair. Where he stood right now? If he only knew. It added to his unwillingness to contemplate the mat
ter.
“He wants to match you with his second daughter, Anna.” Drostan held out the letter to the younger man.
Letter in hand, he said. “McTavish is going to marry his second daughter before the first?” Fingal eyed his brother quizzically before skimming the letter.
“He’s keeping the elder, Catriona, for an heir I believe.” Which was not entirely uncommon.
“Right.” That did not come too enthusiastic. To be given the spare because he was also the spare seemed a bit too…well…square.
“No need to answer now.” He compromised. “The chit is in a finishing school in London. Their mother is English as you may remember.”
“A half-Sassenach?” That was the same as saying the lass lacked a tooth.
“Yes. Culloden is long gone, if memory serves.” He raised his brows in challenge. “Anyway, she will not be out of school for a year yet.”
“I got time to think this through.” A certain relief spread over his features.
“You do.” But at thirty, his second brother was passing the age of marriage.
“Good.” Fingal gave the letter back.
“Whenever you marry, you will live in the former manor near the stables.”
Before they built this one, the McKendricks lived in a smaller dwelling which would need repairs. “Ask Lachlan if this is alright with him.” Fingal devolved. The siblings avoided possible resentments between them.
“Lachlan will be assigned his in due time.” The Laird would leave no one out. They all shared in the chores. Therefore, they would own proper residences.
“I will let you know my decision.” In large strides, he reached the door. “Oh, I did not have the chance to tell you.” He started with his hand on the door-knob.
“What?” Drostan had already gone back to a forgotten ledger on the desk. One he had no idea of what it contained.
“When you brought Ewan home, the stable lad found a thorn under the saddle.”
The older brother snapped his eyes at him, anger surfacing on his features. “I had saddled my horse.”
“I see.” Fingal paused. “But you said you stopped for breakfast.”
