The Madam's Highlander

by Madeline Martin

  Much as he hated to admit it, he needed her.

  “Ye're putting me in a terrible position.” She shot him an angry glare. “I should set ye out among yer men and let ye tell them ye plan to leave so they can shoot ye.”

  “Ye should,” Ewan said slowly, “but ye willna.”

  She paced, stopped, and turned to face him, her expression soft with what he hoped was resignation.

  “Nay,” she said. “I willna.”

  Ewan breathed out a slow, steady exhale of relief. The scent of alcohol on his breath was unfamiliar and unpleasant. No matter how hard all this might be, he wouldn't give in to the temptation of hard liquor again. He might be a traitor, but he would not release his hold on his morals.

  “Ye need to go back to where ye're expected,” Freya said. “Make up an excuse that will keep ye from sight if ye can get away with it, where people willna think to need to come find ye. We'll leave tonight. At ten.”

  She pulled a gold watch out of an unseen pocket. The face was scratched and caught the light, refracting it. Ewan could make out the time from where he sat. 6:20 - but that didn’t seem right. He knew it had only been 5:00 when he'd entered.

  Her watch was fast by at least an hour.

  She slipped the watch back into her pocket. “If ye pack any belongings, keep them light. Ye dinna want to appear obvious.”

  Ewan nodded. Already an idea was coming to him. He could volunteer to work the night watch, when most of the men were either sleeping or out whoring. It was not uncommon for men to slip away during the later shifts, especially with being in Edinburgh.

  “And ye better no' make me regret agreeing to help ye.” Freya folded her arms over her firm cleavage.

  “I willna,” Ewan said earnestly.

  “I hope ye're right.” For the first time, a crinkle of worry showed on her otherwise smooth brow. “Or we'll both be dead.”

  ***

  The day had passed too quickly. Freya pulled out her father’s watch, quickly adjusting the time in her head. It was almost nine o’clock. One more hour.

  Her stomach twisted into knots.

  What the hell had she been thinking in helping Captain Fraser?

  She had enough worry on her mind without having to escort the captain to her home. But then she couldn't exactly give him directions and have him asking around about where she lived. The last thing she needed was suspicion luring anyone to her home.

  Her family had suffered enough.

  Aye, she could have Edward take Ewan, but no – if she was going to send a traitor into her home, she wanted to be there to ensure all was safe.

  Alli sauntered into Freya's office with a copy of Hamlet clutched in her hand. “Captain Nay is here.” She fanned herself with the book and made a swooning gesture.

  Freya closed the door and regarded the younger woman. “Do ye have everything ye need?”

  Alli's playful mood fell away and she gave a sincere nod. “Everything will be fine.”

  “I should be back quickly. Within a fortnight.”

  Alli nodded again. “This is a good thing ye're doing.” She said it in an encouraging tone, as if she were trying to sway Freya into believing it herself.

  Freya rolled her eyes. “It's a damn stupid thing I'm doing. And he’s an hour early.” She pulled out her pocket watch to confirm the time. Ten by her watch, but only nine by true time.

  Edward would have the carriage at the rear of the bawdyhouse several minutes after ten. He'd already collected her bags earlier that day, bless him. But now she would have to hide Ewan for an hour before Edward would arrive.

  Freya gave an irritated sigh. “What room is he in?”

  “The pink one, but—”

  Before Alli could finish, Freya was out the door and stalking up the stairs to the pink room, where the ladies were afforded the opportunity to study during the day or get away for a small break in the evening.

  She did not stop her forward march until she stood directly in front of the door. She wrenched it open with the force of her frustration and froze.

  A naked man stood in the center of the room, his arms tangled in a leine just over his head. Naked and beautifully muscled, from his long, lean legs to the soft phallus resting amid a patch of dark hair to the bands tightening along his abdomen. For one fleeting moment, she wished his arms and shoulder were not buried within the fabric so she might see them too.

  Freya sucked in a breath, but found her limbs locked into place, unable to move any more than she was unable to stop staring.

  After a jerk of the fabric, a face appeared through the neckline.

  Captain Fraser.

  He tugged the leine down over his impressive body and shot her a hard look. “It would have been polite of ye to knock first.”

  The spell broke and heat scorched her cheeks. Good God, was she blushing?

  To imagine - a madam blushing at the sight of a naked man. She'd seen many in her year assisting friends with their clients, and significantly more in her last couple of years running Molly's.

  But then, not every man looked like Captain Fraser. Certainly not every man lived so clean a life, stayed so morally focused, and was so damn tempting.

  “Ye might have locked the door,” Freya muttered. Embarrassment was not an emotion she wore often, or well. She slammed the door closed, leaving herself standing in the hall with a grinning Alli at her side. When had Alli arrived?

  “Ye might have listened.” Alli's eyes widened and she mouthed, “But I'm glad ye dinna.” She frantically fanned herself with her hand.

  “I believe ye should be downstairs,” Freya said testily.

  A crash sounded below.

  “Now,” she added.

  Alli thrust her lower lip out like a sullen child and headed downstairs as she was bade.

  The door opened and Ewan stood before Freya in a clean leine and fresh kilt - no longer dark with the colors of the Black Watch, but wearing a tartan of the more earthy tones of green and dun. He gave her a smile and the dimple dotted his cheek.

  He might be good, but he was handsome as sin itself.

  He held out his hands, presenting himself to her. “Now I'm ready.”

  She took out her pocket watch. “An hour early.”

  “It runs an hour fast,” he said slowly.

  Observant man.

  “And I account for that. Now ye're an hour early and the carriage isna here yet.”

  He paused, most likely due to her admonishment. But then he surprised her.

  “Ye look bonny.” He said it with such reverence, the heat returned to her cheeks.

  She glanced down at her traveling gown, the one a lady wore. Like she used to wear. Pale blue satin, edged in lace with the waist comfortably cinched and a bosom high enough to make her feel as though she were draped in a blanket. She wore no cosmetic on her face and had her hair twisted into a simple but fashionable style with fat curls draping down her shoulders.

  “Aye. Well, thank ye,” she staggered out uncomfortably.

  She lifted the cloak from the bed, her own from her wardrobe upstairs, and swung it over her shoulders. “I’m the eldest daughter of the Lady of Glenmore. It's a title and no' anything more. We lost our fortune after my da died.” She was rambling in her discomfort.

  The last thing she wanted to do now was go on about her life, especially when she was already disquieted by his flattery and by her inability to clear her mind of his naked body. He didn't need to know how she'd tried to turn the home into a farm, and how she'd failed most miserably.

  Shouting came from downstairs, followed by another crash.

  Freya spun to bolt out the door, but Captain Fraser grabbed her arm. “Ye canna go down there like that.”

  Freya looked down at her lady's clothing a second time and frowned. He was right.

  Footsteps pounded up the stairs and a knock sounded at the door. Freya jerked the door open and found Tessa standing there, wide-eyed.

  “It's the man who tried to beat Ma
rie the other day, the one ye threatened with yer blade,” she said.

  “Clemmons,” Captain Fraser said.

  “He's looking for ye.” Tessa spoke to the captain and then regarded Freya. “Alli is seeing to him. She told me to tell ye to run - she'll handle what needs to be done.”

  “Why?” A line of muscle showed at the corner of his square jaw. “Why is he here?”

  Tessa glanced away. “He thinks ye've abandoned the Black Watch.”

  Freya's pulse ticked up a notch. They knew. It wasn't even the proper meeting time and already they were caught. She snagged the man's cloak from where it lay on the bed and shoved it into Captain Fraser's hand.

  “I canna let this happen. I canna let women fight for me.” Captain Fraser stepped around Freya, but this time it was she who grabbed his arm.

  “Ye'll be killed,” she said.

  Tessa smirked. “And we're no' yer ordinary women.”

  Freya gave Tessa a proud grin. “They’ll be fine with Clemmons. Most of us have dealt with worse before.”

  Another crash came from below, followed by more bellowing. Freya tried not to flinch. She trusted Alli. The girl might be genteel enough to be a lady's maid if she chose, but the lass had a rough upbringing that made her tougher than the stubble on a Highlander's jaw.

  “Ye need to go,” Tessa said.

  Freya pulled at Captain Fraser's arm. He remained in place, a tree rooted to the ground. And so she shoved him directly in the lower back. He flew forward with a surprised expression.

  “Now,” Freya gritted through her teeth. “I dinna risk all of this for ye to go soft on me.”

  Her goading worked and Captain Fraser followed her through the hall and to the narrow back stairs where the dark alley lay behind Molly's. She only hoped Edward would have the carriage ready this early. She knew the path he would take to arrive at Molly's from his simple stable several streets up. They could walk there and pretend to be a fine couple out for an evening stroll.

  In a town like Edinburgh, they'd never be suspected.

  Together they burst out of the alley and made their way toward the bustle of the main street, cloaks secured around their throats and hoods up.

  “I thought I might find ye here,” a voice growled.

  Freya spun around and found Clemmons standing in front of Molly's, the pistol in his hand aimed directly at her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The pistol went off at the same time Captain Fraser slammed into Freya, knocking her backward. She staggered but managed to keep her footing.

  People nearby screamed and everyone ducked. The crowd erupted into a chaotic scatter of men and women, eager to clear themselves from the path of danger.

  Captain Fraser grabbed Freya's arm and pulled her into the heart of the crowd. They pulled their cloaks up around their faces, as if warding off the evening chill, and were easily lost in the scramble.

  “We've lost him.” Captain Fraser's tone held such confidence, Freya knew what he said to be true without question.

  “This way.” She led him down the path she knew Edward to take. A quick glance at her pocket watch indicated they still had half an hour. Most likely he had not even left yet.

  The trek was all uphill at such a slant on Edinburgh's steep streets, Freya swore her knee almost touched her chest at some points. The feat was made more difficult with the slippery cobblestone underfoot. Clammy sweat clung to Freya's brow and both she and Captain Fraser panted with their efforts.

  They were almost to the stable when a large carriage appeared, the wheels clattering over the wet pavement. A large carriage so familiar, it was the most beautiful thing Freya had ever seen. She pulled back her hood and waved frantically at Edward.

  He immediately stopped the carriage. “I canna imagine this is a good thing. Get inside, quickly. I know a faster route out of the city from here.”

  Freya jerked open the small door and stepped inside with enough haste to set the cabin swaying. Captain Fraser followed behind her, his movements slower as his large frame squeezed into the confined box. Freya pulled the door closed and he settled into the narrow seat across from her.

  The carriage started with a jolt. She braced her feet on the ground and managed to stay in place. They'd made it. They were on their way out of Edinburgh.

  She twisted the flimsy lock on the door for good measure, as if it were anything substantial to keep anyone out, and pulled the curtains closed on the narrow windows. To any passersby, they would appear to be a normal carriage going through the streets of Edinburgh, most likely headed for an opera or a late dinner. Edward and his carriage were such a common sight on the streets, no questions would even be aroused.

  They were safe.

  Freya did not light the small lamps within the cabin. Not yet. Not until they were out of Edinburgh. Instead they remained in darkness so thick, it strained her vision to see something, anything. She shut her eyes against the ache of it.

  Neither she nor Captain Fraser spoke, as if doing so might somehow alert Clemmons of their location. Captain Fraser's steady breath sounded opposite her, and she wondered idly if he were sleeping. Soldiers always could sleep anytime, anywhere.

  She liked to consider herself tough, but could not for the life of her imagine being able to sleep while her heart still raced with the fear of being caught.

  Over an hour later, two knocks sounded at the side of the carriage. The indication everything was now safe.

  Captain Fraser groaned.

  “Captain Fraser?” she asked. Surely he had not been frightened by the sound.

  He did not answer her.

  “Captain?” she said again.

  He groaned once more.

  Fear jabbed through her. Something was not right. She yanked open the curtains to let in the moonlight. The pale glow washed over Captain Fraser where he lay propped against the right side of the narrow bench, his face glossy with a sheen of sweat.

  Definitely not right.

  She threw open the small box beside the seat and struck the flint with shaking hands. It exploded into a flame of light, brilliant after so long without sight. Spots danced in her vision, but she managed to lift the glass from the lamp and light the charred wick.

  She closed her eyes to clear away the splash of white staining her sight. When she opened them again, she found Captain Fraser still slumped in the same position.

  “Captain Fraser,” she said sharply.

  He did not move, but issued forth a low moan.

  She sat forward and pulled back the cloak. There, spreading over the clean white of his leine, was a stain of deep red. He’d been injured somehow, but when? How?

  And then she remembered. He'd pushed her out of the way when Clemmons fired the pistol.

  He'd taken the bullet, most likely saving her life. And possibly at the cost of his own.

  ***

  Hot fire surged against Ewan's side. He twisted in the tangle of obscurity, and the burning sensation blazed into brilliant pain.

  A hand curled around his, smaller and cooler than his own. “Drink this,” the voice was soft, husky, and feminine. Beautiful. Alluring.

  A warm cup pressed to his mouth and a toxic odor hit his nose. He tossed his head back and squinted. Light glared through his slit lids, revealing the rim of a steaming cup of murky water and a set of wide eyes.

  He wanted to lose himself in those eyes until the burning at his side ceased. They were large and blue as a cloudless summer sky. He wanted to stare into them, to fly in them, a bird soaring through the endless beautiful sky, above pain and burning and everything aching inside him.

  For it was more than his side which ached, so too did his heart. There was something dancing near the edge of his memory, something he needed to remember. Something he didn't want to remember.

  He gave a low groan and tried to move his face away.

  The mug followed him, dragging his attention from the eyes of summer sky blue.

  “Captain Fraser, ye must drink thi
s.” The woman was even more insistent this time.

  “What?” The word rasped from Ewan's throat. He glanced around the small cabin, registered the jostle of road beneath them. “How?”

  She shoved the foul cup at him again. “Drink this and I'll tell ye everything ye need to know.” Her expression went stern. “Drink it.”

  The firmness of her tone pulled at the protective barrier his sleep had curled around him, unraveling it and everything he had wanted to avoid remembering.

  Ewan's servants dead, his home razed, his mother left to fend for herself in the wilderness for two weeks, Freya helping him, almost being shot, him taking the bullet and staggering through the slanted streets of Edinburgh, running to the safety of the carriage, the promise of freedom.

  Freya sat back with a mirthless smile. “And there ye go, remembering. Ye still need to drink this. It'll ease yer pain.”

  Ewan took the mug from her hands and swallowed it down in three awful gulps. The urge to gag clogged the back of his throat, but he forced his thoughts from the desire and swallowed once more to clear the unpleasant sensation. Still, it tasted as though he'd guzzled down a cup of bog water.

  He held the mug out to Freya. She filled it with ale and he readily drank it, clearing the awful taste from his mouth.

  “How are ye feeling?” she asked, taking the cup from him once more.

  “Like I was shot.”

  She smirked. “That's to be expected being as ye got shot. The tea will help.”

  He glanced down at where the wound still glowed with a pulse of pain. His leine was white, unmarred by a bullet hole or the blood associated with it. He gingerly touched his side and found the thick padding of a bandage beneath.

  He'd already been to a healer and been changed into a fresh leine, but how? When had they stopped? How had he not noticed? “Ye got a healer already?”

  “I did it myself. I had the supplies in my bag to bring to my ma. She’s verra particular. She’s ill, as I’m sure ye know.” Freya looked out the window, inspecting the flickering scenery as it passed. “The bullet went straight through, lucky for ye. However, ye dinna tell me ye'd been struck and ye sat there bleeding out for long enough to knock ye senseless.” She shrugged. “Made for an easy cleaning at least. And changing.”