Page 29 of Sinbound to the Highlander
Is this what it meant to desire someone?
Just like her anxiety, Freya hid that away. She could not dare speak them to anyone, for fear of castigation. It was even worse that Laird Ruthven was betrothed to her sister, who was his wife-to-be. War was nearly at their gates. He needed Laird Lobhdain’s help to protect them all, and that came with him marrying his daughter.
The clop clop of horses’ hooves had her head lifting to see a carriage coming. Freya looked to see if the Laird was behind it, but that did not make any sense. The Laird would be in front, riding that massive beast of his. When the carriage came to a halt, the door opened, and the Laird descended from it.
Clad in a thick, darker gray and blue plaid, he was utterly dashing. His head canted a certain way, and for the first time in her life, Freya understood what an attractive man could cause within a young lady’s heart.
She stood as her father went to greet him. Laird Ruthven’s eyes flicked to her briefly, then went back to Mister Crushom. She heard them exchange pleasantries.
“Mister Crushom, I’ve told those in me castle and Laird Lobhdain, but I ken all ye should ken about this war,” Laird Ruthven’s lips were curling in a smile. “I spoke to me scouts, and the Jacobite forces are moving south to Perth and Edina, away from us. The news came last night.”
Freya’s knees felt weak, and she nearly staggered back. No war.No war!
The Laird kept speaking, “Though it is good for us, I am nay lettin’ up on keeping surveillance on me lands. We cannae be too careful, Mister Crushom, because one oversight or lapse in judgment will destroy us. Me scouts are still at their positions and will stay there until I am sure we are out of the danger.”
Her father stuck out his hand and grasped Laird Ruthven’s hand, “I cannae tell ye how relieved I am, Me Laird. I feared we would be torn apart by this war, but me prayers are with ye and that we will escape this all together.”
“Aye,” Laird Ruthven, “I do appreciate it, and it is me hope too that nay one of my people will have to die from a matter that isnae theirs.”
Her father twisted to look over his shoulder to her, then back to Laird Ruthven. “Please take care of Freya, for us, Me Laird. She is very precious to us. Nothin’ matters to us more than she does.”
“I assure ye, Mister Crushom, she is and will be in good hands,” Laird Ruthven aimed a comforting smile at her. “Nay harm will come to her on me watch, and I doubt her parents would lack in that area as well.” He turned to her, “Miss Crushom, our carriage awaits.”
Before she moved off, Freya embraced her mother and kissed her cheek, “I’ll see ye in a week, Maither.”
Slipping down the stairs and repeating the same sentiment with her father, she grasped the Laird’s hand as he helped her into the carriage. She sat at the window as she placed the bags at her feet.
“All will be well,” Laird Ruthven said calmly as he joined her and closed the door, “I ken it’s a considerable change, but I have strong faith that it will be a good thing for ye.”
Hesitantly, Freya spoke, “Is it all true? There’s…there’s nae war?”
The Laird nodded, “As it is now, aye, but as I told yer Faither, I will be overseein’ the troops' movements, to make sure this isnae a trick or that they willnae be doublin’ back to the Highlands. As for now, we are gettin’ safer.”
Managing a nervous smile, Freya said, “Thank ye.”
Gazing out the window that faced her parent’s house, she saw her mother lean into her father’s embrace, rather weakly, and as the carriage lurched off, her mother hid her face in his neck. She bit back a grimace.
“If ye daenae mind me askin’,” she said, trying to not meet his eyes, for the many emotions tumbling inside her, “why just one carriage?”
“I have to visit the Lobhdain house too,” he said, “It dinnae make sense to take a horse and a carriage.”
She kept her eyes down, feeling his gaze skittering over her. Somehow, she found her voice, “I am nae sure ye should be alone with me, an unmarried woman. Ye are engaged after all.”
With her eyes down, she only saw his boots shift. “Ye deanae have to worry about that. What does worry me, is why will ye nae look at me?”
Hesitant to face him, Freya glanced out the window as they passed through the village. When she saw people stop and stare at the passing carriage, she shrank back from the window, with her heart a stony lump in her throat. Of course, they would look. It was not every day one saw their Laird coming with horse and carriage for a peasant.
Is this how me life is going to be? With eyes on me all the time?
“Freya?” Laird Ruthven said quietly, and threads of warmth began to spread through her chest with how he said her name. “Why daenae ye look at me? Ye did it when we first met, after I told ye who I was, and ye are still doing it now.”
“I…” she swallowed, “kent it was only right. Ye are a Laird after all. Ye are deserving of manners.”
“Manners is one, and I’ll take that,” Laird Ruthven said kindly, “But ye shy away from me like a skittish kitten. Are ye afraid of me, Freya?”
Am I?
How could she express her feelings to him, as profound but straightforward as they might be? “I feel afraid that ye’ll see me as ugly. I’ve been told a lot of people see these spots as the mark of one who deals with the Devil. And…” she swallowed, “me sister has her face clear of them. In contrast to her, I must look dreadful.”
