Page 74 of Sinbound to the Highlander
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Pressing a hand to her forehead, Freya took a moment to digest what the older woman was saying.
Three days…
“W…where am I?” she asked.
“Eilginn, Dear, me grandson had to fish ye out of River Losaidh,” was her reply. “Came to me with ye in his arms, all aflutter with worry and rightly so, ye were half dead. I’m happy ye’ve woken. I wasnae sure who to call for ye as I havenae seen ye around these parts before.”
Looking back on her memories, as bright and crystal as daylight, she shook her head, “‘Tis best that ye dinnae...someone tried to kill me. If they got word that I’m still alive...” she swallowed, “I fear they would try again, and wouldnae miss this time.”
“Nay,” the woman exclaimed, leaning forward with horror splashed across her face. “Say it isnae so. Who would want to kill ye?”
Not wanting to pull the innocent woman into her mess, Freya shook her head, “ ‘Tis nae for ye to worry about, Missus—”
“Helga, Dear,” the matron smiled.
“Missus Helga,” Freya reached out, “Thank ye and yer grandson very much, but I need ye to keep me presence here quiet. T’would do ye nay good to have word about me goin’ around.”
Her words did not comfort the woman, “Dear, if you are in so much trouble, I ken I can arrange for ye to leave this place, go far into the lowlands. Me grandson trades and he can easily take ye—"
“I appreciate it,” Freya said honestly. “But that willnae help. What would, is for ye to get a secret message to Laird Ruthven. He will come here and help; I ken it.”
“The Laird! Lass, how much trouble are ye in to call for his involvement?”
I must tell her, but how much should I tell her?
Sucking a deep breath, Freya related her tale, about how she had come across Evan in the meadow, how he had implored her to meet her parents, and how the mystery about her life had begun to unravel. She did leave out her sister’s betrayal, leaving the woman with the impression that Elspeth was still engaged to the Laird.
“Someone mistook ye for her and tried to harm ye for her instead?” Helga asked.
It might raise more questions than I have answers, and she might be concerned about Elspeth too, but I can use this.
“Something of the sort,” Freya said, “It’s a lot, I ken, and I would rather for ye to nae get involved. Please, the extent I need for ye in all this is for ye to contact the Laird, and then ye’ll nay had to worry anymore about it.”
Helga shook her head, “All right, lass, but ye still havenae told me yer name.”
“I havenae?” Freya blinked. “Pardon me, it’s Freya, Freya Crushom.”
“Such a lovely name,” Helga smiled, “Well, Freya, is yer stomach settled enough for some soup?”
* * *
For the fourth night in a row, Evan laid on the floor, resolute in his decision to not join Freya—if it was her, and he doubted it—on the bed. It was a tense air in his quarters, as the fear for Elspeth’s life—Freya’s life, if his suspicion was right—changed into icy dread at the thought that she might be dead.
Aside from worrying about that, there was not a day when Freya did not try to seduce him—something that he still found abnormal for her. Freya was not so straightforward, which led to a deep belief that this woman was not her.
Each time Evan refused her, she would pout, then go silent for hours—something he associated with Elspeth. But even more distressing to Evan were the random questions he would ask her—and she got them all right.
Sometimes he started to question himself—if his idea that Elspeth had somehow replaced Freya was even halfway sensible. She knew everything Freya did, but her actions were opposite of the gentlewoman he knew.
Those hours when war waged within himself were the hardest. Thank goodness Evan had his meeting room to escape to for his peace of mind, and then his mother. Not wanting to worry her, Evan kept his doubt about Freya to himself, telling her that Freya was still troubled about her sister.
“I ken ye care for her, Maither,” Evan said, reaching over to kiss her cheek, “But she’s overwhelmed with many things now. As soon as I am sure she will not break down with ye, ye’ll be the first to see her.”
“And ye’ve nay word about Miss Milleson?” his mother worried.
“Up to now, nay,” Evan grimaced over the word. “But, we are still looking, Maither.”
