Page 82 of Sinbound to the Highlander
“I suggest, Laird Aidan,” Evan spoke, drawing Freya’s eyes up from her lap, “That ye take Miss Milleson home and deal with her at yer discretion. I dinnae take her acts lightly, and if it were me, I’d have her locked in me dungeon.”
So, nay drawn and quartered as ye had said.
“Dinnae ye worry,” Laird Aidan said to Evan while his eyes were on Elspeth. “She will be punished.”
“And teach her the value of fidelity in marriage,” Evan said as he crossed the floor to Freya, helped her to stand, and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Ye have quite a seductress on yer hands. Happily, I saw through her disguise before she got any further.”
Lady Grace was thoroughly distraught. Her wide eyes held an expression of unending grief. Her tone was broken, but her words were strict, “Elspeth, I cannae believe ye’ve done this. I kent ye was immature to marry, now I am certain. How could ye try to seduce Freya’s husband?”
“They’re nay married,” Elspeth tossed her head, “yet.”
“Doesnae matter,” Lady Grace overrode her. “There is a sanctity to marriage, and if ye cannae respect anyone’s else, ye cannae respect any on yer own. I kent I raised ye with a sense of remorse, but I was wrong. Ye need to apologize to Freya, now!”
“What?” Elspeth exclaimed. “She should be apologizing to me for stealing what was mine.”
“Wrong,” Laird Aidan interjected, “ye lost Laird Ruthven with yer horrible accusations toward his maid. Ye are at fault here, and yer Maither is right. Ye will apologize to Freya.”
Elspeth tilted her head up, crossed her arms, and sniffed, “I will nae.”
“I dinnae believe yer Maither was requesting ye to apologize,” Laird Aidan said stonily. “She was ordering ye to apologize.”
Freya had enough; this was not going anywhere, and Elspeth was not going to yield. There was nothing this standoff would provide, nothing but more heartbreak. She went to her birth mother and rested a hand on her shoulder, placing herself between the older woman and Elspeth.
“It’s all right, Lady Grace, I daenae need her apology. She isnae going to give one anyway. I kent it best for ye to take her home.”
Evan came up and claimed her, resting a hand on the small of her back. “I’ll send yer meal up to yer quarters; there’s nay need for ye to go to the Great Hall.”
Lady Grace paused to hug Freya tightly, before her husband took Elspeth by the crook of her arm.
“Freya, if she willnae say it, I will,” Laird Aidan said, while Elspeth looked away stubbornly. “There is nay excuse for what she did to ye. None whatsoever, be assured that she will be punished for her actions. I am so grateful that ye are alive and well, and I ken Evan will keep it that way.”
“To me dyin’ breath,” Evan vowed.
When the door closed behind them, Freya sank to the nearest seat and covered her face with her hands. Evan placed another one beside her and reaching out, took her hands from her face. “I told ye naythin’ bad would happen.”
“Ye did,” Freya said, then sighed. “But why do I feel it’s nay over?”
* * *
Satisfied with the new sheets placed on the bed, Evan nodded and thanked the maids. Never would he allow Freya to sleep on the same sheets her traitorous sister had. After the meeting, Freya had taken refuge with his mother, in her room, while the Millesons ate and readied for their trip back home. Lady Lobhdain was tearful when she hugged Freya goodbye, and when they left, she found herself back there.
Evan did not know what the Laird and his wife were planning to punish Elspeth with, and he did not care. As long as they kept her far away and out of his life, he was fine. It still stunned him how deceitful, cunning, and selfish Elspeth was, but he had more than enough reason to suspect she could be. What he had not expected was her trying to kill her sister.
At least, we’ll have peace this Yuletide.
Plucking up an eider-down pillow, he pictured Freya, laying with him again, passion and desire reflected in those deep, emerald pools. He ached to touch her again, to feel the warm affection and love he knew she had for him, but Evan knew she was fragile at the moment.
Dropping the pillow, he left to his mother’s room, and found Freya seated on the floor, by his mother’s bedside, listening intently to her story. After listening in for a moment, he laughed—it was a tale of him twenty-one years ago, on Yuletide; how his five-year-old self had eaten enough black-pudding and drank enough mead to be sick at First Footing, and wasn’t able to visit family, friends or play any games.
“And to make things worse,” his mother said. “On Bannock Night,instead of going to sleep, he stayed awake, staring at the Yule cakes to make sure no one was going to steal and dropped asleep, rolled over and slapped it off his nightstand. He burst into hysterics, keening the cake was crushed, and he would be cursed with bad luck for the rest o’ the year.”
“All right, all right,” Evan cut in, “Enough fun on me part. May I steal me wife away for the rest of the day?”
Freya stood and kissed his mother on her cheek, “I’ll be back to see ye on the morrow.”
His mother turned a searching look on him then back to her, “I doubt it, lass. From the way me Son’s face is set, ye might nay be seeing me for a while.”
Red bloomed on Freya’s cheeks, while Evan pulled her away, back to their room and closed the door behind them. Bending his head, he captured her soft lips fiercely with his own. His arms wrapped tightly about her waist while hers looped around his neck in a timeless embrace. They kissed, warmed by the light of the fire.
