The rain did not relent for the rest of the day. Freya sat on the mare protecting her son with the blankets and holding him under her cloak,

She was numb. Not with the freezing raindrops though they did not make it any better. Everything inside her went numb. The bitter untrue words she cast at her husband dissolved her. If she had died the night she left her him, now her heart turned to cinders.

Desperation had done that. The moment she had seen him in the woods, she faltered; and had to use every drop of inner strength not to run to him overflowing with emotions. His fortitude and support in dire need. She had wished she could tell him about every single reason she left. Stay with him forever. And more.

The knowledge she did not have this option made her try something to shun him away. Because if he kept coming to her like that, taking care of her like that. Looking at her like that, she would not resist, persist. Survive.

But she was dead anyway. There would be no hope for them. Not after Ross found her in the McKendrick’s cottage and threatened the lives of the two people she had no chance of living without. Not if she wanted to keep any sanity.

And then she had said those horrible things to her own husband. Seen his beautiful old-whisky eyes gradually morph into something she preferred not to remember. But could not forget. Cold. Hard. Heartless. That she had done it cut through her like flagellation.

How else would he have gone away safe? In one piece? Alive?

New tears fell silently down her hooded cheeks. Ewan would be upset if he heard her cry even more. Good thing he sat on the saddle facing ahead.

She must be strong. Stronger. For him and for Drostan. What she dreamed, what she desired did not matter. Her family did. So, the time came to stop this ninny weeping and move on. Time to stop the sadness and do what she had to do to avoid the worst. Her spine stiffened and her hands wiped the tears impatient. In between deep breaths, she decided, no more weeping.

Perhaps she should leave the country. For the continent. America. The moon. A place no one would reach her, where her presence would not mean harm and threat. Anywhere Ewan found a semblance of stability and she peace, hollow as it might be. As it would surely be away from her husband.

When she gazed up ahead, she saw they had entered McDougal lands. Suddenly, the possibility of meeting Aileen and asking for shelter for the night, feed Ewan and provide him with a warm bed sounded like a good idea.

 

 

 

Night had fallen when she touched the knocker on the McDougal’s manor.

“I am Freya McKendrick.” She told the butler. “This is my son. I would like to see Aileen.”

“Yes, my lady.” He bowed and gave her passage.

Freya tried not to be too self-conscious about the deplorable state she and Ewan were as they followed the servant along the halls to a drawing room.

“Mommy, where are we?” Ewan asked. His mother had unwrapped him from the blankets and fortunately he was relatively dry.

“This is Aunt Aileen’s home.” The boy met his aunt when Drostan had first taken him to the McKendrick.

“Freya?” Aileen came in. “Ewan.” She bent to kiss the boy.

“Hi, Aunt Aileen.” Even after the hard journey, her son had a smile on his cherubic face.

“Hello, Aileen.” Freya’s battle for a smile failed as it became a strained expression.

“Lady McKendrick.” Taran McDougal came in right after his wife.

“Laird McDougal.” She curtsied though her peasant’s dress caused it to look out of place now that her threadbare cloak stayed with the butler.

Aileen’s husband was a giant of a man with jet-black hair and intense green eyes. She wondered why Fiona, her cousin and his first wife, preferred the city to him.

“Please, have a seat.” Aileen motioned, and they all took their places.

“I would like to ask you to spend the night here before I continue with my trip.” The effort to squeeze her distress under control kept her body rigid.

“What happened?” Her sister-in-law inquired with a frown.

Hands twisting on her lap, her eyes lowered. “I-I cannot talk about this.”

“Where is your husband?” The McDougal demanded.

“At home, I expect.” Her voice came weak at the mention of the man.

“Your place is with him.” The edit came firm and incontestable.

Embarrassment spread over her with a flush of her cheeks. Her hazel gaze sought Aileen.

With a slight nod of understanding, Aileen turned to her husband. “Taran, would you please take Ewan to change his clothes and then order supper for him?”

The adoration on her husband’s eyes transformed in a knowing glint. “Come on, young man. Your aunt wants to talk to your mama.”

Ewan followed his uncle and Freya released a breath of relief at the prospect of food and rest for her son.

“Now, Freya, calm down.” Aileen touched a hand on the other woman’s shoulder. “What is the matter?”

Freya’s delicate hand rubbed her brow. “I cannot stay with him.” She gritted out.

“Are you in any trouble?”

“Please, Aileen, I—” She shook her head lost for words. “It just will not work.”

Aileen’s smart attention took in Freya’s bedraggled state, probably concluding it would be no use talking to an extremely exhausted woman running with a child. “Ok, let us get you a bath and supper. We will talk afterwards.”

An hour later, fed and dressed in a dress she had packed in the side-saddle, Freya reappeared in the drawing room. She had bid goodnight to Ewan before heading here. He would need his rest.

Two pairs of eyes lifted to her. “There you are.” Aileen received her as husband and wife stood at her entrance.

“Lady McKendrick, you will sit down and say exactly what brought you here.” The McDougal directed in his imposing stance.

“My Laird,” Freya started. “I merely asked for shelter tonight for my son’s sake.” It would be utterly unwise to share her problems with them and involve the Laird and Lady in something so dangerous. “I will leave tomorrow.”

“I do not think so.” Interposed The McDougal. “You are the wife of my brother-in-law and we must take you back to him.”

At that, she did not show compliance. Gaze directly on the man, she delivered the answer. “Maybe my marriage is my own concern, my Laird.”

The giant scowled. “What is it with you McPherson women, anyway?”

“Taran!” Scolded his wife with a vexed glare at her husband. They were two proud and strong-willed people who loved each other but rarely backed down from their opinions.

“Listen, I am really sorry about what happened to Fiona, but I did nothing like it.” Freya compromised.

His disbelieving countenance dispensed with words.

“I believe you need time to ponder things through.” Aileen mediated. “We can offer you a place in our lands.”

“Yes, and keep you out of harm’s way.” Agreed Taran.

“I would not like to impose.” She said uncertain.

“It is not imposing, Freya. And you can stay as long as you need.” Suggested Aileen.

That gave Freya pause. If she took their offer, it would afford her the possibility to plan her next steps with more care. And Ewan would have a safe place unknown to Ross. “In that case, I will accept it.” A faint smile sketched in her strained lips.

“Good.” Aileen smiled. “A footman will take both of you to it in the morning. Together with provisions.”

“Sam is coming for Christmas.” Taran commented. “We invite you to join us, if you are still around.” He added. “He is Ewan’s and your cousin after all.”

To realise she had never had the chance to meet Fiona’s son saddened her. The lad must be eighteen or nineteen; already studying in Oxford, she heard in her trips to the market.

“Thank you.” She said to Laird and Lady McDougal. “If you do not mind, I will retire. It has been a long day.” Better to remove herself before they poked her with more questions she would not answer.

 

As soon as Freya left the room, Aileen turned to her husband. “I will write to Drostan right away.”

Her husband directed a quizzical glower to her.

“There is something wrong, Taran.” Pacing to the escritoire, she retrieved paper and ink. “She is running, that much is clear.” The lady sat and dipped pen in ink.

“Are you sure?” He rested his elbow on the mantel.

“No. But the signs are all there.” Pen scratched on paper. “Why would she ride hours in the rain with a child when she has a home?” More scribbles drew on the paper. “Her distress is too obvious.”

“You have a point, I must admit.” He drawled. “If that is the case, they will need McKendrick’s protection.

Folding and sealing the paper she stood up. “Do you think we can send out our fastest rider to the McKendrick tonight? I know the weather it awful, but—”

“Consider it done.” Came his reply as he extended his hand for the letter.

“Thank you.” Her steps neared him as she put a kiss to his lips.

He kissed her back. “You know I would do anything for your kisses.”

The Laird did not see her blush as he rang for the butler.

 

 

 

Daylight attacked Drostan’s eyelids as he tried to emerge from a sleep that felt more like drowning. Instead of comfort and warmth, hard floorboards and cold fireplace greeted him. It hurt to even move his long eyelashes, but he did not give up. As he allowed to a slit open, he groaned. Infirm palms rubbed at his square jaw, and another groan saw the light of day. The movement of his head seemed like tilting a fishbowl as the water sloshed this side and that. The skull-cracking pain accompanied his moves.

An insistent knock on the door got him to sit up, holding his head in a useless gesture for the pain not to slosh. “Yes.” He moaned.

“My Laird,” Baxter came in. “An urgent message from Lady Aileen.” And extended him the letter.

With no small amount of effort, he stood up to take the paper. “Thank you, Baxter.”

After the older man left, he opened it. What could be so urgent for his sister to send a rider through the night?

Not too steady strong fingers broke the seal.

 

D,

Freya arrived last night in clear distress. I am quite sure something is not right. I had the vivid impression she is running from a threat. We offered her and Ewan a small cottage on the west border of the McDougal. Maybe you would like to check on her.

Take care.

Love

A.

 

Bless his sister!

He rang for a bath, clean clothes and his saddled horse.

Rushing down half an hour later, he ran into Fingal. “Take over the manor for a few days, will you?”

“Freya?” His brother was on his way out; he would probably work in the stables as he used to in the morning.

“Yes.” And barged into the front porch to mount Threuna.

The McDougal lay a day away. The downpour of the previous day did not show up today, but the frosty air indicated winter was not far behind.

Drostan wrapped his tartan tighter around his broad shoulder and prepared for the trip ahead.

Although her words in the woods still stung him, he started to put pieces together since he found her. Aileen might be right. Something was amiss. He had suspected it and even asked his wife. To get no answer for a variation. And did the fact not signalise that she hid something? His sister stating the same showed he did not imagine things. Which made him worried sick. The cause for her run eluded him. Was she running four years ago too? Did it have anything to do with the way she acted now? Why did she not seek his protection? So many questions and not a single clue.

If she did not turn to him to protect her, did it mean she did not trust him? Did someone else protect her these past years? Bluidy hell! The woman confounded even a friar!

He travelled through the main road as the rain would have rendered the secondary ones unpassable. By nightfall, he had no other choice than to stop at an inn to rest and feed Threuna. Before dawn, he awoke, bathed and ate to set out anew, having had very little sleep due to his fretting. He was not happy about any of this. His wife’s skittish behaviour agreed with him even less. This whole thing must stop. At once. He would make it. With this resolve, he focused on his journey.

The west parts of the McDougal lands steeped up the hills. The fresher air here swirled with more freedom and he deemed it lucky he afforded a high-quality wool for his tartan.

The view up here was stunning; he observed his surroundings. From this high up, he saw the top of the hills in orange shades with the fading sun. The peaks already covered with the first snow. Lochs here and there punctuated the landscape and reflected the fast cruising clouds. The vegetation had become bare except for the pine trees which painted a soothing green hue to the late autumn view. He inhaled the crisp air and forged ahead.

Several dwellings had passed by until an isolated one seemed to be the last. If Aileen had intended to hide them, it would be here. Dismounting Threuna, he concluded it had been the case as Reul, Star, the mare’s real name, stood in the small shed by the humble cottage.

Impatience thrummed in him as he fairly banged on the low fragile door.

The sound of it unbarring and its subsequent opening revealed his wife. “Drostan.” She breathed so suave, the caress arrowed where it should not.

He took in her blanched complexion and looked her directly in her haunted hazel eyes. “Either you tell me what is really going on or I will take Ewan with me and you will never see him again.” He commanded, nearly failing to keep his steely resolve at the sight of her.

The words caused that greenish colour to rise in her. “W-who…?”

“Aileen.” He supplied curt, interrupting her.

She widened the entrance for him.

“Papa!” Ewan came running to him and Drostan hoisted him on his arms. “Mo bhalach.” He greeted the bairn.

 

An invisible hand strangled her heart with countless emotions while she and Drostan prepared Ewan for bed.

The possibility of Aileen telling The McKendrick of her whereabouts had not occurred to her amid the fear for Ross’s retaliation and the need to put her son in a safe place. She did not remember to ask for her sister-in-law’s promise not to disclose anything, though she doubted the Lady McDougal would have complied.

Her trembling hand closed Ewan’s tiny bedchamber as she was thankful for finding two in this far-away cottage. In the front room, she turned to Drostan who had followed her.

“Would you like some tea?” She offered not finding anything else to say.

“What I would like is the truth.” He demanded, fists on tapered hips, legs apart, tall frame dominating the cramped place. “And no fooling around this time.” Wind-mussed chestnut strands fell on his brows, and intense old-whisky eyes burned with the fire in the fireplace.

Her legs lost firmness, and slowly she sat on an armchair, gulping air. “My father has no heir, as you remember.”

He nodded, still standing there like a Celtic god, stirring a myriad of feelings in her.

“My third cousin, Ross, means to be the next Laird.” She informed.

“There should be an election if your father does not appoint an heir.” He commented.

“I know.” Her hands twisted on her lap. “Ross does not care for any of it.” She continued in a thread of a voice. “He fears the McPhersons might regard Ewan as the natural heir.”

A crumpled mask smothered his manly features. “This is a remote possibility.” He uttered.

“Not in these circumstances.” She contradicted. “As a half McPherson, many can suggest him as a candidate.”

Drostan raked his hair with an exasperated hand. “Would anyone?”

She nodded tense. “The prospect of joining with your powerful clan will be a strong factor.”

At this, Drostan sat on the second armchair. “So this Ross is threatening Ewan’s life.”

“Yes, if I do not remove him from the scene, so to say.” Her stance gained a self-mocking quality.

“You ran to hide and protect him.” He guessed.

“I had no other choice.” Her lips pressed with apprehension.

“Your husband is a choice, bluidy hell!” He sprang from the chair. “It is my place to protect both of you.”

“And cause a clan war in the process.” She opined.

“I do not bluidy care!” He barked. “Did you not consider I should learn of this as soon as it started?”

“I did, but I was afraid of the consequences.” The confession brought little relief. “Hiding Ewan until he came of age to claim his place seemed a more peaceful choice.”

What would he do if he heard his life, his siblings, his father were also at risk she wondered? Gather the McKendricks, the McDougals and the favourable McPhersons in a bloodshed? The probability made her bones shiver.

“Who cares about peaceful when they have a weapon hanging over my heir?” He asked hotly.

“That was what I thought.” The clans often stirred because men perceived it as their duty to impose respect in a belligerent way. “If the clans choose confrontation, everyone’s life will be in the line.”

“And you suggest we cower?” He threw, swivelling to her abruptly.

“I suggest we choose peace.” Standing up, she turned full on him.

“A peace in which you live in fear and on the run.” He scoffed at the idea.

“A peace in which everyone is safe.” She rebutted. “And therefore, I want to go to Ireland, England or even Canada and wait until Ewan is strong enough to stand on his own.”

Rage lathered all of him as he advanced on Freya. “Never!” He stanched inches from her. “Your place is with me!”

She would follow him to the confines of Earth if her wishes were possible. “My place is to shield Ewan.”

“I will do that my way.” He insisted.

“And put his life at risk every single day?” The challenge must have given him pause as he directed a silent stare at her. The McKendrick would be obliged to assign guards to the boy at every hour of the day and everywhere; with the added worry that there would be no guarantee he would survive.

“Damn it all to hell!” The exclamation was his way to yield her the point.

Freya sighed heavily when she sat down again. Drostan strode to the window, rubbing his nape taut with tension. The stalemate did nothing to relieve the edgy atmosphere.

In need of something to do, she pivoted to the fireplace and made him a plate with the food she cooked for dinner. The gross earthenware clanked on the table. “You had better eat something. It has been a long trip.”

His chestnut head turned to her. Their glares clashed and held for several seconds before he nodded at last and sat by the table.

 

During these years, Drostan contemplated every reason for her running. That she did not want to stay with him; that she did not feel comfortable living with his family; that she even found someone else—devil forbid. Never, ever, would he have considered this.

His wife was not only a warrior-queen, she showed braveness beyond that. To think she struggled all these years to hide and protect their son filled him with overflowing admiration. She left everything behind heedless of the consequences to her, so focused on her aim.

“When did Ross start threatening you?” He asked though he predicted the answer.

“A few weeks before I left.” Her hand tossed her auburn tress back. “He and his brother James told me to leave so as not to produce an heir.” Her hazel gaze locked on his. “Only I did not know I already carried him.”

“And you discovered—” He prompted.

“A month later.” The beginning of a smile came to her full lips as if the memory warmed her.

He finished his food and put the plate away. “And how did you manage to deliver him?”

“As soon as I realised it coming, I walked to a midwife in the McDougal.”

“McDougal?” His stubble cut-glass jaw crumpled.

“If it was a boy, nobody in the McKendricks or the McPherson should hear of it. Here, no one knew who I was.” Her hands joined on the table, her countenance guarded. He could only imagine the hardships she had gone through.

“You are a brave woman, Lady McKendrick.” He offered.

Auburn head bent shyly. “On the contrary, I was afraid of everything.”

“Of course you were, given the circumstances. But you stood up to it.” His voice lowered an octave.

“I had no choice.” Was all she said.

He believed her. Had she stayed in the McKendrick, her kin would have found a way to harm his son, even if she shared her predicament with him. With his clan. The consequences would have been nefarious, she had the right of it. A possible clan war, which would attract English attention and the ensuing loss of his lands and title. His father would pass down the title of Earl the English crown conferred them after Culloden. But a title was nothing compared to the lands and traditions which would be lost. His wife alone held it all together as if upholding a whole wall on her own. It must be his duty to continue her work now.

“I am retiring.” She informed. “Ewan is an early bird.” And left him there with his musings.

Drostan stepped out to care for Threuna.