Next morning, Ewan frolicked outside after eating while Drostan and Freya finished their breakfast in the front room.

“Since the rain has stopped I will exercise the horses with Ewan.” He informed her before he drank his coffee. 

He still reeled from the wrenching thoughts from last night. And wrenching release. Releases. Damn it! His taking of his wife bared him to the bones. He hoped the ride would clear his mind because it whirled round and round with the situation they faced.

In the front yard, he taught Ewan about saddling horses. “Let us mount Threuna, Ewan.” He coaxed his boy. “We will pull Loch by the reins.” The wee bairn called the mare so enthusiastically by its nickname that Drostan did not insist on Reul, the one Fingal had given her.

They rode along the track downhill, and would find a place where the trot offered challenge for the horses. He had placed Ewan in front of him on the saddle. His son rode happily talking at the mare.

Two issues became crystal clear to him, he listed, as the crisp air mussed his wavy strands. One was about Ewan. Awareness that not having been with the babe since he grew in his wife’s womb created a gap in his life. The knowledge this happened because an imbecile chieftain had more ambition than common sense enraged Drostan. The loss it caused his wife, his son and him mounted to unbearable these days. Bonding with his heir revealed how much he missed on his upbringing. It led him to wish for many more children to bridge such gap.

But this did not seem so healthy, did it. How many infants would it take to bridge it? Would they fulfil the feat? Each child was different; and he feared what he lost would never be restored. The consequence being he would chase after something elusive. He did not want to fall in this trap and generate unhappiness to his family. Freya had gone through enough as it was. And more would come until they stanched it.

Which brought him to the second issue. They must stand up to the clan squabble as soon as possible. But he would bide his time on this. The risks for Freya and Ewan were serious, and he preferred to meet the devil than put them in danger. Naturally, they could not stay here forever; though he would not complain if they did. With his son and wife around him, he felt more powerful than ever before; as if he sowed and harvested for the future. Their future. By his wife’s side again was…well…was satisfying. Overflowingly satisfying. In many ways, especially that one. Fulfilling, to tell the truth. He did not wish to give up on that. On her. On them. On the three of them. Ever. These had been the happiest days in years. He would not give it all up so easily. He would fight for her. For his family.

The horses found an open field for free rein, and they rode for one hour before returning. Close to the cottage, Drostan saw two horses tethered in front of it. With the worst in mind, he dismounted, tied the horses, and told Ewan to go to the shed. He barged through the entrance ready for a fight.

Merely to come upon Aileen and The McDougal sitting at the table calmly drinking whatever they had in their cups. He exhaled relieved.

Taran McDougal stood up and neared him. Both Lairds, as tall as warriors, shook hands. “McKendrick.” The other man greeted. They met last shortly after Samhain when Taran fisted a McKendrick kin in a fit of jealousy. Which obliged the McKendrick brothers to come and either fix the rift or fix their kin’s nose. They ended up reaching an agreement with their giant brother-in-law.

“McDougal.” Drostan answered in kind. As two powerful Lairds allied by marriage, they represented more than half of the Highland’s power.

“I brought a bottle of the best whisky in the Highlands.” Taran taunted.

“To the north of the Highlands, you mean.” Drostan devolved, implying his was the best to the south. This had become their opening jest since they met; and their clans stopped being enemies to become allies.

“Is there any good whisky to the south?” Taran provoked.

“Yes, the best in the Highlands, of course.” Aileen’s brother boasted.

Both men breathed a smug, but brotherly smirk, a signal of their growing friendship.

“I will fill you a cup, Drostan.” Taran offered.

Before sitting, he went to the shed to bring Ewan. “Here are your uncle and aunt.”

The boy greeted both and ran outside to play.

Drostan sat by Aileen who kissed him on the cheek. “Hello, bràthair, brother.”

“Piuthar, sister.”

“We have just arrived.” Aileen declared. “We came to check on Freya and Ewan.”

“I rode out as soon as I received your letter.” Her brother added, trying not to remember the horrible hangover he had that morning.

“I hoped you would.” Aileen followed clan traditions as much as her husband and always wore a spencer of her husband’s red, black and white plaid.

Drostan spoke, then. “Freya has explained me the situation.” The McKendrick couple exchanged a look.

“And?” Taran demanded, his ebony hair shining bluish in the fire in the hearth.

“A McPherson chieftain has been harassing her over the clan’s succession.” Drostan summarised and gave further details.

“This bluidy Ross must be the worst chieftain in all Scotland!” Taran exploded after Drostan’s revelations.

“Do you know him?” Drostan directed a surprised glare to his brother-in-law.

“Heard of.” He drank from his cup. “Hard not to when you have a half-McPherson son.” Which was precisely Drostan’s case. “He has been up to no good for a long time.”

Aileen’s pleated forehead showed her dislike. “This is outrageous!”

Since Fiona’s father had an heir in his brother, Freya’s father, there had been no succession issue concerning Sam, Taran’s son.

“I never expected Ross would go so far.” This was Taran’s way of apologising for his suspicions when he met Freya.

“What are you going to do?” His sister asked the other woman.

“I have no idea. But I cannot stay here forever.” Freya answered, her apprehension showing on her delicate features.

“We should go back to the McKendrick.” Drostan said. “It is not possible for me to be absent for long. Winter is on our heels.”

“I do not think Freya and Ewan will be safe in it.” Taran opined.

“No!” Nobody missed Freya’s worried tone. “They will find us, for sure.”

“She is right.” Aileen agreed.

“What do you suggest?” Drostan’s challenging question set the room in silence for long minutes.

The women sipped tea. The men drank the whisky. Everyone reflected on the question.

“Why not hide them in plain sight?” Aileen spoke at last.

“How so?” Freya questioned.

“Did this Ross find you in the cottage by the loch?”

“Yes.” Freya gave all the signs it was an ugly memory.

“So he is not prone to look for you there again.” Aileen reasoned.

“You are suggesting they go back to it?” Taran had a glint of admiration in his green eyes when he turned to his wife.

“For the winter, at least.” Aileen completed.

“It is not a bad idea.” Drostan added and sought his wife’s gaze.

“I do not know.” She mused.

“It is only two miles from the manor.” Drostan pondered. “Which means I can be around.”

“Watch out, McKendrick.” Taran interposed. “They might follow you.”

“There is that, too.” Aileen said.

Drostan raked his chestnut waves, causing them to shine in the firelight. He must keep a distance from his wife and son if they decided on this plan. Their safety lay above everything.

The three of them stared enquiringly at Freya, her doubts spelt over her pleated brows and twisted hands. “It makes sense that Ross will not look for me there.” His wife started. “With the added advantage that few people travel in the snow for no important reason.”

“Exactly.” Taran said. “Though you can stay here as long as you want.”

A slight smile came to Freya’s full lips. “Thank you.”

“We should leave tomorrow, I suppose.” Concluded Drostan none too comfortable with the idea of staying away from his family.

As they finished sipping their tea and whisky, Ewan skipped inside. “Uncle Taran, we hunted a huuge hare yesterday.” His little arms stretched to show the size.

“Indeed, young man, my lands are good for hunting.” The McDougal jested. “Did you cook it?”

“Yes, papa taught me how to do it.” He sat by Aileen, rummaging his pockets, from which he took a deep red hydrangea—probably the last of the season. “This is for you, Aunt Aileen.”

The mahogany haired lass inhaled the flower and smiled at the boy. “Thank you so much, my dear.” And kissed him on the cheek.

Freya held a mellow gaze on the wee one while Drostan revelled in his wife’s softness.

The five of them ate luncheon together, and when finished, the McDougal couple took their leave.

“Send word if you need anything.” Offered Taran, mounting his horse.

“I will.” Drostan said.

 

That night, Drostan and Freya lay entangled on the straw mattress while their bodies went back to a restful state. Her husband took her with such excruciating tenderness it dazed her.

They spent the afternoon packing and tidying the cottage as their family would ride out before dawn next day.

She would miss these few days with him and Ewan in cosy proximity. It had been a long time she did not feel so safe and…yes…warm. Darn, how she had missed him. The dimension of it clear after this time here. And now they would have to go separate ways again. She did not want to be bitter about it. Rather, she wished for gratefulness he came to her. And that they got these few days at least.

But she and Ewan would go back to being on their own with the grimness and strain it entailed. Which saddened her. They could do it no doubt. With an experience of four years, it would be no problem. Four unhappy years, you mean. She would use these weeks to think through a solution to this predicament. The bright side was that they would be near the McKendrick and in a relatively safe place. That would have to suffice for the time being.

“I will assign a footman to stay with you in the cottage.” Drostan started. “He will help you with the heavy chores and protect you.”

“Ewan and I did fine on our own.” The presence of servants had become an alien thing since she left the manor. It would be awkward to say the least.

“You did a good job of it.” He admitted. “But understanding the circumstances, I will take the required action.” His muscled arms tightened possessively around her.

It was relieving to have her husband’s support though Lairds would be Lairds. “I had forgotten how overbearing you can be.”

“Overbearing, woman?” His large hand splayed over her navel. “Is it so when I want safety for my family?”

She kissed his bunched shoulder. “You might have asked me at least.”

“I promise to ask you in the future.” His manly nose merged in her dishevelled hair.

Her eyes lifted to him. “In what, for example?”

“Hm, let me see.” His torso came over her. “Do you want me to kiss your lips or your neck?”

A laugh breathed out of her. “My neck.” She decided. And he grazed his stubble along it, eliciting a moan from her.

“Should I caress your right or left breast?” His drawl already a caress.

“Both.” Se dared.

“Wise choice.” A hand rested on her breast while his sensuous mouth sought the other.

By then her body temperature had risen considerably.

His old whisky eyes raised to her, fiery in the candlelight. “See? I can be very accommodating.”

“When convenient, you mean.” Her fingers dived in his smooth wavy strands.

He nibbled her lower full lip while his hands and hips were doing funny things to her. “Not only then.” His mouth suckled on her upper lip. “Here is one more accommodating choice.” He kissed her fully before continuing. “Which position do you prefer?”

As she turned her back to him to cradle his manhood suggestively, he groaned.

“Hell, wife, you will finish me up!” He ‘accommodated’ himself in her, nonetheless, and his fingers found her centre.

Strangely, they stopped talking at that point.

 

“Come, Ewan, let us go up the horse.” Freya told the boy next morning.

The first grey lights rose in the east promising a cold day with no sun. Despite the dampness in the air, there was no sign of rain yet. 

“Where are we going, mama?” Dressed in his warmest clothes, he sounded eager for his new adventure.

“Back to the cottage by the loch, mo balach.” Drostan intervened, as he loaded saddlebags on Threuna.

“I like it there, papa.” He said as he played with Reul’s mane.

“You and your mother will stay in it for a while.” After checking if the bags were tied firmly on the horse, he helped Freya up.

“And you?” His identical eyes turned to his father disappointed.

“I will go to the manor.” With decisive movements, he mounted Threuna. “We will all be reunited as soon as we can.”

“Will Loch live with us?” Little fingers stroked the horse’s neck.

“Yes. But you have to promise me you will take good care of her.”

“I will, papa.” Naturally, the footman would help him with that.

They rode down the track, leaving this lovely place behind. The rain of the previous days rendered it slippery, so they should be extra careful. Freya expected the trip offered no surprises. If they rode steadily, they might arrive in good time.

Two hours with the swaying defeated Ewan who fell asleep in his mother’s arms.

“Is he too heavy?” Drostan turned to his wife. “I can pull him to my horse.”

With a half-smile to him, she answered. “Thanks, but he is not too heavy. Not yet.”

He nodded and changed subjects. “I am assuming the attack we suffered on the road came from Ross too.” His stance had become serious.

“Yes, Ross told me he had a finger in it.” She owned.

“When did you plan on telling me about it?” His scowl left no doubt about his anger.

“I did not.” Their stares clashed.

“You would take this on you alone.” The accusation rang true.

“I was going to try.” She did if her running from Ross was any indication.

“Why?” Masculine fists pressed the reins. “Why did you not tell me anything before you left our marriage?” His old-whisky eyes hardened in the lead light. “Why did you not come clean when I found you?”

These were the questions she did not want to answer. A Laird threatened of death had all the right to attack the clan threatening him. Keeping him in the dark did not help his own safety, she was aware of it. At this, she did not balk at what to say, what to do. There was a possibility they went through winter and dealt with this only in spring. By then, a line of action might have occurred to her.

“You know why. I wanted to avoid a clan war.” She gave simply.

His irises darted fury at her. “Do you think I would be so irresponsible as to launch my clan into war without trying to find a reasonable solution to this?”

“What I know is that Ross would.” She devolved with certainty.

“Ross does not decide if the McPhersons go to war or not.”

“True.” She agreed. “But he does not play clean.”

“No power-hungry man does.” Right he was, naturally.

His life remained still in danger. That was all she had in her mind. Should Ross or James sniff them they would not hesitate to use everything available to reach their goal. Too many things were at stake here and she did not have the luxury of making a mistake and risking everything.

“No.” She uttered.

“You must promise me you will not hide anymore of this from me.” He demanded.

“You are not the only thinking head in our family.” Her nostrils inhaled deep air for patience. “The decisions concern us both.”

He twisted an obstinate glare at her. “Promise me, Freya!”

Ewan on her arms, she gave the glare back. “I cannot promise something I am not sure I will fulfil.”

“Bluidy hell!” He growled, raking his chestnut hair vexed.

To be frank, she could not promise something she already did not do.

“But you will inform me if you are with child again.” He said after a moment.

Her heart somersaulted with the idea. A joyous idea. It had taken a year for her to conceive Ewan. There should be little reason it would not be so a second time. “Yes, I will.” She compromised, understanding she would not be able to cope with two children if this dire state of things continued. She would need his support.

“if I miss out on my children ever again, I swear I will eradicate that bluidy Ross from the face of the planet.”

Freya looked directly at him then, figuring out he felt robbed of Ewan’s first years. “I did not do it on purpose, I hope you believe it.”

“Of course I do.” Rage dripped from it. “But it makes nothing easier.” He faced ahead, giving her a grim profile.

 “I reckon it does not.” And his pain made her want to cry a river of regret. She wished she had spared him this. It gave her the impetus to drive a knife into her kin herself.

She never stopped to consider how her husband would react to the fact they made a son. Clearly, he would not be happy to ignore he had an heir. Beyond this, she possessed no clues for how he would feel. Now she did. The whole affair looked much worse under this light.

The weather held as they made good time. Their cottage by the loch not so far as the manor, which meant they reached it by sunset.

Drostan took Ewan to his chamber and put him to bed. Their boy fell asleep a few miles back as he chatted and alternated horses most of the way.

Freya stood at the threshold watching her husband preparing to leave. There was no way she could take her eyes from him. A few days were too little after years of distance. And they would not see each other so soon.

Sensing her attention on him, he lifted his to her. They held it for long minutes, several undercurrents running between them. At last, he strode to her and banded her by the waist. Without a word, his sensuous mouth dived onto hers, and they locked in a long deep kiss that almost transformed her in a puddle at his feet.

He came up for air and their gazes merged anew. His lowered to her swollen lips. “Send word if you need anything.” He rumbled, lips touching hers, unwilling to go.

“Yes.” She had time to breath before he took her mouth in another deep kiss.

Finally, he gathered strength enough to mount his horse and ride with the remaining light.