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She did not know how she drew a grin to her son and nodded, the whole episode still weighing down on her.
“Better you do not misbehave or she will morph into a brave Morair Chat, a Highland Tigress.”
“Your father is exaggerating.” She murmured almost shy with the praise while she straightened.
Drostan positioned the mare on the road and came to her to help her mount. His large hands bracketed her slim waist firmly and lifted her effortless to the side-saddle. The gesture provoked a shiver to run over her. Hazel eyes lowered to old-whisky ones in bottomless undercurrents. Leisurely, his hands slipped from her leaving a trail of eagerness in their wake.
“Come, wee one. You ride with me this time.” He said to Ewan.
Miraculously, Threuna did not stray far, lingering a few feet behind. Properly mounted, they proceeded to the new cottage.
Drostan rode beside his wife his mind whirling with what had just happened. Down on the road, he had watched Freya fight like a berserker. It petrified him. Filled him with fear for her. Filled him with fierce pride for her. When he was about to stand up and join in the fight, she had already scattered the cowards, who ran with their tales between their legs.
He scoffed. One tiny woman against three. Surely, the men did not heed a woman and a child, deeming they would present no threat to them. Stupid mistake. She had lived on her own for four years. It certainly had posed practical challenges which must have strengthened her physical skills. Had not Ewan said she had carried pails of water to the cottage for his bath? Not to mention the mile-long walks to markets and fairs carrying heavy sacs. She had not backed down at these tasks, had she? Here he saw his warrior-queen primed for anything that came her way.
But what stunned him to distraction was that she came readily to his defence. Why would she risk her life—and Ewan’s if she had perished—for a husband she left without a second thought?
She saved his life, bluidy hell!
So many of her actions made so little sense.
That mind-blowing kiss made even less sense. Though she had kissed him senseless, pun intended. The sight of her lying ther
e all fury and resilience shut him down. Her body and his glued as they had not been for an eternity proved too much for his self-control. He had nearly burst out of his skin with her kissing him back. And with such fiery response it blew him away. And kept his body rattling for more.
No wonder both regretfully forgot about Ewan, poor boy. But his son had been safe in the woods and the criminals fled. No harm done. His heir seemed good at climbing trees, he saw. A life lived almost in the wild would do that. Smart boy.
There was something that did not quite ring right in this, he contemplated. His family rode a secondary route in his lands. Road raiders did not attack on these nearly empty country lanes. The men wanted his money, or so they said. But even Drostan could see highwaymen would not be able to make a living on secondary roads. Who were they? Did they aim specifically at him? Or at Ewan? He saw no apparent reason for it though a better explanation he could not find.
He diverted his thoughts to other things before he became paranoid.
CHAPTER FIVE
When they turned the last bend on the road, Freya caught her breath. The loveliest cottage stood encrusted in the woods, on the shore of a loch. Even the bare trees did not diminish the atmosphere of enchantment surrounding the area. In fact, they enhanced it.
As their horses approached the dwelling, the beauty became more stunning. Gauzy mist swirled over the loch’s placid water which mirrored the watery sun and whitish sky. The aroma of earth and fallen leaves accentuated the peacefulness that dominated the place. So much peace tears prickled her eyes with it.
The old stones used to build it matched the landscape, with gracious door and windows. Not being big, it was perfect for both mother and son, Freya realised as she entered. Two bedchambers, a large front room and a horse shed on the outside. Drostan’s servants had arranged everything they brought on its due place and even a fire burned low in the fireplace, adding to the homey aura inside.
“Look, mama, a loch!” Ewan’s excited voice echoed in the silence. The boy ran towards it to explore his new whereabouts.
The expression of wonderment on her face must have shown. “Do you like it?” Came her husband’s low voice behind her.
Eyes flashing on him, she answered. “If I like it? It’s beautiful!”
The satisfied glint on his stance dispensed with any reply.
But then her attention fell on his right shoulder, his shirt soaked in blood. “You are bleeding!” She worried her lower lip.
He did not even glance at it. “It is nothing.” He usually threw his tartan over his left shoulder, which made the contrast of red on white even more shocking on the other side.
“Sit there.” She motioned to the bench by the table. “I will dress it.” On the counter by the window, she found cloths and a pitcher full of fresh water. Her back to him, she poured water on a basin. “Take off your shirt.” She said. He must have done so because she heard clothes swishing.
As she turned, she saw he tragically had. And maybe she should not have asked him to. His tartan lowered and his torso all bare for her eyes to feast on it. The scalding heat that assailed her almost made her drop the basin. Bunched biceps, steel chest sprinkled with chestnut soft hair—soft, for she had caressed it a lifetime ago—flat stomach, tanned skin. He was the dream and perdition of any woman unlucky enough to set eyes on him.
Sucking in rarefied air, she sat by his side, plonking the basin on the wooden table with a clumsy noise. Her focus shifted to dipping the cloth as she forced herself to stare solely at the cut. It had not been deep and would not need stitching. But blood still dripped from it. She cleaned it, but avoided direct contact with warm, taut skin. Her nostrils could not avoid inhaling the manly scent she remembered so vividly though.
She was trying so hard not feel what she felt anyway that she did not notice his head had lowered to her. Hawkish nose an inch from touching her dishevelled hair. Hazel irises lifted to him and their gazes collided, hers unbalanced by the surprise. Without really touching her, his strong jaw followed her temple, down to her cheek, sauntering to her ear, into her auburn fallen mess, and breathed her in.
