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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.
