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out about her son even before Drostan did? She needed an effective plan. And convince her husband of it on the side. Therein lay the point. Her stubborn Laird would not comply easily with any plan if his response to it yesterday was anything to go by. The man wanted to control her every movement. This would generate disagreement between them.
But it would be necessary to wait. Winter would set foot here in no time. Travel would become difficult, if not impossible, depending on the quantity of snow. With a child, it would be out of question. She thought it superfluous to risk Ewan’s health if she could help it. Thus, the waiting game would start with the snow. She had gone through four long winters with the danger they evoked and pulled through. With extreme care and common sense, that is.
She preferred not to remember the strain of the past winters. The uncertainty of having enough to feed Ewan; inevitable trips to the village, carrying the little bundle, afraid of him getting cold. Those diseases which lurked children in this season. Or even mal-nourished adults. The difficulty of finding a healer in that far-away place in case she needed one. It had not been easy in the least, but they got lucky enough to survive. And survive they did.
Freya did the laundry as best as she could and hung the clothes by the fireplace to dry. Since Ewan was out with his father, she gained a leisure time to prepare a bath and enjoy it properly. At ease on an armchair, she busied herself with the mending.
Mid-afternoon, Ewan burst through the entrance holding a hare by the ears. “Mama, look what I hunted!” He exclaimed enthusiastic, flushed with the trip outdoors.
“That is smart of you.” She replied proud. Unfortunate she never learned how to hunt as it had always been a man’s activity. It would have fed them better, she guessed.
Behind the boy, came Drostan wrapped in the tartan that made him so compelling. Their stares crossed and a bolt of heat assailed her. Darn it all! Would she never stop wanting the man? One would think that an entire night with a husband should be enough. At least for a while.
“Actually, papa helped me a lot.” Admitted the beaming boy.
She feared her son would grow up without his father. Seeing them bonding so fast clogged her throat with unshed tears. For a moment, she could merely nod.
An admirable fact that Drostan showed so much affinity with children. It surprised her as much as it melted her insides. But he was the eldest of four siblings. He must have gotten familiar with small ones as he grew up with much younger brothers and a sister.
“Come, mo balach, we need to skin and gut the hare before we roast it for dinner.” His deep voice soaked in patience and care.
“Yes, papa.” And the wee one loped out again.
“Did you have a fine morning?” He asked.
With a faint grin, she answered. “There was no lack of chores. You?”
“Busy.” His sensuous lips lifted on one side playfully.
“I can imagine.” She smiled back. An active child running free in the woods offered no carefree moment, she knew it for a fact.
With a last look at her, he followed their son.
“You should turn the hare from time to time so it roasts evenly.” Drostan oriented Ewan as both crouched before the hearth, the game stretched on a skewer near the fire.
Outside, the grey weather waned into evening as the wind shook the bonny twigs of the trees. Inside, the warmth from the fireplace tinted the front room in warm colours.
“Like this?” The boy tried.
“That is right.” He praised.
While father and son cooked dinner, Freya prepared bannocks to go with the dish, listening to their chat. Drostan displayed a natural fatherly instinct, never criticising the boy, but showing the right way of doing things. He also treated the wee one with a careful tenderness that moved her heart. If she did not love him already, she would fall in love with him at this precise moment.
He came to sit by her side on the table where she worked the bannocks. “The hare would need to hang for a few days.” He started, and she glanced at his old-whisky eyes shining with the lit fireplace. “But Ewan would be disappointed if he did not eat what he hunted today.”
Cleaning her hand on her apron, she put a strand of hair behind her ear. “Next time, you can show it to him.” She commented.
He took that strand of hair back and rolled it around his forefinger, observing how it shone in the reddish light. “Yes, I will show you later.” His intent gaze full of promises lit a furnace in her core, and she wondered if she did not put too many logs in the fire.
Sudden lightning and the immediate rain dispelled the raw atmosphere, prompting Drostan to go back to checking the roast.
Before dinner, they washed and changed Ewan who gave signs of weariness. He fell asleep soon after eating and his parents put him to bed.
“Forget the damned nightgown, Freya.” Drostan fairly ordered as he sat calmly on the bed, boots and socks gone before he washed outside. “It will not last, anyway.” He stretched his long muscular legs on the mattress.
In the candlelight, he had been watching his wife undress for the night and it produced quite a heated effect on him. His tartan denounced him rather clearly.
Startled, she pivoted to him in her excruciating nakedness. The one he waited an entirely too long day to witness again. While he circuited the woods with his son, images of them the previous night had insisted in trickling in his head nearly driving him crazy with want.
