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“We will say nothing, lass.” Ross walked to her. She kept her ground. “I said you had to leave the last time. Yet here you are.”
There were several things she might answer to that, but silence seemed the best one. The less they knew, the better.
“How about we take you instead?” James threatened. Willowy and with coarser features, his stony blue eyes conveyed nothing human.
A cold rush of adrenalin ran through her. If they abducted her and Ewan, there was no predicting what they would do. To her. To him. To Drostan.
“Alright.” A compromise should be in order. “I will leave this time. For good.” Her glare took both dully. “To Nova Scotia in Canada. Will this do?”
Freya would compromise anything to protect her family. Even condemn herself to exile. It would always be better to survive than lose the chances she got.
The brothers exchanged a glance and turned back to her. “How can we be sure you are not buying time?” Ross taunted.
She looked directly at him. “I am not.” Her spine stiffened straighter with the tension. “This has become really tiresome.”
“I cannot disagree.” Ross answered.
The chances of her
and Ewan surviving the crossing and in the new country were slim at best. Since the Clearances began, about thirty years ago, thousands of tenants deprived of their lands had emigrated. The ones who made it to the other side sent letters and accounts of the hardships they faced. A fourth of them perished. She had no illusions on this. But she had no choice either.
“Give me a few days to pack and we will ride off.” At least she would buy time to send word to Drostan.
“A few days?” James countered with a cruel scowl. “We gave you four years.”
“Start packing. We will wait here.” Ordered Ross.
Her brows pleated. “You want me to cross to another continent with a child without time for planning?”
“Do not waste your time.” James was not so cunning as Ross, relying more on brute force. “We will kick you out of here before the day is done.”
Nothing else to do other than go inside and pack as well as she could.
“John, please, saddle Loch.” She asked, rushing to her chamber.
“My lady, the Laird will not be happy about this.” He stood from where he played with Ewan.
Happy? Her husband would vent his fury in the worst possible way, no doubt.
“Let me sneak out and go to him.” The footman insisted.
“No.” She devolved too quick. And said more sedately. “We must go. Now. Thank you for the offer, anyway.”
The Laird’s life would be worth nothing if he showed up here before she and her kin decamped. Ross and James would spare no one if they felt threatened. Or if they sensed someone might thwart their goal. Drostan, in his stubbornness, would compromise nothing, especially his heir. He would risk his precious life for him. And, most probably, get himself killed in the process. The mere notion made her almost freeze inside. Anything seemed better than this prospect.
Eyes low, he nodded. “I will saddle the horse.”
She packed the warmest clothes for Ewan and herself, remembering to tie the coin pouches under her skirts. Money would be an essential asset in these circumstances.
Of course her kin would have a lackey to follow her to the Port of Aberdeen. In the shadows. They were not stupid after all.
She would not give up so easily though. During the journey, she would think about a strategy to overcome Ross. For the time being, she needed to keep Ewan and his father safe.
By the crates of books, she took one with a yellow cover and one with a black one and placed them neatly on the table as a signal.
When they were ready, or as ready as they would ever be, she sat by Ewan.
“My love.” The boy had obviously seen the preparations around him. His sad old-whisky eyes lifted to her. “We have to leave to another place.”
