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At the quip, Mrs Wilson’s eyes widened. “Are ye running from someone?” She shot close-range.
“As a matter of fact, I am. But I should say no more.” Her eyes did not bulge from the woman’s.
“All I have to do is travel with yer horse and footman.” She confirmed.
“And with my clothes.” Freya completed. She would give her Ewan’s coat which would hide her daughter’s dress.
“Ye running from the law or something?” Her gaze narrowed again.
“No. You can be certain of that.” She assured the younger woman. “I just need it to look like I am going to board a ship.”
Mrs Wilson lowered her eyes to her hands on the table and remained thus for so long Freya started to lose hope.
“Alright.” She finally agreed. And they settled the details for next morning.
“You must promise me to buy a first-class passage.” Freya required. “The cabins are more aired, and the food is healthier.” Those would give the other woman and Sandy more chances of surviving the crossing disease-free. Valuable advantages for those who spent weeks at sea.
“Aye.” She promised.
“Thank you for your help, Mrs Wilson.”
Heart lighter, Freya reached her chamber and instructed John on her plan. He carried on to exchange clothes with Mrs Wilson, so Freya would dress as the humble woman Mrs Wilson was.
That morning, after a restless night, Freya stood at her window observing the movement in the front yard of the inn.
The mail coach departed minus Mrs Wilson and Sandy. Mere minutes passed before she sighted John with Loch. The mare carried the younger woman in one of Freya’s dresses and cloaks, with the young girl wrapped in one of Ewan’s coats. A movement in the copse of trees beyond indicated Ross’s accomplice following them. It appeared her plan had a good start.
Most of the money she carried, she gave to John for the ride and the passage. Ewan and she would need much less to go back.
“Ewan, my love.” She awoke her son. “What say you we go back?”
Sleepy old-whisky eyes opened and he smiled quietly. “Back, mama?” He yawned. “Forever?”
“We will see, my love.”
The coaching inn had only a donkey to hire which left her no choice but travel with it. It would be safer to use the back roads though the distance would increase. But Freya was taking no chances. Their belongings and Ewan rode the animal while she walked beside it, holding the reins.
That was when the snow started to fall in slow, silent flakes. She wrapped Ewan in spare blankets as she tightened Mrs Wilson’s cloak about herself. The garment was not of superior quality, but it seemed new. She wore extra stockings for warmth though she shod her own new boots.
The chat with her son did not go too lively even if she tried to distract him with stories and songs. The snow did not help, and cold wind made the trip uncomfortable. Many times, she checked with Ewan to ask if it was alright to continue, getting positive answers from him. Daylight lasted less because of the grey overcast sky. It forced her to look for an inn earlier to overnight, having no chance of reaching anywhere in one day through longer roads. At least, warm food and bed would be forthcoming.
As she rested her head on a hard pillow and an uncomfortable bed, she counted herself thankful for an eventless day despite the snow. Her plan seemed to have produced the desired results. She only hoped John, Mrs Wilson and Sandy reached Aberdeen today without being discovered.
Next morning, she awoke a tad under the weather, but she put it down to the weary trip. Ewan was quieter than usual as he had been since they left the cottage by the loch. Therefore, not noteworthy. If they got lucky, they might reach the McKendrick manor today.
By midmorning, she got worse than ‘a tad’ under the weather. Her body ached with twisting agony, her head seemed to weigh triple as much, and her feet were colder than they should be. Ewan sat on the donkey, head fallen on his chest. She stopped to wrap him with one more blanket, only to realise he burned with fever.
Despair nearly robbed her of her wits. It would not be wise to stop now. They were possibly a half day from the manor where her son would be cared for. She did not mind herself much if he could get what he needed for his comfort. Trying to overcome her own indisposition, she pulled the donkey to a faster pace.
Not long passed as her eyes darkened and she nearly fell on the icy, muddy road. With uneven breath, she lifted her cheeks and let snow fall on her skin on a last resort to keep awake. The fever skidded to trice as bad as this morning with the addition of a sore throat. Ewan’s flushed cheeks showed he was no better. She must not give up now. A few more miles and they would sight the manor, she tried to push herself. Her feet practically dragged through the snow as she strained to keep a fast stride. The desert road made it impossible to ask for help. And she did not believe she would, given the chance. It would be dangerous.
Head bent forward, sweat trickling down her skin, she forged ahead. Her body battered as if a hundred horses had pounded on her. Shuffling feet tripped on passing stones causing her to fall helpless on the mud. Everything in her screamed to stay on it and sleep, rest, give in. With a herculean effort, she pushed herself up and forced her legs to move forward. She refused to leave her son without care. Now, her high temperature made her hot to the point of wanting to throw her cloak away, but she knew it to be foolish.
In the last of her strength, her hands propped on her knees as she looked up. The manor lay barely yards ahead. Yards which seemed a hundred miles to cover. Still, she persisted.
“My laird.” Baxter rasped on his study door.
He sa
