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The time came for his wife and son to find some peace. She had taken this heavy burden on her and he was proud of it. But he deemed himself excluded from her decisions the moment she left their marriage. Understandable, no doubt. She had had no way out. But now they needed to forge ahead and leave this behind.
“English law does not permit us to bear weapons, in any case.” Wallace reminded them. Having grown up in the aftermath of Culloden, he witnessed the transition Scottish culture ran through.
“We must use strategy.” Drostan highlighted.
“He thinks Ewan and Freya are in the ship.” Fingal said.
“Which means we have a card up our sleeves.” Lachlan boasted.
The McKendricks always acted on problems as a team and they decided together on them. That was the reason each one earned to be called Laird.
“Use this to our advantage.” Came Wallace.
“Let us go corner the devil.” Drostan proposed.
“No!” At the entrance of the dining room, dressed in traditional Scottish women’s attire, Freya stood exquisite. A white chemise, black corset over it and a woollen long skirt of the McKendrick plaid. Still pale from the fever, her complexion acquired a ghostly hue. “Please, do not do that.”
Drostan sprang from his chair to help her sit though she seemed completely recovered from the fever.
“We have the chance now while the roads are passable.” Lachlan defended.
“It is too dangerous. He cannot be trusted.” Freya had a strained tone to her
“One more reason for us to go ahead.” Fingal interposed.
“Precisely.” Drostan sat again beside his wife.
“We can approach him pretending to inquire about Freya’s and Ewan’s whereabouts.” Fingal drank his whisky.
“And ‘convince’ him to leave us alone.” Lachlan, the most hot-headed of the brothers, proposed.
“You mean coerce forcefully.” Freya ‘translated’.
“Semantics.” A side smile came to the youngest’s lips.
“Three of you against his thugs on his own territory.” She mocked. “How smart!”
“We are not resorting to violence.” Drostan decreed. “Just show him we are aware of his schemes and make him stop.”
“He cannot do anything to us without incurring in your father’s anger.” Contemplated Wallace.
“As long as my father gets word of it.” She rubbed her temple, tension thrumming over her.
“He will. We will ride through McPherson’s lands.” Lachlan informed.
“Tomorrow.” Established Drostan.
The McPherson’s lands bordered the McKendricks, which meant a short distance. A two-hour ride at most.
Freya looked at her husband as he led the conversation. His attention met hers when silence reigned, but she lowered her lashes concealing her thoughts.
For the rest of the dinner, they settled the details of their ‘visit’.
Drostan kicked his bedchamber’s door shut as he came in later that evening. His wife stood by the window watching the blind night, her slim back to him. She did not react to the sound of him entering.
The fire in the hearth cast her in warm shades, her auburn tress catching fire in the light. “We leave after breakfast.” He said, using it to start a conversation.
