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Logically, Ross had no reason to do anything to her husband if he made sure she was crossing the Atlantic. But who would guarantee her decoy had really foiled the villain? She hoped she did though she could not be certain. She must not question this, or she would go mad.
To avoid going mad, she headed to the nursery and keep company to Ewan. The boy recovered completely and went back to being his sunny self.
“Mama!” He ran to her at her entrance.
Freya hugged him, looking closely to see if his health returned. “Hello, my love.”
“Bess and I are building a castle.” He said cheerfully. That he had gone back to his sunny self spread relief in her.
On the carpet, small wooden bricks were disposed half-way built. “That is exciting.” She commented, and he took her hand to go play with him.
While she stayed with her son, Bess took a break.
Not half an hour passed when he talked to her. “Mama.” He raised his beautiful eyes to his mother as if forgetting all about the castle. “Are we living here forever?”
Her eyes held his unsure of what to answer. “Do you like it here?”
Ewan beamed at her and nodded vigorously. “And I like to be with papa, too.”
His mother caressed his tousled chestnut hair. “Let us hope we can be here for a long time.” It was not possible to promise more than that. She did not even know if her husband would come back today.
The click at the entrance made her look at it expecting Bess. Instead, she nearly turned inside out with her husband standing by it, damp hair, fresh tartan, and a scent of soap invading her nostrils. Her heart came close to exploding with relief and exhilaration. A good thing she sat on the carpet with Ewan, for her knees might not have kept her upstanding.
“Papa!” Ewan skipped to the man, giving her time to at least seem balanced on the surface.
His father hoisted him in his arms and came to where the toys lay scattered. His tall frame lowered to the carpet as he settled Ewan on it before sitting by her
side. All the time, his old-whisky stare remained on her as hers on his, causing a scalding flush to surface on her skin.
He broke the otherwise permanent spell to talk to the boy. “What have you been up to, mo balach?”
“Just finished our castle.” He cheered. “I will live in it forever with you and mama. And nobody will send us away!”
Freya and Drostan exchanged a meaningful glance. Like that, playing and building his make-believe, their son expressed the knowledge that someone stood behind their constant moving. Sorrowful tears needled her eyes as they became shiny, her husband witnessing it closely.
His large callused hand lifted to her cheek, thumb shaping solace on the delicate skin. “You can live wherever you want, with whomever you like, mo balach.” The hoarse tone betrayed his own emotions, his attention never wavering from her.
His answer came like a promise. Like a litany. Like hopeful spring.
Feminine lips wobbled as they forced a faint smile at him when her hand covered his and her face turned to kiss his rough palm. A strong arm pulled his son close, and time stopped while the family lived this moment together.
Bess’s entrance broke the moment, but never the family.
Days later, the McKendrick men and Freya sat at breakfast when Baxter entered with a silver tray holding a letter which he placed on Droatan’s hand.
Strong fingers opened the seal and read through, a grave expression coming to his chiselled features. “Irvine is inviting the clan leaders and their families to The McPherson Sunday next.” He informed the stunned table.
Freya eyed him, mixed emotions playing on her delicate stance. Expectancy, apprehension, puzzlement.
“He has decided, then.” Wallace placed his silverware on the table.
“Let us hope this to be the case.” Fingal said before he served himself with porridge.
“If not, why would he call such a gathering?” Lachlan questioned.
“It is going to be big, by the looks of it.” Drostan commented. “It will provide dozens of witnesses.”
“A good sign I would say.” The older McKendrick added.
