Page 10 of The Madam’s Highlander

Captain Ewan Fraser's mother was dead.

Freya turned her back on his ruined life and staggered away blindly, her vision blurred with tears for people she'd never met, who’d had dreams and hopes and families and love. A deep place in her heart splintered open for so much loss, so much death.

Several twigs snapped inside the forest before Freya. Her heart jolted in her chest and her entire body went rigid, on alert - ready to fight. The cracking and snapping within the trees increased, like an army of soldiers heading her way.

Freya's breath panted between her lips. Sweat prickled her brow. Her body was cold and hot all at once.

She wouldn't run. She wouldn't turn her back for them to shoot her as she fled.

No, she would fight.

The bushes rustled.

Her heart galloped like a runaway beast, but she stayed in place. She would fight.

Fight.

Fight.

Fight.

A figure emerged from the bushes, a flail of white limbs and white hair flying wildly about a white face. The figure shrieked and ran toward her.

Confusion stunned Freya into place. This was no army. This was a wraith. The eyes were wide and haunted, the mouth gaping, eager to suck the soul from her body, the shriek high enough to puncture her ears.

Realization jarred Freya and the fear holding her still released her just as abruptly. This was not a wraith, it was a frightened old woman clad in a dirty shift.

Freya ran forward and caught the old woman as she pitched forward. She was like a bundle of dry sticks in Freya's arms, all skinny limbs and weighing near nothing.

“Help me.” The woman licked her cracking lips. “Help me.”

“Aye, I'm here,” Freya said. “Ye're safe.”

The woman's thin arms and gaunt face were covered in scratches. Her shift was torn in several places and once-fine lace trailed from the hem in tattered tendrils. Her face crumpled and sobs hiccupped from her throat. No tears though. She had clearly been too long without drink.

How many days had she been in the woods?

“They're all dead,” she moaned. “I should have stayed to help, but they insisted I run. I dinna know they would...I dinna know—”

“Ye're safe now.” Freya pulled her cloak from her own shoulders and ignored the bite of cold as she wrapped the woman in it. “Let's get ye some water and food, aye?” She helped the woman stand and held her skinny ribcage to offer her support.

“Thank ye, child.” The woman held onto Freya with the strength of a kitten. “I need to see my son,” she whispered. “He...he needs to know.”

Hope flickered through Freya. She'd been so stunned, so overwhelmed by the woman's survival, at the state of her, she hadn't even considered...

“Who is yer son?” she asked.

“Ewan Fraser,” said the woman Freya had been seeking. “Captain Ewan Fraser of the 42nd Black Watch Regiment.”

***

Ewan had never been so eager to enter a brothel.

Despite all his discipline and control, his hands trembled and his palms were slick with perspiration.

The note from Freya had said to come see her. Not that everything was well and good or that she was angry for having to venture into the country on his behalf.

She wanted him to see her.