Page 22 of The Madam’s Highlander

Marian set the kettle down and gave her a smile. It was tender despite the fatigue lining her sweet face. Guilt locked its teeth into Freya's heart. Why, of all of them, was it Marian who had to be dragged away by that soldier? Why hadn't Freya been able to break free to stop it?

In her mind now, she saw so many possibilities which would have allowed her to get to Marian’s side. To help. To stop the rape. But then, at the time, she had been so damn powerless. Held in place, forced to bear witness to her greatest failure while Marian paid the price.

Anger flashed heat into Freya’s cheeks.

Why hadn't Marian taken the pennyroyal Freya had brought her to wash the child from her womb?

And why couldn't Freya forgive Marian for wanting to keep the bastard begotten by such hate and violence?

Freya's throat squeezed around the rush of emotion. An uncomfortable warmth prickled at her skin, making her as miserable outside as she felt inside. She should say something to Marian - the good sister, the gentle and kind sister with the purest heart, even after her ordeal.

But Freya could not bring herself to speak around the tightness of her throat.

She leaned forward and caught Marian in a careful embrace, keeping herself from touching that damned belly.

“When was the captain shot?” Ma asked abruptly.

Freya released her sister and stroked a hand down her silky blonde hair. Her sister, not only the good one, but also the beautiful one. And never had Freya begrudged her for it. Who could?

“He was shot when we were leaving Moll—when we were leaving my shop in Edinburgh.” Freya tried to cover her words, but it was too late. Her mother scowled at the slip.

“Inside?” Ma asked in a sharp tone.

“Outside, near the entrance.” Freya's stomach slid lower. She knew where this questioning was going - to a place she hadn't allowed herself to think of yet, to a conclusion she did not want to reach.

“Were ye seen?” Ma asked.

It played out in Freya's head as it had so many times through the long journey home. Only this time, she was forced to allow herself to remember all of it. Clemmons' rough voice, the pull of surprise, the way she'd... She winced at the memory. The way she'd turned and looked straight at him. And then the gun went off.

Freya sighed.

Ma nodded slowly. “And so ye canna go back.”

Freya tried to swallow away the sick swirl roiling in her stomach. “Nay, I canna go back. No’ until all this is somehow resolved.”

“Everything ye worked for at yer shop - gone for a note of goodwill.” Ma's lips pursed.

Freya's exhaustion coupled with the brutality of her mother’s stark questioning left everything in her wilting. She knew exactly what her mother was thinking. She'd already thought such things to herself. More, even.

To Freya, Molly's was not just a means to obtain coin to keep her mother and sister well and the servants paid. It was a ray of sunshine in a world gone dark with storms. She'd turned the business into a place women could be rescued from the fate of being a sixpenny whore on the streets, where they had the opportunity to be educated into something more – or at least be somewhere safe.

Molly's was a place where she knew every penny, every customer, and every woman who worked on her back, tended the bar, or cleaned the floorboards. The establishment moved and operated by her hand, her will. Molly's was a success.

And now she was back in Callander, a place where every act seemed to be met with bitter failure.

“Ye can stay here at home. With us.” Marian beamed a delighted smile at Freya and caught her hands in her delicate slender fingers. “Ye dinna have to go away again. Ye'll be here for when my baby is born and ye can love him the way I do.”

Freya forced herself to keep her gaze lifted from Marian's massive stomach. Love. The word coiled in her already-churning gut. “Aye.” It was all she could force herself to say. “I need to sleep.”

“With yer husband?” Ma took a sip of her coffee with feigned nonchalance.

Freya stilled. “Ye know he isna my husband. I think it's best for Lily's sake and that of the redcoat we pretend he is.”

“But ye canna sleep together,” Marian gasped.

“Because I might tarnish my reputation?” Freya couldn't help but smirk.

Marian's face colored red and Freya immediately regretted the remark. Her family was not part of the coarse existence Freya had lived in the past two years. “Thank ye for thinking to look out for me.” Freya took her sister's hand and gently squeezed.