Page 28 of The Madam’s Highlander

“It's becoming infected.” She turned away and rummaged through the small velvet travel bag she'd brought in their carriage.

A memory flickered through his mind. Hadn't she put his pistol in that very bag?

“Fortunately I have some poultices for that too.” She set several stacks of herbs bound in linen beside his bed.

“Ye were there too,” he said quietly.

He was going back to the story about their attack by the English, and by the dulling of her eyes, she understood exactly what he meant.

“Aye,” she said after a long while. “There were only two of them. One was able to restrain me while the other took Marian.” Her stare settled distantly across the room.

“Were ye - did they—” Ewan cut off his own question, belatedly realizing the awfulness of even saying it aloud.

“Nay, I wasna raped.” She scoffed. “No' that they dinna try, the bastards. But in the end, they agreed I wasna worth the fight since there were only two of them.”

Ewan was surprised the men even managed to walk away with their lives. Anger burned through him to imagine how brutal they must have been to have even restrained her at all.

Freya turned away again and dredged the poultice through the ewer. The excess water tinkled into the basin and she brought it back to him in a limp, damp bundle.

“We thought it was over, and then Marian became pregnant.” Freya leaned over Ewan and pressed the ice-cold compress to his side.

He flinched instinctively from the chill of it on his fevered skin, but then forced himself to remain in place while she began to wrap his waist once more.

“I brought her some pennyroyal tea,” Freya said, winding the linen. The chill of the compress started to warm with his skin and become more comfortable. “But Marian wouldna drink it. She swore the child deserved to be loved, even one begat in such a way.”

She stopped speaking and pursed her lips. She didn't gaze at him anymore, but stopped and looked at the loose end of linen in her hand. Ewan gently took it from her hand and tucked it into the stiff binding. Then he reached up and drew her hand in his.

“Every time I see her belly, I hear her screams.” Freya closed her eyes as if she meant to blot out the scene. “I see the way he dragged her outside by her hair, like she wasn't even real, but a doll casually tossed by a spoiled bairn. I hear the rending of fabric and the screaming, the screaming, the screaming - so full of fear and hurt. And all I could do was stand there, held in place by a second man while my heart splintered apart. It made me wish I hadn't fought so hard. Maybe they might have been sated with me and wouldna have needed to take her instead.”

Her eyes opened, bright with welling tears. “Finally there was silence, Marian's resignation to a fate she realized she could not fight - it drew on forever until he was done. When they left, it was me who went to her.” She shuddered and gripped his hand harder. “I covered her with a blanket and somehow I managed to carry her inside. She’s always been such a wee thing, my sister.”

A tear fell from her eye and spattered on the back of his hand where he clutched her icy fingers. He swept it away with the pad of his thumb. If only such hurt could be so easily brushed aside. He wished he were upright and could pull her into his arms, to ease the force of her pain.

“The child in her stomach is a source of hate.” Freya bit off the last word. “A reminder of horror. And yet my dear sister, who was too young, too pure, too kind to ever endure something so awful, bears her burden with love and forgiveness. I wish I could be as good.”

Ewan pulled Freya to him. “Lay beside me.” She blinked away her tears and stared at him as if he were mad.

He tugged on her hand once more. “Come, lay beside me on my good side.” When she still didn't move, he added, “If ye were really my wife, I'd order ye to do it.”

Her eyes flashed with the spirit he'd expected when he goaded her.

“If I were yer wife and ye thought ye could order me to do anything, I'd cuff ye.” Even as she spoke, she came around the bed and crawled onto the mattress.

She lay awkwardly next to him, but he drew an arm around her and pulled her closer, her body a warm and comfortable weight beside him on the soft mattress. A familiar, contented silence settled between them, as if they were truly a married couple.

“Ye dinna hate the babe like ye think ye do.” Ewan looked down at her and spoke slowly, searching for the right, careful words. “Ye hate the memory, and ye hate the reminder of that memory. Ye think ye let Marian down because ye couldna stop them.”

She sucked in a hard breath and drew her gaze from his. He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted her face upward. His heart clenched. Her eyes were red with tears once more.

He gazed at her in the short inches between them. “It's no' yer fault, Freya. I know ye would have stopped them if it was in yer power to do so. Marian knows that, and ye need to as well.”

She searched his eyes, as if seeking out the truth in his words. Her thick lashes were spiked with the remnants of her tears.

“The babe will be born out of the love in Marian's heart,” he went on. “And when the bairn is here, it willna be the attack ye'll see in the babe, but Marian's goodness.”

A tear ran from the corner of her eye and blotted into the pillow beneath her. Ewan swept his thumb over the line of moisture, and then despite the twinge in his side, he leaned over her and brushed his mouth to the silky warmth of her lips. It was a quick, chaste kiss. But it wasn’t enough.

Before he realized what he was doing, he opened his mouth over that full bottom lip of hers and gently sucked. Freya’s intake of breath whispered between their mouths, and suddenly she was kissing him back.