Page 38 of The Madam’s Highlander

His pulse quickened and suddenly he couldn't stop remembering how her skin felt beneath his fingertips, how she'd cried out when pleasure claimed them both, how lovingly she'd stared up at him afterward. The hole in his heart began to fill and grow warm.

“We need to go,” she whispered, as if she were in the same spell as he, inside something fragile and wondrous - too easily shattered by the slightest interruption.

He nodded.

“To Edinburgh, where we can keep an eye on our families and they can be away from us and safe,” she said quietly.

He nodded again.

“Together,” she added. Then she cradled his face in her hands, went up on tiptoes, and pressed her generous mouth to his.

It was a soft, simple kiss. While it made him want more, it was fittingly just enough. She eased away from him and cast a regretful look at the glittering array of tools sparkling in the lantern light. “We need to go,” she said again.

Urgency tinged her tone and pulled him from the trance.

“Aye, Edinburgh,” he agreed. “We both know it, and know where to hide our families.”

She held out her hand and he took it - a team. Together. “Exactly,” she said with a determined smile.

Ewan blew out the candle and they left the barn, not stopping through the cutting night wind until they were in the house. Lady Campbell stood near the front door, her slender hands patting anxiously over her hair where several wiry gray curls had escaped the small bonnet atop her head.

“Where have ye been?” she demanded.

Ewan frowned, but Freya spoke, her tone unapologetic. “Working out the details of where we will go.”

“And?” Freya’s mother asked.

“Edinburgh.” Freya pulled out the gold pocket watch and clicked it open. “We can be ready to leave soon.”

She glanced at the face of the old watch, where Ewan knew time ran an hour ahead of life.

A lot could happen in an hour.

“To Edinburgh?” Lady Campbell shook her head and sent the gray and white curls waggling around her sharp cheekbones. “Nay. I willna go to Edinburgh. I willna go to the place where ye keep yer whores and sell sin.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Freya stared at her mother in horror.

Ma's upper lip curled up. “Dinna look at me as if ye're shocked. Ye canna expect us to sully our reputations by going to a place where people know about ye. It's bad enough ye're besmirching Ewan by,” she flicked a gaze around the room for Lily before she hiss-whispered, “pretending to be his wife.”

The fire within Freya which usually rose to such an occasion dwindled beneath her mother's dousing words. In all Freya’s time owning Molly's, never had she felt shame. Yet now it blazed in her cheeks and sat heavy on her tongue.

“I'm proud to call her my wife.” Ewan stood beside Freya and put his arm around her. “I'm as proud to call her my wife as ye should be ashamed for what ye've said.”

Ma's cheeks went red. “Ewan, how dare ye—”

He stepped forward and drew himself upright. “Nay, my lady, how dare ye? Ye allow the coin she makes to feed ye and clothe ye and keep ye in the lifestyle ye were accustomed to. Even before that, ye allowed her to try to run the farm on her own, and then travel to Edinburgh alone to sell herself into servitude. Her profession was one she found by accident. It’s afforded ye a good life - and ye shame her for it?”

Freya's heart squeezed, this time not with shame, but with such visceral appreciation for the man who defended her on one of the few rare times she actually needed it.

Ma's mouth flapped open, but Ewan put a hand up to stop her and continued, an imposing figure with his massive shoulders squared and his jaw hard.

“Do ye know what she does in Edinburgh?” Ewan asked, his voice near booming. “Aside from what ye think - she takes in war widows. They can work there if they like, but she allows them other forms of work and offers free education so that they might find themselves the type of employment they prefer. She even donates food and used blankets to wounded soldiers and to the poor.”

Ma regarded Freya, her eyes liquid and unreadable.

Ewan resumed his position beside Freya. “I think ye're ungrateful, and I'm ashamed for ye for the lack of gratitude on yer part. I dinna know what ye expect of a woman left alone to provide for an expensive household, but I think Freya has done the impossible. And I'm damn proud of her.” He stroked a hand down Freya's face and regarded her with such pride and affection, she wanted to kiss him.