Page 39 of The Madam’s Highlander

To kiss him, and more. Her body tingled with the memory of his naked skin against hers, those powerful muscles hard beneath her fingertips, pressing against her breasts.

“I'm sorry,” Ma said.

Freya pulled her attention from Ewan and looked at her mother to find Ma’s thin brows drawn together over her puckered brow in a wounded expression.

“I dinna know - I - I dinna think...” Ma stared down at her withered hands for a long moment, as if considering the ropey blue veins beneath her translucent skin. “That's exactly the problem, lass. I dinna think. I judged, and in spite of that, ye pushed on and worked a miracle.” Her mother's words choked off. She swallowed and tried again. “I dinna know ye helped others so much.”

When Ma looked up, her eyes were red and tears ran freely down her cheeks. “I'm ashamed of me too, Ewan, and I thank ye for being so brave to tell me what I needed to hear.” She came forward and, without hesitation, settled her warm, dry palms on Freya’s forearms. “I'm so, so verra sorry, lass.”

She stared at her mother’s hands upon her and reveled in the heat seeping into her skin, down into her blood, her bones, her heart. Ma curled her arms around Freya’s waist, drawing her into a hug.

She was a full head shorter than Freya, and her arms were thin as bird legs, but there was nothing quite like a mother's embrace. It quelled all the hurt and doubt in a single heart-melting moment of love and acceptance.

“I'm so proud of ye,” Ma whispered into her ear, and tears prickled at Freya's eyes.

They broke apart, and Ma pulled a handkerchief from her pocket to dab at her wet cheeks. “I think I'd like...” Ma smiled shyly. “I'd like to help ye teach yer ladies too. Let's prepare for Edinburgh.”

“We are no' going anywhere for a while.” The soft, feminine voice came from the other side of the room. The three of them turned to find Lily standing in the doorway with a grim expression on her face. “Marian will have the child soon.”

***

Minutes passed like hours. Silence became a tangible thing which clung to the mind and strained upon the inner ear. The carriage Captain Crosby had arranged arrived and lay hidden in the barn, the trustworthy driver content to nap within as he waited for Marian to deliver her child.

Even then, they might not be ready.

Ewan waited with the others, quiet in his impatience. Freya sat at his side, her expression furrowed with worry. He didn't blame her.

According to Freya's mother, Marian's labor was starting far too early. Ewan didn't know much about babies, but he knew this was never a good thing.

The mothers were in and out of the room with Marian, pausing from time to time to whisper between them, information they did not share with anyone else. Their nervous frowns, however, kept anyone from pressing for details.

After all, what they did not know could not break their hearts. Yet.

The English captain was perhaps the worst of them all, pacing like an anxious father and jerking up with puppy-like anticipation at every opening of the door. Each time, one of the mothers would shake her head and the captain's shoulders would fall, his pacing resuming.

“Thank ye,” Freya said softly to Ewan. “For what ye did with my ma. It was kind of ye.”

Ewan stared down at her. The glow of candlelight caught like strands of gold in her hair and left her skin creamy, the smattering of freckles like a constellation of beautiful stars over her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. She was perhaps the loveliest woman he'd ever seen. Not just in this light, but in all light. Ever.

“Ye dinna need to thank me,” Ewan said. “I meant every word of it.”

She studied his face for a long moment, her expression gentle. “I like the idea of ye working the farm with me when spring comes.” Her gaze flicked to his. “I like the idea of being with ye that long.”

Ewan's chest tightened, not because he didn't want to be with her that long too, but because he did.

And he knew it wouldn't happen.

A soft moan came from Marian's room, the girl within as tender in her struggle with labor as she was with all things in her life. The captain scrabbled to the door and pressed his ear to its wooden surface.

Freya's worried expression flitted from the direction of the moan and back to Ewan, seeking comfort.

He reached out and took her hand in his. “Tell me what this spring will be like, so I'm ready.”

She turned her face from Marian's room, as if doing so might block it all. “We'll have to ready the soil with the tools ye so carefully sharpened. It's been a while since the land has been turned and it may be a bit stubborn.”

“I deal well with stubborn,” he said.

Freya smiled and, was it a play of the firelight, or was a blush spreading over her cheeks?