Page 13 of Sinbound to the Highlander
“But how can she and I be twins, Me Laird?” Freya asked, genuinely bewildered. “Ye said she has nay freckles.”
His wave was dismissive, “There are tinctures and other ointments women use to remove blemishes from their faces. They are mostly kent by and given to rich women to use, which is why ye daenae ken about it.”
She deciphered his words, “Are ye sayin’ this Elspeth…is rich?”
“Aye,” he replied, “She is the daughter of the Laird and Lady of Lobhdain.”
Freya felt as if he had stuck her with a blow. How was it possible that she be the daughter of a Laird? It was so improbable, nigh impossible, so she shook her head, “That cannae be possible. Nay one that rich would have sent me away.”
“Ye did say ye were found on their doorstep, aye,” Laird Ruthven said, his expression deeply contemplative, “What if ye were stolen, and not sent away?”
His argument had merit, but the mere implication that she was the child of a rich man, tempted too many wild hopes to spring up in her mind. She had to stick to her resolution—that she was just a peasant’s child sent off for a better life. She could not dare hope that she was the offspring of a Laird and his wife.
“I…” she paused, then shook her head, “I cannae see that.”
“Why, nae?” he asked with a frown. “It does seem very strange and unreal, but just ken of it, what would ye do if it turned out to be true?”
“I still cannae see it,” she shook her head.
Laird Ruthven looked around, and his eyes fell on her basket. “What is that ye’re carryin’?”
“Healing herbs,” Freya replied. “Me neighbor is a healer, but she is old, and cannae get them herself, so I help her out. Sometimes, I even help her in makin’ the medicines, but that is nay when I’m out helpin’ at Faither’s farm or at the church.”
“Ye’re nay married?” he said, and his honest shock made her blush. “Why, nae?”
Freya ducked her head, “I cannae tell ye, Me Laird, I suppose time just slipped away and I…” she bit her lip, then shrugged. “I’m happy about yer betrothal though. I wish ye all the best.”
“Thank ye.” It was strange that his expression did not change to the happiness she had expected even when he uttered his gratitude. He was strangely sober.
His face swung from left to right before facing her again, “Tell me, Freya, if I was to come with ye and speak to yer parents, would ye allow me?”
“If ye insist, Me Laird, but I still doubt yer suspicion will be right though,” Freya said, while standing and brushing her skirts off. She then paused, “Do ye have a cloak? Nay to say the people won’t want to see ye, but they are very tense right now. The rumors of war comin’ to our gates are growin’ every day. Ye might…er…garner more attention than ye can cater to.”
Her words gave him pause. “I do have a cloak, but isnae there another way to get to yer home than walking through the village?”
Grasping her basket, she shook her head, “Nay that I ken of. There might be a way through the other side of the woods, but I dinnae ken of anyone ever finding a way through. And where is yer horse, Me Laird?”
Laird Ruthven put two fingers to his lips, whistled loudly, and soon a large dappled-gray horse came trotting to its master. She watched as he grasped its reins and kindly patted its neck. “Should have tied ye to a tree, so ye couldnae wander off.”
He led the massive steed over to her, and its head was a foot higher than hers was. Its nostrils flared, and she shifted away from its dark eyes, but he did not seem dangerous.
“How far is yer home,” Laird Ruthven asked, “How far do ye travel to get here?”
“A good while,” she replied, “I’ve been searchin’ for these herbs for a few days, and since I hadnae found them at home, I journeyed afar off. I’d say, probably a mile or two away from me home.”
“It would be easier to ride,” Laird Ruthven asked. “Would ye like to ride with me?”
Freya bit back her immediate refusal and shifted her basket. “I’ve never ridden a horse before on me own, much less with another person.”
“Will ye let me help ye?” he asked.
It’s a chance of a lifetime. After he finds out that I and this Lady Milleson arenae related, he’ll move on, but at least I can say I met him.
“How do we…” she eyed the horse, “there’s one saddle.”
“Ye can ride on me lap,” he said plainly, and Freya blanched. “It’s easy, and furthermore, it’s getting dark, and we daenae have time to waste. If we walk, it will be dark before ye get there.” He came closer and held out his hand, “May I?”
She handed the basket to him, which he placed on the ground. He then grasped her waist, which had Freya clamping her mouth tight. Never had she had a man’s hands rest on her body much less her waist. Laird Ruthven’s hands were large, callused, and long-fingered. He lifted her on to the saddle easily and settled her on the seat sideways.
