Page 20 of Sinbound to the Highlander
It had to be one with the padded chairs and daybed covered over by silk cloth. The wide windows were placed at the perfect angle for sunlight to shower over every carved piece of furniture, the large earthenware vases filled with flowers or the vibrant carpet on the ground.
“Laird Ruthven,” a woman said lightly. “Welcome, and also welcome to yer guests.”
“I must say, Laird,” a masculine voice added, “I am still nae sure why ye requested this meeting.”
Freya was grateful that Laird Ruthven’s broad back blocked her from the Laird and his wife while he spoke. “And I am happy ye gave me this meeting, Laird Lobhdain. With me, are the Crushom family from the Cillock village.”
He stepped aside, and her chest went tight. “Mister Balthair Crushom, his wife Missus Caitlin Crushom, and their daughter, Miss Freya Crushom. I ken there is something about Miss Crushom ye might find familiar.”
Revealed, she saw an older man standing behind his wife, thick dark auburn hair, graying at the temples and tawny eyes. He was still attractive, and held an aura of power about him. The lady sitting in the chair had on a deep-emerald dress. She had dark hair, with streaks of gray, cascading over her shoulder. She was utterly regal.
Freya was not ready for when the Laird and his Lady’s eyes fell on her. The Laird went stony-jawed, and his wife went pale. She even covered her mouth with her hand. The Laird, however, was furious.
“Ruthven, what insidious joke is this?” he demanded hotly, “Who is this woman who looks like me, daughter?”
“Because she is yer daughter, Laird Lobhdain,” Liard Ruthven said calmly, “If ye would, please let Mister and Missus Crushom explain.”
She could see rage tight in the Laird’s face, but he nodded, and they took seats. Freya felt the Lady’s eyes on her and wanted to shift away but held her composure.
Her father began to speak, telling them where they lived and what he did for a living. He said that he had married his wife nearly twenty-five years ago and how they had trouble conceiving. Her mother then took the story up, explaining how she had told her cousin Matilda, who had been a midwife at the same time Lady Lobhdain had given birth.
“One summer’s mornin’, we woke to find a bairn on our doorstep,” Her mother said. “We dinnae ken where Freya had come from, but we dinnae question it either. She is a blessin’ to us, and though the question about her rightful parents was still a mystery to us, we would never stop from meetin’ those who were her rightful kin. I do apologize on behalf of me cousin who had taken her from ye. I can only suspect that she saw me condition and pledged to help us, even though what she did was wrong.”
Lady Lobhdain’s eyes were watering with tears, and her hand still had not moved from her mouth. Laird Lohdain’s fury was melting away little by little, and soon the anger was gone. His hands were on his wife’s shoulder, massaging her shoulders almost unconsciously.
“We were told she died at birth,” Laird Lobhdain murmured, and then his gaze, loaded with sorrow and disbelief, rested on Freya.
“I came across Miss Crushom by accident,” Laird Ruthven said. “When I saw her, I was sure she was Miss Milleson’s sister.” He then looked around, “Where is she this mornin’?”
“I’ll get her,” Lady Lobhdain said, moving toward the door
Missus Crushom faced Laird Lobhdain, “We do apologize for the pain ye went through, Laird and Lady Lobhdain, but we dinnea ken that Freya was stolen from ye. We kent she was a peasant’s child sent away. If we had any inkling that she was yer child, we would have made it right at once.”
Lady Lobhdain came back with another lady in tow. Freya’s eyes went circular—she was looking at herself. Her mother’s gasp was soft, but she heard it, and her father's face was stricken.
“Maither?” Miss Milleson said, flicking a curious look at her and her parents.
“Elspeth, it’s a miracle, the sister we kent was dead isnae,” Lady Lobhdain said in a wavering voice, “Please, meet Freya, yer sister.”
Standing, Freya clenched her hands on her dress, “Pleased to meet ye, Miss Milleson.”
