Page 23 of Sinbound to the Highlander
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Twice had Freya tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. They had finished the feast, and Laird Lobhdain and his wife had taken her parents and Laird Ruthven out to speak with them, leaving her with her twin sister, to talk.
Freya knew that they were debating on how to deal with her, where she would stay and where she would live. Secretly, Freya felt that it was unfair for them to be deciding her life without her there, but probably it was for the best as, if given a chance, she would choose to live in the village.
The urge to coil into herself and shrink away grew harder with every passing moment as she was severely intimidated by the massive castle and the finery she saw all around. Her worst fear was that she would bump into something that was three times more costly than all the meager possessions she and her parents had.
Now that she was alone with her sister, she did not have the faintest idea of what to say. It was not as if her humble lifestyle had any overlap with the opulence her sister had. The way her sister moved, the sublime dress, the shine of her hair, and the clean slate of her face made Freya feel discomfited and a little jealous. No wonder she was getting married to Laird Ruthven—she was gorgeous.
“Did yer parents ever tell ye about me?” Freya asked, and immediately winced. Of course, they had. Lady Lobhdain had introduced her to Miss Milleson as her sister that they had thought was dead.
“They did,” Miss Milleson—Elspeth—replied calmly. “But only for a few years. Maither used to cry on me birthday for those years but stopped when I was eight.”
Unsure if she should feel flattered or sad that her birth mother had stopped thinking about her after she had turned eight, Freya nodded. “When is our birthday?” she asked.
“The eleventh day of Augustus,” Miss Milleson—Elspeth—Freya corrected herself, said. “They claim t’was the day Saint Clare of Assisiwas born. She was a nun in Italia.”
Freya found herself at a loss; she understood the term Saint, but the word ‘nun’ escaped her completely. Fearing that she would look foolish in front of her sister, Freya just nodded, “If that’s how it is, I suppose that means we must live a good life then.”
“I suppose, it does,” Elspeth said but wrinkled her nose delicately, “From what I’ve read, her Faither was wealthy and gave her all sorts of luxury to live in. But then, she chose to live under austere means, nigh poverty, and seclusion. Why would anyone born that way choose such a life?”
After observing the wealth and luxury she had seen in this house and tasted it in their food, Freya could understand why her sister was flummoxed. No one but those of an unusual heart would choose to leave a life where one was comfortable to one where they had to struggle.
“Mayhap she kent it better to help others than to help herself,” Freya said. “The Bible does say it’s better to give than receive, and to love yer neighbor as ye do yerself.”
“Oh, we give,” Elspeth chirped, happily “Every kalends, we give the locals kirk wheat, oil, and beef. Faither is strident about that. He says its only right for us, who have much, to give to those who have less. And ye?”
“Every Yuletide, Maither and I bake some puddings for the village’s kirk celebration,” Freya added quietly. “Our village makes sure to treat all the children there with sweets and honeyed milk. It’s the one day of the year, and they have such lovely things.”
What sheomittedwas that the flour they used for those treats, were sometimes the last of their meal. Handfuls that were used to make their household bread, but never would she admit that.
Elspeth brows lifted in surprise. “Ye bake.”
“Aye,” Freya replied.
Her sister blinked, “With yer own hands?”
What else would I use? Someone else’s?
“Aye. I learned early to bake all sorts of foods, pudding, pies, and loaves of bread. We make pies with all the seasonal fruits we have available,” Freya replied.
Elspeth looked at her soft-palmed hands, with long fingers and nails curved perfectly, with dismay. “I daenae ken I’d do somethin’ like that, ever. Thankfully, I have people to take care of that for me. Even last week, I had Laird Ruthven over, and we shared some of the French delicacies, and he loved them. I plan to have his cook make them when we are married.”
A wave of conflicted emotions ran through Freya at the mention of her sister and Laird Ruthven’s pending marriage. She was happy that he was getting married, but she sensed Elspeth was very self-absorbed. She feared the Laird was going to get hurt.
“I’m happy where I am, and in a few weeks, I’ll be even happier. I’ll be a happily married woman, as Lady Ruthven,” Elspeth's face grew dreamily. “I’ll have a new castle, a handsome husband, a new family, and more people who will love me.”
A soft pang settled into Freya’s stomach, and she plucked at her skirts with her rough and callused hands. Nothing like her sister’s. “Do ye ken ye’ll have bairns? Do ye want bairns?”
Elspeth's lips flattened, “I suppose my new clan will need an heir. My body is delicate, but I’ll do my wifely duty and give my husband his son. I’ll probably have a nurse-woman take him away while I recover.”
Having another take care of her child was unthinkable to Freya. She didn’t think she could ever part from her child, even for a moment. “What if ye have a daughter first?” Freya asked. “Are ye willing to carry another until ye have a son? Ye do ken ye cannae force a bairn to be a lad or a lass.”
Her sister went pale, a sheen of white turned her skin sallow, “I might have to do it more thanonce?”
Freya gave her a wry smile, “Probably.”
Just as her sister was about to speak, Laird Lobhdain and his Lady entered. As with Elspeth, Freya began to force herself to think of them as her mother and father, but it felt so strange. Behind them were the only two people she would ever consider her parents; Caitlin and Balthair Crushom.
