Page 19 of Sinbound to the Highlander
Past the farms, they came to a township where a small-town square, had a tall obelisk in the middle of a stone ring. The buildings glowed with new wood, and a large inn took prominence among the other homely, cottages, and buildings. Children ran about, ducking in and out of the houses’ eaves with their friends, playing games, and their merry laughter carried to them.
But the thing that captured Freya’s attention was the castle, tucked in the hollow of a mountainside, nestled protectively in its rock embrace. Made of a curious reddish stone, with high towers and turrets, Freya felt her heart leap into her throat and lodge there.
Counting the moments until they got to the gate, the carriage stopped, and the Laird went ahead of them. He lifted his arm, and slowly the gate opened, and he rode inside. The carriage moved as well, and they entered into a courtyard where a footman stood at the large doorways. When she glanced up, she saw more guards pacing the walkways above. Freya had to remain calm, but she was feeling more panic than she had ever felt in her life.
This was a mistake…a horrible mistake. I should never have come here.
Her panic rendered her motionless; even while her father alighted the carriage and her mother followed him, she felt affixed to her seat.
“Freya?” her mother asked cautiously.
Instead of replying, her eyes latched on the castle, and her throat went so dry, and her panic mounted. How could she have come from people who lived in this? No. This was all wrong. Black spots began peppering her vision, her breath grew short, and her ears felt stuffed with cotton.
Her father came closer, “Freya, are ye all right?”
Somehow, she mustered up the strength to shake her head. Her fingers clenched tight unto the carriage’s seat, white and bloodless. Through the heaviness in her ears, she heard her parents talking then her mother disappeared from the carriage’s door. Her father came in and sat near her.
“Freya,” he said, “there’s nothin’ to be afraid about.”
“This was a mistake,” she managed to choke out. “We should have never come here.”
His hand rested on her knee, “I ken ye are scared, but ye need to ken if these people are yer birth parents. If ye dinnae, ye’d be regretting it for the rest of yer life. I ken ye’ve been wonderin’ about it for years, Freya, this is the time for ye to find out.”
He was making sense, as she had wondered and agonized about it for years, but it still felt fake and just a bit too much to handle. Her bowed head shook, but he reached over and kissed her forehead before getting out of the carriage.
Cold chills were lancing through her body when the carriage dipped, and Laird Ruthven was sitting across from her. He looked at her, then reached over and closed the carriage door.
“Freya,” he said softly, “please, look at me.”
Stubbornly, she kept her head bent and her eyes on her lap. His hands pried hers from the seat and kept them clasped in his warmer ones. “I ken it's very frightenin’ and yer probably kennin’ it was best to stay home, but I promise ye, ye will never regret comin’ here.”
The cold chills began to subside slowly, and she swallowed over the dryness in her throat, “But…what if ye’re wrong?”
“Then, I’ll take complete responsibility for such an error,” Laird Ruthven said. “And if I am wrong, I am sure they willnae make ye feel ashamed.”
He was still holding her hands, and his gaze was soft and comforting. Freya dared hope he was right. “I’m still scared,” her eyes drifted to the castle just outside the window. “I just… cannae see me comin’ from people who lived in there.”
“Come with me, and we’ll find out,” Laird Ruthven coaxed.
Still hesitant, Freya asked, “Ye’re very sure about this, arenae ye?”
“I wouldnae have brought ye here if I wasnae,” he assured her. “Please, come with me.”
Sucking in a deep breath, Freya nodded. Pleased, the Laird let go of one of her hands to open the carriage door and stepped out, turned, and helped her to the ground. Landing on the path made of crushed gravel, Freya gazed up. The castle was three-stories high on the outer wings, and the turrets on each corner rose to give the noble castle two more stories. It towered over her, making her feel tiny.
The Laird still held her hand as she came close to her parents, who were lingering near the wide front steps. Her father’s eyes dipped to their clasped hands, but he said nothing.
Freya was not sure she would be able to stand if the Laird had not been holding her so tightly. But she found the strength to pull away to hold her father’s hand instead as they neared the door. This was the house of his betrothed. How would it look for him to be holding another woman’s hand?
A footman bowed to the Laird. “Welcome, Laird Ruthven, and honored guests.”
“Thank ye,” the Liard nodded. “If ye would?”
The footman opened the door to an entrance room with a high ceiling and a bronze chandelier with arms as long as a spider’s legs. Tapestries hung from rafters, covering the walls, and a thin runner-rug was laid on the floor. Two tables were there, both made of the finest, gleaming wood.
Another footman came to them and bowed, “Good mornin’, Laird Ruthven. Laird and Lady Lobhdain are inside the sunroom. Please, let me escort ye and yer party there.”
Freya tightened her grip on her father’s, and they took a carpeted corridor to a room that had a wide, opened door. Laird Ruthven went in, and Freya and her parents were behind him. Looking around, Freya swallowed tightly; surely, this was a room fit for royalty.
