Page 28 of Sinbound to the Highlander
11
Perched at the side of the stream near her parents’ cottage, Freya tried not to think of the packed bags back inside the cottage, waiting to be carried out to the Lobhdain Castle the next day as dawn broke.
She feared going back to the castle, knowing that there was no one she could turn to for companionship. The village was her home, where she felt comfortable and where she knew how to act. The castle and the city were going to be a whole different matter.
Soon, they’ll realize that I willnae fit in, and send me back here.
The chances of her committing a major error in front of the cultured city people was not a matter of if, butwhen. She knew her homespun, rustic habits, speech, and mannerisms would paint her as an outcast the moment she arrived there. It was going to be more evident to those there than someone dumping a bucket of dye over her head and coloring her scarlet.
Thus, she worried. She knew under all calm cordiality; Elspeth did not want her there or like her for that matter. Mayhap it was how she spoke, or how she acted, even her bland dress, but whatever it was, Freya knew she could never lean on Elspeth for any kind of comfort. Moreover, Laird Ruthven was going to be there courting her sister, and she still felt insignificant within fifteen feet near him.
Worst of all, she felt—profoundly—that Laird Ruthven was going to make a massive error marrying Elspeth, but she did not dare tell him that. He needed to marry a lady, and if she was the only one that he saw fit, how could she persuade him otherwise?
Freya felt that she would become a hermit amid a castle that housed more people than a village. She already felt that she was being closed off, even though she was not even at the castle yet.
“Freya,” her mother called her from the backstep of the modest cottage. “Freya, come inside, Dear.”
With difficulty, she stood and brushed her skirts off, but paused to wish her surroundings goodbye. Her legs felt heavy, as if they were lugging lead blocks with them on every step, toward the cottage.
Entering from the backdoor, she deliberately skipped looking at the packed bags ready at the doorway, or the dress that she would wear on her journey tomorrow. Her father was sitting in his chair, and her mother was there too. On the table, was a pie, with the thick, delicious aroma of cherry wafting from it.
She felt herself smiling, “What is this?”
“Sit, Dear,” her mother said. When Freya did, her mother took her hands and held both in hers. “For many years, we had little to give ye, but ye took what we had. Never have ye asked us for anythin’, even when ye saw others celebratin’ their birthday, ye kent we were nay in a position to give ye such things. When we celebrated it on Yuletide, the ragdoll or the new dress was enough.”
Sorrow closed up her throat, and a weight settled on Freya’s heart, as she could hear the grief her mother was holding back. Her hold on Freya’s hands was tight, and with only the low fire from the hearth, Freya saw tears beading in her mother’s eyes.
“Though ye are going to a place that has more than we could ever have, we ken that it willnae change ye,” her father said. “Ye are a gracious, kind, selfless young woman, Freya, with nae a prideful bone in yer body. We kent ye will treat all ye come across with the same care and compassion ye would give to any of us here in this village.”
Now, Freya was on the verge of crying, but instead, leaned into her mother’s embrace and held on tight. She swallowed over the pending grief turning her stomach sour, and the painful knot of heartache in her chest. She was only going to leave for a week, then it would be a month, and after that, possibly half a year to the point she might never see them again.
While she was holding her mother close, her father exclaimed softly and went to rummage at something on a shelf. When he found whatever he was looking for, he came back and pressed it into her hands. It was a pendant made of tiny glass-like rock, something she had seen many a time on the shallow parts of a river’s bed.
“Missus Beathag said to give ye this, and to wear it in memory of her,” her father said. “I dinnae ken if she made it herself or if it is one of those things she happened to have in her home, but she told me it is yers.”
Holding the pendant up to the fire, from the thin thong it dangled from, Freya saw that it was not only glass-like, but it also had myriad colors embedded in the creamy stone. Colors that shifted hues with the flickering light of the fire that passed over it.
“T’is lovely,” Freya murmured.
“Aye,” her father nodded as he went to perch on the edge of her mother’s chair. “She also said that ye should remember what ye learned durin’ the time ye spent with her and use it to the betterment of those who will be around ye. She said the little ye have could go a long way if ye use it properly.”
Freya laughed, “From all those years spent at her side, I daenae ken I have just alittleknowledge.” Settling the necklace on her lap, Freya looked through the window at the rising moon. “I’m goin’ to miss it here. I daenae ken what to do or how to act in the city where their lifestyle is so far removed from ours. I’m…frankly scared.”
The strong arm of her father wrapped around her shoulder, and she leaned into him. He kissed her forehead, “Donae ye worry too much, Dear. Ye’ll fit into it sooner or later, I believe.”
A supporting smile came from her mother, “He’s right, Freya, ye were never one to slack off when it comes to learnin’ new things. I am sure ye’ll pick up right away. I ken the city culture is much more refined and all from our humble corner of the countryside, but under it all, ye must remember, people are still people. They have the same needs, wants, and necessities, we all must have. In the end, it all comes down to having a good heart in all that we are doing, nay matter how we do it.”
Taking those words to heart, Freya rested the pendant on top of her dress, and smiled faintly, “How about samplin’ that pie, hm?”
* * *
Instead of overpowering her like the week before, Freya’s nervousness only sat heavily inside her, because she knew what to expect. Just like before the first trip, she was waiting for Laird Ruthven to come and get her, but unlike that journey, her parents would not be coming with her. Sitting with her bags on the floor beside her, and portions of the pie wrapped in a clean cloth, she stared at the dark sky as it shifted from gray to a warm rose.
Mayhap it was a foolish fantasy, but before the business about her being Laird Lobhdain’s daughter had come about, Freya had felt…more.
That moment when he had pinned her to the ground, his eyes blazing with anger, the world could have imploded around her, and she would not have noticed. The intensity of his eyes, the firm grip of his rough hands, and the press of his body on hers had birthed an unknown sensation within her.
His heat had flushed her belly, and her heart had fallen out of rhythm. When his burning gaze had dipped to her lips, her chest had gone so tight, and it was a struggle to breathe. Everything inside her had trembled with him over her.
