Page 75 of Sinbound to the Highlander
She turned concerned eyes to him, “Evan, Son, after so many days ye do realize that—”
He held up his hand, and his tone was jagged and bitter, “I ken, Maither, the chances of finding her are…minimal at best, but we will find her,” he paused, “dead or alive. I pray for the latter.”
“As do I,” his mother replied, “Good evening, Son. Have some rest.”
With the little I do, I wouldnae call it rest.
Ducking out the door, he closed it behind him and went to the kitchens for something warm. When he found some lamb stew, he asked if some food had been sent up to Freya and was told some had. Nodding, he left and was crossing the Great Hall when a castle servant boy rushed up to him.
“Me Laird…” the boy, not more than ten summers, bowed thrice. “I have a letter addressed for ye, Sir.”
Taking it, he asked, “And where did it come from, boy?”
“Eilginn, Sir,” the boy replied, “Was told that ‘tis for yer eyes and yer eyes alone.”
With his curiosity piqued, Evan thanked the boy, told him to get something warm to eat, before taking it to his meeting room. With the room’s privacy, he unloosed the string that tied the paper into a roll and read two short sentences.
I have found something precious to ye, Me Laird. Please come to Eilginn on the banks of the Lossiemouth River as soon as ye can. Ask for Helga Coihmd.
“Somethin’ precious to me?” Evan wondered out loud. “What on earth…?”
Turning the paper over as if it had the answers for the many questions running through his head, he dropped it and cast a look out the window. It was already dark, and the sheets of snow falling would make it harder to ride out to the township. It would have to wait for the next day.
But what is so precious to me?
Locking the letter in a drawer, he went to his room, building up a line of arguments to stave Freya off from asking to be with her—only to find her asleep. Breathing out in relief, he came closer only to hear her say, “Arenae ye tired of sleeping on the floor?”
“‘Tis necessary,” Evan said evenly while taking a seat and reaching for his boot. “I still ken ye’re nay ready for that sort of intimacy, yet.”
“Evan, I’m old enough to ken what is best for me, and ye ignoring me for days isnae it,” she said, crawling to the bed’s edge. “We felt Heaven that night, why wouldnae ye want to feel that again?”
A chill ran down his spine, while he grasped the laces, “Do ye remember when we first kissed? How hesitant ye were?”
“Of course, I do,” she said, with a toss of her hair—another thing that was not Freya. “That night of our engagement. It was magical.”
Her words were a lightning fork, jabbing its blistering heat right through Evan. That was not the first time they had kissed—God’s blood. His suspicion was right—it was Elspeth in his bed, not Freya. When he regrouped, he went right on to unlacing his shoe without a flicker of emotion.
“Aye, ‘t’was surreal,” Evan said as calmly as he could while going for his other shoe. “And when we joined, though I will never regret it, ‘twas wrong of me. Ye pulled away from me, and though ye soon settled, ye were nay fully ready then, and ye are nay ready now. I’ll nay be making that mistake twice.”
“If ye nay going to be with me, at least kiss me,” she implored. “I miss ye.”
Stopping while tugging the boot off, Evan decided it might be best. Padding barefoot to her, he perched on the edge of the bed, and looped a hand around her back to press her close.
“Ye must pardon me for the morrow,” he said, stroking her silky hair. “I’ll be out early on business matters.”
“Do ye have to go?” Freya—Elspeth?—asked sullenly. “I want ye here.”
Moving away, Evan replied, “That’s the catch of marrying a Laird. We will be busy a lot of the time. Me Faither was gone five days out of the seven.”
“Good lord,” Elspeth sulked while falling back on the bed. “How did she live like that?”
“Through patience,” he replied while getting a clean léine and heading to the washroom annexed to the bed chamber. “It’s something ye will have to get used to when we are wed.”
Inside the room, fury burned through his chest like molten lava. His fist clenched with the unholy urge to go back into the room and grab the woman by her neck. What level of audacity did she have to think this trickery would go undiscovered?
Pressing his fingers so deep into his eyes that they stung, Evan sucked in deep breaths, gasping them in as if he was suffocating. Trying his best, he could not reel in the burning anger, and when he thought about the whereabouts of his beloved Freya—who Elspeth might have pushed over the cliff and into the waters—a cold, numbing fury lanced through his body.
If she had killed Freya, God help me to nae have her drawn and quartered.
