Page 23 of The Lass Defended the Laird (Explosive Highlanders 2)

“Good.” She answered with a gritty tone.

The view of her likened to a sword cutting him in two, so he swivelled and neared Ewan. “I am going now, mo balach. Take care.” He rested his large hand on his blanket-covered back and headed to his horse.

Mounted, he rode away without glancing back. If he had, he would have seen her face fallen on her hands muffling shaking sobs.

Much later that night, Drostan sprawled on an armchair in front of the fireplace, a half-finished whisky bottle in his hand. In his chamber. In his very empty chamber. In his very empty and glacial chamber. Not that the fire extinguished or something. On the contrary. It roared.

No. The glacial part came from his heartless wife. He drank deeply from the bottle. He glanced at the best beverage of the Highlands with unfocused attention. At least, this did not let him down. More amber liquid slipped down his throat. Constricted throat.

Heartless wife, indeed. How come someone like her gave him that scorching wedding-night? And the nights that followed. How come a woman who claimed not to care about him almost gobbled him with her eyes when he took off his shirt? How, just explain how, the insensitive woman kissed him like doomsday on a dust

y roadside?

A woman who saved his life.

And killed him with a few choice words.

And then resuscitated him with a few choice memories.

Which devastated him anyway.

Explain that!

No, better not to explain.

He was going crazy. Scratch that. He was already raving mad.

It must be the only explanation.

This time, when the bottle connected with his sensuous lips, he swallowed almost everything.

To hell with it!

The bottle, which had nothing to do with his confusion, exploded against the fireplace, its little content stirring the fire.

Staggering, the Laird tried to walk to his very empty and very glacial bed. But failed. And fell on the very empty and very glacial carpet somewhere between the hearth and the four-poster.

CHAPTER SIX

The rain did not relent for the rest of the day. Freya sat on the mare protecting her son with the blankets and holding him under her cloak,

She was numb. Not with the freezing raindrops though they did not make it any better. Everything inside her went numb. The bitter untrue words she cast at her husband dissolved her. If she had died the night she left her him, now her heart turned to cinders.

Desperation had done that. The moment she had seen him in the woods, she faltered; and had to use every drop of inner strength not to run to him overflowing with emotions. His fortitude and support in dire need. She had wished she could tell him about every single reason she left. Stay with him forever. And more.

The knowledge she did not have this option made her try something to shun him away. Because if he kept coming to her like that, taking care of her like that. Looking at her like that, she would not resist, persist. Survive.

But she was dead anyway. There would be no hope for them. Not after Ross found her in the McKendrick’s cottage and threatened the lives of the two people she had no chance of living without. Not if she wanted to keep any sanity.

And then she had said those horrible things to her own husband. Seen his beautiful old-whisky eyes gradually morph into something she preferred not to remember. But could not forget. Cold. Hard. Heartless. That she had done it cut through her like flagellation.

How else would he have gone away safe? In one piece? Alive?

New tears fell silently down her hooded cheeks. Ewan would be upset if he heard her cry even more. Good thing he sat on the saddle facing ahead.

She must be strong. Stronger. For him and for Drostan. What she dreamed, what she desired did not matter. Her family did. So, the time came to stop this ninny weeping and move on. Time to stop the sadness and do what she had to do to avoid the worst. Her spine stiffened and her hands wiped the tears impatient. In between deep breaths, she decided, no more weeping.

Perhaps she should leave the country. For the continent. America. The moon. A place no one would reach her, where her presence would not mean harm and threat. Anywhere Ewan found a semblance of stability and she peace, hollow as it might be. As it would surely be away from her husband.

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