Page 13 of The Madam’s Highlander

Her hand still lingered on his shoulder, her perfumed warmth a quiet comfort of its own.

“It's one thing to help yer ma, or even an injured soldier.” She removed her hand slowly. “It's another to aid a man in desertion from the English. Yer mother is safe.”

Ewan rose on numb legs and set the glass on the desk. He stood nearly a head taller than Freya. “I've spent my entire life working for those men, fighting alongside them, considering them my brothers in arms.” The weight of the world crushed upon his shoulders. “I can never fight by their side again without wanting to turn my pistol on them. I joined to protect my mother. Look where that got me. Look where that got her.” He could not keep the bitterness from his tone.

Freya folded her arms over her chest. “What would ye do? Where would ye go?”

Ewan's thoughts scrabbled through a mountain of ideas. “To yer home where my ma is. We could find somewhere to live, rebuild where people dinna know us.”

“To my home?” Freya's pretty face pinched with obvious distrust.

“We wouldna stay.”

“And have ye coin enough to find a home right away? Do ye have kin who can take ye in?”

Ewan ground his teeth in frustration. He would not have access to his wealth without giving his name and putting himself at risk of arrest.

Freya raised strong points, ones he hadn't considered in his hasty attempt to find solutions to the burden of all his troubles. He hissed out a sigh and scrubbed a hand over his jaw.

“And how would ye get to my home?” she asked. “It's near Callander, but in more of the country in a verra small village.”

“Ye could tell me the way and I can ask when I get near enough.”

“No.” A flush spread over her chest and crept up her long, slender neck. “Ye'll get everyone killed doing that.”

She pulled herself upright and began to pace the small room. Her footsteps clicked on the hardwood floor while her gaze danced around thoughts she did not voice. Ewan watched her in silence, careful not to say a word lest he tip the scales of her consideration.

Much as he hated to admit it, he needed her.

“Ye're putting me in a terrible position.” She shot him an angry glare. “I should set ye out among yer men and let ye tell them ye plan to leave so they can shoot ye.”

“Ye should,” Ewan said slowly, “but ye willna.”

She paced, stopped, and turned to face him, her expression soft with what he hoped was resignation.

“Nay,” she said. “I willna.”

Ewan breathed out a slow, steady exhale of relief. The scent of alcohol on his breath was unfamiliar and unpleasant. No matter how hard all this might be, he wouldn't give in to the temptation of hard liquor again. He might be a traitor, but he would not release his hold on his morals.

“Ye need to go back to where ye're expected,” Freya said. “Make up an excuse that will keep ye from sight if ye can get away with it, where people willna think to need to come find ye. We'll leave tonight. At ten.”

She pulled a gold watch out of an unseen pocket. The face was scratched and caught the light, refracting it. Ewan could make out the time from where he sat. 6:20 - but that didn’t seem right. He knew it had only been 5:00 when he'd entered.

Her watch was fast by at least an hour.

She slipped the watch back into her pocket. “If ye pack any belongings, keep them light. Ye dinna want to appear obvious.”

Ewan nodded. Already an idea was coming to him. He could volunteer to work the night watch, when most of the men were either sleeping or out whoring. It was not uncommon for men to slip away during the later shifts, especially with being in Edinburgh.

“And ye better no' make me regret agreeing to help ye.” Freya folded her arms over her firm cleavage.

“I willna,” Ewan said earnestly.

“I hope ye're right.” For the first time, a crinkle of worry showed on her otherwise smooth brow. “Or we'll both be dead.”

***

The day had passed too quickly. Freya pulled out her father’s watch, quickly adjusting the time in her head. It was almost nine o’clock. One more hour.