Page 19 of The Madam’s Highlander

Freya straightened in her seat. “Ewan,” she called. “Ye must wake now.”

He lifted his brows, but his lids did not follow.

“Ewan, we are almost to the house. Yer mother is waiting for ye.”

“Mum?” Ewan murmured.

“Aye, she's waiting for ye,” Freya said. “Ye must wake to greet her properly.”

A single knock struck the side of the carriage and Freya's heart went cold in her chest.

One knock. A warning.

Was her own home razed? Her sister and mother dead along with Ewan's mother? Fear and hate and anticipation blasted through her. Hadn't they all paid enough of a price in this damn war?

“Ewan, wake up.” She spoke harshly this time, her words powered with the buildup of emotion.

Ewan's eyes flew open, wide and bloodshot. His hand jerked to his waist where he still held his pistol.

“We're almost there,” Freya said. “We need to be careful. There are many, many redcoats about.”

Ewan's expression darkened.

Freya reached over and pulled the pistol from Ewan's belt. It slipped from his fingers and was in her hands before he could protest. At least the heavy effects of the tea would work to her benefit.

It was never a good idea to have an angry soldier armed around those who had wronged him. Especially with family nearby.

“This is for the best.” Freya tucked the weapon into her velvet travel bag. “I'll explain to ye later.”

The carriage drifted to a slow stop and her heartbeat raced. She pulled back the curtain to the window with trembling fingers and glanced out, unsure what she would find.

Her home was still standing.

She did not see any redcoats in the low cast light of early evening, but then they could be beyond her sight. “Lean on me when we get out. We'll pretend ye're drunk if anyone asks questions.”

Ewan's eyes had started to drift closed again but snapped open when she spoke.

She exited the carriage first, then helped guide him through the small door. Her muscles strained beneath the heft of him. God, but the man was heavy. He tossed a massive arm over her shoulder and practically dragged her to the ground with this weight.

Freya gritted her teeth and threw her strength into her back until she managed to heave them both upright. Her stomach swam with nerves as she approached the home she'd entered so many times before, too few of them recent. The door flew open before she could even touch the knob.

A red coat blazed before her eyes, gilt buttons glinting with a ridiculous shine in the waning sunlight. She lifted her gaze to find a tall man staring down at her from a short snub of a nose.

“May I help you?” His voice was the drawl of well-mannered English - the kind which would make any London parent proud.

“I might ask ye the same,” Freya said. “Being as ye're in my house.”

“Ach, she's fine to come in.” Her mother's familiar voice sounded in the background and she appeared beside the soldier.

But Freya didn't move. She might be smothering beneath Ewan's bulk, but that did not stop her from glaring up at the Englishman. “What the hell are ye doing in my home?”

“Freya!” Her mother's hand fluttered over her breast with uneasy shock.

“Forgive me.” The Englishman presented her with a stiff bow. “I'm Captain ThomasCrosby. I'll be billeting here for several days.”

“The hell ye will,” Freya scoffed.

Her mother shoved herself between Freya and the officer. “Freya Marie Campbell! Ye will apologize at once. And then ye'll tell me who that man is ye're propping up.” Her mother eyed Ewan warily. “He's no' dead, is he?”