Page 40 of The Madam’s Highlander

“Aye, that ye do,” she conceded. “And the land will be hard, but ready to be broken into black, lush earth where we can then spread the seed. It's hard work.”

“I dinna mind hard work. And I'll get to be with ye.” Heat touched his own cheeks now. His gut twisted. He shouldn't be doing this, painting the scene for her that could never come to pass. And yet he could not help but give himself the opportunity to dream with her, to see it on her face. To have this combined wish to cherish, along with the memories they’d already made together.

“I like being with ye,” she said.

He reached out a hand and stroked it over her smooth face. She closed her eyes and turned into his palm. His heart swelled.

“I like ye being my wife,” he said quietly.

Her soft intake of breath whispered over the heel of his hand. Her eyes opened and regarded him with a beautiful blue he would never forget.

“I dinna want ye to do it, Ewan,” she said.

He didn't bother to ask what she referred to. She understood his intent even as she’d played along with his fantasy.

Ewan stroked her cheek. “I have to.”

She shook her head free of his tender hold, and tears shone bright in her eyes. “Ye could go now. Ye could run and then we can meet up when it's safer for ye.”

“They'll interrogate ye,” Ewan said. “All of ye. And they willna always be kind about it. Freya, ye’ve seen what they do.”

“Ewan, please, I—”

The whinny of a horse broke through the silence. The clop of hooves on the hard-packed dirt outside the home became apparent. Several sets of hooves.

Freya stiffened and fumbled with her full skirts. She grabbed the pistol and shoved it at him. “I'll fight by yer side.”

The pistol's weight was hefty in his hands, the metal cool against his palm. He shook his head. “I canna.”

“Ye can,” she whispered vehemently.

“And risk a bullet hitting Marian as she labors? Hitting one of our mothers? Risk losing ye?”

“Ewan.” Her voice broke on his name. “Ye canna go. I...I...”

Footsteps pounded up the few stairs and thundered over the porch. Danger loomed over them, coming closer, closer.

“I love ye.” Emotion left her voice thick and tightened its grip on Ewan’s own throat.

He pushed the gun into her lap and settled her hand fully atop it. “I love ye too, my beautiful, fiery Freya.”

A fist banged heartily at the door, and she gave a little jump. She slipped the pistol hastily into her pocket and gave a nervous glance at the door. “Please, Ewan.”

Captain Crosby strode across the room, his shoulders squared.

“I love ye,” Ewan said again, this time with more ferocity, with all the warmth swelling in his heart and the desperate hurt shattering his soul. Then he bent over her and captured her mouth with his, savoring the fullness of her bottom lip, the soft brush of their tongues, the sweet powdery scent of her embracing him.

He wanted her scent on his skin, her kiss on his lips, and her love in his heart. God help him, he needed them.

The door opened.

“We are here for Ewan Fraser.” The man's voice was familiar.

Too familiar. A finger of ice scraped up Ewan's back.

Clemmons. The bastard from the Black Watch who had always undermined Ewan’s word, who'd forever sought to destroy him.

And now Clemmons had finally won.