Page 6 of The Madam’s Highlander

“Aye, and when ye attacked that bugger we all hate, he couldna keep his eyes from ye then either,” Alli spoke as she plucked the laces of Freya's corset free, one liberating inch at a time. Were Alli not such a good backup when Freya needed her at Molly's, she'd employ the girl as the lady's maid she'd always intended to be.

But then whores and madams made significantly more than lady's maids, and Alli was happy with her position.

Despite her nimble hands, the unlacing of the corset dragged on for several painful breaths and cramped heartbeats, as if the idea of freedom from the merciless grip left Freya even more starved for air.

Corsets - implements to lift the bosom and tighten the waist to give the rump a rounder, higher appearance. A womanly discomfort men were unaware of in their pursuit to admire pretty things made all the prettier solely for them.

“When ye put yer blade to the bugger's gullet, Captain Nay reached for his own weapon,” Alli went on in a giddy rush. “I mean, I know the men dinna have their weapons inside, but he reached for the place on his belt where his pistol loop hung. Like he meant to protect ye.”

The corset sagged open and Freya pulled in a deep breath, letting her chest expand to its full capacity. Free, and open with a kiss of sweet cool air flowing between the nearly transparent shift and her skin. Alli patiently pulled the corset away from Freya's body. It peeled away like the excavation of a full ribcage from a skeleton.

“Well,” Alli huffed. “I found it to be verra romantic even if ye're no' impressed with it.” She worked out the laces from Freya's skirt next.

Freya pushed the fabric off her hips and pulled away the shift to flutter to the ground where it joined the rest of her garments. Her body remained lined with the print of her constraints, a line above the knee where her stockings tied, the crinkle of reddened skin at her waist from the squeeze of her corset, the painful pink of her toes greedily splayed out on the cool wooden floorboards. She wanted to sigh with her liberation.

“I can take care of myself.” Freya left the clothing for Alli to tend to and strode naked to the washbasin. “I havena needed a man to save me all this time.” Freya lifted a square of linen from the water and wrung out the excess. “I dinna need a man now.” The chilled cloth slid against her skin, invigorating her tired, hot flesh. She closed her eyes and settled it over her face. Her aching temples pulsed beneath the tent of cool, wet linen.

“So what did he want?” Alli asked from across the room.

Freya pulled the cloth from her face and reached for a large, luxuriously soft sheet of linen from a small pile beside the ewer. “He wanted me to check on his mother next time I go to the country.” She scrubbed at her weary body until her skin was pink and the markings from her clothing had begun to fade.

Alli gave a delighted little squeal. “If that isna the kindest thing I've ever heard!”

“I said nay.” Freya pulled open her wardrobe. The delicate scent of violets greeted her, fresh and welcome and tinged with memories of home. She tried not to glance to the far right, past the colorful assortment of scanty silks and velvets and lacy beautiful things, but she could not stop her gaze from drifting.

There, hanging like the skins of a shed life, were the dresses she’d worn when she first arrived in Edinburgh with their prudent silhouettes, high necklines, and fittings not so damnably tight. The gowns of a lady. The gowns she wore when she visited her home.

She grabbed a clean shift and pulled it over her head. It whispered down her skin in a contented sigh.

“How could ye say nay?” Alli asked, her voice pitched with disbelief.

“Because I have a family to protect too, in case ye've forgotten.” Freya closed the door against the two sides of her life.

Alli's reproaching appearance sobered. “I know. It's just sad.” She peeled back the corner of Freya's made bed.

“That soft heart of yers will get ye in trouble one of these days, Alli.” Freya slipped between the cold sheets and jutted her icy toes toward the heat of the warming pan at the base of her mattress.

“Then even my soft heart is aware of something ye hadna considered.” Alli pulled the blankets over Freya's shoulders and looked down at her, expression as stern as that of a mother. “What have ye done to keep yer family safe?” Alli asked. “What would ye do to ensure they stayed safe?”

The chill of the sheets was no longer pleasant. It seeped into Freya's skin, through her blood down into her bones.

“I would do anything,” Freya whispered.

“Then so might he.” Alli drew the heavy bed curtains closed against the light of a rising sun.

Freya lay in the darkness long after the telltale sounds confirmed Alli had left and locked the door behind her. Despite the careful observation Alli made, she was either very wrong or very cautious in her wording.

Because if Captain Fraser was willing to sacrifice as much as she had for his family, there was no 'might' about it. He would do anything to ensure the safety of his family.

***

It took Ewan the better part of a day to glean any information on Freya. Not because there wasn't any to be had - there were always secrets to be had - apparently, he'd found the only saintly madam in all of Scotland.

Viper though she may be, Ewan was hard-pressed to find a man or woman in Edinburgh who would speak ill of the famed madam of Molly's. She gave blankets to the sick, fed the poor with remains of food from her establishment, and took in women whose husbands were killed in the war - not as whores if they didn't want to be, but as maids while she educated them to something better. Even the lasses at a nearby church grudgingly spoke praises through pursed lips.

She was a woman Ewan had not expected - admirable, considerate, giving, respectable. Surprising.

So much so, Ewan had appealed to his colonel earlier that day to be granted leave to see his mother again. And again the request was immediately denied. Much as he had expected.