Page 52

“Ye’re thinking too loudly again,” Brigid observed, not looking up from Archer. “I can hear it from here.”

Brigid had become quite a confidante in the short time they’d known each other. Freya would even dare call her a friend.

She was short on those. Her two close friends were her sister and sister-in-law. Some might not count them as such, since they were part of her family.

“I have no idea what ye mean,” she declared.

“Aye, ye never do.” Brigid smiled into the porridge pot. “It’s always the way with women thinking about their husbands.”

Freya opened her mouth to protest that particular characterization, and found, to her own considerable annoyance, that she hadn’t an argument ready, which was an answer in itself, however little she cared for it.

She and Evander did not exactly have a traditional marriage. In a few weeks, they might part ways, as per their deal.

That thought alone should have been enough to keep her from noticing the way Evander lingered longer than he needed to most mornings. It should have been reason enough to stop her from wondering, as she did now, whether he counted the days the same way she’d begun to, not as a countdown to freedom but as something closer to a deadline neither of them seemed ready to face.

The thought of losing those quiet mornings with him hurt more than she wanted to admit.

And so she busied herself with wiping porridge from Amelia’s chin, avoiding Brigid’s knowing look, and told herself firmly that a woman could think about her own husband over breakfast without it meaning a single thing more than that.

There was nothing to it, not really. She was going to get through this and not think about last night, when things had gone too far.

If she closed her eyes, she could still feel the press of his lips against hers, his hands gripping his hips tight enough to bruise. She would’ve allowed him to take her right then and there, had Archer not cried.

The thought was enough to make her blush, so she pushed it far enough out of her mind that she wouldn’t even consider it right now. That was for the best.

It was a poor lie, and she knew it even as she told it to herself, the way she’d known that most of her lies these past weeks were poor ones and told them regardless.

Amelia grabbed the spoon again, her small fingers surprisingly strong, and Freya let her have it this time, watching her fling it.

Across the hall, a door opened, and Freya’s head snapped up before she’d decided to look. She was expecting Evander.

It wasn’t like she was hoping it was him. Why would she hope it was the man who frustrated her to no end?

Brigid glanced up from the basin, wringing out a cloth. “Ye’ve gone quiet again, me Lady.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Ye’re never quiet. That’s how I ken something’s wrong.” Brigid set the cloth aside and reached for Archer, who was gumming his own fist determinedly. “Was it the Laird?”

“Why would ye think that?”

Freya hated that Brigid seemed to know her so well after so little time. Did she truly wear her heart on her sleeve more than she realized? Apparently, she did.

“Because it’s always the Laird.” Brigid didn’t even look up this time. “Ye get that face whenever his name comes up. As if ye’ve bitten into something sour and sweet at once.”

Freya scowled, which only made her smile wider. “He came to the nursery last night, after the bairns settled.”

“And?”

“And nothing. He watched for a moment, then left. There is nothing more to tell ye. Why do ye expect that I have more to tell?”

It almost sounded like an accusation, which was how Freya was taking it.

“Ye wanted him to stay.”

“I didnae say that.”

“Ye didnae have to, me Lady. Yer face said it plainly enough.” Brigid shifted Archer to her hip. “What is it ye wanted, then? For him to linger? Say something gentle to ye?”