Page 76

Then the rest of the night came back to her all at once, and she pulled the blanket over her head and lay there in the dark, burning.

She had told him all of it. The cèilidh, the walk, the stable wall, her fist, and the blood, and the eleven years after. She had told it in a whisper with her face half hidden in the pillow, and he hadn’t laughed. He hadn’t said she was foolish. He had only asked, in a perfectly reasonable voice, whether she remembered the lad’s name, as if he meant to ride out and find him before supper.

He had held her through it all without saying another word.

And before that⁠—

Freya made a small, strangled sound into the linen and decided she would think about what had happened before that later. Possibly never. Possibly more often than she should.

But it had been… something indescribable. She had never imagined she would experience such a thing. She had assumed she would remain unmarried, keeping herself away from men because that was simply the safest place she could imagine being.

She dressed quickly, ate the bannock in four bites, and went next door. She could hear soft sighs and murmurs as the babies started to wake up.

First, it was Amelia, who had always been an early riser. Archer preferred to sleep later, but once his sister started crying, there was no getting him back to sleep.

Freya had to pause before she entered the nursery. It was a relief to be able to hear Archer cry, giggle, and just live. The healer had said many times that there was little chance anything serious had happened to the wee lad, but to keep a lookout anyway.

It was the unknown that had made Freya nervous. It was the unknown that had made her think she had hurt the boy who had been put in her care.

Perhaps Evander had been right. She might have blamed herself too much, allowing Jack’s harsh words to get to her more than they should.

He hadn’t meant any harm. Jack had spent months with the twins, acting as an uncle of sorts to them and watching over them after their parents died. As far as he was concerned, Freya was nothing but a stranger. Married to his Laird, yes, but still a stranger who might not be trusted with the children of his previous Laird.

The nursery was full of light and noise. Archer was sitting up in his cradle, babbling cheerfully at the ceiling. There was a small brown scab above his eyebrow that looked, in the morning sun, like nothing at all. When he saw her, he shrieked with joy and flung both arms in the air.

“Look at ye,” Freya breathed, scooping him up. “Look at ye, ye wee rascal, giving me such a fright and then sleeping like a lamb.” She kissed the scab very gently, and he grabbed her nose. “Aye, I ken, I ken. Ye’re perfectly well. Everyone tried to tell me.”

Amelia, still lying flat in her cradle, observed all of this with deep disapproval, as though she’d been the one to fall and nobody had made half the fuss over her.

Freya laughed and reached in to tickle her belly. For one unguarded moment, Amelia forgot to scowl and let out a gurgling giggle, then looked thoroughly annoyed with herself.

One day, Freya was going to coax a proper smile out of the little girl. It was hard to get her to smile, but when she did, it was like it lit up the entire room.

Skye had smiles like that.

“Ye cannae fool me, lass. I heard that.”

“Heard what?”

Brigid came in with an armful of clean linen and dumped it on the chest. She took one look at Freya’s face and stopped. Then a slow, knowing smile spread across her own.

“What?” Freya prompted.

“Nothing, me Lady.” Brigid lifted Amelia out of the cradle and settled her on her hip. “Ye look well rested, that’s all.”

There was a playful look on her face. For the first time in a while, Freya felt so exposed. Did Brigid know what she and Evander had gotten up to last night?

The nursery was across the hall. If Brigid had gone to feed the twins, then⁠—

No. Freya wasn’t going to consider that possibility. She had done her best to muffle her cries. Done her best to bury her face in the pillow and stifle her moans and whimpers, all of them coaxed out by Evander with that wicked smile on his lips.

Evander was not particularly talented with his words. He was a gruff man who spoke too plainly and bluntly, but he was certainly talented with his tongue. She blushed at even daring to admit that to herself, but it was true.

“I am well rested.”

“Aye. Very well rested. Glowing, almost,” Brigid commented. “I remember the times I used to have such a glow. It was in the early days of me marriage⁠—”

“Brigid!” Freya hissed, trying to keep her voice at a reasonable volume so she didn’t startle the babies.