She smirked. “That's to be expected being as ye got shot. The tea will help.”
He glanced down at where the wound still glowed with a pulse of pain. His leine was white, unmarred by a bullet hole or the blood associated with it. He gingerly touched his side and found the thick padding of a bandage beneath.
He'd already been to a healer and been changed into a fresh leine, but how? When had they stopped? How had he not noticed? “Ye got a healer already?”
“I did it myself. I had the supplies in my bag to bring to my ma. She’s verra particular. She’s ill, as I’m sure ye know.” Freya looked out the window, inspecting the flickering scenery as it passed. “The bullet went straight through, lucky for ye. However, ye dinna tell me ye'd been struck and ye sat there bleeding out for long enough to knock ye senseless.” She shrugged. “Made for an easy cleaning at least. And changing.”
She'd saved him. He'd been completely unaware this entire time, and she had worked hard to ensure his safety.
Soothing warmth spread through him and took the raging pulse of pain to a dull hum. His body relaxed into the seat with more ease. He gazed across the narrow distance where Freya sat forward in her seat, a hand gracefully poised on the curtain of the window. The sun sluiced in through the dirty glass and left her skin like cream beneath the rosy cluster of freckles.
Ewan's mind was...soft, and staring at Freya, it was...nice. He smiled to himself, and even as he did it, the action felt thick and stupid.
Her curls were bonny too, red as a flame of fire and glossy as silk. It made his fingers long to stroke the coil of hair. His fingers wanted to touch more than just her hair though. He wanted to stroke the pad of his thumb over her full bottom lip, so much fuller than the perfectly shaped top lip. The kind of mouth perfect for kissing, gently nipped around a sigh of pleasure.
He pressed his lips together as if doing so might let him taste her on his mouth, though he'd never touched her at all. The carriage jostled over a particularly bumpy patch. Ewan's limp body rocked in time with each bounce and jolt, and Freya's firm breasts gave a little jiggle. There wasn’t as much visible with her high-necked gown, and it made him wish for the low-cut neckline she'd worn the other day, the soft fabric falling around the natural shape of her body.
“Captain Fraser, ye're staring at me quite intently.” Freya spoke without removing her gaze from the window.
“Aye,” Ewan agreed. The carriage dipped beneath them and her bosom gave a lovely bounce. “I like yer breasts.”
She looked at him now, her eyes wide, and she gave a snort of laughter. “Oh, poor Captain Fraser, ye’re no’ yerself. Perhaps I shouldna have given ye so much of the tea.”
“I like it.” He tried to give her a smile, but his mouth didn't feel as though it quite lifted the way he wanted it to. “I like ye.”
“Because of my breasts?” she asked, clearly amused.
“Aye.” He gave a lazy nod. “And the rest of ye - I like all of ye. So verra beautiful.”
A flush colored her cheeks.
“And I like yer heart,” he added.
“My heart,” she repeated his words slowly.
“Ye're a good person, admirable and beautiful.” Ewan's head lilted to the side, his neck no longer strong enough to keep it upright. “But I like all of ye verra, verra, verra, verra, verra much.”
His eyes started to close.
“That's kind of ye to say, Captain Fraser.” Her gentle voice slipped into his dreams like a warm, soft blanket.
“Ewan,” he muttered. “Ye canna call a traitor ‘Captain.’”
Something smooth and cool folded around his hand. “The people of Scotland willna see ye as a traitor.” She paused and Ewan faded into sleep.
“And I like ye too, Ewan.” Her voice pulled at him for a moment.
He tried to lift his head, but it was heavy, mired with a fog that covered all his memories. Things he needed to remember but didn't want to.
“Rest well, but quick,” Freya said. “For we are near my home, and the countryside is red with the English.”
CHAPTER SIX
Another redcoat. That made over twenty Freya had seen in the last hour.
Her foot jostled on the flat bottom of the carriage, bouncing her leg up and down with coils of unspent energy. She had an injured deserter who she'd apparently made drunk by giving him too much of the herbs she'd concocted from what was available in her bag. But then the herbs she carried were meant for her mother, who had needed more and more with time.
Freya had thought Captain Fraser's large frame would require more. She had been wrong.
Ewan.
She reminded herself of his name and a smile whispered over her lips. He'd looked foolish sitting there with that lopsided grin, watching her breasts with half-lidded eyes. Foolish and endearing, like a puppy made so innocently happy with the simplest of things.
Several horses strode past with officers astride them. One looked in the carriage and nodded to her in greeting. The smile on her mouth twisted into a bitter scowl and she yanked the curtain back into place. Watching all those bloody Englishmen wouldn't do a lick of good.
Rather, it churned her mind into knots. There was too much to fear with so much red about. Hadn't she learned that lesson before? Hadn't she seen all too recently the destruction they could wreak?
Edward whistled a soft tune from outside the carriage, which meant they were only half a mile away.
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.