“Because I might tarnish my reputation?” Freya couldn't help but smirk.
Marian's face colored red and Freya immediately regretted the remark. Her family was not part of the coarse existence Freya had lived in the past two years. “Thank ye for thinking to look out for me.” Freya took her sister's hand and gently squeezed.
“Lily is still frail.” Marian squeezed her hand back with quiet affection. “I think it might be best for her to think ye’re married.”
Freya nodded. “And I dinna want Captain Crosby asking questions.”
“Oh, but he's kind,” Marian said with a soft blush tinging her cheeks.
Freya did not have the patience, or the energy, to discuss the kindness of Captain Crosby. Then again, she never had the patience or energy to discuss the kindness of any damned redcoat.
“I'm off to bed.” Freya let the weariness wash into her voice.
“Good night, sister.” Marian kissed Freya's hand, which she still held cradled in her own, the way she'd done ever since they were small children. “I know ye dinna like to be here, but it makes my heart fill with joy to have ye home.”
“Good night, sweet Marian.” Freya kissed her sister's smooth brow. She nodded to Ma, who watched the exchange over the rim of her cup. The mug trembled slightly in her hands, signs her condition had not improved.
Time to sleep, indeed. Freya turned from the small remains of her family and headed for the promise of a comfortable bed.
One foot in front of the other carried her to the room she would share with Ewan. She hadn't lied about being tired. Her very soul seemed to drag behind her on the way up the tedious stairs. Yet as she neared the door, her pulse ticked up and a spurt of energy jolted through her.
Ewan was sleeping in her bed.
Where she too would sleep.
A memory of him naked flashed in her head, hard muscles and smooth skin. She tried not to think about when she’d dressed his wound, how warm and soft his skin had been despite such incredible strength. But how could she not? Granted, her focus had been on the task at hand. But neither was she blind. It had been impossible to not appreciate how the light caught the carved lines of his body no matter how swiftly she’d put his leine on him.
No. She would definitely not think of him naked.
She paused at the door, her hand resting on the cool metal of the knob. What was she doing? She'd never been shy about anything before, she'd never been one to back down from such a thing as social discomfort. It's why she was such a good madam.
Only she wasn't a madam anymore, or at least she wouldn't be for a while. She couldn't return to Edinburgh until she received word from Alli to do so. And God only knew how long that might be.
She pulled open the door and strode toward the bed, completely clothed in her travel attire. The room was quiet save the steady draw of Ewan's breath and was lit by the wavering glow of a fire in the hearth. A spice lingered in the air, a scent she hadn't ever smelled in her room before.
Ewan's scent.
All at once, the spiciness was on her skin, in her nose, his presence ubiquitous and very, very intimate. The softness of his breathing, in and out, in and out. His scent, the shared bed. Freya's head spun and she eased herself carefully onto the mattress beside Ewan. Her left arm tingled with the awareness of his body heat, the compression of him indenting the soft bedding beside her.
Freya lay stiff and still beside the man she would pretend was her husband and closed her eyes, trying desperately not to picture him naked.
***
A rustling of fabric nearby pulled Ewan from a deep dream. The bed beneath him was soft, the blanket over him thick and warm where he lay nested beneath. He shifted slightly and a stab of pain lanced through his side.
His eyes flew open in surprise and widened farther still at what stood before him. A woman naked with a shapely body, skin porcelain white and lovely. Shimmering red hair fell to her waist and brushed the top of a perfectly curved bottom.
He should close his eyes.
She lifted a long leg and gracefully stepped from a pile of discarded clothing.
His heart seized in his chest. The angle she stood displayed a line of flat stomach and the swell of her firm breasts. She pushed her hair over her shoulder and her gaze fell directly on him. He was too far to see the color of her stare, but he knew it to be the same warm blue as a cloudless summer sky.
He quickly shut his eyes.
“I know ye're awake,” she said. “And I know ye saw.”
Nothing in her casual tone indicated she was upset at having been found in the nude. Ewan kept his eyes clamped shut. Not that it mattered. He could still see every long, creamy inch of her beautiful body in his mind. Soft and shapely with curves so smooth, he wanted to skim his fingertips over her silky skin.
He clenched his hands beneath the covers, but his body still responded to the sight of her, the thought of her. The want of her. Warmth spread through him and left his heartbeat pounding where everything was growing hard and hot.
“It's impolite to stare at a woman while she dresses.” There was a note of teasing to Freya's tone, a further draw on the lure of attraction in which he'd already fallen prey.
“It's impolite to dress in a room with a man no' your husband,” he countered.
“But ye are my husband.”
He opened his eyes and found her still nude, facing him now. Her long red hair draped behind her shoulders, putting her entire shapely form on display for him – round, full breasts with pink nipples drawn tight against the chill in the room. The generosity of her breasts made her tiny waist appear that much smaller, an appealing contrast to the flare of her rounded hips. Lower still was the downy curling red hair…
He needed to close his eyes, but his lids no longer worked. “What do ye mean?”
Freya smirked at him and stretched out a long arm to draw an article from a wardrobe. White fabric. A shift.
She drew it over her head, and it fell over her lush body like a shapeless blanket. Ewan blinked. “We're no' married.” Even as he said it, his body responded in hope to what his mind knew was a lie.
Married.
His.
He could have her – smooth, beautiful, tempting. His.
She approached the bed, her body moving beneath the voluminous fabric. Had he seen her in only her shift, he would never have imagined what lay beneath, but now that he knew, he could not keep his imagination from playing over the fabric.
She sat on the bed, and her powdery sweet scent caressed him as surely as her soft shift against his thigh where the kilt had ridden up in his sleep.
“We're no' married,” she confirmed his suspicions with a whisper. “How much do you remember of last night?”