He looked at her in a way she'd never realized until that very moment she'd yearned for.
His mouth lifted in a besotted smile, and her world slowed. He caressed her cheek with a touch as gentle as a soft breeze. And her world stopped.
Her breath fled over her lips and didn't bother to return.
“Freya, will ye hand Captain Crosby his pastry?” Marian's voice floated into the still life capturing Freya's attention, shattering it.
Freya pulled her stare from Ewan to find Marian holding out a plate with a pastry atop it.
“For Captain Crosby, sister.” Marian looked to Ewan and back to Freya. It was then Freya noticed the flush staining her younger sister's fair skin.
Freya took the plate with a wary gaze toward her sister. “What has ye so—”
“I can get my own, thank you.” Captain Crosby leapt forward in a flash of red and snatched up a plate from where it sat directly in front of Marian.
Freya blinked and stared incredulously at the rude English officer. Then she noticed the pastry on his plate was the one which had fallen over and no longer had the smear of tangy, sweet jam.
Marian started. “Oh, but that was not the one ye should—”
He bent over the plate and bit into the mutilated pastry. Marian would be forced to not give herself the ruined one as she'd intended, but have a prettily perfect one in its stead.
It was then Freya found herself liking Captain Crosby a little more. It was also then she realized she needed to warn him away from her sister. Marian, after all, had been through enough when it came to the damned English.
She had the opportunity not long after tea when Ma left with Lily and Marian had followed the servant into the kitchen. Ewan still sat by her side, a comfort she appreciated more than she'd thought she might.
Freya shifted slightly in her seat to face Captain Crosby and gave him a tight smile. “How long do you anticipate your stay to be, Captain Crosby?”
“Why do you ask?” He wriggled his blunt nose and took a delicate sip of tea.
“Well, it is our home.” Freya spoke quietly, knowing she was being rude, knowing her mother would be horrified by the conversation. But then it wasn't her mother who protected the family. It was Freya who saw them all safe.
And that was what she intended to do.
“I understand,” Captain Crosby nodded. “It should only be a few more days, I believe.”
Marian came out from the kitchen to gather Ma's shawl, gave an apologetic smile at her intrusion, and slipped away once more. Freya followed her sister's movements, graceful still despite the bulk of her stomach. So too did Captain Crosby.
“Will Miss Marian's husband be home soon?” He turned back to Freya with concern pulling at his dark brows. “She appears quite close to her time.”
“She has no husband,” Freya stated bluntly.
Captain Crosby's dark brows rose. “Forgive me, I—”
“But ye may know him.” She couldn't keep the bitterness out of her tone.
“Might I?” he asked with obvious hesitation.
At least the man knew when he was heading straight into a trap.
“Ach, aye,” Freya said. “He wore a red coat just like yers when he dragged her from our home and shoved her into the dirt so he could rape her for all to see.”
The teacup fell from Captain Crosby's hand and landed on the thick carpet mutely. A dark stain appeared on the lush carpet.
“So, you must know him,” Freya said conversationally. “A man of the king's army, willing to rape an innocent woman not strong enough to fend him off herself. He had a traveling companion just like him who held me back from helping her.” She sipped her tea. “But then there are so many of you willing to rape these days. I can imagine it would be hard to discern.”
A sharp gasp sounded from across the room. Freya looked up and her heart punched into her stomach.
Marian stood in the doorway, her skin white, her face stricken. “I...I think Captain Crosby...needs another cup of tea.” She backed away slowly. “Excuse me.”
She spun around and fled.
Freya cursed under her breath and rose to go to her sister. She glanced at Ewan to see if he intended to follow her and noticed how very pale he'd gone. Indecision warred for only a brief moment. Freya could not allow herself to have Ewan sacrifice his safety for her social failures.
Marian would be dealt with later. A clench of guilt squeezed Freya's heart. Damn it. She hadn't intended for her sister to hear. But the captain, who acted as though his hands were clean as snow and his right supreme, needed to know - to face the horrors of what his brethren had done.
“Ewan, ye dinna look well,” she said. For surely he did not.
“I'm fine,” he gritted out. He hauled himself to his feet, albeit a little slower than usual.
“Let me tuck ye into bed, husband.” She put a hand under his elbow to ensure he stayed upright. Although once in place, she realized he did not need her assistance. He was steady as a stone and his arm just as solid beneath her touch.
“Excuse us, Captain Crosby.”
But the captain said nothing. He merely stared down at the table where the empty pot of tea remained. Freya aided Ewan up the stairs, but her heart remained on the main floor, lodged beside Marian's pain.
Freya had meant to hurt the captain, at least prod and see what he felt. She had not intended to hurt sweet Marian, who was nothing but compassionate and genuinely kindhearted.
Perhaps she could easily leave Ewan to sleep and see to Marian. It was then Ewan staggered and began to slip from Freya's grasp.
***
Pain. Hot and brilliant as the sun. Indeed it even left dots of white dancing in Ewan's vision, as though he'd looked at the sky and stared into it.
He maintained his footing but allowed himself to be led to the room he shared with Freya.
He gritted his teeth. He needed to be strong. For her. For his mother. For all of them.
He was stronger than his pain.
“Ye should have said something.” Freya opened the door to their shared room and led him inside.
“I knew ye were speaking to the captain with purpose.” Ewan allowed himself to be guided onto the bed. The skin pulled around his wound and he hissed out a breath. “Had I known what ye intended to say, I would have said something.”
Freya pulled upright as if he'd struck her. “I dinna know she was right there.” She swallowed and furrowed her brow. “Let me look at yer bandage.” The gruffness of her voice did not mask the catch.
For all the fortitude and toughness she exuded, Freya - the famed viper of Edinburgh - was near tears.
She eased his leine over his head, and her gaze fell on his bandaged side. Her shoulders relaxed somewhat. “I dinna see any blood, so ye've no' reopened it, but I need to see how it's looking.”
She began to unwind the bandage with gentle hands, and he watched her face as she worked. Her focus fixed on her task and her chin set stubbornly, making the line of her jaw even sharper. Even more tempting to stroke again.