He shook his head. “There were four men. Where is the last one?”
Freya's eyes went wide. “In the house.”
She helped him to his feet and together they ran inside where firelight flickered shadows throughout the room. A dark stain streaked the floor and led to the body of a redcoat.
“Ewan?” His mother peered up from where she lay beside the man.
Ewan's heart lurched. Blood. Everywhere was blood. His mother's chest and face were smeared with it, her gown stained and soaked.
“Ma.” He fell to his knees at her side. “My God, Ma. I'm so sorry.”
She waved a frantic hand at him to shoo him away. “No' me, lad. This bastard.” She jabbed her finger at the man staring blankly into nothing.
A gunshot rang out, immediately followed by the most unexpected of sounds - an infant's indignant squall.
Ewan's mother shoved at him, surprisingly strong despite her bony arms. “Go!”
Ewan leapt to his feet and ran in great limping steps with Freya to where Marian's door was still closed. The lusty cries continued, interrupted only by enough time to draw a wee chest full of air. Ewan pushed a hand back to stay Freya and burst into the room.
Marian looked up from where she lay on the bed, her face pale and glistening in the candlelight. A red-faced babe screamed in her arms, its curled fists shaking with rage.
“Ma?” Freya said cautiously.
It was then Ewan noticed Freya's mother staring down at the ground on the opposite side of the bed. There lay two redcoats - the body of Captain Crosby, and that of the final attacker.
“He saved us,” Freya's mother said. Blood dotted the wiry curls at her temple and showed bright red against the otherwise brilliant white of her cap. “The man was going to shoot Marian, and out of nowhere came a gunshot. And it was him. Captain Crosby.”
Marian cradled the babe to her breast where it gave several snuffling grunts. “Thomas,” she keened softly. “Thomas.”
A long, low groan sounded from Captain Crosby.
Ewan dropped beside the Englishman. “It's my arm,” Crosby gasped. “But I'm so very tired. I don't...” His breathing came in labored pants. “Get the girls to the carriage.” He turned his gaze up to Ewan despite the obvious effort it took to do so. “Save them.”
“No,” Freya gasped. “We canna leave without ye.”
“Aye, Captain Crosby.” Ewan nodded and rose like a soldier at attention, ready to follow those final orders.
“We canna leave him.” Freya shook her head.
But Ewan would have none of it. Their bags were already packed, loaded in the carriage in wait for Marian's labor to end, for a chance to escape. Only now the women could truly escape. They at least would be safe.
Ewan had done much damage in staying with them. He would not make the same mistake again.
“I need ye to focus right now, Freya.” He spoke in the calm, even tones he used with new recruits when faced with danger, the balm for fraying, uncertain nerves. “Get the ladies gathered up. Help Marian and my ma change. I'll go see to the carriage driver and ensure he’s fine and ready, aye?”
Freya's chin set with the stubborn determination he loved so much about her. She turned away, like any good soldier, to do what was requested of her, starting first with Ewan's mother, while he headed from the house. Readying the carriage driver would be the easy part. The difficulty lay in saying goodbye.
***
The driver was fine, aside from an uncanny ability to sleep through a pistol fight.
Within half an hour, Freya had succeeded in loading the generous carriage with their meager belongings. The mothers sat tersely beside one another, Ma holding her feisty grandson, whose indignant cries reverberated off the small cabin. Marian lay draped over the opposite seat, her brow warm and sweaty, her eyelids drooping as she waned in and out of wakefulness, forever calling for Thomas.
Freya stood beside the flimsy door of the carriage waiting for Ewan.
He approached with a more pronounced limp. She could hardly see him out of her injured eye and instead regarded him with her good one.
“Ye can help me hold Marian upright,” Freya said. “I think I'll get tired doing it the whole time by myself...” The jest faded on her lips.
His gaze was solemn. Too solemn.
“Ewan.” Her voice pitched and a dagger of fear cut into her heart. “Nay, please. I only got ye back when I thought I'd lost ye.”
“I'm sorry, Freya.” His voice caught and he pulled his stare away.
“Dinna ye do that.” Freya grabbed his face and made him look at her. Tears shone bright in his eyes, and her aching throat clenched with an impossible knot. “Ye look at me and ye tell me ye're no' coming with us.”
The skin around his eyes drew tight. “I'm no' coming with ye.”
Tears poured hot down her cheeks, but she didn't bother to wipe them away. “Then ye look me in the face and tell me ye dinna love me.”
“But I do love ye.” He clenched his jaw. “Dinna ye understand? I'm doing this. For ye. For all of ye. Even Crosby.”
“If ye loved me, ye'd come.” Freya's voice whimpered into a whine, but she couldn't help herself.
“I love ye so damn much, I have to stay.” He grabbed her face then and stared down at her for the span of a lifetime, his gaze moving over her face, memorizing, loving.
She tried to shake her head, to argue, but even in the depths of her shattering heart, she knew it was pointless.
Ewan rested his forehead on hers. “I love ye, Freya. Dinna ever doubt that.” Then tenderly, he tilted her chin upward and closed his mouth over hers, a loving, beautiful kiss which made her heart glow. Glow, and then shatter into a thousand useless pieces.
He pressed a hand on her lower back, nudging her into the carriage.
Lily regarded her son with wet eyes despite her stony expression. “I will see ye when ye're free, my son.” She nodded with more confidence than Freya could ever feel.
Ewan nodded. “Aye, ye will. I'll find the lot of ye.” He watched Freya take her seat. “Love always finds a way.”
The he closed the door with a soft click and rapped on the wooden side.
It lurched forward. Freya's body swayed in time with the carriage, her soul too limp to even afford her muscles the energy to fight the savage rocking as the carriage traveled over the rugged terrain.
“Thomas,” Marian murmured softly.
“Who is Thomas?” Freya asked, not taking her gaze from where Ewan's form grew smaller in the distance.
“Dinna ye know?” Ma said. “Thomas is Captain Crosby's Christian name.”
Freya pulled her long stare from Ewan to regard her sister.
Marian's sweet face crumpled with obvious pain. “Thomas.”
The aching knot returned to Freya's throat and she resumed her vigil of Ewan's disappearing form. She and Marian had both left behind the men they loved.
It wasn't until she could no longer see Ewan in the distance that she finally gave into the gritty burning in her eyes. She leaned her torso over Marian's sagging form and cried until her world fell into a blissful black.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN