Freya was thinking of him again. It was a hurt she couldn't help but gingerly prod. A hurt that had not diminished in the six months since it'd been sliced open.
She settled back in the overstuffed chair in her office at Molly's and regarded the neatly organized line of journals, the sparse furnishings. It was too perfect. Too right. A restlessness inside her stirred, edgy and insistent. It left her with the sudden desire to sweep her arm over the shelf of journals and send them scattering them to the floor, their pages floating to the ground in an errant display of destruction.
Instead she gripped the edge of her desk, as if doing so might keep her from spiraling away from the world.
She should be happy. Molly's was doing well, as it always had done in the past. The mothers had taken to enjoying educating the women who sought Freya's help, though they'd insisted on relocating the makeshift school to a separate location. Even Marian had found a place at a nearby church to aid wounded soldiers.
It was perhaps the only charitable task Marian had taken on with an ulterior motive, for Freya knew her sister sought a certain wounded redcoat in particular.
Not that Freya could blame Marian. After all, what would she give to have Ewan back?
The familiar squeeze gripped her heart and threatened to crumple her into a ball of pain at his loss. How could it be almost more painful at six months than it had been when it happened?
Freya gripped the wood harder and let the sharp edges of the desk bite into the tender lines of her fingers and palms. She would not cry.
Her eyes tingled with wet heat.
She would not cry.
Ewan’s image swam into her mind, the affectionate look in his loving gaze, the dimple that showed only for her. Her throat drew tight.
Damn it. She would not cry.
Outside her office door, the cacophony of conversation and laughter indicated Molly's was beginning to pick up into a full night. She could not allow herself the weakness of her pain. No, she would need to keep it curled tight in her heart until she was alone with the solace of her cool pillow and the embrace of silence.
The door flew open and Alli appeared in the doorway. Her mouth worked, opened and closed, opened and closed, but nothing emerged. Tears shone bright in her eyes and alarm fired through Freya.
She leapt from her desk. “What is it? Marian? The mothers?”
Alli shook her head, mouth open.
“What is it?” Freya asked impatiently.
“It's him,” Alli whispered.
Freya's knees went soft. Her heart pounded. She couldn't hear for all the damn roaring in her ears. Surely she hadn't heard right. “What?”
Alli's mouth worked to say the most beautiful name in all the world. “Ewan.”
Freya pushed past the younger woman. Outside was a tangle of soldiers and whores, silk and uniforms, flirtation and desire. And there, in the midst of all of it, was Ewan wearing a plaid of earthy colors and a crisp white leine. His skin was more tanned, as if he'd ridden through the long summer days, and his face had been scraped smooth to reveal his clean, sharp jawline.
Freya whispered his name and her heart crashed into her throat. Then, despite the pinching shoes and impossibly laced corset and all the damn people watching, she ran to him.
Ewan laughed, his teeth a stark white against the darker skin of his face. He opened his arms and caught her against his powerful chest and then, finally, finally, finally he enfolded her in the full embrace of him. He overwhelmed her in the most wonderful ways - the warmth of his skin beneath the fine leine, the spicy, familiar scent of him, the strength of his muscles squeezing her. Tears clogged Freya's throat and she buried her face in his chest to keep them from being seen.
“Freya.” Her name rumbled against her cheek. “Freya, Freya, Freya - my beautiful Freya.”
His fingers found her chin and gently drew her face up to him. He studied her with the same savoring care he had the night he had put them in a carriage and disappeared from view.
“There was a time I dinna ever think I'd see ye again.” He swallowed. “I'm so verra glad—”
His voice broke and he bent over her. He captured her mouth in the most exquisite kiss, his lips warm and full, his smooth chin soft against hers, and the tenderness, the love humming between them. She slid her hands up over the back of his neck and pulled him closer to deepen the kiss with the sweep of her tongue. Excited warmth pulsed through her body. She wanted him. She needed him. She never wanted to be without him again.
A cheer rose up around her, an intrusive reminder they were not alone.
They broke apart and, in spite of herself, Freya's cheeks grew hot. Ewan's own face tinged a shade of red, an endearing quality in a man as very handsome as he.
He held her face in his hands, capturing all her attention despite their apparent audience. “I want ye, Freya - now and forever. I want to grow hay with ye, and I want to grow children with ye. I want a life with ye.”
His blue gaze stared earnestly into her, as if he shared his soul with her. “Will ye be my wife? My real and true wife.”
Freya drew in a choked breath. “Aye. Aye, I'll be yer wife.”
Ewan grinned down at her, showing her that beautiful dimple of his, and he captured her in one of his powerful, wonderful hugs once more. Another cheer rose around them, followed by the choke of a sob. Freya turned to find Alli watching them with tears shining bright in her eyes.
She fanned her face with her book. “Ye just said ‘Aye’ to Captain Nay.” She blinked her impossibly long lashes in a noticeable attempt to stay her tears. “It's like something out of one of my stories.”
Freya laughed and turned her attention back to Ewan. “How? What happened, how did all this come to pass that you're home to me?”
Ewan turned to look behind him where a lanky, dark-haired man stood. The man wore a tailored jacket and breeches of fine brown wool, very good quality. One of his sleeves had been rolled up and pinned near the shoulder to keep the empty sleeve from swinging loose.
Even in the absence of the red coat, it took only a moment to recognize him.
“Captain Crosby,” Freya breathed.
He glanced around at the semi-nude women and the obvious display of lust and sex on sale. His face twitched and he seemed to curl into himself. “If I might have a word with you. In private.”
“Of course.” She waved him forward but regarded Ewan, hesitant to let him go lest she never have the opportunity to touch him again. As if letting him go now would make everything a dream. “Will ye come with us?”
He smiled down and kissed her once more, softly. “I need to see my ma, lass.”
Panic nipped at her heart and sent it into frantic beats. “Ye'll come back?”
“The devil himself couldna keep me from ye.” Ewan caressed her cheek. “Trust me, he tried.”
With a final kiss, he slipped from her sight and left her standing beside a very uneasy Captain Crosby.