“Then so might he.” Alli drew the heavy bed curtains closed against the light of a rising sun.
Freya lay in the darkness long after the telltale sounds confirmed Alli had left and locked the door behind her. Despite the careful observation Alli made, she was either very wrong or very cautious in her wording.
Because if Captain Fraser was willing to sacrifice as much as she had for his family, there was no 'might' about it. He would do anything to ensure the safety of his family.
***
It took Ewan the better part of a day to glean any information on Freya. Not because there wasn't any to be had - there were always secrets to be had - apparently, he'd found the only saintly madam in all of Scotland.
Viper though she may be, Ewan was hard-pressed to find a man or woman in Edinburgh who would speak ill of the famed madam of Molly's. She gave blankets to the sick, fed the poor with remains of food from her establishment, and took in women whose husbands were killed in the war - not as whores if they didn't want to be, but as maids while she educated them to something better. Even the lasses at a nearby church grudgingly spoke praises through pursed lips.
She was a woman Ewan had not expected - admirable, considerate, giving, respectable. Surprising.
So much so, Ewan had appealed to his colonel earlier that day to be granted leave to see his mother again. And again the request was immediately denied. Much as he had expected.
All the greater disappointment when it pulled him in a direction he did not want to go.
Ewan strode through the doors of Molly's with the late afternoon sun still burning bright in the sky. His stomach gave a sick twist at what he intended to do. This was not why he'd joined the regiment in the first place. He'd meant to be a good man, to undo the sins of his father and protect his mother.
Several girls lingered inside Molly's, lounging near the bar. They quickly brightened at his appearance, like dolls brought to life with eyes sparkling and glossy lips pulling back into smiles.
He nodded at them in greeting but briskly approached the bar. “Tessa, I'd like to speak with Freya if she's free.”
The blonde behind the bar quirked a grin at him, amused. One of the ladies gave an excited giggle.
“Aye, I'll send one of the girls to fetch her.” Tessa nodded to the giggling girl with a hard look of reproach that softened when she turned back to him. “Will ye be wanting some tea?”
Ewan shook his head. The idea of tea made the twist in his stomach wrench even tighter. “Nay, thank ye.”
The girl smothered a laugh once more before being run off with the snap of a bar towel.
Molly's was a different world in the daytime. The harsh light seeped through the heavy drapes to reveal cracks in the white plaster ceiling and the fraying of the silk cushions. The walls of sultry pink in the evening were a sad, faded red by day, with several pieces chipped at the corners.
“Captain Fraser.”
The austere purr pulled his attention back to the bar. Freya stood beside it, her brow lifted in expectation.
For the ugliness daylight revealed in Molly's, it unveiled even more beauty in the woman standing before him. Creamy skin beneath the peppering of freckles over her nose and cheeks, glossy red hair, pink full lips.
Her eyes weren't hard sapphires, but instead were soft, like a sunlit summer sky. She'd traded the cinched silk gown for a simpler blue cotton one, albeit the dress was lower cut than was proper. She'd also left off the wide skirts popular among women, so the fabric hung around the natural shape of her hips.
“Did ye want to speak with me?” She spoke slowly, as if she found him daft.
Given the way he was staring dumbly at her, it was no wonder. “Aye, in private,” he said at last.
She studied him for a long moment and heaved a delicately drawn out, long-suffering sigh. “Of course.” She did not invite him to follow her, but turned away from him and strode stiffly to her office. The lines of her long legs showed beneath the skirt of her dress, disappearing and reappearing with each clipped step.
Once again Ewan could not stop his gaze from sneaking over Freya's figure. There was something tantalizing about the shape of a woman's body beneath a gown, without the embellishment of a structured cage and coiled padding. Ewan's face went warm and he realized he was staring. Again.
Freya showed him into the office. A shutter was thrown open and allowed a stream of sunlight to slice into the room, revealing a sea of dancing motes in the air and the stillness of all else.
This time Freya did not sit down, nor did she offer for him to do so either. Instead she stood before the closed door like a sentry, her arms folded over the swell of her bosom. “Well, what did ye find out about me?”
Surprise choked him into silence. This was not how he had anticipated the meeting going, with a confrontation rather than slowly teased out secrets meant to lure her into acquiescence. He had planned a smooth shift from no into yes - this was an abrupt jerk.
“Ye're a good person.” He spoke before he realized what he was saying.
Freya gave a mirthless smile. “Ye seem surprised, Captain.”
“Ye're a madam.” He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.
Her gaze was no longer a sunlit summer sky, but a frosty winter morning. “And ye're a traitor to his country who intends to extort a woman to do his bidding.”
The word plunged into him like a white-hot blade and stabbed repeatedly.
Traitor. Traitor. Traitor.
Like his da.
No.
He was not his da. He'd joined the Black Watch to clear his family's name. To keep them safe. To be a better person than his da had ever been.
“I am no’ a traitor.” His control slipped and a bite of rage nipped at his words.
Freya did not back down. In fact, she stepped forward, once again on the scent of blood. The woman saw far too much.
“What did ye find?” she bit out.
It was a pity women could not lead an army. The madam of Molly’s would make an exceptional officer.
“Jacobite soldiers come into this place and dinna leave.” It was a rumor Ewan had heard, but one he'd rather use to convince her than his other discovery, the one he knew to be true.
The one that would scare her enough to say yes.
“Many men come into this establishment. Is there someone who tracks their entry and exit? Do ye think I'm collecting them for some nefarious purpose?”
He kept his shoulders squared. “I think ye aid the Jacobites.”
“I aid anyone who needs assistance.” She tilted her head, considering him. “What else?”
He wanted to stare at his feet, as he'd tried to do when he was a lad in trouble, as he'd done to avoid the image of his father's stiff form dangling from a rope. But he was not a lad. He was a man who had to own his transgressions, and he met her gaze when he said exactly what he knew would hurt her. “I know ye have a sister and ailing mother in the country, and that’s why ye go to Callander so often.”