by Unknown
Freya dug through her purse, pulling out a huge wad of bills and handing it over to him.
The old man crinkled his brow. “What’s that fer?”
“I want to pay for the lamb… and its mother.”
“They’re not for sale.”
Freya smiled. “I need you to keep them safe for me. Hopefully, this will be enough to feed and care for them.” She held out the money again, beseeching him to take it.
He shook his head. “These are eating stock, lassie.”
“I know, but not these two,” Freya told him, gesturing to the tiny lamb and its mother. “These two are special and destined for a long, full life.”
He stared at the large amount of bills uncertainly.
“Please!” she begged. “It would mean so much to me.” Not taking no for an answer, she placed the money in his palm and closed his fist over it.
“It’s far too much.”
“Good, you deserve to be compensated,” she insisted.
The old man shook his head doubtfully but stuffed the bills inside his pocket. “Ma name’s Robertson,” he said, shaking her hand formally.
Freya grasped it, taking it as a sign he would honor her request. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Robertson. My name is Freya McKenna.”
After shaking hands, she slowly made her way over to the lamb, speaking in soft tones as Robertson had done. Freya took off the necklace her mother had given her on her sixteenth birthday, a small gold cross with a tiny ruby in the center. “This is to remind you of me, little one,” she said as she doubled the chain and fastened the jewelry around its thin neck.
The old man shook his head and laughed. “I knew Americans were odd, but I never guessed ye were doo-lally.”
“Only doo-lally in the best way,” she grinned up at him.
He shrugged. “If ye say so.”
Freya tried to walk to her car without incident, but bending over to navigate the fence proved too much. She cried out, and found Robertson instantly by her side.
He helped her into the car, but asked, “Are ye okay to drive, Miss McKenna?”
Freya nodded, holding back the tears of pain until the car was safely down the road. It seemed to be happening just the way Bryn had predicted. Her time was running out…
Passing through a village, she noticed a small pub with a sign painted bright red and the words “Slainte Mhath!” the traditional Scottish toast meaning ‘Good Health’.
How ironic, she thought, slowing down. She hoped a strong, rich lager might ease the pain and numb her growing fears.
Freya parked her car and pulled down the visor mirror to wipe away the remaining tears before fixing her makeup. Having a drink at a local pub was just what she needed to take her mind off the ticking clock inside her head.
A crackling fire greeted her inside the little pub. She quickly made her way to it, needing its warmth and distraction. The locals didn’t seem to see her as she sat down at a small table near the fireplace.
A group of men were cozied up to the bar, laughing and having far too much of a good time joking with each other so early in the day. She definitely appreciated the plethora of manly kilts.
Can it get any better than this?
Bryn
Freya smiled to herself. This was exactly what her soul needed.
Although the men were laughing too hard to notice her, the waitress at the bar sauntered over to the table. “What’ll ye ’ave?”
Freya grinned as she pointed to the lively group. “I’ll have what they’re having.”
The waitress clicked her tongue. “It’s strong, I ’ope ye can handle it.”
She poured Freya a thick, dark, foamy lager into a pint, swishing her skirt as she returned with the drink. “Enjoy…”
Freya lifted the pint to her lips and smiled in appreciation as she sucked the foam off the top. It tasted like an adult version of whipped cream. “Yum!” she purred.
Somehow, her quiet exclamation garnered the attention of the group and the tallest among them turned towards her.
Oh, hell no!
Freya tensed as Kade approached. “Well, well…who do we have here?”
The others followed, surrounding her where she sat.
Feigning ignorance, Freya answered, “Do I know you?”
Kade’s eyes narrowed. “Nae. Ye do not.”
She took another sip of the lager, almost choking on her fear. “I didn’t think so.”
The pub keeper was meticulously wiping down the bar, flinging the towel over his shoulder before looking up and asking good-naturedly, “What’s going on here?”
His charming smile melted her heart and Freya was struck dumb by how impossibly cute the man was—until their eyes met.
Bryn!
Someone new entered the pub at that exact moment. “Know where I could get some brew?” the balding Scotsmen joked, breaking the uncomfortable silence hovering in the room.
Bryn quickly recovered from his shock and answered in a jovial tone, “That I do, Fletcher. Elsa would be happy to serve ye.”
The waitress looked confused by the hostility floating in the room, but obediently grabbed a glass pint and filled it up. “There ye go, Fletch.”
Bryn joined the circle of men surrounding Freya and asked in a flirtatious tone, “What are the chances of a sweet American like yerself finding yer way to my remote pub?” His voice was light, but his eyes glinted with anger and distrust.
Freya stammered under his intense stare. “I… I was out in the countryside and happened to pass by here. It was the name of the establishment that caught my attention and I felt the urge to stop in for a drink.”
A flicker of understanding showed in Bryn’s eyes. “Slainte Mhath is but a common toast, lass.”
“Still, it struck me as appropriate… surely you can understand the attraction I had to it?” she asked beseechingly, needing him to understand it had only been a terrible coincidence.
His nostrils flared slightly as he considered her words.
“I’m sorry if my presence disturbs you,” she said, getting up to leave but the circle of men crowded in closer, effectively blocking her escape.
Freya looked to the old man who’d just entered. She decided to engage him in conversation, hoping he might prove her means of escape. “I hear they have the best lager in these parts. Do you agree?”
“Aye, it’s true, little lassie. Bryn is the master of the brew.” He lifted his pint. “Slainte Mhath!”
Freya picked up her glass and moved over to Fletcher in the guise of wanting to toast. “I’m Freya McKenna, and I’m happy to drink to that.” She held up the lager, smiling at the old man as she clinked her pint against his.
At least one person knew her name, as well as the fact she was here. Hopefully that would be enough to deter Kade from harming her.
“So ye just happened on this place, Miss McKenna?” Bryn asked skeptically, still not believing her.
She looked him in the eye, raising her chin in defiance. “Yes, I’ve come from Mr. Robertson’s place. He’s raising a lamb for me.”
“Ye lie,” Tavis accused from behind her. “Robertson would never do such a thing.”
Freya started edging towards the door, deciding they would have to physically accost her, and risk outing themselves to Fletcher, if they wanted keep her there. “You can ask Mr. Robertson, if you doubt it. Since it appears I’ve disturbed your merrymaking, I’ll be on my way.”
She was almost to the door when Fletcher called out. “Nae, don’t leave yet, lassie.” She stopped, afraid he was one of them. She breathed a sigh of relief when he added, “Ye and Elsa are the only things that brighten up the place. Stay and finish yer brew.”
Unfortunately, Bryn took advantage of her hesitation by the door, coming up behind her and putting his hand on her shoulders. “Aye, lass.” He steered her back to the bar and pulled out a stool. “Stay.”
Freya sat down reluctantly and the group of men surrounded her again. They each grabbed their
pints and toasted her with leering smiles. When she took a sip, Kade tilted her glass higher, forcing her to gulp the thick brew.
The heavy lager had her feeling warm and relaxed—too relaxed.
She put it down and pushed the pint away, determined not to drink anymore and possibly miss her opportunity to escape.
Bryn disappeared into the back, coming out a few minutes later with a plate of what looked like poorly-shaped meatballs. She stared at them wondering if he wanted to poison her, but Fletcher grabbed one of the meatballs and chomped down on it with satisfaction. Freya watched in horror, expecting the innocent man to clutch his throat and fall to the ground in agony.
Instead, he just winked at her.
Bryn took a knife and cut one in two. When she saw the egg in the middle, she realized they were simply Scotch eggs, something her mother used to make on special occasions when she was a tiny bairn. He picked up one half and stuffed it into his mouth, then he pushed the plate closer to her. “Try it. My lager goes down better on a full stomach.”
Freya hesitantly took the other half and nibbled on it.
“Eat it like a true Scot!” Fletcher encouraged, grinning at her.
She popped the rest in her mouth and couldn’t help smiling as the familiar flavors of egg and spiced sausage played across her tongue. Images of her parents suddenly filled her mind and a sense of deep sadness threatened to overwhelm her.
They were gone…and soon she would be, too. Tears fell onto the wooden bar top against her will. She swiped them away, hoping no one had noticed.
“I think ye should leave now,” Kade growled under his breath.
Freya heeded his warning and got up, ready to bolt. The threat in his tone let her know this was going to be a chase. Her only hope was if she could outdistance them in her car.
In a warm voice, Bryn commanded, “Stay.”
She obediently sat back down.
He looked at the group of men accusingly. “This is my pub. How do ye expect me to survive if ye chase off customers?”
“And a sweet one at that,” Fletcher added, sneaking another egg from her plate.
Tavin growled. “She stinks up the place.”
Freya blushed, knowing the pack of men could smell death on her.
But Fletcher leaned over and breathed in her scent. “Nae, she smells of Scottish countryside.”
“Ye don’t know what yer talking about, Fletcher,” Tavin snarled, moving to the other side of the bar. The others followed, but each one of them kept their eyes glued on her.
“What’s up with ye today?” Elsa complained. “It’s not like the lot of ye ’ave never seen an American before.”
Freya glanced at them with a sense of dread. They would rip her to shreds if given the chance.
Elsa picked up on her unease, and asked pleasantly. “What do ye think of Bryn’s lager, Miss McKenna?”
“Rich and very satisfying. I’ve always dreamed of drinking a traditional lager in a small Scottish pub such as this.”
Fletcher laughed, tapping his glass against hers. “Lassie, I must make ye quiver in excitement knowing I live out yer dream every day.”
“Stop flirting, old man,” Kade growled. “She’s not worth yer time.”
Fletcher raised his eyebrow and grinned. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
“I’m tellin’ ye, Fletch, she’s the kind that’s here today and flown the next.”
The older gentleman ignored Kade and continued to make small talk with Freya, asking her about American football. “I have never understood yer sport,” he chortled. “How can it be football when ye pass it with yer hands and hold it when ye run?”
Freya shrugged, laughing. “I’ve never thought of it that way. Whatever the case, I enjoy a good Sunday game, eating hot wings with my friends and shouting out the next play at the T.V.”
The group of men didn’t join in the conversation but they listened to every word, making her extremely nervous. When Fletcher finally announced he had to head off, Freya immediately responded, “Great! I’ll walk out with you.”
She toyed with telling him everything as she headed out the door, but decided it wasn’t worth the risk. She couldn’t forgive herself if something happened to the old man because of her. Freya gave his withered cheek a peck instead. “Thanks for the conversation.”
“Nae, thank ye, lassie,” he said with an embarrassed grin, rubbing his cheek appreciatively.
She gave him a playful wink before jumping into her car. I can’t believe I made it out of there alive.
Freya hit the gas, shocked she had been able to escape so easily. Her heart dropped when she looked in her rearview mirror and saw a motorcycle racing towards her. She hit the pedal to the floor, but her rental car had no guts and the lone rider was beside her in no time.
Thankfully, it was only Elsa. She signaled frantically for Freya to stop.
Freya slowed down and pulled the car to the side of the road, curious as to why the waitress had chased after her.
“Ye forgot yer purse!” Elsa said, giggling as she held out a black bag.
She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten it and searched the car, certain it was still with her. A sick feeling washed over Freya when she realized the men must have rummaged through her purse at the pub and now knew everything about her. Not just her name, but where she had once worked, her US address, everything—including the place she was staying since it was printed on the house key.
She took it from Elsa, saying begrudgingly, “Thanks.”
Elsa grabbed her wrist before she could pull away. “Ye know something, don’t ye?”
Freya’s eyes widened, stunned by the forthright question. “I… I don’t know what you are talking about.”
Elsa let go of her arm, smiling kindly. “Ye seemed frightened back there. Did one of those men ’urt ye?”
Do I tell her?
Freya swallowed hard. If she said anything, Elsa might die for it. That was their promise and she wasn’t willing to take that kind of risk. “No, I don’t know any of those men.”
“I don’t get it. Ye seemed terrified.” Elsa glanced around as if she were afraid of someone was listening. “There are rumors floating around…”
Freya’s heart quickened. “Really? What kind of rumors?”
Elsa moved closer towards her. “I knew it. Yer hiding something.”
Freya almost said it—almost blurted out the truth—but a clear warning in her gut prevented her from making that fatal mistake. “It’s nothing. It’s just that one of the men looks like my ex. He was a beast of a man. You’re probably just picking up on my revulsion for the guy.”
Elsa didn’t seem convinced. “So ye don’t know any of them?”
“How could I? I just arrived a few days ago.”
Elsa’s smile suddenly became bright and cheery. “If that’s the case, let me show ye around these parts.”
Freya hated to admit it, but she was desperate for friendship. However, she couldn’t afford the complication. It wouldn’t be fair to Elsa. “Actually, I plan on leaving in a couple of days and there’s still so much for me to squeeze in before I go.”
Elsa frowned sadly, obviously hurt by her refusal. “Oh… I guess what they say about Americans isn’t true. Yer not the friendly type.” She climbed back on her motorcycle and sped away, leaving a cloud of dust for Freya to choke on.
She rolled up the window and started the car, ignoring the sense of depression she felt. What Elsa couldn’t understand was that Freya’s rejection had most likely saved her life.
The Wolf
Freya found herself back at the castle ruins, the very ones that had caused her such grief a few nights before. She’d been haunted by a sense of grief so deep it threatened to smother her. For reasons she could not explain, she’d felt an irresistible urge to return to the place.
As she wandered the old castle grounds in the dark, aided only by the pale light of the moon, she was startled to hear the low, haunting cries of a man i
n the distance.
The pain expressed was so raw she couldn’t ignore it.
Freya bit down her fear as she followed the cries up the hill to the burnt out remnants of the bonfire and the ancient white tree. There she found a shirtless man face down on the ground, pounding the dirt with his fists.
She didn’t recognize who it was until she got close enough to see the scars on his back. Bryn was oblivious to her presence, so wrapped up in his grief that it gave her the chance to stare at his wounds more closely. She noted that the terrible gashes were red and swollen, which meant they were newly healed. What she found most disturbing was the fact they looked like claw and teeth marks. What kind of animal roamed these hills that can do that to a man?
She glanced around uneasily, afraid the beast might be out there now. However, Bryn’s tortured cries pulled at her soul and she instinctively reached out to him.
He looked up at her then and growled, his eyes glowing unnaturally in the dark…
Freya woke up dripping in sweat. She stumbled to the bathroom and splashed her face with cold water. The pain was markedly worse than before, and it seemed she had a low grade fever on top of it. It wouldn’t be long now, her body was losing the fight. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and whimpered, “I don’t want to die…”
She crawled back into bed, throwing off the covers. Even though the night air was cold, her body was sweating from the battle raging inside her.
The odd dream continued to play in her mind, and it troubled her. She felt the insane need to drive out to the ruins and see if Bryn was really there. Freya laughed out loud and said to herself. “Must be the fever talking.”
But the longer she lay there, the more convinced she became that Bryn was there, suffering alone in agony. Finally, the feeling became too much so she pulled herself out of bed and got dressed, taking the time to make a fresh batch of coffee and grab a blanket. She figured if he wasn’t there, she’d simply lay down under the night sky and enjoy the stars.
Nothing crazy about watching the stars.
Freya left the keys in the car, in case she needed a quick exit, and grabbed the thermos and blanket. Before heading towards the tree, she closed her eyes to listen and feel. The weight of his grief called to her so clearly that Freya started to run, stumbling over rocks and clumps of grass to get to him in the dark.