By the Light of the Scottish Moon - Unrated (My Kilted Wolf, #1) (4 page)

F
reya smiled to herself, resting her chin in her hands as she watched them. This was exactly what her soul needed.

Although the group of men were laughing too hard to notice her, the waitress at the bar did, and sauntered over to her table. “What’ll ye ’ave?”

Freya grinned, pointing to the lively group. “I’ll have what they’re having.”

The waitress clicked her tongue. “It’s a strong brew, I ’ope ye can handle it.”

She poured a thick, dark, foamy lager into a pint glass, swishing her skirt as she returned to Freya with the drink. “Enjoy…”

Freya closed her eyes as she lifted it to her lips. She purred in appreciation as she sucked the foam off the top. It tasted like an adult version of whipped cream. “Yum!”

Somehow, her quiet exclamation must have garnered the attention of the group, because the room suddenly became silent. She opened her eyes and found the lot of them staring at her.

Oh, hell no!

Freya tensed as Kade approached. “Well, well…what do we have here?”

The others followed, surrounding her table.

Feigning ignorance, Freya answered pleasantly, “Do I know you?”

Kade’s eyes narrowed as he stressed, “Nae. Ye do
not
.”

“I didn’t think so.” She took another sip of the lager, almost choking on her fear.

The pub keeper had been meticulously wiping down the bar, and flung the towel over his shoulder before looking up and asking good-naturedly, “What’s going on here?”

The charming smile on his lips melted Freya’s heart, and she was struck dumb by how impossibly cute he was—until their eyes met.

Bryn!

Someone new entered the pub and stood in the doorway. “Know where I can get some tolerable brew?” the balding Scotsmen joked, breaking the uncomfortable silence hovering in the room.

Bryn recovered from his initial shock at seeing her, and answered the man 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 and filled it up. “There ye go, Fletch.”

Bryn joined the circle of men surrounding Freya and asked her in a flirtatious tone, “What are the chances a sweet American like yerself would find yer way to my small, remote corner of the world?” His voice was light, but his eyes flashed with anger and distrust.

Freya stammered under his intense stare. “I… I was out in the countryside and just happened to pass by here. It was the name of the establishment that caught my attention, and I felt an 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 him beseechingly, needing Bryn to understand it had only been a terrible coincidence.

His nostrils flared slightly as he considered her words.

She felt the disquieting instinct to run take over, and stood up. “I’m sorry if my presence disturbs you…”

The circle of men crowded in closer, effectively blocking her escape.

Freya looked to the old man who’d just entered and was now sitting at the bar. 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. Would you agree?”

“Aye, it’s true, little lassie. Bryn is the master of the brew.” He lifted his pint to her. “
Slainte Mhath!”

Freya picked up her glass and pushed her way through the men as she made her way to Fletcher, in the guise of wanting to toast. “I’m Freya McKenna, and I’m more than happy to drink to that.” She held up her pint, smiling at the old man as she clinked her glass against his.

Now, at least, one person outside this group 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 story.

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 ne’er do such a thing.”

Freya started edging towards the door slowly. They would have to physically accost her, and risk outing themselves to Fletcher if they wanted to keep her there any longer. “If you don’t believe me, you can ask Mr. Robertson. Look, since it seems like I’ve disturbed your merrymaking, I’ll just be on my way.”

She was almost to the door when Fletcher called out. “Nae, don’t leave yet, little lassie.” She stopped, suddenly afraid he was one of them. Freya breathed a sigh of relief when he added, “Ye and Elsa are the only things that brighten up this ol’ 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 shoulder. “Aye, lass.” He steered her back to the bar and pulled out a stool for her. “Stay.”

Freya sat down reluctantly as the group of men surrounded her again. They each grabbed their pints from the bar and toasted her with leering smiles. When she lifted hers to take 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. She couldn’t risk missing 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 planned to poison her, but Fletcher grabbed one and chomped down on it with satisfaction before she could stop him.

Freya watched in horror, expecting at any second to see the innocent man 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 in his mouth, then 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 the crunchy edges.

“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 spicy sausage played across her tongue. Images of her parents suddenly filled her mind and a sense of deep sadness threatened to overwhelm her.

They’re gone…and soon I will 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 to outdistance them in her car.

In a warm voice that pulled at her soul, 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 ma customers?”

“And a sweet one at that,” Fletcher added, sneaking another egg from her plate.

Tavin snarled. “Nae, she stinks up the place.”

Freya felt a rush of heat on her cheeks, knowing the pack of men could smell death on her. But Fletcher leaned over and breathed in her scent.

“Yer wrong, she smells of Scottish countryside.”

“Ye don’t know what yer talking about, Fletch,” 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, knowing they would rip her to shreds if given half the chance.

Elsa picked up on her unease, and asked pleasantly. “What do ye think of Bryn’s lager, Miss McKenna?”

Freya glanced at Bryn, and saw he was staring at her with a wolfish grin on his face. She looked away, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks.

Elsa seemed amused. “What was that, Miss McKenna? I dinnae quite ’ear ye.”

“I’d say it’s very rich.”

“And satisfying?” Bryn asked, still grinning at her.

She rolled her eyes, and turned her attention back on Elsa. “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 barked. “She’s not worth yer time.”

Fletcher raised his eyebrow, grinning charmingly. “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’s warning and continued to make small talk with her, asking Freya about American football. “I’ve 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 with him. “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 she said, making her tense and 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 they headed out the door, but decided it wasn’t worth the risk. She couldn’t forgive herself if Bryn was speaking the truth and something happened to the old man because of her. Instead, Freya gave his withered cheek a peck. “Thanks for the conversation.”

“Nae, thank ye, lassie,” he said with an embarrassed grin, rubbing his cheek appreciatively.

She jumped into her car, marveling at the fact she’d made it out safely. She hit the gas, squealing her tires as she sped away from the pub, wanting to put as much distance between them as possible.

Her heart dropped a few minutes later when she looked in her rearview mirror and saw a motorcycle racing towards her. She hit the pedal clear to the floor, but her cheap rental had no guts, and the lone rider was beside her in no time.

Thankfully, it was only Bryn. He signaled for Freya to pull over and stop.

Freya debated for a few seconds, before slowing down. She figured she could never outrun him, and there was no help to be found on these empty country roads.

He pulled up behind her and motioned for her to unroll her window. “Ye left yer purse.”

She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten it and searched the car, certain it was still there. A sick feeling washed over her when she realized it wasn’t with her. She looked up to see him holding her small black bag with a knowing grin.

Freya suspected he must have rummaged through it, along with the other men at the pub, and now knew everything about her. Not just her name, but where she had worked, her US address,
everything
—including the place she was staying since it was printed in bold, red letters on the house key.

She took it from him, saying begrudgingly, “Thanks.”

“No need to fear, lass. Yer safe. I’ll not let them hurt ye.”

When tears of relief threatened, she quickly reined them in and snapped, “The last thing I wanted was to come across your lot again.”

“Aye, I believe ye, lass. It seems ye’ve had a string of misfortune.”

Her heart constricted upon hearing those words. Everything lately had been a deadly string of misfortune…

The dam of emotion she’d been bottling up inside came bursting through all at once. She grabbed a wad of tissues from her purse, desperate to stop the flood. Freya was startled when the car door opened and she felt Bryn pulling her from the vehicle. Without a word, he gathered her in his arms and lay her head against his chest.

His act of kindness destroyed her defenses, and she began to weep. All of the pain, all of the fear, all of the loneliness crashed over her like a tidal wave. She soaked his shirt with her tears, holding onto him in desperation.

Eventually, when her sobs had quieted, she pulled away feeling embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, brushing at his drenched shirt in vain.

He stilled her hand by gently grabbing her wrist.

Freya looked up at him then, startled by a feeling of pure euphoria. She looked into his amber colored eyes and suddenly felt the world start to spin. “Bryn…” she cried out in surprise and fear, collapsing in his arms before everything went dark.

She woke up to the sound of bleating. Freya opened her eyes and was shocked to find a herd of sheep surrounding her car. She sat up and looked around, feeling slightly dazed and confused. There was no sign of Bryn, or anyone else for that matter. She looked in her passenger seat and saw her purse laying where it should be, with her car keys still in the ignition.