Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
F reya
A few weeks ago, in the middle of that street in Edinburgh, I held that little girl in my arms, shielding her from the world, and instantly, she felt like mine.
But och!—how fate has done me wrong!
Does she adore me? Yes. She gives me her sunshine-filled smile the moment I walk in the door. She reaches her wee arms out for me to pick her up.
But when she’s hurt, scared, and feels like there is anything just a little bit off in her world…
She wants him.
I’d say it’s infuriating, but any woman with a uterus knows the flutters you feel when a handsome, stoic man melts under the tender weight of a child, soothing them with sweet words. A carnal power as old as the Earth takes over .
You want to ride him hard and fill your empty womb with his babies.
I know, eventually, we will find Pearl’s family and reunite them.
We’re doing all we can to find her mother and blood relatives. It’s been weeks without so much as a nibble. There are no missing children’s reports that match her unique description, and there are no files that Social Care Support or Child Protective Committees can find with a photo like hers. A DNA test did find us one match; her father had one done when he was in police custody a few years ago.
Ross Macdonald is an alias. The dead man with the light blue eyes and vine tattoo on his neck, Pearl’s father, is really Tartan Erwin—a thirty-four-year-old Scottish man with prior domestic violence convictions.
After searching the National Records of Scotland for any birth registered in Scotland since 1855, we’ve not found his unique first name, Tartan, listed as a father on any extracts, or short or full birth certificates.
Regardless, as any solicitor knows, DNA doesn’t lie.
He’s undoubtedly Pearl’s father. Though Erwin is a fairly common surname, it at least gave us a reasonable avenue to begin the search, but it’s possible the mother gave the child her last name, not his, at birth.
We’ve picked up a few names from the clubs and bars, women Erwin possibly could have connected with. We’ll follow every lead. With the new information, we should close in soon.
My wee heart can’t process the thought of her leaving our home. Often, these days, I say, “ Vivre l’instant present . Live in the present moment.”
I’ve been learning French and everything there is to know about infants, Pearl in particular. I've been learning about her favorite foods, naptimes and bedtimes, and how she gets angry if she misses a single meal or snack. She eats six times daily, a girl after my own grazing heart. We’ve taken her to the pediatrician, the dentist, and many therapy sessions.
With everything she’s been through, I want her to have her best foot forward when she is reunited with her family.
I tell myself to enjoy my time with her, to live in the present, to forgive the Kings and the islanders who doubt me, and to move on with my future.
Fredrick. My perfect match. My new family.
He’s given me so much, and it’s time for me to give him what he wants more than anything in Scotland’s green hills—a wedding. Complete with the sweetest wee flower girl.
I’ve been preparing for the last two weeks.
It’s time to implement the plan. I handwrite an invitation using the calligraphy lettering Fiona taught me in her art studio at Norse Garden. When I’m finished, the words look like Pearl or Happy may have drawn them, but the information is all there.
She claps her wee hands. “Tit-ty, tit-ty!”
“KIT-ty,” I say, emphasizing the K sound. “That’s right. Mr. Happy Halloween is coming over to check you out.”
Pearl claps her hands as Happy creeps over slowly, whiskers twitching as he checks her out. So far, he’s been very unsure of Pearl, with good reason .
She laughs her belly laugh and goes right for his tail. “Tit-ty!”
“No, no. Don’t pull his tail. Here. Help me with my card.” I redirect Pearl’s attention, handing her a red crayon. She immediately puts it in her mouth. I take it from her, getting a clean purple one. I hold it up to her, saying, “PUR-PLE. We like this color better anyway. Let me show you. Like this.”
Soon, she’s scribbling happily, and Happy can make his escape.
When the invitation is truly a beautiful mess, I hold Pearl on my hip, and she proudly holds the paper up. “Let’s go find Fredrick!”
He’s in the kitchen. Morven is trying to show him how to boil noodles. They both stand at the gas stove, staring into a pot. Fredrick grabs an open box of bow ties from the counter, ready to pour them in. Morven taps the counter with the wooden spoon in her hand. “You don’t put the pasta in until the water is boiling.”
“Oooh,” he says. “I had no idea. No wonder mine never comes out right.”
Morven tsks, shaking her head good-naturedly. I clear my throat, announcing our presence. Fredrick and Morvan turn to greet us, both their faces lighting up.
“What have you got there for me, little Pearl?” Fredrick asks.
She hands him the card.
Morven steps in. “Here, let me take the baby. It’s bathtime.”
“Thank you, Morven.” I flash her an excited grin.
Morven gives me a wink as she takes Pearl in her arms. She’s in on my plan.
Fredrick’s eyes follow Morven’s retreat, aghast. “Wait! Who’s going to make the pasta?”
Morven chuckles. “You supermodels will figure it out. Surely you two aren’t just pretty faces.”
I walk over, turn the knob, and cut the gas. “We’ll order out.”
“Thank God. That was intense. I really can’t cook.” He looks down at the invite. “Pretty. Are you teaching Pearl to hog up the purple crayon as well?”
My excitement bubbles to the surface. The wait is killing me. “Read it!”
His features soften as he reads the words. He glances up at me, then back at the invite, as if he’s making sure it’s real. His eyes make my heart and womb do that fluttering thing.
Finally, he says, “Are you sure? You said you wanted to wait till you had your family here with us.”
“Aye.” I nod. “It would make me very happy to become your wife.” I stare up at him. “Would it make you happy?”
“Oui. Absolutely.” He cups my face with his hand, kissing me deeply. My knees go weak, my heart flitter-fluttering.
“Like the invite says, please join us in the garden at seven pm sharp.” Morven storms into the room at the sound of my words, making a beeline for me. She pulls me away from Fredrick. “Excuse us a moment, sir.”
Fredrick gives me a curious look as Morven whispers into my ear. “I gave the baby to the nurse so I could call hubby and be sure he’s going to have our delivery. The angel has NOT landed. I repeat, the angel has NOT landed. He needs more time to get it right. He’s not even coming tonight.” She rolls her eyes. “Artists. They can’t be controlled, ken?”
If we can’t have her, the garden doesn’t seem like the right place for our nuptials.
I go into event planner mode, pulling Morven deeper into the butler pantry. “Let’s have the staff set up in the ballroom instead.”
“Great idea!” she whisper-shouts. “My idea in the first place. You never know what the Scotland skies will surprise you with. Let me go; the next hour will be hoachin’!” She rushes off to make the last-minute changes.
I return to Fredrick, laughing at the curious look on his face. “Nothing you need to worry yourself over, honey. Wear your black Armani tux, please.”
“And you wear that gorgeous dress that looks so stunning.” He pulls me into him. “I lost my breath the first time I saw you in that gown.”
My gorgeous one-of-a-kind gown that was made just for me. I no longer care when it was made or how long ago Callum planned for me to come under Fredrick’s wing. I only care about looking as beautiful as he makes me feel and saying my vows.
Where’s my dress!
The morning after I arrived, he had the gown neatly hung in my closet. I moved it to one of his wardrobes. Thus began a daily tug-of-war power game, with the dress now having been in every closet of this castle .
My blood chills—no dress, no wedding. I have no time to search every closet. I’ve been reduced to repeating hiding spots, my memory muddled on where I put it today. The only day that matters.
He saves the day. “I found your dress in the pastry cupboard this morning. There’s a spray of flour on it that I had to dust off, but otherwise, it’s safely back in your closet.”
Whew! Close one. “As you do every day.” I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him. “I can always count on you.”
He scoops his hands around my ass, squeezing tight. “But move it out of our closet after tonight, and you’ll be back over my lap.”
The heat warms me everywhere, his hands on my ass, making me want to beg him to spank and fuck me right here, right now, in this kitchen. I gather up my weak self-control, reminding myself I have a wedding to throw.
“You stop that. This is going to be a classy event. We don’t need your frisky ways, Mr. Frisque.” I pull away.
He grabs both of my hands, pulling me back into him. “Mrs. Frisky Frisque. Finally.”
He’s kissing me and won’t let me go. Finally, I tear myself away to get ready. “Don’t be late.”
The staff that helped me with my makeup and hair that first night now aid me again. We chat and laugh this time like the friends we’ve become, while I share strawberries and champagne with the group.
I wore dangling earrings since I was going to do my hair up, but everyone made me blush with compliments, telling me that with hair like mine, it has to stay down. They’re helping me with the final touch, latching the strap of my sparkling gown. There’s a knock at the door.
Morven lets herself in. “Just me, just me. I can’t let the groom see his bride before the vows. It’s bad luck, so I’ve come to deliver the gift myself.”
“A gift from Fredrick?” I ask.
“Aye! A lovely one, I must say. Sure to be your new best friend,” Morven laughs.
“New best friend! Is it a puppy?” I tease. “Have you finally relented, Morven? Can we have a dog?”
“NO! Ack! No way. Happy is enough fur to hoover.” Her face wrinkles as she pictures the muddy paw prints in the spring I’ve heard so many horror stories about. She reaches into her apron pocket, pulls out the silver foil, and pops her allergy pill in her mouth. I hand her a glass of champagne. Gratefully she accepts, washing down the pill with a swallow. “Something better than a messy puppy.”
She hands me a large, flat jewelry box. The staff gathers around, peering over my shoulder to see what’s inside. I flip open the lid, instantly blinded as light hits diamond.
With the dress's high neckline, the necklace is a stunning work of art that will rest just below my collarbone. An asymmetrical design, three tear-drop-shaped pieces, growing in size as they move to the side, each studded with brilliant diamonds. The earrings match perfectly, with three teardrops increasing in size as they waterfall down.
The pieces must be collectively encrusted in thousands of diamonds .
Holy Green Hills of Scotland. The man has robbed the Crown Jewels. I stare into the box, breathless. “This cannot be for me.”
Sabrina, here only for the night, says, “Oh, girl, there ain’t no other woman in Inverness those diamonds are meant for. Let me put those on you before one of these thirsty gals steals them and runs you off the altar.” She leans over, closing the clasp of the necklace.
I stare in the mirror and feel lovely. I thank everyone, accepting their careful hugs as they congratulate me without wrinkling the dress. I wonder when he could have bought the jewelry, and like the engagement ring, I let it be his secret.
Morven escorts me downstairs.
As I enter the ballroom, I am struck by its transformation. Our renovations gave the wood a gleaming shine and the white walls a pristine condition. The grand space was empty but has now been dressed up for the ceremony.
My matron of honor and witness, Morven, squeezes my arm in triumph. "Told you!" she whispers in my ear.
"You were right," I reply, in awe of the scene before me. Twinkling lights and gauzy tulle drape from the rafters, creating a dreamlike atmosphere. Lavender ribbons hang in broad arcs, tied in large, elegant bows. White paper bags line the floor, weighed down with sand and filled with battery-operated candles. Their gentle glow leads toward a simple arch adorned with the same sparkling tulle and ribbons. At the end of the aisle stands the Frisque family's minister, who has traveled from France to officiate our ceremony.
The same man who performed Fredrick’s mother’s funeral. I thought having some connection to her today would be good for him.
I take a deep breath, feeling emotionally overwhelmed as I walk toward the arch. This is the moment I have been fighting against for months with him, then had weeks of daydreaming about it. Now, I can hardly believe that it is happening.
As I reach the arch to wait for my soon-to-be husband, I can't help but give Morven a parting smile, silently thanking her. She was right—this was the perfect space for our ideal moment.
The minister extends his hand for a handshake; I feel my nerves build up. "Mademoiselle," he says with a charming smile.
My giggle betrays my unease, the weight of his words suddenly sinking in. "Madame Frisque soon... I suppose."My mind reels with the implications.
He reassures me with a kind smile. “A lovely Mrs. Frisque you will be.”
“Thank ye.” Inside, I’m a tangled mess of nerves and worry, wondering if I’m making the right choice, if I’m getting cold feet, or— My circle of thoughts closes.
Fredrick walks into the room.
All my uncertainty melts away as he breezes down the aisle toward me, looking stunning in his black tux and beaming at me the entire way.
By the time he reaches the end of the aisle, joining us at the altar, I all but collapse in his arms.“You’re here. ”
“I’m here.” He holds me, stroking my hair, his touch instantly calming me. “And you’re here. And that’s all that matters at this moment.”
The minister clears his throat. “Mr. Fredrick. It’s been a while.”
Fredrick looks up, placing the voice with the man it belongs to. “Monsieur, you’ve come all this way?”
“Oui.” He nods my way. “Your beautiful wife requested me.”
“I thought you’d want a piece of home here today,” I say, hoping he’s happy I’ve taken this liberty. A slow smile eases over his face, allowing me relief. “Is this okay?”
“Yes.” He squeezes my hands. “Thanks. Thanks so much.”
Everything moves away as if the room and everyone in it melt away behind me; even the minister is only a voice floating between us as we stare into each other’s eyes, smiling. We say our vows to one another. We slip thick silver bands onto one another’s fingers.
And then he takes my face in his hands, brings me close, and we kiss. This kiss, the first after saying our vows, feels like a seal around our promises. The cheers from our staff, Pearl’s clapping hands and gleeful laugh, bring me back to the moment, to the room, the ground now solid beneath my feet.
We eat slabs of vanilla buttercream cake, washing it down with hot tea and coffee, and feed wee bites to our lavender-dressed flower girl, who has no job other than stealing the show.
Tavish, recently recruited for Inverness security, enters the room. All the young, single female staff members turn to watch him walk. The man is gorgeous, lean and pantherlike, owning the air they all breathe as he leans down to whisper in Fredrick’s ear.
Fredrick’s face changes.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Nothing.” He leaves me with a kiss on my cheek. “A work call.”
I’m so focused on capturing images of Pearl with my digital camera I don’t notice how long he’s gone. She’s such a wee ham for the camera I barely notice when he returns. Until he says, “Freya. I need to speak with you.”
“Okay.” Leaving Pearl with Morven, I follow him to the edge of the room.
“I don’t know any other way to say this.” He puts a hand on the pole he stands next to as if he needs something to lean on for support.
My heart drops to my sparkly wedding shoes. I should have known by how long he was gone that the call would be bad news. “What?”
Finally, he drags his gaze up to meet mine. The look in his eyes makes my stomach drop to my heart-filled shoes. “I’ve just gotten a call from Glasgow police. The mother has come forward. And her DNA is a match to Pearl’s.”