Isabel’s attention went to Clive’s mother. Freya held a lacy handkerchief up to her eyes, dabbing the tears away. Isabel couldn’t imagine the distress she would feel watching someone she loved being handcuffed and taken away. She had an insane urge to go over to the woman and apologize, which didn’t make a lick of sense, she knew. She wasn’t going to do it, but she knew being Clive’s mother had to be hell for her. Approaching Freya would probably upset her even more. Besides, Michael would probably tackle her if she took one step in the woman’s direction.
She slid out of the booth with the intention of going to Michael, who was in a quiet discussion with Sinclair, but then she saw Freya stand and make her way over to her. They met a few feet from each other, with a round table between them. Isabel pulled out a chair and sat. Freya nodded to her and sat down across from her.
Neither one said a word for a minute while they studied each other. Freya was a surprise to Isabel. She wasn’t at all what she had pictured. Her erect posture gave her an almost regal bearing.
Isabel couldn’t tell how old she was. Her dark hair was pulled back. The only hints of her true age were the few silver strands in her hair and the fine lines around her eyes. She was slender and dressed in a black sweater and slacks. Her simple attire was not matched by her accessories, though.
The woman obviously had a fancy for jewelry. Large silver teardrops hung from her ears; several strands of beads circled her neck, and at least a half-dozen bangles surrounded her wrists. When she folded her manicured hands on the table, the bracelets made a clanking sound.
Freya spoke first. “Life hasn’t been fair to my son. He is trying to get better control, but he has lapses, especially when someone has wronged him. He has his father’s temper.” Then, as though stating the obvious, she said, “Compton MacKenna was Clive’s father. I was in love with him, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know.”
“It was so many years ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday,” Freya began with a wistful sigh. “Compton came to Dunross to make arrangements for Glen MacKenna. I was working as a waitress.” She raised her hand to gesture around the pub. “Here at Jolly Jack’s, actually. I met Compton the first night he arrived. We took to each other right away. I guess you could say it was love at first sight. I know he loved me. He told me so many times. We were together almost every minute that he was here. He made promises to me, and then he left. He just left me.” She stopped for a second, shaking her head as though the insult was still fresh in her mind. “No warning at all. He made me look like a fool, and I was devastated by his betrayal. When I found out I was pregnant, I tried to get hold of him. I expected him to do the right thing.”
“What was the right thing?” Isabel asked.
“Marriage,” she answered. “I expected him to marry me.”
If Freya really believed that Compton would marry her, she hadn’t known him well at all, Isabel thought. He was all about titles and blue bloods. Freya was what Compton would have called common.
“Did you ever talk to him?”
“No,” Freya answered. “I must have called him fifty times. He would never talk to me. I did speak to one of his assistants, who told me to stop harassing Compton or there would be unpleasant consequences. I told the assistant that I was pregnant, but I don’t know if he ever told Compton. I guess I always expected him to return to Scotland, especially since he loved Glen Mackenna so much . . . but he never did. I was all alone with a child . . . his child.”
“That must have been very difficult for you,” Isabel said sympathetically.
“It was terrible. I didn’t know where to turn. I had to support us both. Then, when Clive was three, I met Malcolm Harcus. We married, and Clive took his name, but the marriage only lasted a couple of years, and he left us. I raised that boy on my own without any financial help. It was especially hard on Clive. Surely you can understand what it was like for him . . . to be abandoned twice. That would make anyone angry.
“I never lied to him. From the time he was very young, he knew who his real father was. Over the years we would hear bits and pieces about Compton, and we knew he never married or had children.
Clive was sure that Glen MacKenna would be his someday. So, you can see why he would want to oversee the management of the land in the meantime. Compton had left James Gibson in charge as Glen MacKenna’s caretaker. When James died, his son Graeme took over. He’s been Clive’s right-hand man the last few years.