Ewan pulled his sword free of its sheath and ensured he was directly in front of Faye. She was a spirited lass, one who only obeyed when she wished to. And while he appreciated such fire in her, he did not like that it now put her in danger.
The Gordons were never predictable. They could be coming to demand a meeting with him as much as they might be coming to slay him. Or the woman he’d wed.
Outrunning them would be pointless. They would meet him at Dunrobin, and the act of trying to flee would label him a coward. Nay, he was best left facing them with his stubborn wife safely tucked behind his back.
With her paltry eating dagger.
Once they were back at Dunrobin, he’d ensure she had a proper blade.
The bald chieftain led his group of a dozen Gordon warriors, his scalp red with rage. Gordon held up his fist to stop his men and glared at Ewan. “Sutherland.” Both rows of teeth showed as he spoke, biting out each word. “We had an agreement.”
Ewan squared his shoulders and faced the other chieftain head-on. “What is it ye want?”
He peered around Ewan to Faye and sneered. “Is that her? The Ross whore?”
“Ye’re lucky I dinna smite yer head from yer body,” Ewan growled. “Mind yer tongue around my wife.”
“Ross says ye had a betrothal since ye were bairns,” Gordon glared at him.
Damn Ross and his determination with the unsigned agreement. “The betrothal wasna valid. Are ye here to fight or to talk?”
Gordon had always been the straightforward sort. Whatever path he set his mind to, he made known. He studied Ewan and grunted. “Talk.”
Ewan sighed and eased the sword into its sheath. “Come to the castle where we can speak properly.”
“Ach, aye, we’re on our way there now.” Gordon scoffed. “It appears yer uncle is willing to be the man ye dinna have the ballocks to be.”
Ewan maintained his relaxed demeanor even as dread tightened in his gut. Not only was Cruim claiming to wish to wed Mistress Blair, but he was also negotiating the arrangement at Dunrobin rather than his own manor. Meaning he wanted Ewan to be aware of the dealings. But why?
To make his desire for the chieftainship publicly known among the clan?
And why had Moiré not told him?
“I’ll meet ye there,” Ewan said with finality.
The Gordons didn’t wait for him before they rode off toward the castle. Ewan turned to aid Faye onto her steed and found her already mounted.
“Are we going to let them arrive before us?” She took up her reins and raised a brow at him.
Ewan grinned at her temerity. Without another word, he leapt into his saddle, and together they streaked across the countryside in their determination to reach Dunrobin before the Gordon clan. They had the benefit of only two riders and steeds who were not exhausted from the sennight-long journey from Huntly Castle, where the Gordons had traveled from.
Ewan and Faye arrived at the castle with enough time to prepare themselves at the Great Hall and summon his uncle, Cruim. Any attempts to encourage Faye to adjourn to their rooms while Ewan handled the Gordons was met with her obdurate insistence that she attend. After a heated exchange, she finally conceded to wait in the hall as she had done when her grandfather had come for her.
With Faye securely out of sight from the already irate Gordons, Ewan waited with barely tethered patience for Cruim. Monroe arrived first with a rushed pace to be at Ewan’s side and eventually, Cruim joined them in his usual way, his lope unhurried, unfettered. His expression was placid as ever, his bushy gray eyebrows lifted in question as though he couldn’t possibly wager to guess why he’d been summoned.
Ewan narrowed his eyes at his uncle. “I hear ye’ve made an alliance with the Gordons.”
“I’m protecting the agreement ye negotiated with them,” Cruim replied simply.
There appeared to be no malice in his expression. As though he’d truly meant to help. He’d always been so good at playing innocent, hiding his cleverness behind the eyes of a dullard. It was why Ewan couldn’t cast him from the clan for what he’d done, not when Cruim was so adept at having his actions appear to be for the good of the clan.
Ewan looked to Monroe and found his friend’s expression to be one of resignation. Which meant Monroe agreed with the idea of the alliance with the Gordons. Damn.
“Ye negotiated this without my authority,” Ewan said to his uncle between clenched teeth.
“It had already been negotiated,” Cruim argued. “By ye. We need the alliance from the Gordons.”
“We have an alliance with the Ross clan.” Anger simmered at the edge of Ewan’s patience, singeing it with red hot intensity. “We needed the aid from the Gordons to prevent the Ross attacks. That isna required any longer.”
“Nor is a new feud with the Gordons.” Cruim’s cheeks puffed out with an unexpected cough. He cleared his throat and straightened. “My marriage will ensure—”
The door to the Great Hall banged open, and the Gordon chieftain entered with the authority of a man set on getting his way. “Cruim,” he cried out to Ewan’s uncle as if they were old friends. The two locked forearms and patted one another affectionately on the back.
Ewan narrowed his eyes as he observed the comfortable interaction between the two. They had been well acquainted for some time based on their camaraderie. How much of Ewan’s prior negotiations with the Gordons had been moved by his uncle’s hand?
Never had Ewan questioned it until that moment. But now…
Gordon turned his attention to Ewan and scowled. “I want the marriage terms drawn up to include Cruim rather than yerself.”
Ewan shook his head. “I dinna sanction this union.”
“Ye will,” Gordon stepped forward. “Ye’ve had us as tentative allies for years. We’ve helped ye in yer time of need—”
“As we’ve done for ye.” Ewan matched the other chieftain’s step with one of his own, so they stood in front of one another.
Gordon’s mouth pinched together at the nudging reminder of how Huntly would have been taken were it not for the efforts of Sutherland warriors coming to their aid.
“I’d like to keep our alliance.” Gordon lifted his head, so the furrow of his brow hid the gleam of his bald head. “Much more than ye being an enemy.”
Ewan cocked his chin upward. “What are ye saying?”
Gordon stared; his gray eyes unblinking. “Either ye give us this marriage, or ye’ll have a war on yer hands.”
Ewan glanced to his uncle but did not find triumph on his face. Instead, there was the same expressionless set to his features. As if none of it mattered to him, as though he had not acted as a traitor to his own people.
“When would this occur?” Ewan demanded.
“Two days’ time.” Gordon grinned, revealing a mouthful of crooked teeth. “’Tis when my Blair will be arriving. Ye know lasses always take a goodly amount of time with travel.”
“’Tis hardly time to prepare a feast,” Ewan protested. Mayhap if he could buy more time—
“We dinna need a feast,” Gordon replied. “Simply a marriage.”
Ewan looked once more to Monroe in the hopes he might offer a protest, some form of a hole in the contract that could be exploited to their benefit. Ewan’s advisor gave an almost indiscernible shake of his head.
Ewan wanted to rage against the other chieftain, to throw the contract in his smirking face. But that would solve nothing. He had always been the calm one. It had been his brother, Ragnall, whose temper had run hot.
An alliance with the Gordons would benefit the Sutherland clan overall. Why then was Ewan so against it?
He was ashamed of the answer as it pushed to the forefront in his mind.
Pride.
And where there was pride, there was failure. Ewan knew his answer regardless of how little he liked it.
He only hoped Faye could get with child quickly and that their child would indeed be a boy, for it could very well mean the future of the clan.
10
Faye remained pressed up to the doorframe, her ear locked against the narrow gap to catch the low rumble of Ewan’s voice.
She hated being pushed behind a door again, set back from the action, but she understood Ewan’s reasoning. She was who he had married instead of the one named Blair. Surely, her presence would be a slap in the face.
But who was Blair, and why had Ewan not mentioned her? Apparently, he would have wed her had Faye not been dragged to the highlands. The idea of another woman crowded into Faye’s thoughts.
She strained to listen, her heart caught in her chest for the man who had so bravely saved her several times over, who cared for her and protected her. The man who was slowly chipping at the stone surrounding her heart.
The man who might want someone else.
“What is amiss?” a familiar feminine voice asked. “Why are ye listening?”
Faye spun around, grateful for the interruption of her thoughts. She didn’t need to consider her feelings for her husband or his for another. Especially when she ought not to have feelings for him at all.
“The Chieftain of the Gordon clan claims Ewan shouldn’t have wed me due to a contract negotiated between them for Ewan’s marriage to Mistress Blair.” Faye tried to ignore the pinch of guilt in her chest that her union to Ewan had caused so much difficulty.
When she’d wed him, she’d never once considered what he’d given up. She’d only thought of her own loss. Now, she realized the depth of his sacrifice.
Moiré pressed her ear to the other side of the doorframe. “I feared the Gordons might be displeased.”
“Verra well,” Ewan’s low timbre sounded in the Great Hall, silencing the two women. “I’ll allow marriage between Cruim and Mistress Blair.”
Moiré gave a sharp gasp. She slapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with shock.
“When the lass arrives, they’ll be wed,” Ewan said. There was an unmistakable tension to his usually smooth voice. “Until then, ye may stay in the castle as my guest.”
Servants were summoned to escort the Gordon men to rooms in the castle and see to their comfort. Faye glanced at Moiré, who dropped her hand and shook her head. Before either could speak, the heavy fall of footsteps came toward them. Both women leapt back from the door as it swung inward and brought Ewan standing before them, his expression tense.
“What happened?” Faye asked innocently.
He scowled. “Dinna act as though ye were no’ listening at the door.”
Heat touched her cheeks at having been caught.
He directed his ire toward Moiré. “Did ye know about this?”
She shook her head so vigorously, her hair brushed across her rose-colored kirtle. Admittedly, the color was fine on her. It complimented the rich brown of her eyes and made her lips and cheeks pink against her fair skin.
“Do ye think…mayhap…” Moiré linked her hands together and stared at her interlaced fingers. “Was anything said about a union between Finn and me? Mayhap my union could…”
The ferocity on Ewan’s face dissolved into compassion. “There wasna any mention of Finn.”
“Oh.” Moiré tucked her chin lower, hiding her face. “Of course, thank ye for informing me,” she mumbled.
Her disappointment cut into Faye.
Ewan must have understood his cousin’s pain as well, for he put a hand to her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Moiré.”
She stepped back with a mumbled apology and practically ran down the hall.
Faye looked questioningly at Ewan, seeking answers not only about Moiré but about Ewan’s uncle and the woman he was supposed to marry before she was pushed in his path.
He indicated she should follow him and led her to his chamber. “I dinna wish to risk being overhead,” he said once the door was closed. “Especially with the Gordon clan about.”
“Ye were betrothed before me?” Faye asked, addressing her most pressing concern first.
Ewan rubbed the back of his neck. “The contract wasna signed, but aye, I was to be betrothed to Mistress Blair.”
His reply nipped at Faye’s heart; a foreign hurt she didn’t want to think too hard upon. And yet, she had to know… “Did ye love her?”
He offered an affectionate smile. “Nay, ’twas simply to secure an alliance.”
“And ye’re displeased that now yer uncle is wedding her?” Faye frowned. If Ewan did not care for the woman, why was he so flustered?
Ewan tugged off his doublet, so he wore only his leine and trews. “My uncle, Cruim, has always had his eye on the chieftainship.”
Faye had not met the man yet. He’d not been to the castle in her time there, at least not that she’d been aware of. Nor had he attended her rushed wedding.
“The man is surprisingly clever,” Ewan continued. “While I was considering arranging for a union with Mistress Blair, Cruim began negotiations for a marriage between Moiré and Gordon’s eldest son, Finn. Apparently, Moiré has had her heart set on him for some time.”
Faye poured a goblet of wine from a flagon on a nearby table and brought it to her husband, who accepted it with a grateful nod. “I take it the betrothal did not work out,” Faye said.
Ewan shook his head. “We couldna come to terms that we both agreed on for Moiré to wed. But I have my suspicions that no matter what I offered, they would deem it insufficient.”
Faye directed Ewan to a chair by the fire, intent on making him feel better. As he had done for her earlier that day after Torish.
“Why is that?” She asked.
Ewan sank into the chair with a grateful sigh. “Finn dinna want to marry her. I kept it from Moiré, of course, but I suspect she knows.”
Faye winced for the other woman as her suspicions at Moiré’s hurt were confirmed.
“And now yer uncle is seeking an alliance with the Gordons once more, but for his own benefit.” Faye slid her hands down the back of Ewan’s neck, kneading the tense muscles there.
She did the same ministrations for her mother often, when she suffered from overwhelming moments of grief at Da’s loss. It didn’t matter what form of tincture or tea Clara made for their mother, nothing had worked as well as massaging the tension from Mum’s wiry body.
Ewan sighed in pleasure, and his shoulders relaxed somewhat. “He passes his intent to marry Mistress Blair as placating the Gordons, but ’tis deeper than all that. I know it.”
“Might he take yer position by force with their aid?” Faye glided her hands down the sides of his spine, slowly working through the bands of powerful muscle.
Ewan dropped his head forward to allow her better access. “If he attacks outright, ’tis possible. But it would be difficult considering my alliance with yer grandda’s clan. But if I die, Cruim would inherit my chieftainship. I worry what might happen to the clan if such a thing occurred.”
“Unless we have a son,” Faye surmised.
Ewan leaned his head back and took her hand. With a wicked grin, he dragged it down his chest and stomach to where his arousal strained eagerly against his trews.
Desire dampened her center and left her hot with immediate lust.
“We should ensure I get with child soon.” Faye cupped her hand around the hard column.
“We can start now.” He caught her wrist and gently drew her around the chair as his fingers worked to free his cock. “Come to me, wife.”
She climbed atop his lap and sunk down onto his length with a sigh of pleasure. They gripped one another with desperate passion, arching and thrusting as she rode him until they both cried out in shared pleasure. Later, as their hearts calmed from the intensity of their coupling, Faye considered the possibility of a bairn in earnest.
It was a strange thing to ponder, as it was nothing she’d ever wanted before. Quite the opposite, rather. Children were loud, time-consuming and filthy.
An image popped in her mind of Ewan holding their babe, his face sweet and tender as it often was when he spoke to her. An unwanted warmt
h filled her chest.
It was more than a bairn with Ewan that appealed to her—it was the man himself. And that held the strong possibility of leading to love, which Faye knew could hurt her worse than anything else.
Having the Gordons stay at Dunrobin disrupted the easy comfort of daily life. Especially when Ewan felt he could not leave the castle. Not when another clan occupied a good portion of it.
More than anything, he most regretted the discomfort Moiré clearly felt in the presence of Finn. She often disappeared, feigning excuses so that she might go to her chamber.
As Gordon had predicted, his daughter arrived two mornings later with her maid and several warriors in tow. Which meant the wedding would be held the following day, thanks be to God. Then the Gordons would finally leave, and Cruim would remove himself to his manor with his new wife.
It was an awkward thing, however, to have a woman nearby whom Ewan had intended to wed. Mistress Blair’s gray-blue eyes lingered upon him, often like a weight he could feel in his soul.
As the castle bustled with activity for the upcoming nuptials, Ewan often escaped into his solar. It was truly bad indeed if he was willing to lose himself in the transfer of Berwick to Ross rather than hear one more question about food preparations or minstrels for hire. He didn’t give a goat’s arse about any of it.
The door to his solar creaked open, and he glanced up to find Mistress Blair peeking in his room. Her curly red hair was bound up, revealing her long, slender neck. “May I speak with ye?” she asked in her husky voice.
He intentionally looked behind her. “Where is yer maid?”
“I dinna want anyone to know I’ve come to see ye,” she replied. “I wanted to speak privately.”
Ewan swallowed down his displeasure. After all, he had rejected her as his wife. He knew what that had done to Moiré. The least he could do was talk to Mistress Blair and keep her confidence.
Ewan nodded and indicated the seat opposite him. She closed the door behind her and strolled past the chair, her hands tucked behind her back as she explored the solar.
“I apologize for having so abruptly ended our marriage negotiations,” Ewan said.
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