Blair’s mouth fell open. “Aye, that’s what happened.”
“Which is exactly what I thought ye would say.” Cruim shook his head with disappointment. “’Tis how she said ye would try to talk yer way out of this.”
A chill crept down Ewan’s spine. “She?”
“Aye.” Cruim’s lip curled in disgust. “I wouldna even know about yer affair, or how ye’d both lied to me, had my daughter no’ been good enough to come forward. It wounded her to do it, especially when ye’d always been so close.”
Ewan went mute with shock. Why would Moiré tell her father about an affair that did not exist?
Why, unless… His blood turned to ice in his veins. Unless she was part of the plot to overthrow him and put his uncle in charge. And if that were the case, then Faye was in grave danger.
21
Faye raced through the cold stone halls of Dunrobin in a world blurred by tears. She had never been one to run from her troubles. They’d always been faced head-on and with determination.
At least, until the moment that Blair had entered the small, empty cottage with Ewan. The wind had caught her cloak and pushed it aside, revealing a salacious gown whose purpose was clear: seduction.
All the energy had whooshed out of Faye at that moment, dousing the fire that would have risen to the occasion. She ignored Moiré’s placating suggestions that there was surely a good explanation and that all would be well. Instead, Faye turned her horse and galloped the short distance back to the castle, not stopping until she was shuttered in her chamber.
It had been her intent to fall upon her bed and weep. For her and her lost marriage, for the child whose father had lied to them all, and for her pathetic heart that had finally cracked itself open to the possibility of hope. Of love.
What a fool she’d been.
She had trusted him. After a lifetime of disloyalty, she should have known better.
A missive sat atop her pillow with her name scrawled over its back. She stopped short and reached for it with shaking hands before carefully unfolding it. A whimper emerged from a throat swollen with sorrow.
Faye,
I tried to make the best of the union we were forced into but can no longer deny my feelings for Blair. You may return to your family posthaste as you are no longer required here.
Forgive me for telling you I loved you when I clearly do not.
- Ewan
The strength bled from Faye’s knees, and she sat down hard on the edge of her bed. The jeweled hilt of her dagger dug into her side.
He’d lied to her. Betrayed her.
The pain in Faye’s chest was horrific, a searing ache so large, it was difficult even to draw breath. She gasped for air. The hilt pinched at her side with each breath. With an irritated huff, she pulled it out and tossed it across the room where it clattered somewhere under a table. The energy bled away from her, as though that single act of anger was all she would ever have the strength for again.
“Faye?” Moiré appeared at her side. “What is it?”
Faye nudged the letter over the bedsheet, lacking the might to even lift it. Moiré’s gaze skimmed over the contents. Through it all, Faye studied her friend’s expression, eager to see disbelief in those brown eyes, to hear her refute the message and declare that Ewan would never do that.
Instead, her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Faye,” Moiré said softly.
“It can’t be true,” Faye protested. “Can it?”
“I have a way to find out.” Moiré prodded a key at the ring on Faye’s belt. “’Tis to the locked drawer in his solar. I’ve seen him put many things within. Important letters and…” she hesitated before adding apologetically, “missives he doesn’t want anyone else to see.”
The idea lodged uncomfortably in Faye’s stomach. What might be in there? If there was confirmation of a relationship with Blair and Ewan, did she even want to see? To purposefully drive a new spike of hurt?
“We must know,” Moiré said vehemently.
“We already know,” Faye replied.
“I’m going.” Moiré held out her hand. “Give me the key. I’ll tell ye what I find.”
A flicker of strength nudged Faye to her feet. She couldn’t allow Moiré to see such things without her.
They went to Ewan’s solar; the space was familiar with his large wooden desk and the simple space that smelled achingly of him. The spiciness that used to make Faye’s pulse quicken, sensual and masculine and wonderful. Now it was the blade that twisted into her heart.
The words from his note cycled through her mind, flitting about restlessly without ever fully settling. She approached the desk, and her trepidation swelled, like a living, breathing, all-consuming thing.
You are no longer required here.
As if she were a servant being readily dismissed.
She put the key into the locked drawer and slowly turned it. A metallic click pinged as the hasp sprang free.
Forgive me for telling you I loved you when I clearly do not.
It was that line that bothered her the most, which cut her the deepest.
She slid open the drawer and found a neat stack of notes bound with a green ribbon that matched the one Blair had worn on her wedding day. Faye inwardly winced even as she reached for the stack.
They were indeed from Blair. Six missives in all.
Faye sank into Ewan’s chair, as her legs couldn’t support her properly anymore, and read each note. Every word, every profession of love and passion between Ewan and Blair, scraped over the rawness inside her.
It was all too much.
Her stomach clenched, as though the pain in her heart was slowly sinking lower.
Forgive me for telling you I loved you when I clearly do not.
Those words prodded at her brain, through the fog of grief. They echoed back at her now and burrowed in her mind like a burr.
Not with pain, but with doubt.
Ewan had never told her he loved her.
A new need arose within her, to rifle through the other contents in his desk and compare the letter he’d written her to his other correspondence. The note sat heavy in her pocket, but Moiré’s stare was heavier. Like a millstone looming over Faye.
How was it that Faye had happened upon that cottage where Ewan met with Blair at exactly that moment? Especially after it had been Moiré who had convinced Faye not to tell Ewan about her pregnancy?
Sorcha’s words back at the hut rose in Faye’s mind regarding Lara. “All the times I saw to her were to offer herbs to help find a cure for her barrenness.”
Faye’s breath came faster, filling the room with the frantic puffs. She glanced down, discreetly seeking Moiré’s fingertips. Splotches of black showed against her fair skin.
Ink.
A chill tingled over Faye’s skin.
“I’d like some time alone,” Faye whispered. “I…I need to understand all of this.”
Moiré nodded. “Take all the time ye need.” She leaned over Faye and gave her a brief hug, squeezing her shoulders.
Faye tried not to stiffen. “Thank ye.”
She waited until Moiré quit the room before quietly easing open the other drawers and rummaging through. Finally, she came across several letters midway through, a mundane one detailing the purchase of livestock.
Exactly what she’d been looking for.
She jerked the note free from her pocket and unfolded it. Even as she did so, she was hit by the certainty of her suspicion. She flattened the letters beside one another, her gaze darting between the two.
While her note had been written in a hand clearly attempting to imitate Ewan’s, it was decidedly not his handwriting. The t’s were too looped, the n’s too flowy against the bold, sharp scratch of Ewan’s handwriting.
Faye settled her hand over both parchments as the realization slammed into her.
Moiré.
It wasn’t Ewan who had betrayed her.
All this time, it had been Moiré.
“
Let us go,” Ewan said in a level voice.
Cruim smirked. “Seize him.”
The Sutherland warriors, men who should have been loyal to Ewan, stalked forward with purpose.
“I am yer chieftain,” Ewan tried again. “This is a direct order to cease this at once or ye’ll all pay with yer lives.”
Two slowed, but the remainder pressed on. Indeed, it appeared they quickened their pace. Ewan didn’t move until they were upon him, allowing them a final opportunity to back down.
The first man, one from the lower part of the Sutherland lands, reached for Ewan’s arm. Instead, Ewan captured the man’s hand in his fist and met his gaze. “Craig, what would yer da think of such disloyalty? He gave his life to protect our lands.”
“Aye, a life buried under yer da’s rules,” Craig growled and ripped himself from Ewan’s grasp. “I’ll no’ live such a strict life.”
The strictness he referred to was no doubt Ewan’s refusal to allow him to raise sheep on prime farming land. The absence of crops could be detrimental should another blight come upon them. As Ewan had detailed to the man.
“Rules are made to keep people safe.” Ewan had spent too damn long questioning his decisions, and his ability to be chieftain without the training others had received. He knew the decision he’d made had been correct, that it was done to ensure the safety and protection of his people.
“They dinna have rules at the border,” another man said. Ewan had known the man since boyhood but couldn’t recall his name. But Ewan did remember he’d been punished some time back for stealing from his neighbors.
“And they live in a constant state of war,” Ewan protested. “Is that what ye want for Sutherland?”
“My land willna be like that,” Cruim said arrogantly.
Ewan stepped back. “I dinna want to fight my own people when we should stand united.”
“’Tis already done,” declared the man from Ewan’s boyhood.
Together they lunged for him. Ewan pulled his sword from its scabbard, but they had arrived with targes and armor. He had not thought to come prepared for battle when meeting with Blair.
“Nay,” Blair shrieked. “Leave him be.”
Her foot stomped down on her captor’s, and she spun around as he released her. In a flash, she had his dagger in her hand. Before she could plunge it at him, one of the men threw himself at her.
That was all Ewan could see, for three men rushed at him then, thrusting their blades with vicious intent. He was able to block them all at once with a mighty sweep of his sword. It was an impressive defense, but not one he could maintain. Indeed, it had been a lucky strike.
Suddenly, blades were striking at him in numbers too great to fend off, forcing him back, back, back until his heels hit the hard wall. Outnumbered, overpowered and bleeding from several gashes, he had no choice but to keep fighting.
A sharp cry cut the air, and the men faltered.
“Nay,” Cruim said in a low moan. “Enough.”
The maelstrom of jabbing blades and fists ceased, and the men eased away.
Blood dripped from Ewan’s left hand to the floor. His body roared with energy, even as his knees did not feel strong enough to support him, ready to fight to the death. He put his hand against the wall behind him to steady himself in preparation for yet another onslaught, his blade raised.
An eerie silence fell over the cottage. Ewan followed everyone’s stare and found Blair lying on the ground with Cruim standing over her. A dagger jutted from her throat, and her blue-gray eyes stared sightlessly upward.
“Blair.” Cruim fell to his knees with a choked cry that blossomed into a wracking cough.
“I…I dinna mean…to,” a man stammered. “She was attacking me, I meant only to keep her off, but she moved—”
“Kill him,” Cruim shouted, his face contorting with rage.
His men hesitated to obey his order.
Cruim leapt to his feet and flew at the man with an unholy speed, plunging a dagger into the man’s throat, as had been done to Blair. A wet choking sound emerged from the man’s mouth in a spatter of blood. He crumpled to the ground in a pool of blood that spread toward the one beneath Blair.
“Take him outside,” Cruim said to his men. He looked pointedly at Ewan. “I wouldna struggle if I were ye.”
Ewan couldn’t pull his gaze from the two bodies, the man who had supported Cruim only to be killed by him. And Blair, who had sought to save herself.
Cruim was mad. And dangerous.
The fear for Faye washed over Ewan anew.
“Where’s my wife?” he demanded.
“Ye need no’ worry about her.” Cruim lifted his head from Blair’s body. “Moiré is seeing to her.”
Rage and fear tangled against one another at the thought of what Moiré might do to her. “If she’s harmed…”
“She’s no’ any of yer concern.” Cruim coughed, a thick rattling coming from his chest. It was followed by a harder hack that made his entire body spasm.
“Take him to the manor,” Cruim ordered through a wheezing inhale. “We’ll put him in the cellar for now.” He indicated the bodies on the ground. “And bring them with us. I’ll no’ have my wife rotting in a village hut.” His jaw clenched as he stared at her one final time before turning and leaving the small cottage.
Ewan wanted to fight, to throw his fist and his blade at each of the men. But it would be a battle he would not win. One that would cost him his life. And his life, however long or short it might be, would be used to keep Faye safe.
Even as he thought her name, his chest squeezed with a visceral ache. Surely Moiré would not harm her, not after the time they’d spent together, after the bond of their friendship. But then, he truly didn’t know Moiré at all. For he would have never anticipated that she was capable of devising a way to betray him to his uncle in such a manner.
Cruim’s men caught Ewan in a hard grip as two men lifted Blair’s body. The sword was wrested from his hand, and his wrists were bound with a rope. The fibers were thick and coarse, working against his bare skin like a bevy of splinters. A sack dropped over his head, leaving him blind and momentarily disoriented, as he was shoved forward.
Light punctured through the loose weave of the sack and told Ewan he was outside. He walked several steps before he was pushed violently. Unable to see, he fell and landed against a hard edge. Before he could right himself, a loud thwack sounded over his head and dulled out all noise. The sweet smell of freshly cut wood filled his senses.
A box.
He’d been put into a box. Most likely, something akin to what Faye had been forced into on her journey to Sutherland.
He gritted his teeth against the pain lashing through him. What did Moiré intend to do with Faye? Metallic fear lingered in the back of his throat and overwhelmed the physical hurt of the injuries his body had sustained. He writhed in the small, coffin-like space. The action pulled at the ropes on his hand, so they bit into his flesh.
He didn’t care. He wouldn’t stop fighting. Not until he was free and could find some way to get to Faye. To save her.
Ewan waited for the telltale lurch of a cart being drawn onward before he resumed his attempts to liberate himself. He fixed his mind on Faye as he worked, using the sweet cherub’s bow of her lips to take his mind from the sting of the ropes. The silkiness of her hair luxuriously slipping through his fingers kept him from thinking of the sticky dampness from the cuts on his hands.
But the ropes were bound too tightly, and the box too small to properly move. Still, he struggled in vain. And as he did, he recalled the way she looked at him, her blue eyes soft with words neither of them had said: I love you.
A knot formed at the back of his throat.
He should have told her. He’d been so damned worried about scaring her off, and now he might die without telling her what she meant to him. Determination fired through him.
He had to stay alive. For Faye.
22
Faye stared
at the parchment in her hands as the stark truth curled around her. Moiré had written all the letters. Even the ones claiming to be from Blair. The letters all shared the same looping t’s and flowing n's.
But why?
Fear gripped her heart in its icy fingers.
Moiré didn’t want Faye to go looking for Ewan. Events from the last few weeks came together in Faye’s mind. How Moiré had been seen leaving Finn’s rooms after a tryst. Moiré’s suggestion that Faye not tell Ewan she believed she was pregnant, lying about Lara to ensure her compliance. Even how Moiré had suggested Ewan had been acting strange, planting the idea into Faye’s mind to make her question everything and believe the deception.
And how easily Faye had been led along.
Tears stung her eyes at the realization. Moiré was obviously helping her father take the chieftainship from Ewan, and they had all been ignorant to it. How foolish Faye had been, and now Ewan was in danger.
Her brain scrabbled for purchase on a plan while she numbly stacked the letters and returned them all to the drawer. The shuffle of footsteps sounded outside the door, and Faye realized Moiré was waiting for her.
Faye reached for her dagger at her side and found the sheath empty. Frustration welled in her throat like a scream. Now she would be facing her enemy without a weapon.
Quickly, she scratched out a letter to Monroe, detailing what she’d uncovered and expressing her fears that Moiré had done something with Ewan.
It was a risk she had to take as an idea slowly came to her. Especially when danger lay in wait on the other side of the door.
Faye got to her feet and said a silent prayer that her plan might work. A band of tension squeezed at her chest.
She pushed through the door and found Moiré was indeed waiting in the hallway, her gaze tight with concern. “I’m so sorry this is happening to ye,” Moiré said in a honeyed voice.
Faye studied the woman she had once called a friend. She wanted to curl her fingers around the other woman’s neck and squeeze until all the secrets spilled forth.
Faye's Sacrifice Page 18