"I want tae ken what's wrong with ye, lass. Ye've been acting strange since Magaidh's visit. What did she say tae ye?"
"I told you what she said," Fiona said, lowering her gaze.
"Fiona," he said gently, stepping forward. "I can read ye well. What else did she tell ye?"
Fiona seemed to deflate, closing her eyes. When she opened them again, pain filled their brown depths.
“Magaidh told me you might have other lovers. I—I know it’s not my business—I'm not your actual wife. But I think it’s fair for me to know if you do.”
Eadan looked at her in disbelief. How could she think he had other lovers when he had access to her beautiful body each night? The thought of bedding anyone else filled him with revulsion. He’d bedded women in the past, but he’d never had more than one lover at a time. Ronan had often encouraged him to find more lasses to bed.
But relief soon replaced his disbelief. Fiona was jealous. It wasn't because she was withdrawing from him as he’d feared. It was because she felt possessive over him.
Without a word, he stepped forward, swinging her up into his arms.
"Eadan!" she gasped, but he could see desire flare in her eyes.
"I've not looked at another lass since ye arrived in my castle, in that sinful dress," he said, walking with her to his bed. "Ye’ve consumed every part of me, siren. The thought of another lass in my bed fills me with ire. The thought of ye with another man,” he continued, jealousy flowing through him as he lowered her to the bed, “fills me with rage. While ye’re here, ye’re mine, Fiona. All mine. And I’m yers.”
He claimed her mouth with his as he lowered his body on top of hers. Fiona clung to him, wrapping her arms around his body. He lifted his head up, gazing into her cedar brown eyes.
"I only see ye, my siren. My Fiona."
Fiona's eyes filled with emotion. He hiked up her gown and released himself from his breeches, sinking his hard length into her, again claiming her mouth with his. She whimpered with desire as he began to move within her.
He thoroughly made love to her, exploring every inch of her lovely curves with his hands and mouth until she cried out his name.
Afterward, as they lay entwined and breathless, he wondered how he could ever live without his siren, his Fiona, who had consumed not just his body—but his heart.
Chapter 21
You’ve consumed every part of me.
Eadan’s words reverberated in her mind, and Fiona felt like she was floating on air the next morning. It took all her efforts not to hum while she settled in to work at her counter in the kitchens.
Una had noticed her good mood when she’d brought in laundered clothes to Fiona’s chamber, but Fiona had evaded her probing gaze, telling her that she was just looking forward to getting to the nunnery. Una had only looked amused, and Fiona wondered if she knew the true source of her joy. She and Eadan tried to be discreet, but she had no doubt that his trusted servants knew about their lovemaking—and they approved.
Fiona knew she should be more worried about Magaidh’s knowledge of the true nature of her relationship with Eadan, but he’d told her he would handle it. Besides, she was too consumed with joy over his words from the night before to be concerned with Magaidh.
Don’t overthink what he said, a phantom voice in her mind cautioned, and her joy dampened. She shouldn’t assume his feelings for her went beyond desire. Her feelings most certainly did; the force of her jealousy over Eadan potentially having other lovers proved it.
A pleasant humming pulled Fiona from her thoughts, and she looked up from the carrots she was chopping. The humming came from Sorcha, who was smiling as she plopped slabs of meat into a steaming pot.
Sorcha looked up, met Fiona’s eyes, and her smile widened.
“I took yer advice and told Taran how I felt,” Sorcha said in a low voice, approaching her. “We’re going tae the spring festival together.”
“I’m happy for you,” Fiona said, beaming. “You’ll have to tell me how it goes.”
If I’m still here, she added silently, her heart sinking. She tried not to dwell too much on the dread that filled her at the thought of leaving.
Fiona left the kitchens around midday, and as she headed down the corridor, she froze when she passed the pantry. Inside, she heard several hushed voices—including Sorcha’s. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it was clear they didn’t want anyone to hear them.
Fiona continued walking, ducking around the corner from the pantry, out of sight. After several moments, she heard the door to the pantry swing open.
Fiona quickly stepped out from around the corner, spotting Sorcha step out of the pantry, looking shaken.
“Sorcha,” Fiona said, hoping her voice sounded calm. “Can you help me with something?”
Sorcha blinked, giving Fiona a startled look before forcing a smile.
“Aye,” she said, turning to follow Fiona.
Fiona led Sorcha down the corridor to the cellar, descending the stairs. Fiona looked around the empty space, making certain they were alone, before facing Sorcha.
“I heard you in the pantry,” Fiona said, trying to keep her voice firm. This was risky, but it was worth a try. “I heard everything you said.”
Sorcha’s eyes widened, and she pressed her hand to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears.
“Pl—please, mistress,” Sorcha said, and Fiona tried not to flinch. She’d lost count of how many times she’d asked her to call her by her name. “I didn’t ken they were doing it, and I had no part, I swear. I only found out a few nights ago.”
Fiona’s heart pounded, and she swallowed. How could she get more information from Sorcha without revealing her ignorance? She decided that if she remained quiet, maybe Sorcha would reveal more on her own.
She was right. Sorcha began to speak, her words coming out in a jumbled rush.
“We all love the laird’s father—I can only imagine Dughall paid ‘em good coin tae do it,” Sorcha said. “The poison’s supposed tae act slowly—but the laird’s father is becoming more ill than he should, and Dughall’s furious. He wants his death tae look natural.”
Fiona clutched the wall to hold herself steady, her heart picking up its pace. Of course. Dughall must have bribed the servants to poison Eadan’s father. Eadan had expressed his concern to her over his father’s inexplicably declining health.
“Who—who are the two servants?” Fiona asked.
“Please, mistress,” Sorcha said, shaking her head, terrified. “It’ll get back tae Dughall if— “
“Bran’s life is at stake!” Fiona shouted, fear coiling through her at the thought of the kind older man’s slow and painful death. “I’ll keep you safe, you have my word. But I need to know their names.”
Sorcha paused, her eyes wide with fear.
“Sorcha,” Fiona said. “You can save his life. Please.”
“Brice and Parlan,” Sorcha whispered, her tears falling freely now.
Fiona recognized the two names. Brice and Parlan did menial tasks around the kitchens—hauling in sacks of spices and slabs of meat, assisting the cook and other kitchen staff with prepping the stews and larger meals for the great hall. They never spoke nor looked at Fiona; they seemed to avoid even being near her. Maybe this was why.
“I only ken because I saw ‘em putting something in the food when they thought the kitchens were empty,” Sorcha continued. “They said Dughall—and Magaidh—threatened their families if they didnae do it. Dughall already had the steward Naoghas killed, they told me. If—if Dughall finds out I told ye— “
Sympathy filtered through Fiona’s horrified daze as Sorcha broke off, weeping. In this time, servants didn’t have many options. Life was tough, brutal and short. This wasn’t Sorcha’s fault, nor the fault of Brice and Parlan. This was all on Dughall and Magaidh. Hatred filled her at the thought of them, and her fists clenched at her sides. She was glad she’d decided to stay. She wanted to help Eadan bring them down.
&nbs
p; “Sorcha,” she said gently. “I’m not angry with you. But we have to tell the laird.”
“No,” Sorcha wept. “I cannae lose my position—my mother’ll die without my wages.”
“The laird is kind; he’ll not blame you.”
“Please, Fiona,” Sorcha begged. “Can ye—can ye get the laird’s word that he’ll show mercy? Then I’ll tell him what I ken.”
Fiona hesitated. She knew that Eadan would show Sorcha mercy, but the young woman looked terrified.
“I’ll get his word,” Fiona said finally. “And then I’ll fetch you. You tell him what you told me.”
“Aye,” Sorcha said, though fear still lurked in her eyes.
“Keep working in the kitchens—nothing can look amiss. How are you getting home?”
“Taran’s taking me on his horse,” Sorcha said, wiping her eyes.
“Good. Be careful and be watchful. I’ll send for you when I have Eadan’s word.”
Sorcha nodded and turned to take her leave. But she hesitated, training a worried gaze on Fiona’s face.
“Ye should be careful, m’lady. Magaidh hates ye. She loved the laird once, and she’s jealous of ye. I—I think she wants ye dead.”
Fear and anxiety coursed through her as she hurried to Eadan’s study, but an apologetic servant told her he’d left the castle with Ronan. She turned and immediately headed to Bran’s chamber. There was no time to waste.
“He’s sleeping, m’lady,” said a surprised chambermaid, as she entered Bran's room.
“I’ll just sit at his side,” Fiona said with a forced smile. She’d just have to manually intercept the next meal his chambermaid brought in.
She looked down at Bran’s sleeping form. He was pale, his breathing ragged. Again, fury roiled through her at the thought of Dughall poisoning him. But a surge of fear replaced her anger—if they were poisoning Bran, what were they planning to do to Eadan?
She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there when the door swung open and Eadan entered. She shot to her feet, taking his hand and leading him away from the bed, where she told him what she’d learned from Sorcha—including the confirmation that Dughall had Naoghas killed.
Eadan paled, a look of grief flashing across his face, before it was replaced by anger.
“Let’s go see Una," he said tightly. "She loves Bran, and I trust her.”
Fiona nodded, and together they went to see Una. They found her in one of the empty chambers directing several chambermaids. She straightened at the sight of Eadan and Fiona, shooing the maids out of the room.
“I need ye tae swipe out any meals sent to my father’s rooms, out of sight of the other servants,” Eadan said.
“May I ask why, m’laird?” Una asked, her eyes widening with shock.
“It’s best ye doonae ken,” he said, his mouth set in a grim line.
Una looked at Fiona, shaking.
“Aye,” she said. “Ye have my word.”
“Doonae speak of this tae anyone,” Eadan said. “And Una—be careful.”
“Aye,” Una repeated, though she’d grown more pale. “I will.”
As soon as they left the chamber, Eadan strode so quickly down the chamber that Fiona had to practically run to catch up to him. She could see the restrained fury in Eadan’s clenched fists, his rapid breathing, and tense shoulders.
“Now we go fetch Sorcha and those other two servants,” Eadan said, giving Fiona a brief look. “I’m taking them tae the clan nobles, and they’ll tell them what Dughall had them do. I need them tae tell me where Naoghas's body is, as he deserves a proper burial." He paused midstride, grief again filling his expression. Fiona reached out to take his hand.
"I'm sorry, Eadan," she whispered.
"Naoghas didnae deserve such an end," he said, his voice wavering. "But there's no time for grieving. I need tae tell the nobles. They've seen how ill my father’s been—his swift decline. It should be proof enough.”
“Wait,” Fiona said, reaching out to grab his arm, halting his progress down the corridor. “Will you show them mercy? I gave Sorcha my word.”
Eadan’s mouth tightened, but he nodded. “Aye. Dughall’s gone after several of my servants now. He’s the one tae blame.”
When they arrived at the kitchens, the servants all fell silent at the sight of Eadan. Fiona looked around, panic flowing through her when she didn’t see Sorcha—nor Brice and Parlan.
“Where is Sorcha?” Eadan demanded. “Brice? Parlan?”
“We’ve not seen Sorcha since midday, m’laird,” said Isla. “Brice and Parlan left tae haul in the sacks of barley, but they’ve not yet returned.”
“Tell me where their homes are,” Eadan said, his tone tight. “I’ll send men to fetch them. I need tae speak tae each of them—’tis urgent.”
Unease turned to dread in the pit of Fiona’s stomach. She met Eadan’s worried gaze. All three servants not returning to the kitchens was no coincidence.
Chapter 22
It was later that evening, right before supper, that Ronan came to them with the news.
Brice and Parlan were missing; they’d not returned to their homes. Sorcha had been found, beaten and unconscious in the woods near the village. She was alive but severely injured and unable to speak, currently recovering in her mother’s cottage.
Fiona pressed her hand to her mouth with a horrified look, and Eadan set his own fury and grief aside to wrap his arms around her, giving Ronan a silent nod to leave them.
Fiona pressed her face into the crook of his neck and wept.
“We’ll find out who did this, and they’ll be punished,” Eadan whispered, stroking her hair.
“It’s my fault,” Fiona said, pulling back and looking at him with tear-filled eyes. “I’m the one who made Sorcha tell me what was happening. If I’d never come to this time, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“Ye doonae ken that,” he said gently. “We both ken who’s at fault here. Dughall.”
Fiona didn’t look comforted by this, guilt infusing her expression. He reached up to cup her face. There was nothing he wanted to do more than to comfort her, to hold her in his arms and keep her close, but he needed to put her safety—her life—above his own needs.
“I’m going tae handle this. Now that I ken he's attacked—and killed my servants—” he broke off, his voice shaking with raw grief and anger. “There’s no telling what else Dughall will do. I need tae send ye back tae your own time.”
“No,” Fiona said, shaking her head. “I can still help. Dughall and Magaidh—”
“—Have proven they’ll resort tae violence. Please, Fiona. 'Tis dangerous for ye here.”
“Eadan Macleay,” Fiona said in a firm tone, stepping back and drawing her shoulders rigid, “if I was determined to help you before, I’m even more determined now. Sorcha—” her voice grew husky with grief, but she continued, “—Sorcha didn’t deserve to be beaten. She was frightened and only tried to do the right thing. I won’t let you send me away until you’ve brought Dughall to justice. And for that, we still need proof.”
A surge of emotion filled Eadan at the ferocity in her eyes and his heart swelled. This passionate and fierce woman had his heart. He knew he should insist that she go, but her expression broached no argument.
“Then ye’ll stay in yer chamber—for now,” he said, at the flare of renewed defiance in her eyes. “And I'm giving ye a dagger tae use; hide it away in yer bodice. I’m also putting men on yer door.”
“But I want to help.”
“For now, the best way tae help is staying out of harm’s way. I’m going tae gather my trusted men and tell them what we ken, then I’m calling a meeting of the nobles. I’ve at least one servant I can use as proof against Dughall," he said, thinking of Maon. He'd hesitated to use Maon as evidence against Dughall, fearful that his men wouldn't trust his word when Maon revealed he'd spied for Dughall. But now he had no choice. "I cannae risk Dughall harming any more of my servants—or anyone. This ends now.”
“Wait—” Fiona said, as he started toward the door. “Maybe there’s something else you can try.”
Eadan regarded her warily.
“What?”
This is madness, Eadan thought, gritting his teeth as he leaned forward on his horse, kicking the sides of his flank.
He was on his way to see Magaidh. It was Fiona’s idea; she’d insisted that Magaidh indeed had feelings for him—or at least she once had—and perhaps he could use her former feelings to appeal to her humanity, to have her own up to what she and her father had done. At the very least, she could slip and provide him with information he could use.
Eadan didn’t think this would work; Magaidh had already proven how cruel she was. But if there was the smallest chance he could prevent all-out war between their clans and simply bring Dughall to justice, it was worth a try.
So he’d left Fiona with two of his trusted men on her door. He’d brought Ronan with him, who also thought this was a mad idea. Eadan glanced over at his cousin, who rode his horse alongside him, his mouth set in a grim line. Ronan gave him a wary look that said: This had better work.
His spies had informed him that Dughall was away from his manor, so he knew it was safe for a brief visit. As Eadan dismounted from his horse, he had to quell the urge to set Dughall’s manor ablaze. This was the man who’d poisoned his father, harmed and killed his servants. It would be difficult to maintain a polite façade with his daughter, a willing participant in his schemes.
The servant who answered the door looked startled and paled at the sight of him, but she led him and Ronan to the drawing room where Magaidh sat alone, working on her embroidery. He turned to wave Ronan away before stepping inside.
“Eadan,” she said, dropping her embroidery in surprise and shooting to her feet. She forced a smile, though it was tight and didn’t reach her eyes. “I didnae expect ye.”
Eadan took a breath, trying to school his expression to one of neutrality, though another surge of fury had seized him. She was the picture of innocence with her embroidery, a snake in disguise. She’d helped Dughall arrange the poisoning of his father.
[Highlander Fate 01.0] Eadan's Vow Page 11