by Evie North
During their years apart he had never wavered in his vow to return to Elspit. He just hadn’t realised it would take so long.
One year ago the kingdoms of Scotland and England had united, and although some of the clans refused to acknowledge the new state of affairs, the Duke of Arran had been at the forefront of the negotiations. He did well from being on the winning side and so did his friends, among them the Campbells.
Ewen was finally able to fulfil his vow, and when that day came he had ridden forth with vigour. He was determined to free the girl he loved and make her his at last. Remembering their last meeting in the dungeon was painful—he had left her to be forced into marriage with an old man, and his heart had been broken and his pride tarnished because he could not be her champion.
Ten years was a long time and perhaps they would no longer feel the same way about each other, but even so, he could fulfil his vow at last. He could redeem himself in her eyes and his own.
At least he hoped so.
He had come face to face with Elspit’s father when Castle Tighe surrendered to him and his men. The laird had not changed except to grow fatter. Ewen had learned that Elspit’s husband, Donald Grant, was dead—he had collapsed not long after their wedding. Elspit had not remarried because her father was satisfied with his son-in-law’s lands and wealth, and a new husband for Elspit would mean sharing. But it was a dangerous windfall. The Laird of Tighe had grown so bloated with land and wealth that there were many others who now wanted what he had.
Ironic, thought Ewen, that if he and his brothers had still been in the employ of the laird, they would have helped him to hold on to his ill-gotten gains. Instead the man was now a prisoner, on his way to the duke’s dungeons, which were much bigger than those at Castle Tighe. It was doubtful he would ever leave them.
“You think you can win my daughter back?” the laird had sneered, when Ewen stood victorious before him. “She can have any man she wants, why would she want someone who ran away to save himself?”
It wasn’t true. He hadn’t run away, he’d left at Elspit’s request to save his father and brothers, but still it stung to hear it. Tighe could see it too, and his smile grew broader.
“Besides my daughter has a real man now. Lord Cameron has asked for her hand and she has consented. You are too late, Ewen. She will not be satisfied with second best.”
Ewen had resisted the impulse to strike the bound man and walked away, but heard him laughing as he was bundled into the prisoners’ wagon.
He told himself this talk of the Cameron was nothing but her father’s lies. Elspit had known he would return and take her as his wife. She trusted him. And yet suddenly this did not feel like the happy ending he had envisaged. Any joy he might have felt had been soured by Tighe, and he wondered again whether he had waited too long.
Finally freed of his armour Ewen stood, stretching the hard muscles of his back and arms. He had always been strong but these were muscles he had built up over the years of fighting, in play with his brothers, and in earnest with the duke’s enemies. There had been many battles to win before he was able to finally set out for Castle Tighe, and every one of them had meant another step on his way to fulfil his promise to Elspit. But would she understand that? Or would she see only that he had taken a very long time to come to her?
Or had she not even noticed his absence? Maybe she had been too busy planning a new wedding to the Cameron?
Robbie had set out a bowl of water and towels, and Ewen washed quickly, changing into a fine woollen kilt and linen shirt with lace at the throat and the wrists. He donned a blue velvet jacket—one of those willing women had told him once that it matched his eyes—and strapped his sword to his hips.
“What have you heard of the ladies of the castle, laddie?”
His squire was busy cleaning the armour, but looked up at the sound of his lord’s voice. He smirked. Ewen had heard Robbie boasting of his master’s prowess with women on more than one occasion, and right now he could see he believed his master was in need of a woman for the night. Ewen did not correct him. The lad would not believe him if he did.
“There are many pretty ladies, my lord. The Laird’s daughter is very beautiful, they say, although her heart is given elsewhere. But I’m sure if she set eyes on you she would forget all about other men,” he added enthusiastically.
Ewen snorted a laugh to hide his disquiet. If his thoughts had been uneasy after Elspit’s father’s gloating speech they were more so now.
“Tis said that tomorrow the Stewart lady will arrive with your father,” his squire added. “I can be discreet, my lord, if you do not wish her to know you have taken a woman to your bed tonight.”
“You are anything but discreet,” Ewen retorted, his thoughts too full of Elspit to take note of the boy’s choice of words.
For ten years Ewen had had a vision of how his meeting with his lady love would proceed. He would go to the great hall and there, before all his men and those of hers who had surrendered, he would take her hand and humbly beg for her to accept his proposal of marriage.
But matters had changed. There would be no begging.
He would not give her a chance to run away to this new man. He would strike quickly and without warning. Ewen the boy might have had some foolish antiquated notion of chivalry but Ewen the man had learned to make haste when it came to taking what was his.
Chapter 3
ELSPIT
Her Ewen had changed. Although she had to remind herself that he was not hers anymore. The handsome boy with a devilish grin and brilliant eyes she remembered had turned into an experienced soldier with cold, piercing eyes and thoughts he kept to himself. There were parts of him she recognised, of course. His hair was still fair, though cut close to his head, and the way he ran his hand down over his face when he was deep in thought was familiar. But he was more warrior now, and inside that war hardened façade was a stranger who had lived a life Elspit had had no part of.
She had seen him from her window, down below in the bailey, giving orders in a voice too low to be heard above the noise. She could see his men listening carefully, faces bright with hero worship, before hurrying to do his bidding.
Elspit had been locked in her rooms in the tower since the fighting began, barricaded inside with her ladies. Around them the battle waxed and waned, but they knew nothing of her father’s fortunes. It was only when a victor was finally announced that she realised just who it was.
Ewen had come for her!
Or had he? Rumours were already flying that he had laid claim to Castle Tighe because the Duke of Arran ordered him to, and now he had been given it as a prize of war. That, and the extensive lands belonging to her father and her husband. For a man who began his campaign with nothing Ewen had risen high.
The shining hope that he had done this for her began to be eaten away with each new rumour, and her doubts grew.
Over the years Elspit had heard news of her Ewen, from time to time. Whenever conversations contained his name her hearing grew sharper. His victories, his rise in the duke’s affection, and the important women he was paired with in possible future marriages. Why would he come for her when he had so much now? Did he even think of her?
“I know you and he were close once.”
The soft voice brought her from her thoughts. Rosina, her chief lady in waiting, was a woman wise beyond her years. Elspit trusted her to speak sense. Rosina had once been a great lady in her own right, before Elspit’s father stole what was hers and brought her as a captive to Castle Tighe. She had remained ever since.
“Men such as Ewen Campbell learn to harden their hearts, and he has had enough years of fighting and bloodshed to grow iron clad. You should not expect him to be the boy you loved, lady,” she added softly, grey eyes gazing deep into Elspit’s dark ones. “How can he be?”
“Of course not,” Elspit said, even while her heart was floundering in her chest, because she had indeed hoped he would be the same. Foolish as it was, she had
thought she would see that golden hero staring up at her. All this time she had been dreaming of the Ewen she remembered coming to her as he’d promised, and the years passed and passed, and now he was here. But he was not the Ewen she remembered, and with a sad sigh she admitted to herself that neither was she the Elspit he had left behind.
A loud pounding on their door made them all jump.
“Ladies!” it was a stranger’s voice. “I come from Ewen Campbell.”
Rosina met her eyes and the warning was there.
“What do you want?” One of the older ladies had risen creakily to her feet.
“My master has requested that Lady Elspit join him for supper in the great hall.”
Elspit went still, although inside she was filled with a cacophony of emotions, all clamouring to be heard.
“You have no choice but to do as you are bid,” Rosina reminded her. “Be distant and chilly, as befits a lady in her own castle. Polite enough so he will not take offence. That way you can persuade him to let you go to your friend to the north. If he will agree to give you safe passage then you will be free of Castle Tighe forever. Isn’t that what you have wanted?”
It was a wish she had often expressed. To be free of her father and his violent, greedy ways. But that was before Ewen came back to her.
Ten year old Mary, one of her younger ladies and Rosina’s daughter, leaned forward. Like her mother, she was old beyond her years. She had been out and about until just before the knock on the door, sent by the others to reconnoitre since she was quick and light on her feet.
“My lady, I spoke with Ewen Campbell’s squire, Robbie. He could not stop boasting about his master. It seems that my lord has a reputation among the ladies, and his squire is already seeking someone to pay a visit to his room tonight. But there is more.” She swallowed. “The Duke of Arran has drawn up a marriage contract between Ewen Campbell and one of the Stewart ladies. Robbie said it would be most beneficial for them both, and she is arriving tomorrow. They will wed here, in the chapel.”
Elspit knew then that she truly was still the same romantic fool. Had she really believed that their love could burn so strong that it would last for ten years? Had she really thought that Ewen would come for her and not the lure of land and wealth and an advantageous marriage?
“Thank you, Mary,” she said, aware that the others all looked away from the pain that must be etched on her beautiful face.
Despite her true feelings being obvious to those in this room, Elspit knew she must keep them from Ewen at all costs if she was to retain her pride. Rosina was right. She must be polite and chilly, the lady of the castle, and he must never, never know how much her heart was breaking.
She leaned closer to Rosina and spoke softly. “I must leave Castle Tighe as soon as possible, and certainly before this Stewart bride arrives.”
“Do not order him to release you. Powerful men do not like to be told what to do. Instead, ask him for his permission.” Her fingers closed on Elspit’s, her eyes reflecting her friend’s pain. “I would go with you but there is Mary and my mother … I cannot leave them.”
Rosina had her own pain to bear. Once, Ewen’s brother, young Dugald Campbell had hand fasted with her, only to have the promise of marriage overturned by Elspit’s father. He had made fun of the age difference between the two of them, asking why a young buck like Dugald would want to marry a spinster past her prime. Rosina had loved the boy, Elspit had no doubt, but she never spoke of it. Over the years the two women had drawn comfort from their friendship.
Elspit nodded shakily. “I will ask,” she agreed. “And when I am settled I promise I will send for you and Mary and your mother.” Then, raising her voice to the man still waiting beyond the door, “Tell Ewen Campbell I accept his request to join him for supper!”
Footsteps as the man returned the way he had come. The ladies were silent but Elspit knew as soon as she was gone the whispered gossip would begin. Many of them may not have been here ten years ago but they had all heard the story of Ewen and Elspit. Their great love broken apart by her father and the sacrifice she had made. Perhaps they too had been longing for a happy ending.
Rosina’s warm hand on hers brought her thoughts back to the present. “You should wear the rose pink gown, Elspit. Nothing else sets off your beauty quite like it.”
Elspit wanted to ask her why it mattered whether she was beautiful of not. Would Ewen even notice? Would he care? Surely it would only make her seem more desperate for his attention.
“A lovely woman can soften a man’s heart,” Rosina explained. “And you do want him to grant you safe passage, do you not?”
The days when she may have fought for Ewen were gone. She was no longer in a position to order him to obey her wishes. She was a defeated and landless lady who must now rely upon the kindness and generosity of the victor.
“Yes,” she said, and her voice sounded strained, “that is exactly what I want. I cannot be here when the Stewart woman arrives. It would be too awkward.”
But the truth was her broken heart could not bear it.
Elspit knew she was looking her best, and Rosina was right, these finer details did help. Ewen watched her as she walked the length of the great hall toward the raised dais and the chair that had once belonged to her father. Her back was straight and her chin up, her rose pink hem swishing about her velvet slippers. She was even wearing her ruby necklace, because she wanted to remind him that she was the daughter of the Laird of Castle Tighe and must be treated with respect.
At least, that was what she hoped to convey. But from the clench of his jaw and the cold stare of his eyes, she had to wonder just how much respect he had left for her. He did not take his gaze from her for a single moment, and she stared back, seeking some remnant of the boy Ewen, who had once loved her and wanted to marry her. The Ewen who, despite his lust for her, had vowed they would both remain pure until they lay together in their marriage bed.
Those vows had long ago turned to ashes. She had married old Donald Grant and suffered the indignity of his bed, and Ewen must have bedded many beautiful women. The past ten years were heavy with memories and not the ones she had dreamed they would share. Things between them could never be the same again.
Either side of her in the great hall sat the Campbell men, drinking and talking and making themselves at home. Some of her servants had joined them, and the girls were flirting, a couple even daring to sit on the laps of the men. She couldn’t really blame them. Her father had not been a good master, and if they could better themselves with the vanquishers then why not? Although she had always tried to show kindness and speak up for her oppressed people, there was only so much she could do. Only the older servants remembered what it had been like before her father’s greed had caused him to fall out with every other landowner who did not bend to his wishes.
“Can we leave with you?” her ladies had asked her earlier, worry in their eyes. “What if Ewen Campbell marries us off to his men? Or worse!”
“I will ask him,” she had promised. “And if he says no, then I will demand assurances for your safety.”
Right now she wondered if she was wasting her time asking him for anything. There he was, standing to one side of the laird’s chair, awaiting her arrival with such a hard, imperious stare. She wanted to look down at her feet but that would be cowardly, and Elspit refused to be thought afraid of this man she had once loved. He was taller than she remembered, and his shoulders were broader. His blond hair that once fell in waves to his shoulders had darkened and been cut short in the manner of a soldier, and his handsome face was so sombre. His blue eyes slid over her, slowly perusing her breasts before dropping to the dip of her waist, and then the curve of her hips, and finally to the slippers she wore on her feet.
Was he counting off the reasons she was no longer the girl he had loved long ago? The little lines about her eyes, her hair no longer quite so lustrous, the fuller curves to her breasts and hips ... did they all add up to convince Ewen he
was better off with the Stewart bride?
She almost stumbled when his gaze returned to her face. There was heat in those blue eyes, or so she thought, before he quenched it. Perhaps he remembered after all. Or perhaps his squire was right, and he merely required a woman for the night to satisfy his lust.
Elspit forced herself to keep walking, elegant, graceful, one foot after the other, until finally she stopped before him. Her head tipped back and then, keeping her eyes on his, she dropped into a low curtsey.
“My lord.”
The blue eyes blazed but again before she could pinpoint the emotion behind them, he shut it down. Was he enjoying her being brought low? If he knew how much she had missed him, how every day she had longed for him, he would be even more triumphant. She couldn’t tell him, she daren’t, because it seemed more than likely that Ewen had turned into the sort of man who would use her weakness against her.
“I wish to ask you—” she began through stiff lips.
He held out his hand and for a moment she stared at it, wondering what he wanted. With an impatient grunt he stepped down from the dais and reached to take her hand in his.
“You will sit by me tonight,” he said, his voice low and gruff, and yet there were traces of Ewen in it. Ebbs and flows she recognised.
I loved you once, she thought.
“You are very generous,” she said mechanically, “but I wish only to ask for safe passage from Castle Tighe to the Cameron stronghold in the north. This place is yours now and I do not belong in it. If you will arrange this I will be on my way.”
He went very still. After one glance at his tight clenched jaw and searing eyes, Elspit did not look again. Had she had angered him?
The servers were approaching to pour their wine, and Ewen tightened his grip on her hand, making her wince, and led her to the main table. She sat uncomfortably, feeling the icy tension in the air. Once she was seated he took the chair beside her and nodded brusquely at the servants.