She looked down, blinking. She’d had been so wrapped up in her thoughts she hadn’t realized how close her finger was to the blade.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling. “Ah—wait,” she said hastily, before the young woman could step away. This was the first time a servant in the kitchen had spoken to her, unbidden.
Fiona had listened in on the servant’s conversations. It was hard to understand the thick Scottish brogues at first, but she’d now become accustomed to them and listened carefully to their discussions. This young woman, whose name was Sorcha, had a crush on one of the stable boys, but feared he wouldn’t return her affections.
Sorcha froze, looking petrified. Fiona smiled to put her at ease.
“Forgive me, but I’ve listened in on some of your conversations about Taran, the young man who works in the stables,” Fiona said in a low voice. “And . . . I think you should talk to him about how you feel. I—I also had a crush on a man who worked in the stables when I was younger.”
Fiona hated the lie, but she needed to ingratiate herself somehow. But she didn’t get the reaction she was hoping for. Sorcha flushed, lowering her gaze.
“I—I’m sorry, m’lady,” she said. “I ken I should be focusing on me work; I willnae speak of such matters while working, again.”
Fiona looked at her, gobsmacked. She knew for a fact that Eadan treated his servants with kindness; she’d seen him invite servants to sit at his side during suppers in the great hall and inquire about their families. His father, Bran, was also kind to them. She could only guess it was Magaidh who’d put the fear of God into these poor servants.
She looked around, noticing that another hush had fallen over the kitchen. The servants avoided her eyes, tending to their tasks.
Sighing, Fiona put down her knife and moved to the center of the kitchen. Enough was enough.
“Excuse me,” she said, waiting for everyone’s eyes to reluctantly fall on her. “I won’t be here for very long; I’m only working in the kitchens to earn my keep. I’m not your mistress—not really. Please talk freely among yourselves. I insist. Ailde, I’m glad your daughter is feeling better. I’ll ask the laird if he can have extra food sent to your home. Ros, I hope you can make it to the spring festival. Laise, I do hope your crops do better when the seasons change. If they don’t, I’m sure Eadan would be happy to help.”
She’d picked up these tidbits by listening in on their conversations and hoped they wouldn’t be affronted. For a moment, stunned silence filled the kitchens, with many of the servants looking at her with wide eyes. But to her relief, she saw many of them relax. A couple even gave her hesitant smiles.
Satisfied, she returned to her chopping table, where Sorcha remained, her eyes wide.
“As I was saying,” Fiona continued, “if I were you, I'd tell Taran how I felt.”
Sorcha’s astonished look faded and she blushed.
“What—what did ye do?” Sorcha asked.
“About what?”
“The lad you liked?”
A wave of relief washed over Fiona and she smiled. Sorcha was warming up to her.
“I never told him,” Fiona said. Unbidden, her thoughts went to Eadan, and her heart clenched. “He—he married someone else. I was brokenhearted. That’s why I urge you—tell him how you feel. Before it’s too late.”
Again, another image of Eadan popped into her mind. The way his eyes lit up when he laughed. The look of wonder on his face when she told him about the twenty-first century.
Did she feel more for Eadan than just desire? Did she more than care for him? At the thought, Fiona dropped the knife and drew a shaky breath. Sorcha hurried forward to pick it up, handing it to her.
“There’s a faster way to chop,” Sorcha said, giving her a helpful smile. “Here, let me help ye.”
After that day, the servants became more relaxed around her. Over the course of the next week, their discussions were less guarded. They were still very aware of her presence, and they never discussed Eadan nor the other nobles around her, but at least they no longer treated her like she was an evil queen.
Sorcha was the one who opened up to her the most. She learned that she was the only child of an elderly mother, and she was conflicted about her feelings for Taran, as it would be better for her to marry a man with better prospects. Fiona listened, careful not to impose her modern-day opinions, reminding herself that she was in another time. Soon, very soon, she hoped to ask Sorcha if she’d noticed any strange behavior among the other servants. But she’d have to bide her time.
Eadan continued to visit her chamber every night, and she looked forward to the time they spent together; he’d tell her about his duties as laird, his slow-moving investigation into Dughall and his missing steward, and she’d tell him about her time in the kitchens. He rarely asked her about her own time anymore, and she was glad. Discussing her own time was like highlighting the ticking clock over their time together, counting down until they’d go their separate ways. She tried not to focus too much on her growing feelings for Eadan, over feelings she knew that went far beyond desire. It was too painful to dwell on, so she pushed all thoughts of her deepening feelings aside.
But after another week passed, the pressure had intensified. Soon the deadline would be up and Eadan would have to send Fiona away and resume his betrothal to Magaidh—or risk war between the clans. But Eadan hadn’t come up with the proof needed to convince the nobles of his clan that Dughall was behind Naoghas’s disappearance.
“I think I should go talk to Magaidh,” Fiona said, when they’d returned to her chamber after supper late one evening.
“What? Are ye mad?” Eadan demanded, looking at her with disbelief.
“She hates me,” Fiona said, thinking aloud. “She could barely restrain herself the last time we spoke. I think she’ll slip and reveal something. Something you can use against Dughall.”
“Ye’ll not go tae Dughall’s manor,” Eadan snapped, not looking convinced by her argument. “’Tis dangerous and I forbid it.”
“You forbid it?” she snapped, hot anger rushing through her.
“I doonae care how things are in yer time, but here my word is law. I willnae have ye confronting Magaidh. I—I fear for ye, Fiona,” he said, his voice wavering, and her anger melted away when she saw the worry in his eyes. “Yer doing more than enough by making nice with the servants. I’ll handle Dughall—and Magaidh.”
But it turned out she didn't have to go see Magaidh. Magaidh came to see her.
A nervous-looking Una came to fetch her from the kitchens the next day, telling her she had a visitor.
"Who?" Fiona asked with surprise, taking off her apron as she followed Una out of the kitchens.
"Magaidh."
Fiona hesitated, her heart thudding wildly in her chest. Eadan was away from the castle with Ronan; otherwise, she'd have gone to him first.
She took a deep breath, willing herself to be calm. She could handle Magaidh on her own.
Magaidh was waiting in a large drawing room off to the side of the great hall. Her mouth tightened in dislike at the sight of Fiona, along with a look of surprise at her plain peasant dress.
“Hello, Fiona," Magaidh said. She spoke tightly as if each word were forced. "I've come tae apologize."
Fiona blinked, astonished. Magaidh didn't look conciliatory at all; hostility radiated off her in waves.
"Apologize?" Fiona echoed.
"I threatened ye. I ken ye're leaving soon, and ye have no intention of challenging me for Eadan. I wish to offer ye my kindness before ye left," Magaidh said stiffly.
Fiona studied her. The woman was lying through her teeth. What was she really here for?
"I accept your apology," Fiona said, trying to force warmth into her tone. “I—I hope you two find happiness.”
What if Eadan didn’t find the proof he needed, and he ended up marrying Magaidh after all? She knew he wanted peace for Clan Macleay more than anything. The thought of Magaidh marrying Eadan fi
lled her with both jealousy and revulsion.
Fiona swallowed, lowering her gaze. When she looked back up, Magaidh's eyes had narrowed, her fists clenching at her sides.
“I knew it," Magaidh breathed. "Ye love him."
"Wh—what?" Fiona gasped.
"It makes ye sick, doesn't it? The thought of us together. I can see it in yer eyes. I’ve no doubt he's bedded ye—Eadan has needs like any other man. Not that I doonae have my own lovers."
A chill went through Fiona as Magaidh glared at her—not only at her own admission of having lovers, but the pure hatred that emanated from the woman.
"Why did you come here?" Fiona asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
Magaidh let out a sharp breath, looking even more furious that she hadn't denied sleeping with Eadan. But what was the point of denying it? Magaidh wouldn't believe her and Fiona was terrible at keeping her feelings for Eadan hidden.
"Tae see if yer lying with my betrothed.”
“You are not betrothed,” Fiona said through clenched teeth. “It’s been put on hold since my arrival.”
Though she wasn’t legally wed to Eadan, she realized in the moment how real their faux marriage felt. How natural. It no longer felt like a charade, and a surge of possessiveness flowed through her. She wasn’t going to feign niceness with this woman anymore.
“Eadan is my husband,” she continued fiercely.
“I loved Eadan once,” Magaidh said, her green eyes flashing with fury. “’Til I realized he didnae care for me. Just ken—yer not the only lass Eadan has bedded. There will be many more—if there aren't already. Don't fool yerself intae thinking yer special tae him. I made that mistake once."
Magaidh stormed out, leaving Fiona alone, uncertainty paired with heartache settling over her like a great weight.
Chapter 20
When Eadan returned to the castle, frustration coursed through him. He and Ronan had questioned a man in the village they thought had information about Naoghas. It turned out the man was a drunkard just looking for easy reward money.
Eadan gritted his teeth, raking his hand through his hair. Dughall’s deadline was fast approaching; he needed proof to present to the nobles, and fast.
He made his way to Fiona’s chamber. Just being in her presence would calm him.
But when he found her in her chamber, seated at the table and painting, he could immediately tell that something was wrong. Her shoulders were tense, her mouth compressed in a tight line, and she didn't look up when he entered.
"Fiona?" he asked, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”
When she looked up, tumult lurked in her eyes. She set down her parchment and stood.
"Magaidh paid me a visit," she said shakily. "She—she guessed that we’ve made love. And she mentioned having her own lovers."
Eadan closed his eyes and swore. He didn't know how Magaidh had figured that out, unless Dughall had yet another spy working in the castle.
"Fiona?” he asked, when he opened his eyes again. Fiona still looked shaken. “Did she say something else?"
Fiona hesitated, biting her lip. But shook her head.
"Well, I can only assume she's not told her father. Otherwise, Dughall would've been here by now," he muttered. "And the fact that she told ye she has other lovers—“
"Do you care?" Fiona asked, studying him closely. "That she has other lovers?"
"No,” Eadan returned, frowning. Was that what she was upset about? Did she think he cared for Magaidh? “'Tis a relief. I've always ken she doesn't care for me nor this arrangement. This only proves it."
"She told me she cared for you once. That—that she used to loved you,” Fiona said, jealousy plain in her eyes.
Eadan stepped forward, cupping her face.
“Even if that were true—which I doubt it is—she doesnae anymore, I assure you. And I’ve no feelings for her. The lass makes my blood run cold. There's only one lass who has my eye,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.
Fiona blanched, turning away from him.
“Fiona—" he began, surprised.
"I—I'm going to return to the kitchens," she said, still not looking at him. "I was making leeway with one of the kitchen maids. She might know something."
She left before he could stop her. Eadan frowned, watching her go. Fiona was hiding something from him, and he was determined to find out what it was.
The next morning he met with Ronan in his study, telling him of Magaidh’s visit.
"She said something tae upset Fiona—something Fiona willnae share with me,” Eadan growled. “She’ll tell her father I’ve bedded Fiona.”
“If that were true, ye know Dughall would already be here, furious. I think it was pettier than that. I think Magaidh's jealous of yer lass and wanted to unsettle her."
"Well, she succeeded," Eadan said. For the first time in weeks, he’d not spent the night with Fiona, suspecting that her chill toward him had not melted. “I’ll not resume my betrothal tae Magaidh, even if we donnae find proof against her father. 'Tis a farce.”
“That’s not wise,” Ronan said, shaking his head. “'Tis important we doonae let on we believe something's amiss. We need tae do this the official way; ’tis the best way tae avoid needless bloodshed. Our investigation may be slow, but it’ll come along. We'll get Dughall by not behaving rashly." Ronan paused, shaking his head, looking at Eadan with sudden amusement. “I cannae believe I’m telling ye, the most rational and duty bound man I ken, tae not behave rashly. I think yer lass is affecting ye more than ye realize.”
Eadan glared at him, though his cousin had correctly judged him.
“Bring me Maon,” Eadan said, averting his gaze. He didn’t want the conversation to linger on his growing feelings for Fiona. “I want tae see if he’s learned anything.”
"I did as ye asked and told Dughall what ye told me tae say," Maon said, moments later, after Ronan brought him to his study. "But Dughall wants me tae keep trailing yer wife.”
“Fine," Eadan said shortly, “but I need ye to find out more from Dughall—any proof ye can get of Dughall's scheming. As soon as I have it, I'll send ye and yer family somewhere safe."
A look of relief and hope filled Maon’s eyes, and he turned to leave.
“He’s just a stable worker,” Ronan said, once they were alone. "Not some expert spy. Ye cannae expect him tae—"
“We’re running out of time,” Eadan interrupted. “Less than two weeks ’til Dughall’s deadline. We need tae do what we must for proof.”
Eadan tried to concentrate on his work once Ronan left, but his thoughts were consumed with Dughall, Magaidh’s scheming, and as always, Fiona. He feared the distance she'd displayed the day before would continue, and he couldn’t bear that. He needed her warmth. Needed her. He wanted to be close to her for whatever time they had left together.
Eadan froze as he noticed something out the window. He stood, moving over to it.
Outside, Fiona and his father strolled the grounds of the inner courtyard. At first, anger coursed through him at the sight. He'd told her not to wander the castle grounds on her own; his father was not adequate protection. But he relaxed when he saw one of his men, Osgar, trailing them from a safe distance behind.
He left his study to head to the courtyard. As he approached, he noticed that Fiona and his father seemed deep in conversation; Bran seemed more relaxed than Eadan had seen him in months. While Magaidh had never been rude to Bran, she treated him with a cool and distant politeness.
Fiona suddenly laughed at something Bran said, and Eadan couldn’t help but smile. Genuine warmth emanated from her toward his father.
Fiona seemed to sense his eyes on her, and paused, turning around to face him. She smiled, but he saw a slight wariness in her eyes.
“I saw your father out for a walk. He asked me to join him,” she said, her body stiffening, as if she expected him to reprimand her.
“Aye, I see that. May I walk with ye?" Eadan asked, turning to glance at his fat
her.
“Ye can,” Bran said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “But only if ye can tolerate the stories I’m telling Fiona about how ye behaved as a lad."
Eadan let out an exaggerated groan as they continued to walk, and Fiona turned to look at him with amusement.
“Your father tells me you’ve not changed much since you were a boy. Ronan was always the playful one, you the serious one.”
Eadan scowled. He’d always known that he was next in line as chief of Clan Macleay, and laird of Macleay Castle. That had placed an enormous weight on his shoulders—how else was he supposed to behave?
“Ye should spend time painting with Fiona before she has tae go. Told her I’ve never seen a lass who paints.”
Surprise filled Eadan. He couldn’t imagine himself painting, he rarely had time for leisure. But Bran had a hopeful look in his eyes, and Eadan wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to spend more time with Fiona.
"Aye. I'll try," he said, meeting Fiona's eyes with a smile, but she averted her gaze. Eadan's stomach tightened; he was going to find out the true reason for her distance.
As they continued walking through the courtyard, his father’s voice low as he continued to ply Fiona with tales of his childhood, he found himself wishing that circumstances were different. That Fiona was his actual wife, that there was no rival clan to deal with, that he could put duty aside.
Soon, he could tell that Bran had begun to tire. He and Fiona helped his father back to his chamber. He stood back, watching with unease as Bran's maids helped him into bed; the brief walk had drained him more than it should have.
He’d not told Bran about his investigation into Dughall, nor Naoghas’s disappearance and likely murder; he feared it would weaken his father’s already fragile health. As he studied his father now, he decided he'd have another healer come look at him.
Fiona turned and started to leave, pulling him back to the present, but he reached out to grasp her arm, stalking with her to his chamber.
"Eadan—“ Fiona snapped, twisting in his grasp, but he didn't let her go until they were inside his chamber.
Eadan's Vow: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Fate Book 1) Page 10