“Have ye decided? Will ye pose as my bride? Or do ye want tae take a chance on yer own?"
Fiona pressed her fingers to her temple. She'd fallen through time to end up in 1390. Thus far, Eadan was her only ally, and potentially the only one who could help her.
"I'll pose as your bride," Fiona whispered.
Chapter 7
Eadan tried not to let the expression on Fiona’s face affect him, though she looked as if he’d just sentenced her to death. If he thought her story was false before, he was now certain of it. No one would be this eager to get to a nunnery. Dread, wariness, and fear clouded her face. A surge of protectiveness filled him; what was she running from? Or whom? If he could get her to open up to him; he’d happily help her—but only after he ended his betrothal to Magaidh and figured out what Dughall’s true plans were.
“Fiona,” he said gently, reaching out to touch her face. She raised her eyes to his, and he noticed with concern that her brown eyes glistened with tears. “Ye only need tae pose as my bride for a brief time, then I’ll help get ye tae yer destination.”
"What if you can't?" she asked, her voice wavering.
"I'll do everything I can,” he promised.
Though she still looked uneasy, she gave him a shaky smile. Eadan realized how close they stood together—her natural scent, which smelled of honey and roses, teased his nostrils. Desire flowed through him as his gaze dropped to her full, sensual mouth. And he couldn’t help himself—his hands dropped from her face to her waist, and he pressed her close to him before capturing her mouth with his own.
Fiona responded instantly, returning his kiss, and his arousal spiked. He pressed her lush body even closer, plundering her mouth with his. As her hands raised to his neck, gripping his hair, he felt himself harden against his breeches.
His hands tightened around her waist as his tongue probed her mouth, and she moaned. Desire had cast all reason aside. In mere seconds he’d be unable to stop himself from leading her to the bed, to peppering the lovely arch of her throat with kisses, to—
The sound of Ronan clearing his throat brought him back to the present, and he abruptly released Fiona, who looked flustered and out of breath. Fiona lowered her eyes, a lovely blush staining her cheeks.
Eadan whirled to face Ronan, more irritated than he knew he should be, especially when he saw the glint of amusement in his cousin’s eyes.
“Sorry tae interrupt,” Ronan said, not looking sorry at all. He gestured for Eadan to approach.
Eadan did so reluctantly, his senses still on fire after his kiss with Fiona. Ronan lowered his voice.
“Did the lass agree tae yer plan?”
“Aye,” Eadan said.
“Wonder how ye convinced her,” Ronan said, his mouth twitching.
“What did ye come here tae tell me?” Eadan asked, irritated.
“I found a man willing tae help with yer story. Had tae pay him a decent amount of coin,” Ronan said, with a trace of annoyance.
Relief filled Eadan, and his annoyance with his cousin faded. Ronan was unflinchingly loyal and Eadan trusted him more than anyone.
He straightened, glancing back at Fiona. She still looked flustered by their kiss—her breathing was still rapid, her face flushed. He forced himself to not let his gaze linger on the fullness of her lips, or the curve of her breasts against her bodice. He shouldn’t have kissed the tempting lass—he needed to focus.
“I’ve a plan,” he told her. “But ye’ll have tae play yer part. Are ye willing?”
Fiona swallowed and gave him a quick nod.
“I’ll have to be,” she said. “Tell me what to do.”
Eadan stood in the center of the great hall, facing the nobles of his clan, hoping that his expression was appropriately sincere—and contrite. He’d just told them quite the tale; he could only hope they believed his story.
They all looked at him in astonishment and disbelief. Confusion filled his father’s expression, while Dughall, Eadan noted with unease, studied him with suspicion.
“Ye mean tae tell us ye’re already married?” his father demanded. “And ye never thought tae mention this before the betrothal?”
“I thought it was annulled. ’Twas a foolish thing tae do; my shame is why I never told anyone,” Eadan said, trying to school his expression to one of shame. “Never thought I’d see her again.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ronan’s mouth twitch, though he’d dutifully remained stone-faced as Eadan told his tale.
Eadan was rather proud of the story he’d invented. He’d told them that he’d traveled to England two years prior—which he had. But the next part was pure invention.
During his time there, he’d stopped at a small isolated town on the Welsh border where he’d met Fiona. They’d fallen in love and foolishly—impetuously—gotten married by a local priest. But they’d realized the error of their impulsiveness and went their separate ways before they consummated the marriage, thus rendering it invalid. The only person he’d told was Ronan; he was ashamed of doing something so foolish and out of character.
Fiona had arrived at the castle last night. Her husband-to-be had cast her aside after discovering her marriage to Eadan was still valid, as the priest who married them logged it in the church records and never removed it.
With no family and nowhere to turn, Fiona had come here for Eadan’s help; the priest refused to annul the marriage at just her request; he wanted Eadan’s request as well. Fiona, he insisted, was on her way to Jenloss Abbey; she had no intention of interfering with his betrothal to Magaidh. She just wanted the annulment and then she’d be on her way.
“I’ve already sent a messenger with my request tae the priest,” Eadan said, exchanging a brief look with Ronan. The man Ronan had hired would pose as this messenger; he’d agreed to tell the nobles he dispatched the message if they asked. “But it may take time tae get confirmation the priest has removed the marriage from record,” Eadan continued. “’Til then, the betrothal will have tae be put on hold.”
“’Tis convenient, this lass showing up as ye’re about to marry and end the feud between our clans,” said Dughall, his eyes narrowed. “How do we ken she’s not some spy, here tae end our truce?”
“That’s what I thought as well. I assure ye, I’ve questioned her, and she’s no spy. Just a frightened lass with no place tae go,” Eadan said. He turned to his father. “Clan Macleay is all about honor—and duty. While I’m married tae the lass, I’m honor bound tae help her.”
“Aye,” his father said, after a long pause. “But I’m disappointed in ye, son. What was it about the lass that made ye marry her?”
“’Twas lust, I’m ashamed to say,” he said. “My former bride is a beauty—nothing close tae Magaidh,” he added hastily, looking at Dughall, who scowled. That was the hardest part of his elaborate lie. Fiona made his loins stir while Magaidh left him cold. “I wasn’t thinking with my head, Father.”
“We’ve all been there, haven’t we?” Ronan added. Eadan was grateful for Ronan's presence here, he’d played along well. “Seen a lass we cannae get enough of?”
Everyone except Dughall nodded, some chuckling with amusement.
“I want tae see the lass. Yer Sassenach wife,” Dughall said, glowering at him.
Eadan nodded; he’d been expecting this, though his heart filled with dread. He and Ronan had prepared Fiona the best they could for questioning, but this was where everything could fall apart.
“She’s resting, but when she’s—" he began, hoping this would dissuade him.
“No. I want tae see the lass for myself. Hear her version of the story.”
Dughall’s hard gaze remained on him, and Eadan’s stomach tightened. He nodded and turned to Ronan, who had also gone tense. Ronan left the hall and after several moments returned with Fiona.
He could tell she was terrified; her hands shook slightly at her sides, and her skin had paled, but she held her head high as she entered the room.
Eadan turned to face the nobles. A rush of jealousy coursed through him as one of the nobles, McFadden, eyed her with lustful appreciation.
“I see why ye married ‘er, Macleay,” he said.
“She’s still my wife, McFadden,” Eadan growled. “’Til it's annulled, ye’ll treat her with respect.”
“Fiona,” Eadan's father interjected, giving McFadden a look of warning, before turning his focus to Fiona, "tell us how ye’ve come tae us.”
“My—my betrothed cast me aside when he found out about my marriage,” Fiona said, her voice trembling.
“Yer accent is strange, lass,” Dughall said, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“I—I traveled a great deal when I was a child,” Fiona stammered. “My father was a traveling merchant before he became a farmer; he took me and my mother with him on his travels. I picked up many foreign tongues.”
“And where is yer family now?” Dughall pressed.
“I’ve no family. They all died of the plague years ago. I used my last coin traveling here; I hoped that Eadan would help me get the annulment and send me to Jenloss Abbey where I wish to spend the rest of my days. Please,” her voice cracked, and a tear spilled from her eyes, one that he suspected was genuine. “I—I don’t know how I’ve come to be in this ti—situation, and I just want to go back to my own—to a home.”
She pressed her hands to her mouth, closing her eyes, tears streaming from beneath her lids.
Eadan was at her side at once, pulling her into the circle of his arms. She buried her face into his neck, and he held her close, unable to stop himself from pressing his lips to her hair, whispering words of comfort. Her despair was no act, and for a moment, Eadan forgot about all the eyes on them. He wanted nothing more than to take her pain away.
“Nothing more needs tae be said,” his father said, getting to his feet, leaning on his cane. His expression had softened, and he studied Fiona with sympathy. “My son is honor bound tae the lass while she’s his wife. The betrothal’s on hold ’til his marriage is annulled and we send her on her way.”
Chapter 8
When Eadan first told Fiona his plan, she’d thought it was crazy, but he’d asked her to trust him. He told her they would most likely want to question her, and she’d tried to remain calm as she waited outside the hall while Eadan addressed the nobles.
Eadan's kiss had thoroughly disoriented her; on top of that, she had to convince a group of fourteenth-century Highlanders that she was a fallen English woman in need of a home. She’d always been a terrible liar, but she was determined to wing it. She needed Eadan as an ally in this time; he seemed to be her only way of getting back.
When she’d entered the room filled with the nobles of two clans—people who’d been dead for centuries in her time, she’d fought to keep her bearings. But she stuck to her tactic of sticking as close to the truth as possible, and as the craziness of her circumstances hit her; the tears had been real. She didn’t need to pretend that she was scared and overwhelmed. She had no idea how she’d gotten to be in 1390 and “married” to a Highland laird—however gorgeous he was. She just wanted to get back to her own time.
Most of the nobles seemed to believe her story, and she saw relief in Eadan’s blue eyes as he escorted her from the hall. A ripple of electricity flowed through her at his nearness, and she forced herself to step out of his grasp. A brief flash of something—perhaps hurt—flashed in Eadan’s eyes, and he dropped his hands to his side as she followed him down the corridor and up a winding set of stairs.
When they reached the top landing, he glanced around to make certain they were alone, before lowering his voice.
“Ye did well,” Eadan said. His tone softened, as he continued, “And I meant what I said—I’ll help ye get tae wherever ye need tae go once this is all over.”
His eyes were sincere, and she relaxed. It wasn’t like he wasn’t offering to help her for nothing in return, but a rush of gratitude still coursed through her, though she had no idea how he'd help her get back to the present.
Eadan turned, continuing down the hall until they reached a large chamber at the far end. Inside, an elderly woman with gray-streaked, blond hair and kind eyes stood. From her plan gown and apron, Fiona guessed she was a servant. The woman gave Fiona a warm smile.
“This is Una. She’ll help ye get settled and show ye around the castle. I’ll come by tae collect ye before supper,” he said, holding her gaze, and she understood his meaning. Eadan would need to prep her before she sat down for a meal with the other guests.
Eadan left them alone, and Fiona looked around. The chamber seemed even larger than Eadan’s, complete with a fireplace, a large arched window through which sunlight filtered in, and a massive curtained bed in the center. It was way too big of a room for just her.
“Ye’re wife of the laird,” Una said, as if reading her mind, giving her a warm smile. “Tis your home while ye’re here.”
“For now,” Fiona said hastily.
“No one would be bothered if ye stayed, m’lady,” Una said, moving over to the large bed, where a gown lay. “Magaidh is a devil in a lass’s body. She hates the laird, everyone can see it. I’m a feared she’ll kill him in his sleep.”
Fiona blinked, surprised that Una was being so open with her, a virtual stranger.
“But ye’re different, I can already tell. There’s a kindness tae ye, and ye’re quite bonnie. I can see why the laird fell for ye. It’s my hope that the laird keeps ye here.”
Fiona shook her head; she needed to make it clear she had no intention of staying.
“I—I have every intention of going to the nunnery,” Fiona said. “I’ve no plans to interfere with his betrothal.”
Una pressed her lips together but nodded, turning her focus to the gown on the bed.
“The gown ye’re wearing isn’t suitable for the wife of the laird. I’ll help ye get dressed, and then—"
“That’s not necessary,” Fiona said. She already found having a dedicated servant odd—it would be even weirder to have someone help her get dressed.
Una studied her, surprised, before her lips curved into a smile.
“When Magaidh comes tae visit, she insists on having three chambermaids tae help her dress,” she said, shaking her head. “I suppose ye’re different. I’ll be waiting in the hall while ye dress. When ye’re ready, I can show ye around the castle.”
Una left, and Fiona sighed. She had no desire to get into a rivalry with this Magaidh woman, but Una already seemed to like her more. It might be harder to stay out of the Eadan-Magaidh betrothal drama than she’d thought.
Una left the room, and Fiona got dressed, her hands trembling as she slipped on the underdress, then the tunic, and then the gown, which was deep blue and made of a finer fabric than the one she previously wore.
As she dressed, her mind whirled. The events of the day had flown by with such swiftness she'd barely had time to process it all. Now, the biggest question of all loomed in her mind—how had she come here? She recalled the rush of wind—and that woman. The same woman she’d seen in the museum, and at the ruins of the castle. That woman had something to do with her time travel, she was certain of it.
Fiona expelled a breath. If she went back to the cellar, she could see if the portal was still there. Una’s tour of the castle couldn’t have come at a better time.
After she'd dressed, Una looked her over, giving her a nod of approval before showing her around the castle, pointing out the upstairs chambers, then the great hall, the kitchens, and the inner courtyard. As they walked, the servants they passed studied her with curious gazes; she suspected the news of her arrival had already swept over the castle.
Once Una led her to the outer courtyard, pointing out the nearby stables, it truly hit her—she was in an actual thriving fourteenth-century castle. For the first time since she’d arrived, she allowed a sense of awe to sweep over her as she took in her surroundings. Macleay Castle was made of gray stone, its turreted towers windin
g toward the clear blue sky, surrounded by lush forests, overlooking a nearby lake. The castle could have been on a postcard for Scotland in her own time.
My own time, Fiona thought, reality seizing her by the throat. She needed to find a way to get back to her own time. She realized that Una hadn't shown her the lower part of the castle—the cellar, where she'd arrived.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to walk around a bit. Just—to clear my head. A lot has happened,” she said, as Una started to lead her back to her chamber.
“Of course, m’lady. Ye can find me in the kitchens if ye need anything.”
Fiona turned, pretending to head back to the courtyard. Once Una was out of sight, she turned, making her way down the long corridor past the great hall, reaching the stairwell that led to the cellar.
She paused, listening, but heard no one below. She descended the stairs, lifting up her skirts to avoid tripping.
Her heart slammed against her ribcage as she stepped inside the cellar, looking around.
But . . . it was an ordinary cellar. Just filled with stores of herbs, spices, and barrels of wine and ale. No vortex of wind. No strange woman. No telltale sign of anything odd or supernatural.
I’m trapped. A surge of frustration paired with fear filled her, and she leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes. She stilled when she heard voices from above, just as she’d heard the night she arrived.
“And is she staying in yer bed, then?”
“No, Magaidh. Of course not.”
Fiona stilled. It was Eadan—Eadan and that woman he was betrothed to, Magaidh. She knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop, but something compelled her to the base of the stairs where she listened intently.
“Our marriage was never consummated. I’m only showing her kindness now. She means nothing tae me—I’ve every intention of wedding ye.”
“My father said she’s bonnie. Are ye certain ye’re not using her tae end our betrothal?”
Eadan's Vow_A Scottish Time Travel Romance Page 4