Chapter 3
Faye was freezing. Her breath puffed white as the snow covering the dead, straw-like grass at her feet. All around her, trees rose like spear shafts, too skinny to block out the bitter wind and too dense to let in a bit of warmth from the sun.
She’d stopped shaking some time back. A bad sign.
With fingers she could no longer feel, she smoothed her unbound hair, trying to look as presentable as was possible.
She wore a new dress, which her grandfather had procured so that she might look “bonny” for Ewan Sutherland.
A man she hoped never to be forced into meeting.
Mayhap she looked fine enough to impress someone—anyone—who might offer her aid.
Her hopes, however, were fleeting. Especially when she hadn’t happened upon a soul for hours. Not since she’d hidden in a half-rotted log to evade her grandfather’s men. They’d given up some time ago, but they would be back.
She continued to walk on, certain she would come across a village at some point. The grass was thick and patchy underfoot. Her feet had long since gone numb, making it difficult to walk. A particularly rough bit of earth caught at her toe and sent her sprawling against a large rock.
She pushed off the damn thing, leaving behind a smear of red. Anger and frustration whipped through her.
How could such a place be so desolate? She would never have been able to walk this long on the border without encountering at least a handful of other people. This was not how her plan was supposed to go.
Tears prickled hotly in her eyes.
She’d spent the three weeks of travel being well behaved with the men, anything to be let out of that horrid crate. They only trusted her enough to remove her shackles a few days prior. Even then, she hadn’t had the opportunity to attack Dougal and steal the key until that very morning.
A sob choked from her throat, which was now raw from breathing in the frigid air. She would die out here before she returned to her grandfather.
A heaviness settled in her limbs, so she was nearly weighted down with exhaustion.
It was not the first time. She blinked slowly in an attempt to stave off the sensation, to prevent it from overwhelming her.
The tiredness came in waves, each one a stronger pull of temptation than the last to lie on the hard ground and close her eyes. To sleep. To be warm.
Warm.
She couldn’t imagine ever being anything other than cold ever again at this point.
She wanted to curl into a ball beneath a tree where the snow hadn’t settled, against a wide trunk that might block the wind. Only for a moment. To just rest for a quick second.
Her footsteps slowed, and her eyes slid closed, ready to slumber even as she walked on.
Something rolled under her foot, and she pitched forward again.
This time, there was nothing to catch herself on, and she landed hard on the icy ground.
Snow chilled at the bare skin of her chest, where her cloak had fallen open.
The chill snapped her back to awareness.
She pushed herself up and swept at her heavy wool kirtle to clear away bits of dead grass and frozen crusts of snow. The thick fabric and the squirrel-lined cloak were no doubt the only reasons she’d not frozen to death.
Yet.
Movement in the distance caught her attention. A rider.
She stilled, uncertain whether to call out or to hide.
If it were one of her grandfather’s men, they would haul her back to the drafty castle and lock her in her room until she could be forced into marriage. Exhaustion tugged at her again, threatening to drag her beneath the quiet, dark surface of sleep.
Sleep.
Warmth.
She staggered and snapped her eyes open. The rider was closer now. Enough to discern his face and realize he was not one of her grandfather’s men.
He turned toward her, clearly having seen her.
Energy shot through her, propelling her to her original goal: appeal to someone who might offer her aid. Her fingers slid over her belt, where her dagger usually hung and met with nothing but the smooth leather belt. She silently cursed her grandfather for leaving her unarmed.
The rider approached, and Faye ran her fingers down her hair, hoping the chill had left her cheeks and lips red. She had to look alluring.
“Please,” Faye pled softly. “I need yer help.”
He stopped his horse and leapt from its back. He was a large man, quite handsome with brown hair and hazel eyes. His shoulders were broad beneath the bulk of his fur-lined cloak.
“What’s happened?” he asked. “Are ye alone?”
His voice had a deep timbre, and he spoke with the authority of a man whose requests were obeyed without question.
Not only was his clothing made of fine quality, but his horse was also exceptional with its black, glossy coat.
He was evidently a man of means. One who would surely fall upon the codes of chivalry and aid a woman.
“I’ve been taken from my home.” Faye had meant to summon tears for effect, yet when they rose to her eyes without effort, she realized they were genuine.
“I don’t know where I am and need help returning.
” She gazed up at him, imploringly. She knew just how to do it, widening her eyes, softening her mouth, pushing her breasts out ever so slightly. Complete supplication and innocence.
A muscle worked in his jaw, but his attention didn’t slide to her bosom. “Ye’re on the border of the Sutherland lands.”
Her back straightened. “Sutherland lands?” She forced herself to remain in place rather than stepping back. “Who are ye?”
“Ewan Sutherland.” He held her gaze with his intense hazel eyes. “Chieftain of the Sutherland clan. And ye’re Faye Fletcher, aye?”
Her quickened breath was evident in the frozen huff of air blooming before her mouth. She shook her head, and this time, she did step back.
He held his hands out to his sides, palms facing her, showing he did not hold a weapon or shackles. “Faye.” This time when he spoke, his voice was tender with kindness. “I’ll no’ force ye to wed me. If ye want to go home, I’ll see to it ye’re returned back to where ye came.”
She watched him, indecision warring in her mind and mingling with fear so tangible that it left an ugly, metallic taste in her mouth.
“I’ll no’ take a wife that doesna want me.” He remained standing where he was, cajoling her with his words, but not trying to reach for her.
A gust of wind blew, cutting through wool and fur alike until it seemed to shake her bones inside her skin. She shuddered.
Sutherland held a single hand out to her, his fingers outstretched in offering. “I promised always to protect ye. I dinna know if ye recall it—ye are younger than me. But I mean to hold true to that vow.”
She looked at his extended hand. It didn’t seem threatening. He didn’t seem threatening. She wanted to trust him. Dear God, she wanted it with all of her soul.
“I’ll keep ye safe,” he said earnestly. “I’ll protect ye.”
The wind shoved at her from behind again, far more aggressively than the last. It pushed her in his direction, so she was forced to put one frozen foot in front of the other in an effort to remain upright.
He caught her by the shoulders, his grip strong, yet somehow gentle. “Let me care for ye, Faye.”
She nodded, unable to voice the words that brought her too much unease. For how could she possibly trust the man she was supposed to wed? Was he not part of the betrothal negotiations?
But what choice did she have, other than being left to freeze to death?
He helped her onto his massive horse and swept up behind her. His arms framed her body on either side, and he pulled his cloak around her. The heat immediately enveloped her, spiced with something masculine that mingled with the scent of leather.
His hold on her was that of a protector, not a captor. As he’d promised.
Time would tell how well his vows held.
The warmth of his body at her back wilted her resolve to remain stiffly away from him. Before she could stop herself, she sagged against his chest as the exhaustion of the day dragged her down with a force she could no longer fight.
But even as she fell asleep, the last few thoughts that tumbled through her mind were ones of worry and doubt. For what would become of her once she arrived at wherever they were going?
Rage twisted through Ewan, stark and raw. Faye had lain back against him the first minute of their ride back to the castle. By the second minute, her head had lulled to the side in slumber.
Exhaustion bruised the delicate skin beneath her eyes, and she weighed next to nothing where he held her to him. She could stand to eat a few hearty meals, aye, but that was not what angered him the most.
When he’d aided her onto his horse, her sleeves had pulled back to reveal the chaffed skin of her wrists. As though she’d been shackled.
The moment that Ewan realized Faye had been held captive and was being forced to marry him, he had resolved not to go through with the wedding. Now, seeing exactly how she’d been treated, he resolved never to return her to her grandfather.
The lass would be returned safely to her family at the border.
Monroe appeared in the distance on his horse and trotted over to Ewan’s side. “Ye’ve found her.”
“Aye, but she’ll no’ be going back to Ross.
” Ewan glanced down at Faye as she slept.
Something in his chest stirred. She looked so precious and innocent, where she lay against him.
Her golden hair and fair skin gave her an ethereal look, like a goddess of old.
He knew her eyes to be blue as a summer loch, wide and rimmed with thick, sable lashes.
His memories of her as a girl did not do justice to the woman she had become.
His malcontent toward Ross swelled anew.
“The beast had her chained,” Ewan ground out.
Faye stirred on his chest, her brow flinching. He instantly regretted the harshness of his tone. The last thing he wished was to frighten the lass.
God knew she’d been through enough.