Chapter 3 #2
“Once she’s with us, ye could keep her safe,” Monroe said cautiously. Even as he spoke, however, his expression was one of uncertainty.
“I’ll no’ marry a lass who has been chained up in an effort to force her into marriage.” Ewan glanced down at Faye once more. He kept doing that, he realized, as though it was impossible to stop gazing upon her beauty.
“It would be war,” Monroe warned.
Ewan sighed. “Aye, I know.” He turned to his advisor. “It’s no’ right.”
Monroe nodded, acknowledging the truth of Ewan’s words. It wasn’t right.
Riders appeared in the distance.
“Shite,” Monroe muttered under his breath. “Go on to the castle. I’ll try to head them off.”
The riders’ pace increased, racing toward Ewan and Monroe.
It was too late. The men had already seen that Ewan had found Faye. Still, he held tighter to Faye and brought his horse to a canter. The Ross clan would be soon upon them, but it would be enough time to get her into Dunrobin Castle and secure her in a place where she could remain protected.
She sat up abruptly, alert, her head whipping from side to side. “What is it?” She clung to one of his arms and glanced over her shoulder, her eyes wide with fear. “Have they found me?”
“Aye,” he said. “I’ll get ye inside where ye’ll be safe.”
She sucked in a breath and nodded; her face beautiful even with the set of determination. God, she was bonny. Plush lips, red from the cold, the bottom plumper than the top. How he’d like to suck it into his mouth and trail his tongue over it.
His cock stirred, and he halted the direction of his thoughts.
She was not to be his. Not under the circumstances laid before them. And the last thing she needed was a cockstand jabbing her in the rear from the man who’d promised to protect her.
Jesu, what was his problem? He snapped the reins and called out for his horse to race the last bit of the way to the castle.
Once there, he dismounted from the horse and helped Faye from the destrier’s broad back. Ewan put a hand to her slender shoulders and guided her. “This way.”
She looked about as he rushed her through the castle, shouting orders to the servants as he did so to prepare for an assault from the Ross clan.
“Sutherland,” Ross bellowed from outside.
Ewan ignored the call.
“Let me in to speak with ye, or I’ll kill yer man here.”
This time, Ewan did stop.
Monroe. Damn it. Ewan should never have allowed him to remain behind.
Faye put a hand to Ewan’s chest, and those wide blue eyes lifted to his. “Don’t let him die for me. Speak to them. Please.” Her speech came across with more English to it than Scots, more so than when they’d been bairns.
“Aye, but no’ with ye here.” He flagged down a servant. “Let Ross in.”
The servant nodded and ran off to comply with his order.
“This involves me as well.” Faye walked with Ewan.
He squared his shoulders. “I told ye I’d keep ye safe.”
She lifted her chin, her eyes glinting with resolve. “I refuse to be shoved in some room while ye handle my future.”
He hadn’t thought she could be lovelier than when she slept against his chest. He was wrong. As demure as she’d been asleep, she was now bright with passion, like dry tinder that had been struck with a flame. Wild and bonny.
“Sutherland,” Ross’s voice was closer now. Just inside the Great Hall.
Footsteps pattered down the hall, and Moiré appeared, gasping for breath in her haste. “What has happened with the Ross clan?” she asked, her brown eyes wide.
“I must speak with Ross,” he said to his cousin. “Stay with Mistress Faye, aye?”
Moiré looked at Faye, and the confusion in her gaze deepened, but she nodded.
“This is my cousin, Moiré,” Ewan said. “Ye can listen all ye like but stay here. Away from them.”
When Faye opened her mouth to protest, he took her slender shoulders in his hands. “Stay here.”
She remained quiet, and a shiver ran through her, reminding him of how cold she’d been. He drew off his cloak and draped it over her shoulders.
She tugged it more tightly around her and gave a nod. He wasn’t sure if it was in compliance or thanks, but she offered no further protest.
Assured she would remain hidden while he handled the situation, he left her in the corridor and pushed through the door leading to the Great Hall. He secured it closed behind him and made his way to the dais where Ross and several of his men waited.
“Where is my granddaughter?” Ross demanded with a scowl as he pushed Monroe to Ewan’s side.
Ewan narrowed his eyes at the older man. “I’ll no’ marry a lass being forced to wed me. Especially no’ one who has been held captive and abducted from her home.”
“Berwick is mine.” Ross’s shout rang off the walls around him, and his face turned a dark shade of red. “If ye refuse to wed her, I’ll attack yer people until every last one of them is dead.”
The threat sent a chill scraping down Ewan’s spine. Regardless, he folded his arms over his chest and scoffed. “We’ve endured yer fighting for years. We’ll do so again now.”
“Give her to me,” Ross demanded.
“So ye can sell her into another marriage?” Ewan widened his stance. “Nay.”
Ross took several menacing steps forward, his hand on the hilt of his blade as though he meant to draw it free and slay Ewan where he stood. Still, Ewan held his ground and met the icy glare of the older chieftain.
Ewan had anticipated more threats, mayhap even an attempt at gutting him. He had not expected a shrewd expression to cross Ross’s face or the question that followed. “What if there was another option?”