Chapter 5
Faye didn’t want anyone to notice her discomfort, and yet how could they not when she was set on display? The dais sat higher than the trestles lining either side of the Great Hall.
It was finer than anything she’d ever dined on. Blue runners ran along the polished wood and silver glinted among bits of heather that had been plucked to adorn the table.
She had never been around such costly things, nor had she been put in a position where all eyes were set upon her.
Sutherland was gone only minutes, though it truly felt like hours.
He spoke first to his cousin, then to Monroe, before he returned to her.
Through it all, she sat alone with only a goblet of wine and plate of food for company.
And all those eyes, gazing up at her, wide with curiosity.
No doubt waiting for the bedding ceremony.
She wished they would start it, get the ordeal over with. Let those cold, curious eyes feast on her in her most vulnerable moment. A knot of emotion settled as an ache at the back of her throat, but she discreetly swallowed it away.
“Forgive me,” Sutherland said as he returned.
Faye relaxed somewhat as he settled by her side. Not that she knew him well enough to find comfort in his presence, but he was someone—anyone—who would take some of the gawping attention.
Her grandfather rose with his goblet of wine in hand, which he tapped with his open fingers, so his ring pinged sharply against the metal. The room went silent as people turned to him with expectations.
He lifted his drink high in the air in a silent toast toward the dais. “Felicitations to the happy new couple.” He smirked. “Let us put these two to bed.”
Faye’s stomach clenched, and her head swam with a lightheaded sensation that threatened to make her slide from her seat. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to be in this situation. She didn’t want to be married.
But she was. And there was nothing for it, but to stand with her plastered smile and her quivering insides.
This was no battle she could win or conversation she could flirt her way out of. Sutherland got to his feet first and offered her his hand. She accepted and stood on shaky legs.
His people had consumed a good amount of spirits, and though some remained quiet at the stunning turn of events, others threw up raucous and ribald cheers. The chants and jeers filled the large room and buzzed in Faye’s ears.
The crowd followed them, pressing at their backs, forcing them up narrow stairs she had never climbed to a capacious chamber she had never entered.
A bed stood at its center, a massive thing with thick posts at each corner and heavy curtains hanging from all sides.
Her heartbeat slammed so hard in her chest that she was certain the revelers could hear it over their own happy cries.
Two screens had been erected at opposite sides of the room, no doubt where they would prepare.
Faye hesitated, uncertain of what to do.
These were customs of the wealthy, and she’d not been wealthy a day in her life.
Aye, they lived in a manor in Castleton, but it was for protection rather than power.
A means of keeping them safe from reivers.
She was breathing too hard; her heart pounding too ferociously. White spots bloomed in her vision, and she regretted having had more wine than food. But her stomach had been nervous and her mouth dry.
A cool hand closed over hers, and Moiré was there with a gentle smile. “Come with me. I’ll see to ye.”
Faye allowed the other woman to lead her behind a screen, a flimsy barrier between her and the people who had so willingly invaded her privacy.
“This is wrong.” Moiré frowned and patted Faye’s forearm. “Ye’re doing fine. Mayhap better than I would, were I in yer situation.”
Faye simply nodded, too numb to say anything else.
How had this happened? Just one month prior, she’d been at Castleton with her family, shelling beans and getting upset with Clara for bringing up the English.
Clara, of all people, who didn’t deserve anyone’s scorn.
Theirs had been a quiet, mundane life that had been violently upended to this shocking moment of undressing before strangers in lands she didn’t know.
That stubborn ache returned to the back of her throat.
“I brought ye one of my nightrails,” Moiré said. “’Tis all I could find with such sudden notice.”
The other woman was a good two inches shorter than Faye. Still, an ill-fitting garment was a far cry better than being naked.
“Mayhap, my chemise…” Faye glanced down at her mud-stained skirts, and the words died on her tongue. Her chemise would be in no order to be put on display.
She put her back to Moiré and allowed the other woman to help undress her and slide the sark on.
It was a thin garment that showed the hardness of Faye’s nipples against the white fabric and only came halfway down her calves.
She immediately crossed her arms over her chest, but it did little to make her feel any less exposed.
Moiré set to work on Faye’s hair next, quickly brushing the blonde tresses and carefully arranging them down Faye’s shoulders to cover the peaks of her nipples. Once done, Ewan’s cousin peeked around the screen and nodded to Faye.
It was time.
Faye hesitated a long moment, drawing a breath and whatever strength she could scrape up from the dregs of her courage.
She stepped around the flimsy screen, and cheers rose up.
It was one thing to entice a man into conversation with the swell of her bosom over the neckline of her gown, and quite another to be put on display in such a manner.
Her face blossomed with heat, and she averted her eyes from the crowd to avoid their stares sliding over her.
Not that it mattered. She could feel them.
Like ants creeping over her skin, crawling over every inch of her, until she wanted to hide in a corner and scream.
Across the room, Sutherland wore only his trews, his chest bare. Though Faye’s nerves vibrated with an onslaught of anxiety and fear and humiliation, she was not blind. Her husband was a finely built man. Thanks be to God that he was not old and fat.
She kept her footsteps slow as she made her way toward the bed under the weight of so many viewers, her head held high.
The priest who had wed them began to pray, his words a drone beneath bawdy jests and laughter.
Faye lifted the heavy coverlet and slid into bed as Sutherland did too.
She covered herself high enough to shield her breasts from view but still could not relax.
The priest finished his prayer and made the sign of the cross over their bed.
Not much longer.
Or so she hoped.
Servants moved on either side of the bed, drawing the curtains around them until the light outside was snuffed out. Footsteps exited the room, and silence took its place, filled only with the steady, gentle breath of the stranger beside her.
She blinked back the sudden threat of tears at her relief and swallowed. “Are they gone?” Her voice was small in the overbearing darkness. She winced.
Would he roll over onto her and press his husbandly rights upon her?
She gripped the blanket tighter, wishing she were home in her shared room with her sisters instead of here. With this man. In this horrible situation.
A crack of light appeared, and the ropes creaked as Sutherland left the bed. A heavy thunk of wood sliding on wood interrupted the quiet—a door being barred.
Faye started at the sound in spite of herself.
The curtains drew back on all sides, letting in the light once more. Sutherland stood beside the bed, now wearing a fresh leine over his trews, covering his naked torso. He offered her an apologetic smile that bordered on sheepish. “I’m glad that’s done with.”
“As am I,” she said softly.
He held up a heavy robe in his hands in an invitation for her. “I noticed ye dinna eat much at supper and had Monroe bring some food. I thought mayhap we might share it and become reacquainted.”
Faye hesitated at his kindness. She didn’t desire to become reacquainted. He seemed to be a good man. But good men were oftentimes a disappointment.
More than a disappointment, they had been a source of great pain, an opportunity for incredible hurt. Still, as much as she loathed the idea, the thought of being blanketed in a heavier garment was too tempting an offer to refuse.
She slid from the bed and allowed him to wrap her in the heavy robe. The layer of clothing might be a small thing, but to her at that moment, it was a reminder of her own awareness. Of whom she was and what she was capable of. It put her back in control of her senses.
She would do what she must as a wife, but she would not allow herself to trust this man. And most certainly, she would bar her heart from even considering the notion of caring for him, let alone loving him.
Ewan couldn’t tamp down the protective urge that rose inside him. Faye had looked so vulnerable at the bedding ceremony, her eyes wide in her pale face, even as her back had remained straight and proud.
He led her to the table by the hearth and retrieved the platter of food Monroe had smuggled behind Ewan’s screen. It was only a bit of meat and cheese with two loaves of bread, but it was better than the few bites of vegetables he’d seen her eat earlier.
He led her to the small table and set the food in front of her, then poured a goblet of wine for each of them.
His actions were loud in the quiet of the room, compensating for all the things he had no idea how to say.
When at last, the table was properly set, the silence became oppressive.
Music and the hum of indiscernible chatter from the Great Hall floated in, muffled by the thick door.
Ewan cleared his throat and scrambled for something to say. “’Tis a lot of years to cover.” He took a loaf of bread, broke it in half and gave her one of the pieces.