Chapter 9
Faye tried to restrain her tears. Even now, she swallowed hard at the ache in her throat, but still, the knot did not abate.
Never in her life had she seen as much coin as was nestled inside the fine leather purse. To think that all this time, all these years, she had wealth at her fingertips. Land!
So many times, she’d flirted to get an extra bit of grain for her family, or a lower price on meat.
Or how they’d worn clothes that pinched at their elbows and squeezed at their waists when there’d been no money for new clothes.
Or how Drake had to sacrifice his attempts to become a knight in order to help them survive.
Never had she dreamed there had been any other way. Never had she suspected that in the Highlands of Scotland, they could be wealthy, that there was a life available to them where every day was not a struggle.
Why had her mother not told them? How had she let them all suffer when they could have lived in comfort?
A sob choked from Faye’s throat.
“Faye.” Ewan drew his horse to a stop. “What is it? Are ye hurt?”
She shook her head again, not even certain where to start. “I had no idea…” Her voice trembled, but she cleared her throat and tried again. “I had no idea we had such wealth. And I’ve never seen a lord give his tenants coin.”
She remembered meeting the lord of the village once when they lived in England, back when her da had still been alive. Lord and Lady Astair. They’d come to the village in matching yellow silk so fine that it reflected the sun like gilt. Or at least, what Faye assumed gilt looked like.
She’d looked up to them as if they were gods emerged from the heavens above. Indeed, they might as well have been, with their fine clothes and clean, friendly faces. She’d been awed into silence by them. As some had been with her in the village of Torish.
But though the experience had been memorable enough to settle into Faye’s memory, Lord and Lady Astair never gave out coin, with the exception of the final pay they offered when Da died.
But nothing after that small stipend, when they were in such sore need, when everyone else had turned cold with hate.
Ewan watched her with a sympathetic gaze. She didn’t want his sympathy or his kindness. She didn’t want to see how easily and confidently he spoke to his people or how affectionately they responded to him.
Oh, how she longed to be back in Castleton with people she knew she could trust, where she didn’t have to be so guarded.
“Faye,” Ewan said in a gentle voice. “Ye can tell me.”
She looked away, ashamed of her outburst. If they were at Dunrobin Castle, she might have given him a coy look, or suggestively trailed her fingers over the neckline of her kirtle.
But they were on horseback in the middle of a land she didn’t know.
She couldn’t spare herself by turning her emotions to passion or swaying the conversation toward sexual teasing.
And yet, part of her felt ridiculous for staying so quiet when he was so willing to listen. He had vowed to protect her.
Tell him.
She rubbed the thick leather rein between her thumb and forefinger, giving it her focus as she spoke.
“We grew up with very little. There were so many times we went to bed with our stomachs so empty that our navels felt as though they were grinding against our spines. There was never enough. Not food or wood to burn or cloth for kirtles.”
Tears clogged her throat, and she stopped her horse, unable to focus.
“When I think of what we’ve had to do to survive…
and when all this time, we had wealth. I had this dowry…
” She covered her face with her palms to keep him from seeing her cry.
“We never had a lord give us coin in celebration as ye just gave those people.”
“I wish I’d known,” he said in a gruff voice. She uncovered her face to find he’d dismounted and was standing beside her horse. He held his palm up to her to assist her down. She accepted his offer and slid off her steed and into his arms.
He was strong and warm, exquisite comfort. He enveloped her in all those wonderful sensations and held her to him as he stroked her back, which only made her sobs come harder.
When the better part of her sorrow had quelled, she swiped at her tears and pushed back to gaze up at him. “Forgive me. I should not have reacted so.”
“Ye dinna need to apologize.” He stroked her cheek, his expression pained.
“’Tis I who owe the apology. I should have pressed to know more about ye when ye dinna return to Scotland.
I should have known this was what ye’d endured.
I would have done everything in my power to see ye and yer family safe. ”
Though she was hesitant to trust him, the truth of his words lodged in her chest. He would have done everything in his power to ensure she and her family had remained safe.
“We managed,” she replied.
“Ye shouldna have had to.” He swept her hair back from her face. “I vow to ye, ye’ll no’ ever suffer again in yer life.”
She stared up into his hazel eyes, mesmerized by the flecks of green and amber and black within. “Ye needn’t do that,” she protested.
He drew off his gloves and tenderly put his hands on either side of her face. “Let me care for ye, Faye.” He smoothed his hands downward in a caress that stopped under her chin. “Open yer heart to me.”
Her heart?
How could she possibly open her heart to anyone when it was bound with iron and locked with a key that went missing long ago?
She stared up into his beautiful eyes and felt the stirrings of lust pulse to life. Though she knew her attraction to him to be strong, she understood her desire for what it was: a distraction.
One she would not indulge.
She opened her mouth, uncertain what to say when the thundering of approaching horse hooves rumbled in the distance. Together, she and Ewan turned toward the sound as riders crested a nearby hill.
“Get on yer horse and head back to Dunrobin,” Ewan said in a low voice. “I’ll handle this.”
Even if Faye had known the way back to the castle, she wouldn’t leave his side. Not when there were so many warriors, and only one of him.
“I can fight.” She pulled her eating dagger from her belt. It was nowhere near as fine as the sharpened weapon Drake had given her when she’d turned fourteen, the one her grandfather had confiscated. But it would do.
Ewan gave her a hard look. “Go now, lass. I dinna want ye to be injured.”
She tightened her grip on her weapon. “I won’t be.”
He eyed the blade. “Is that an eating dagger?”
“Who are they and what do they want?”
Ewan squared his shoulders, shielding her from the onslaught of men approaching. “They’re from the Gordon clan. And they’re here because I was in negotiations to wed their Chieftain’s daughter before I was approached by Ross.”
Faye’s stomach clenched as the mass of stony-faced riders approached. “Do ye mean…?”
“Aye,” Ewan said. “I married ye instead of Mistress Blair. And they’re no’ pleased.”
Ewan pulled his sword free of its sheath and ensured he was directly in front of Faye. She was a spirited lass, one who only obeyed when she wished to. And while he appreciated such fire in her, he did not like that it now put her in danger.
The Gordons were never predictable. They could be coming to demand a meeting with him as much as they might be coming to slay him. Or the woman he’d wed.
Outrunning them would be pointless. They would meet him at Dunrobin, and the act of trying to flee would label him a coward. Nay, he was best left facing them with his stubborn wife safely tucked behind his back.
With her paltry eating dagger.
Once they were back at Dunrobin, he’d ensure she had a proper blade.
The bald chieftain led his group of a dozen Gordon warriors, his scalp red with rage. Gordon held up his fist to stop his men and glared at Ewan. “Sutherland.” Both rows of teeth showed as he spoke, biting out each word. “We had an agreement.”
Ewan squared his shoulders and faced the other chieftain head-on. “What is it ye want?”
He peered around Ewan to Faye and sneered. “Is that her? The Ross whore?”
“Ye’re lucky I dinna smite yer head from yer body,” Ewan growled. “Mind yer tongue around my wife.”
“Ross says ye had a betrothal since ye were bairns,” Gordon glared at him.
Damn Ross and his determination with the unsigned agreement. “The betrothal wasna valid. Are ye here to fight or to talk?”
Gordon had always been the straightforward sort. Whatever path he set his mind to, he made known. He studied Ewan and grunted. “Talk.”
Ewan sighed and eased the sword into its sheath. “Come to the castle where we can speak properly.”
“Ach, aye, we’re on our way there now.” Gordon scoffed. “It appears yer uncle is willing to be the man ye dinna have the ballocks to be.”
Ewan maintained his relaxed demeanor even as dread tightened in his gut. Not only was Cruim claiming to wish to wed Mistress Blair, but he was also negotiating the arrangement at Dunrobin rather than his own manor. Meaning he wanted Ewan to be aware of the dealings. But why?
To make his desire for the chieftainship publicly known among the clan?
And why had Moiré not told him?
“I’ll meet ye there,” Ewan said with finality.
The Gordons didn’t wait for him before they rode off toward the castle. Ewan turned to aid Faye onto her steed and found her already mounted.
“Are we going to let them arrive before us?” She took up her reins and raised a brow at him.
Ewan grinned at her temerity. Without another word, he leapt into his saddle, and together they streaked across the countryside in their determination to reach Dunrobin before the Gordon clan.
They had the benefit of only two riders and steeds who were not exhausted from the sennight-long journey from Huntly Castle, where the Gordons had traveled from.