Ewan’s temper blazed hotter with each step he took toward his solar. Where Ross was waiting for him.
By the time he pushed through the door, he was practically ready to kill the other chieftain. Peace be damned. Ross glared at him as he entered, evidently of a like mind.
Monroe stood off to the side with measured patience that indicated he’d rather be nearly anywhere else but there in a room with two irate chieftains.
“Ye’re lucky I dinna throw ye out right now,” Ewan growled.
Ross leapt up from the chair he’d been sitting in, his body tense for a fight. One Ewan would gladly give him.
“They’re my family,” Ross protested. “My daughter. My granddaughters. Ye’ve no right—”
“No right?” Ewan repeated, incredulous. “Ye lost all rights the moment ye shackled yer own granddaughter and dragged her against her will to yer castle.”
Ross narrowed his eyes. “Ye still married her.”
Ewan grabbed the other man by his leine and shoved him back against the wall. Fire lit in Ross’s eyes, but the older man’s strength was no match for Ewan’s.
“Because ye threatened her family,” Ewan spoke in a low, even voice that made Ross’s protests go silent. “If ye ever get near any of them, ye’ll live to regret it.”
“Are ye threatening me now?” Ross demanded.
“Aye.” Ewan put his face directly in front of Ross’s and shoved him away.
Ross managed to catch himself before sliding to the ground. He staggered to his feet and angrily adjusted his clothing back into place. “Where’s my property? Ye said ye’d sign Berwick over to me.”
“I said I’d comply with the agreement,” Ewan amended. As much as he’d been dreading telling Ross what he’d done with Berwick, he was now anticipating it with renewed gratification.
“I’ve deeded the land to Drake,” Ewan said with great satisfaction.
Ross blinked in shock. “My…grandson?”
“And Faye’s rightful guardian.”
Ross’s jaw clenched, and the familiar vengeful red blossomed over his face once more.
“Ye’ve done enough to that family,” Ewan said. “Do ye have any idea what they’ve been through?”
Ross’s gaze slid away.
“Ye knew, dinna ye?” Ewan demanded, his anger doubling.
“All they had to do was come back to Balnagown, and I’d have cared for them,” Ross erupted.
“Aye, so ye could manipulate them and auction off the lasses for marriage.” Ewan shook his head. “For once in yer miserable life, do some good for this family. Allow Drake to have Berwick.”
Ross pressed his lips together and remained silent so long, Ewan thought he would refuse. Finally, Ross sighed and nodded. “Aye, I’ll let the lad keep it.”
Ewan nodded. “Now remove yerself and yer men from my castle.”
Ross speared him with a look and shoved past Ewan on his way out the door. Monroe immediately followed him out to ensure he departed without issue. While Monroe was sharp with numbers, he was also incredibly skilled with a blade, enough to handle the likes of Ross should the older man choose to resist leaving.
Ewan braced his hands on his desk while he settled his thoughts. As his temper cooled, Faye pushed to the forefront of his mind. Her sisters and Cait would be gone by now. No doubt, she would be upset.
He pushed out into the hall and nearly ran into Moiré. She screamed in surprise and brown liquid sloshed from the cup in her hands, splashing the floor.
“Forgive me, Moiré.” He backed up to give her some space. “I was on my way to see Faye.”
She put her hand to her chest as though to calm her racing heart. “I was of the same mind.” She offered a sad smile. “I imagine it must be hard for her family to leave after such a pleasant visit.”
Ewan indicated the half-full mug. “Was that for her?”
“Aye.” Moiré lifted one shoulder, brushing off her considerate act. “I thought it might help.” She looked down at the dark liquid staining her red skirt. “Would ye mayhap take it to her?”
“Aye, of course.” Ewan accepted the hot cup.
“Thank ye.” Moiré smiled gratefully at him, as though he’d done her a great favor. She’d been so helpful while Faye’s family had been at Dunrobin.
Ewan nodded. “I’m sorry about yer kirtle.”
Moiré waved him off, her demeanor as pleasant as always. “Ye need no’ worry after me. Go on to yer bride.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. He turned on his heel and swiftly strode toward his chamber before the tea in his hand could cool. Once there, he rapped softly on their shared door, entering only when she bade him to.
She lay upon the bed with her back facing him.
“Moiré made ye some tea,” Ewan said.
Faye turned to him, her face reddened and tear stained. Dread washed over him. Mayhap she was regretting her decision.
“I can bring it to ye if ye like,” he offered.
She shook her head. “Please set it on the table.”
He did as she asked. The heavy mug settled on the table with a loud clunk in the quiet room. He hesitated, uncertain what to do next.
“Is there anything else I can get ye?” he asked.
Her mouth curled up in an unexpected smile. “Ye.”
Relief replaced dread. Her request was one he could readily agree to.
He eased onto the bed, and she rolled toward him, so her head settled on his chest. She put her arms around him, not in an embrace, but as though she clung to him. He rubbed her back in soothing circles, the way his mum had done when he was a lad.
She hummed in quiet contentment and nestled closer.
Her mouth pressed to his chest, just above his heart, then again at the neckline of his leine. The next kiss was on the skin at the base of his throat. Tingles of pleasure warmed its way to his core as need coiled within him.
She shifted over him, straddling him, her lips brushing his neck, his chin. The heat built to a roaring flame. He caught her face in his hands and stroked her tongue with his.
“Make me forget how I feel right now,” Faye whispered breathlessly between kisses.
I love ye.
The words teetered on the edge of his heart and caught at the tip of his tongue. He wanted to say them in her ear as he claimed her body or whisper them to her as they cradled in one another’s sweat-slick embrace after.
“I care for ye,” he said instead.
She arched her body against him with desperate need, and he was glad he’d kept those passionate words to himself. After she had sacrificed everything, the last thing he wanted was to frighten her with the force of his emotions.
He tugged at the fabric of her skirt and drew it upward as her fingers worked over the ties of his trews, liberating him. He thrust up into her as she rode him, their cries hoarse with passion, his heart tangled in its throes. Despite the throb of lust consuming him, he could not stop the worry from threading through the background of his mind that she would regret her decision to stay.
Faye walked slowly through the castle with an assessing look. It had been three weeks since she’d resumed responsibilities as mistress of the castle after her family’s departure. There had been several errors on her part: laundry days switched from the usual days resulting in confusion with the servants, an order for the larder gone wrong, several bolts of fabric used for the wrong things.
All small things. Certainly not to the extent of the blunder the eels had been, though now she and Ewan laughed over the memory.
Eventually, she’d devised a system to double-check tasks before they could be executed to ensure no more issues arose. Only then did everything begin to run smoothly.
She was just leaving the kitchen when Ewan’s voice sounded behind her. “There’s the bonny Lady Sutherland.”
She turned to him with a smile stretching over her lips.
He was as handsome as ever in a pair of black leather trews with his gray doublet opened at the throat to reveal his leine beneath. “And there’s the handsome chieftain of us all.”
He flashed her a bright white grin and pulled her into his arms. His brows drew down with concern. “Ye look tired, wife. I wish ye’d slept later this morn.”
“Flatterer.” Faye pretended to push him away. “And I’d already slept plenty late.”
In truth, she was embarrassed at how far into the morn it was when she was finally able to pull herself from the bed. Especially when she had always been one to rise with the sun. But regardless of how much she slept, she was unable to wake rested.
Ewan grabbed her back toward him. “Ye know I think ye’re the loveliest woman in all of Scotland. I only worry about how hard ye work.”
“Says the hardest working man in all of Scotland.” She pressed a kiss to his lips. “Off with ye now, I’ve got a few more tasks to see to.”
He cradled her face in his palm and met her eyes with a look that made her heart soften like heated wax.
“I think ye could fall in love with him…if ye let yerself.” Her mother’s words echoed in her mind.
And mayhap, she had.
In the last three weeks, Ewan had given her all of him. He’d found reasons to need to see her in the middle of the day with a kiss and a smile. He’d left flowers by her plate at meals and had fine fabrics ordered for new kirtles. There had even been a gift of a bejeweled dagger, ornate enough for a lady to wear on her belt with a blade sharp enough for a warrior.
More than all those physical goods, though, were the intimate moments between them. Some nights, he took his time as he worshiped her body; other times he coupled with her hard and fast in a way that left them both breathless. Regardless of how they came together, he always cradled her in his arms afterward, which was where she stayed through the night, in the protective embrace of his arms.
He looked at her often as he did now as if he wished to convey declarations of his heart. Mayhap even of love. It would be so much easier if he said it to her so that she might be free to say it aloud in turn, to test the delicacy of such words against the gradual opening of her heart.
“I care for ye.” He searched her eyes. “So verra much.”
Her pulse hitched. “And I care for ye, husband.” She opened her mouth, wanting to say more even as she feared doing so.
Her stomach clenched, and a wave of nausea washed over her.
“Off with ye or neither of us will ever see to our tasks,” Faye said with a forced laugh.
He hesitated, his focus on her sharpening.
“Good morrow, sir.” Monroe entered the room and nodded respectfully to Ewan first, then to Faye. “Good morrow, my lady. I trust this morn finds ye both well.”
“Aye, thank ye,” Faye lied. She certainly did not feel well. Not of late. She pulled Ewan’s arm, tugging him toward Monroe. “Off with ye, or we’ll be supping on eel.”
He grimaced and hastened his steps toward Monroe.
“That’s what I thought.” She chuckled at her husband’s antics. There was a silliness to him that she found endearing. How so powerful and masculine a male could still behave in such a way made her laugh, even when she felt as poorly as she did.
He tossed a final charming grin in her direction and departed with Monroe. No sooner had he left than a fresh roll of nausea caught her. Sweat prickled on her brow. She was going to be ill. Her hands moved blindly, finding the stone wall to brace herself against as she fought to keep the contents of her stomach in place.
“Faye?” Footsteps rushed toward her. “Is something amiss?”
The surprise of Moiré’s sudden appearance provided Faye with the thread of control she needed to wrangle in her need to purge. She could hardly allow herself to be ill in front of someone else.
Faye pressed her face to the stone and reveled in the coolness that greeted her. “Forgive me. I need a moment.” She sighed.
Moiré put a hand to Faye’s brow. “Ye dinna feel warm. Are ye well?”
“’Tis been like this for several mornings.” Faye swallowed thickly, desperate to be free of the unpleasant clench to her stomach.
“Have ye been tired as well?” Moiré asked.
Faye opened her eyes and regarded Ewan’s cousin with suspicion. “Aye.”
“Ye do know where my questions are leading, aye?” Moiré tilted her head. “Have ye had yer courses?”
Faye’s mouth fell open. Was it true?
Quickly, she thought back to her courses and realized she hadn’t had them since a sennight into her miserable journey to Balnagown Castle. Now with the exhaustion and the illness…how had she not realized?
Moiré blinked, as though with shock. “Ye’re with child.” Her words were flat, absent the joy and wonder dawning over Faye.
“A child…” Faye pushed away from the wall and brought a hand slowly to her stomach. A babe grew within. Her babe. With Ewan.
Tears welled in her eyes.
Their child.
“I have to tell Ewan.” Faye put her palms to her cheeks to cool their blazing heat.
Moiré shook her head. “No’ yet.”
Faye drew back and frowned at Ewan’s cousin, who had been acting strange since she pieced together why Faye had been ill.
“Why not tell him?” Faye asked.
Moiré sighed sadly. “’Tis no’ a story I want to tell. But I dinna want Ewan hurt again.” Her eyes dulled with sorrow. “Lara thought she was with child once. She told Ewan as soon as she suspected, but it was simply that she missed her courses and was ill. Realizing she wasn’t in a delicate way devastated them both, and their marriage fell apart.”
Faye sagged back against the stone wall. Such news must have been painful for Ewan. Worse still, that their union had suffered in the wake of such loss. She cupped her hands protectively over her womb, certain a child grew within her.
And yet if she were wrong…
Doubt crowded in the fogginess of her tired mind.
“Mayhap ’tis best to tell him when ye have missed yer courses a second time?” Moiré suggested.
Faye hesitated. Surely Ewan’s affections couldn’t be so fickle as to falter if she weren’t with child. Especially when the draw between them was so strong. And when he had never loved Lara.
But could she put him through such hurt again?
She had never been with child, nor did she know anyone who had been. No one save her mother, and Mum was too far away to seek counsel. Faye had no way to know for certain.
Slowly, she found herself nodding in agreement with Moiré. “I think ye’re right.”
Moiré clenched her hands to her chest. “The moment ye truly know, ye’ll make him the happiest man in all the world.”
Faye forced a smile to her lips. Was it possible to keep her suspicions from her husband for another fortnight?