Finally, the day came that Faye would go to the healer. She rode with Moiré to the small village on the outskirts of the castle. Though Faye had no confirmation on her condition yet, she continued to cradle her stomach with the flat of her palm.
Through the scrape of seconds and minutes and hours until Faye’s visit to the healer, Ewan proceeded to act even more strangely.
“Do ye know what occupies Ewan’s time this afternoon?” Faye asked.
Moiré gazed out toward the tops of the thatched houses as they approached the village. “Nay, but I think ’tis important. He seemed verra distracted this morning.”
Faye said nothing. She’d thought the same of Ewan. His mouth had been set in a hard line as it did when his mind was weighted with important matters. Energy charged through her veins like lightning, crackling and snapping until she was restless with agitation.
“’Tis this way.” Moiré indicated a hut set off from the main village.
A plume of dark smoke rose from the roof’s center and billowed up into the clear blue sky. Nervous excitement jittered in the pit of Faye’s stomach as they dismounted before the small hut. She would finally know.
A woman not much older than Faye answered the door. Her long brown hair was bound back in a thick rope of a braid, which she swung over her shoulder, and bade them enter.
The air inside was warm and scented with the sweetness of herbs whose names Faye could not recall. Bundles of dried stems and leaves hung from the rafters, and a cheerful fire blazed at the hut’s center in a small pit lined with stones.
The woman offered a shy curtsey to Faye. “I’m so pleased to meet ye, Lady Sutherland. I’m Sorcha, the healer. Ye dinna have to come here. I could have gone to ye.”
Faye waved her hand. “I’ve never been one for putting on airs.”
Sorcha’s face radiated with a healthy glow. “I’ve heard ye were a bonny woman but had no idea.” She flushed. “I can see why ye’ve stolen our chieftain’s heart.”
It was Faye’s turn to blush. “I don’t know that I’ve stolen his heart…”
“As much as he talks about ye when he’s with the villagers, I assure ye, ye have.” Sorcha gave her a wide grin.
It was uncommon for Faye to like anyone from the first meeting. But Sorcha had a genuine, open demeanor that reminded her so thoroughly of Clara’s goodness that Faye immediately was drawn to the healer.
“If ye dinna mind…?” Sorcha looked to Moiré then glanced toward the door.
Moiré frowned. “I’d like to stay here for Faye.”
Faye gave a grateful look to her cousin-by-marriage. “’Tis fine, Moiré. I’ll be but a moment.”
Moiré’s lips turned downward in an uncommon show of churlishness, but she did not protest again as she left the small hut.
“Ye think ye’re with child, do ye?” Sorcha asked, her blue eyes twinkling.
Faye nodded, unable to stop her smile. “Aye. I’ve been ill for the last fortnight and have been tired. My courses haven’t come in some time. At least in a month and a half.”
“And how does yer bosom feel?” Sorcha asked. “Do ye have tenderness?”
Faye nearly laughed at the accuracy of the question. “So much that I can scarcely stand for my bodice to be too tight across them. Which seems to be happening more often of late.”
“Because they seem swollen as well?” Sorcha surmised.
Faye’s eyes prickled with tears as she nodded again. “Does that mean…?”
“I canna say for certain until several months have passed and the child quickens in yer womb. But ’tis a strong possibility ye are when ye’re showing so many of the signs.”
Faye’s happy excitement dampened. “Ye don’t have a way to find out?”
Sorcha shook her head, her expression apologetic. “There’s some who think a pregnant woman’s morning waters will rust a needle, but I’ve seen that happen with women who are with child and those who are no’.”
The elation Faye had been swept up in only moments before dissolved into tears. She had wanted so badly to tell Ewan. To have one less secret between them. Then mayhap he might share his with her.
“Lady Sutherland, what is it?” Sorcha asked.
The entire story of how Faye feared to tell Ewan came out. As she talked, Sorcha prepared a tea for her, this one sweet and rich with green herbs that left a lingering nuttiness on her tongue. Far better than the brew Moiré prepared for her daily.
“Ye say Ewan’s first wife was with child?” Sorcha took the empty mug from Faye with a frown.
Suspicion prickled at the edges of Faye’s awareness. “Aye.”
Sorcha tapped a finger on the mug, as though warring with a decision.
“What is it?” Faye asked.
“’Tis only…” Sorcha shrugged her shoulders. “I dinna know she was ever with child. All the times I saw to her were to offer herbs to help find a cure for her barrenness.” “I see,” Faye replied. But, in truth, she didn’t. Mayhap Lara hadn’t gone to the healer, but why would she not?
“I’m sorry I couldna be more help,” Sorcha said.
Faye rose from the wooden seat by the table she’d settled into during her discussion with the healer. “Ye’ve been plenty helpful. Thank ye.”
She paid Sorcha her fee, which the healer tried to decline, and Faye insisted she take and went outside to where Moiré waited by the door.
“Is all well?” Moiré asked anxiously. “That took far longer than I’d anticipated.”
Faye nodded. “I’m with child.” There was a certainty to her words, ones that felt right to say aloud. She’d known in her heart she was.
“That’s wonderful,” Moiré said in a flat voice. Her gaze was set in the distance, her eyes narrowed.
Dread settled over Faye’s shoulders. “What is it?”
“I saw Ewan.” Moiré indicated a nearby cottage.
“In the cottage?” Faye asked.
Moiré nodded.
Faye’s heart gave a joyous leap. “Let’s go to him. I can tell him the happy news now.”
A smile widened over Moiré’s pretty face, and she set to work untethering their horses. They rode together toward the small hut where Ewan’s black horse was already secured out front, but as they drew near, another rider approached and dismounted.
The woman wore a dark cloak over a blue kirtle. The wind blew at the hood of her gown, pulling it back just far enough for Faye to make out the flash of red hair beneath and an ample amount of bosom exposed from the lowcut neckline.
The breath sucked out of Faye’s lungs as she realized the identity of the rider meeting her husband.
Mistress Blair.
Ewan hated the secretive nature of his meeting. Nay, it wasn’t the nature of it, but the woman involved. Blair.
What was more, he hated having lied about it to Faye.
His heart clenched to think of his wife, of how tired she’d been and her determination not to go to a healer. He wanted to end this meeting quickly and return to her.
Agitation churned restless anxiety in his gut. He paced the cottage, winding around the empty, dark fire pit, back and forth. There was nothing within the deserted home, all the bits of furniture and belongings long since cleared out. Dots of sunlight shone in from the rafters above, and a musty chill hung in the air, speaking of its long-ago abandonment.
The door rattled on rusty hinges as the handle was gripped, and the warped wood swung inward, revealing Blair. Her gaze fixed on him, smoldering with intent.
Damn it.
She pushed the door closed, secured the latch and drew off her cloak. Her blue kirtle was cut far too low over her breasts, nearly exposing the edge of her nipples as the tortured globes were squeezed over her neckline.
“Ewan,” she breathed. “I’ve been waiting to hear from ye for so long.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, uncomfortable with how hot the icy room had suddenly become. And even more uncomfortable with how her gaze raked over him. “Ye told me ye had news of my uncle,” he said.
“I have all the news ye want.” She bit her lower lip, and her stare dropped to his groin.
Jesu.
He shifted slightly, but there was no way in the openness of the empty home to adequately block her probing eyes. This must be what it felt like for women being ogled by men.
She sauntered toward him, her hips swaying with seduction, her long red curls bouncing.
Ewan stepped back. “This wasna the meeting I intended.”
“Then why did ye come?” Blair grabbed his doublet and pulled him toward her. “Do ye know how many nights I laid awake thinking of ye? The man who should have been my husband. How many times I slid my fingers—”
“Enough.” Ewan pulled away from her, his face burning with the intensity of his unease. “Ye wrote to me saying ye had important news of my uncle ye couldna discuss anywhere else.”
She blinked at him. “And ye wrote to me telling me how ye couldna stop thinking of me. How ye longed to feel my body upon yers.”
His jaw dropped. “I dinna write a letter like that.”
Hurt flashed in her eyes. “Ye dinna?”
“Nay, and I wouldna,” Ewan said gently. “I love my wife.” He paused after the declaration. It was the first time he’d said those words aloud. “I love her,” he repeated vehemently.
Tears glittered in Blair’s eyes. “Ye were supposed to love me, Ewan.”
Guilt twisted in his chest for the woman who had been a pawn in this game of marriage and love, easily shifted to whatever side increased the likelihood of winning.
“I’m sorry, Blair.” His voice was so quiet that it was nearly inaudible in the empty room.
“Dinna think to ever seek my forgiveness.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I’ll never give it. No’ after ye agreed to my marriage to yer ancient uncle. I was supposed to be happy.” A sob choked up from her throat. She put her head in her hands. “I was supposed to be happy with ye,” she whimpered.
Ewan stood by, uncertain of what to do. He had been the source of her misery. It was he who had decided to marry Faye instead of Blair, changing his mind just as the negotiations with the Gordon Chieftain were nearly complete. All of this had been his fault.
He opened his arms to her in an attempt to offer comfort. She sagged against him, nuzzling her face into his chest as she breathed in deeply.
“This was all I’ve ever wanted.” Her arms curled around his back, locking their bodies together. “Ye are all I’ve ever wanted.”
“Blair,” he said in an attempt to recall her to her senses.
She ran her hand over his chest and gave a shuddering sigh. “Kiss me, Ewan.” Her face tilted up to his.
Before he could disentangle himself from her, the door flew inward with such force that splintered wood skittered across the hard-packed floor. Ten warriors entered the single room cottage with Ewan’s uncle behind them.
“I knew it,” he cried.
The warriors surrounded them, but Cruim broke through the circle of men and ripped Blair away from Ewan. Cruim staggered slightly as he held Blair by the back of her kirtle.
He glared at her, his gaze going to her nearly exposed breasts. “Ye willna even kiss me, but ye play the role of leman to this whelp?” A rattle in his chest followed his angry words.
“I never wanted to marry ye,” Blair said vehemently.
An older man with bulging muscles stepped forward and restrained Blair, holding her arms behind her back. Her chest pushed forward, and her breasts swelled with each jagged breath.
“Release her,” Ewan ordered.
The man did not. In fact, he didn’t even look at Ewan.
“These are not yer men,” Cruim said. “They are in support of me becoming chieftain.”
Ewan looked at each man in the room, none of whom met his eyes. “Ye’re all traitors,” he said with a voice of authority. “And when this is all over, ye’ll die for yer betrayal.”
Cruim scoffed. “When this is over, they’ll be my most trusted warriors. And I’ll be the chieftain.” The rattle in his chest resumed, and he gave a wet cough.
There was a grayness to his pallor, and he seemed unsteady on his feet.
“Ye have this wrong,” Blair said. “Someone told us to meet here.”
Cruim looked at her, his expression blank. “I’m sure ye’ll say ye both got notes to come here, aye?”
Blair’s mouth fell open. “Aye, that’s what happened.”
“Which is exactly what I thought ye would say.” Cruim shook his head with disappointment. “’Tis how she said ye would try to talk yer way out of this.”
A chill crept down Ewan’s spine. “She?”
“Aye.” Cruim’s lip curled in disgust. “I wouldna even know about yer affair, or how ye’d both lied to me, had my daughter no’ been good enough to come forward. It wounded her to do it, especially when ye’d always been so close.”
Ewan went mute with shock. Why would Moiré tell her father about an affair that did not exist?
Why, unless… His blood turned to ice in his veins. Unless she was part of the plot to overthrow him and put his uncle in charge. And if that were the case, then Faye was in grave danger.