August 1341
Sutherland, Scotland
Faye paused by the ewer and rested her hand over the growing bump of her stomach. Ewan approached from behind her, still warm with sleep, and curled his strong arms around her in an embrace.
She settled back against him as his palm cradled her stomach. “How is our bairn this morn?”
“Active.” Little flutters flickered inside her stomach as if to confirm her statement. The babe had quickened a fortnight ago and had become more insistent on making his presence known. Or hers, as it may be.
“I’m going to the surrounding areas today, including Torish.” Ewan turned her around. “Would ye like to join me?”
She beamed at her husband. She always enjoyed seeing Torish, as he well knew. Not only for the realization that the land had been hers and would pass down to their child. She also enjoyed seeing how the villagers’ lives had improved under Ewan’s leadership. The people were well fed, their homes repaired and their land and livestock better tended.
“I’d love to.” She kissed him. “After I see to the meals for today.”
“Of course.” He grinned. “Can we expect eel?”
She swatted a hand at him playfully. “Ye don’t ever need to expect eel again.”
But her jesting covered an underlying flash of pain at the reminder. For it hadn’t been a mistake with the venison running out, as the cook had said. The servant admitted after Moiré’s death that she had insisted he do it and keep quiet about it. She’d encouraged him to do other nefarious little acts as well, but he’d refused or ensured it was thrown out before it could be eaten. And sadly, he was not the only servant manipulated by Moiré.
All those mistakes Faye thought had been her doing had been Moiré’s hand in an effort to make Faye think she’d been doing a poor job.
It was only a sampling of Moiré’s perfidy. It had been confirmed she was the one behind her uncle’s traitorous acts. The man had been ill for a long time, and she used his seclusion as an opportunity to poison his mind. God rest his soul. Cruim had died the night Ewan escaped from being locked in his uncle’s cellar, upon hearing of his daughter’s death.
Moiré had used him not only to turn men against Ewan but to encourage an alliance with the Gordons, who had agreed to support Cruim in taking the chieftainship, which would have left it open for Moiré upon his impending death. Her depravity knew no depths. Several herbs were found in her room that Sorcha confessed were used to aid in getting rid of pregnancies…and for conceiving. It appeared that while Moiré tried to kill Faye’s child, she was also trying to get with child from her time with Finn. No doubt to force him into a marriage.
Ewan smoothed a lock of hair away from Faye’s brow. “Have I told ye how much it pleases me to see ye so healthy?”
“Every morning.” She kissed him and turned to the ewer to pour fresh water into the bowl. The sickness and exhaustion from the early stages of her pregnancy had dissipated, leaving her practically glowing with energy.
She lifted a fresh square of linen and nudged aside the letter next to it to ensure it didn’t get wet.
Ewan’s eyes caught the movement, and he lifted his brows. “Have ye answered yer grandda yet?”
Faye shook her head and lifted the linen to her face. The cool water swept over her warm cheeks, waking her up fully.
Her grandfather had wanted to come visit as soon as he found she was expecting a child with Ewan. He’d claimed it was to restore their good faith, especially after she had nearly been killed. But while Faye had learned to open her heart to the idea of trust, she was no fool.
After all these years, she finally understood her mother’s decision to keep them from their grandfather. Starving and fighting for life was better than being puppets to a man like him.
A spike of protection for her unborn child jabbed her back straight.
“I don’t want him here,” she replied. “Or near the babe.”
Ewan pulled on his trews and gave a supportive nod. “I think it’s for the best to keep him from our daughter…or son.”
“Any wagers?” Faye asked with an intentional coquettish slide of her eyes to her husband.
His gaze swept down her body. “What will I win if I guess true?”
She loved that he looked at her like that still, hot with attraction and love. “Anything ye like, husband.”
He lifted his brows. “I think ’tis a bonny wee lass like her mum.”
“And I suspect he’s a brawny warrior, like his da.” She ran her fingers down Ewan’s powerful chest.
A quiet knock came at the door connecting their rooms.
Faye bid her maid enter, and Gavina came in with a letter held high in the air. “Yer family has written to ye.”
Faye crowed with excitement and readily took the letter from Gavina with a word of thanks. She cracked open the seal and read through the contents.
But as she read, the smile slipped from her face.
“What is it,” Ewan asked.
Faye shook her head and read through it again. Ewan’s strong arm came around her shoulder. “Faye?”
“’Tis Kinsey,” Faye replied. “She’s left home.”
“Left home?” Ewan frowned. “Where did she go?”
Faye lowered the missive, frightened by the frantic scrawl of her mother’s normally neat script. Her fear and panic were evident in the way she’d written, as she begged Faye to help out in any way possible.
“Kinsey has always been of the mindset that the English deserved to be punished for everything they’ve done to us and Scotland.” Faye put a hand to her chest, but her heart still pounded beneath the letter in her fist. “She’s left to join the fight against England, to reclaim Scottish land.”
“Drake,” Ewan said softly.
Faye nodded as tears brimmed in her eyes. “Drake is employed by Lord Werrick, an English earl, and an English March Warden. If Kinsey is fighting against the English, she’s fighting against my brother. They’re enemies.”
Ewan hugged her to him. “Kinsey wouldna compromise Drake.”
Faye tucked her head against him. “I hope ye’re right.”
“I can send some of my men to yer mum to help,” Ewan said. “But ’tis too long a journey for ye.”
Faye pressed her lips together to ward off the protest that immediately rose up. He was right, of course. Going to Castleton and coming back would take a month and a half, at least, mayhap more with the colder weather that would sweep in soon. And that was assuming Kinsey could be found quickly.
Faye knew her sister too well to think she might be easy to locate. After all, Kinsey never did anything without fully committing herself. If she’d joined the war, she would be in deep.
Instead, Faye nodded. “Aye, please do send some men. My mum will need help. As will Clara.”
“I’ll do it straight away,” Ewan promised. “She’ll be safe. Both she and Drake.”
Faye embraced her husband, grateful for his support and his readiness to aid her family. But even as he offered reassurance, she was plagued by doubt. For in the end, what would win out? Kinsey’s love for their brother, or her hatred for the English?
Faye only wished that her sister might settle down with a good man as she had and allow herself to be truly happy. It was times like this, Faye was grateful she had opened up to her husband so that he might know the truth in her heart.
“I promised to protect ye,” Ewan said. “And that extends to yer family as well.”
She closed her eyes as a tear eased down her cheek, for she knew his words to be true. For Ewan Sutherland, the man that she’d married, father to their unborn child, was indeed a man worthy of her trust. And now she had a life where love was not a vulnerability, but a strength, and worth every risk she’d taken.
Thank you for reading FAYE’S SACRIFICE! I read all of my reviews and would love to know that you enjoyed it, so please do leave a review.
Faye’s siblings all have their own stories too:
- Kinsey in Kinsey’s Defiance
- Clara in Clara’s Vow (info coming soon!)
- Drake in Drake’s Honor (info coming soon!)
- If you want more stories that take place on the border between England and Scotland, check out my Borderland Ladies series and meet Drake, starting with Marin’s Promise
Check out Kinsey’s story next in KINSEY’S DEFIANCE where Kinsey leaves home to help with the Scottish rebellion against England, an archer for a laird’s son too handsome and charming for his own good.
***Keep reading for a first chapter preview of KINSEY’S DEFIANCE**
KINSEY’S DEFIANCE
Kinsey Fletcher is a woman who stands up for others who can’t fight, so it’s no wonder she jumps at the chance to be an archer in the war to reclaim Scottish lands alongside the handsome laird’s son.
William MacLeod is a man all women love, one out to prove his worth while also catching the eye of the feisty and fiery Kinsey who pretends to want nothing to do with him.
With tremendous odds against them, can a love blossom and make them stronger together, or will their conflicting goals tear them apart?
Sign up for my exclusive newsletter to stay up to date on the latest Borderland Rebels news. Sign up today and get a FREE download THE HIGHLANDER’S CHALLENGE.
KINSEY’S DEFIANCE
Chapter 1 Preview
July 1341
Castleton, Scotland
Kinsey Fletcher never cared much for market days. They were loud, crowded and filled with Englishmen trying to stir up trouble.
Like the two bleary-eyed sods pointing at them as Kinsey and her older sister, Clara, walked by.
“Ignore them,” Clara said gently. “They mean us no harm.”
“They would if given a chance.” Kinsey narrowed her eyes at the men, who grinned salaciously in return. The arrogant fops.
“Ye can’t go around picking a fight with every man who looks at ye.” Clara led them away from the carpenter’s stall they’d been perusing, and through the crowded streets. “Ye’d never get any rest.”
Kinsey scoffed. “I’m not the only one they’re looking at.” Though sisters, their vastly different appearances went beyond the blue shade of their eyes to their hair, with Clara’s being dark and silky straight while Kinsey’s curls were bright red. Regardless, they both seemed to draw a significant amount of notice.
Not that it was anything Kinsey couldn’t handle. Indeed, it was the exact reason she insisted on wearing her bow and a quiver of arrows to the market.
“Come, we’re nearly done.” Clara took the basket from Kinsey and examined the contents. They needed only a few nails and a bit of wool, and then they could finally return to their stone manor on the outskirts of the village.
Some English lived in the village as well, given that they lived so close to the English-Scottish border, where the two nationalities had a tendency to blend. How could they not when the lands were stolen by either country, then taken back, only to be stolen again?
But reivers often spilled over from England in greater numbers on market days. Some seeking items from the traveling merchants; others in retaliation for some raid against them, which had been a retaliation for another prior raid. On and on it went.
One day, someone would need to put a stop to it. And Kinsey wouldn’t mind taking a stab at trying.
Regardless, they all somehow wound up at the tavern with too much ale sloshing about in their heads and a keen determination to woo whatever lass they came upon.
Kinsey and her sister stopped at the blacksmith’s booth, where Clara bent to inspect a small bin of nails.
“They’re all straight, miss.” The blacksmith folded his arms over his broad chest. His gaze wandered appreciatively over Clara’s slender pale hand, then up her arm to her face.
“Ye always do fine workmanship, I know,” Clara offered by way of reassurance. She lifted her focus to him, then her cheeks colored with a blush as she apparently noted his attention.
Kinsey shifted from one foot to the other in agitation. This was why they were always getting into trouble during market days. Clara was the type who wouldn’t ignore anyone speaking to her. Not the vendors, who she politely declined when she passed, nor the men who approached her to compliment her. Clara would blush prettily, a genuine response she could never stifle, while offering a “Nay, thank ye” that was far too sweet to be taken as an actual no.
This only made the men press harder, then Kinsey would have to step in to demonstrate the might of true discouragement. Usually with her bow and arrow.
It wasn’t Clara’s fault, of course. She was a beauty, though she never believed it no matter how many men tripped over their hanging tongues as she passed. It was more than her wide, pale blue eyes and the full mouth they’d all inherited from their mum.
There was an innocence to Clara, a demeanor of genuine kindness. Mayhap that was why her good sister drew the worst men.
Kinsey wasn’t as oblivious when it came to men’s notice. She knew they watched her as much as they did her sister. But she didn’t blush at their flattery. She sliced them with the blade of her tongue and set them back a few paces.
The two Englishmen were still there, pointing at them now. One caught her notice and gave a cheeky wave with the tips of his plump fingers. Kinsey practically growled her irritation.
“Do ye think these will be enough?” Clara asked.
Kinsey grudgingly examined the twenty or so pointed nails in Clara’s cupped hand.
Kinsey nodded, though she had no idea how many were needed. Their eldest sister, Faye, had always been the one to attend the village on market days. Not only did she enjoy the task of shopping, but she also managed to procure the best deals. Except now, Faye was married, living in the Highlands with a bairn on the way. And there was nothing for it but to attend the market in her stead.
Clara paid for the nails and thanked the blacksmith, who gave a slow, besotted smile as he took the coins.
They had only a length of wool to purchase, and then they could leave. Kinsey’s shoulders didn’t relax though, not with those men nearby. She glanced about and realized she’d lost them. Mayhap that meant they’d given up and—
“You’re absolutely lovely.” One of the two Englishmen stepped from the surrounding crowd and approached Clara.
A flush of color blossomed over her cheeks, damn her.
“Thank you,” Clara replied with a shy duck of her head.
Kinsey didn’t bother to hide her huff of aggravation. Clara would eventually get them both killed.
“I bet you’re far sweeter than any honey I could buy here.” The man stepped closer, swaying a bit. His friend stood behind him, saying nothing as he offered them a smile that looked like it was going to slide off his homely face.
Clara shook her head, her smile wavering with uncertainty. “Nay, I—”
Kinsey stood before her. “She’s not interested.”
The man didn’t bother to hide his lust as his gaze slithered down Kinsey’s body. “And I bet you’ve got the right amount of spice to offset that sweet, eh, Red?”
She resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest to shield herself from his foul stare. Not only would she not give him the satisfaction of knowing he unsettled her, but she also wanted to ensure she could draw her bow quickly.
“I’m also not interested.” She notched her chin a little higher. “We’d like ye to leave.”
“What if I want to stay?” He licked his lips.
She slung her bow off her back, drew an arrow and sent one into the dirt just before his feet where he stood several paces away. He stepped back, and a second arrow landed where his foot had been.
“The next one goes a little higher.” She nocked another arrow, aimed it at his groin and smiled. “Is that enough spice for ye?”
“Kinsey.” Clara’s voice held a note of warning.
Kinsey could already hear the admonishment. Though, with Clara, it was more a careful reminder than a chastising. “Remember what the constable said—the next time you bring out your bows, you’ll be fined.”
But Kinsey wouldn’t be fined. The constable made the threat often enough for her to know it held no weight. Then again, she’d only ever shot the ground. Would he continue to be as forgiving if she actually shot someone?
Eventually, she just might find out.
Today would not be that day, for the Englishman and his friend scowled and staggered away.
The cloth merchant was at the end of a line of booths, beside a cart touting jars of honey.
“Do ye need any assistance?” A voice asked from behind Kinsey.
From an Englishman to a Scotsman. If only the taverns would close on market days. Surely, the lack of alcohol would set some minds toward their proper function.
God, how she hated market days.
“Fine timing.” She glanced over her shoulder.
The man was lean and tall, his brown hair neatly styled to the side, his high cheekbones evident with the hint of a smile on his lips. He was the most handsome man Kinsey had ever laid eyes on. And he knew it.
What was worse, he was undoubtedly a nobleman. His clothes were too fine to be a reiver. Too fine to be even a merchant from the border.
Before she could open her mouth to offer a smart retort to send him off, Clara spoke up. “Nay, but thank ye for offering to help.”
Kinsey gave her sister a long-suffering look, which Clara met with a patient tilt of her head. How was it she never got riled?
“Then mayhap ye can help me,” the man said.
But Kinsey was already turning away, pulling Clara to the cloth merchant who would undoubtedly take far too much of their time.
“Can we get the wool next week?” Kinsey asked under her breath.
“I’m almost finished with the new dress I’m making for Mum.” Clara navigated the crowd of people as they walked. “I need only this last piece of wool for it to be complete.”
Her older sister slowed just before they reached the cart laden with bolts of colorful fabrics. “I know ye don’t like market days, and aye, the people can be…coarse, but Kinsey, I worry about ye. The constable said—”
“Excuse me, miss.” The handsome stranger appeared at Kinsey’s side once more. He smiled at her in a way she was sure other women found charming.
To her, it made him look like a false apothecary, selling off a bottle of common loch water as a cure-all potion.
Still, whatever he had to say would at least be more interesting than yet another discussion about the constable and his flimsy threats. She nodded to Clara to go on without her. After all, the vendor was only a few paces away. She would be able to keep watch on her sister.
Clara hesitated, but Kinsey waved her on, and she finally made her way to the cart. The man was still smiling when Kinsey returned her gaze to him.
“I’m William MacLeod,” he said as if he thought the familiarity of his name would warm her to him.
It didn’t.
“Ye caught my eye,” he continued. “I had to come to talk to ye.”
And here it went.
“Ye’re an exceptional archer.”
His compliment took her aback.
“I beg yer pardon?” A quick glance confirmed Clara was at the cloth merchant and being left alone.
“I saw how confidently you fired those shots.” He nodded the way men do when they’re impressed. “Ye’re damn good.”
Heat touched her face. “Thank ye,” she replied.
Was she really blushing and thanking him? She was getting as bad as Clara. But then, no man had complimented her skills with a bow before.
“I have need of a good archer,” he replied. “How would ye like to join my men and me in the fight against England?” He looked over his shoulder to indicate a group of men outside the inn before returning his attention to her. “To rise with the return of King David and reclaim the land that the English have stolen?”
Her blood charged in her veins at his words.
She’d heard of King David’s return to Scotland after his exile in France. He’d been there so long that she couldn’t remember a time when he had been on Scottish soil. She’d also heard of his determination to take back what belonged to them.
And she could be part of that army.
How long had she wished to exact vengeance on the English for their betrayal of herself and her family after their English father was slain in combat? How often had she lain awake in the manor, craving something more out of their quiet life?
This would be the ideal opportunity. The decision ought to be easy.
She glanced to where Clara sifted through several bolts of fabric with a careful hand.
Could Kinsey leave her family? Especially with their brother, Drake, already working for an earl on the wrong side of the border, and Faye being so far away?
And yet how could she not fight for Scotland after so many injustices?
William MacLeod had spied the fiery lass from across the market. What man would not?
Hair like fire, sapphire blue eyes that sparkled with a challenge, high firm breasts…aye, he’d have noticed her anywhere. But then she’d brought out that bow, quick as a snake’s strike, and expertly pinned the arrows into the ground right before the man’s feet.
That was the kind of archer William needed in his command.
A bonny lass to warm his bed would be an added benefit.
And yet she appeared hesitant.
“If ye join my men and me in our efforts to regain Scottish land from England, I’ll, of course, pay ye.” He winked at her.
She frowned slightly, almost appearing as though she found his charm off-putting. Strange.
Her fine lips pursed with shrewdness. “If ye pay me to do the job of a man, I’ll take the wage of one.”
There was something in the way she spoke that made her sound English. The Scottish burr was there, yes, but her words were less lyrical, crisper. He’d bet his life that she had mixed blood running through her veins, which meant neither country had likely been kind to her. He could use that to his advantage.
He considered what she’d said. While most men might balk at such a brazen demand, William found the logic of her request sound. “Consider it done. The pay of a man for the work of a man.”
“And I want armor.” She glanced behind him, where his men stood in their chainmail.
“Of course.”
Her eyes narrowed with a look of cautious intensity. “How do I know I can trust ye?”
He studied her, taking in the blue linen kirtle hugging her well-curved frame. The garment was fine enough, but not grand. Certainly, it was absent fraying hems or worn spots. Which meant she was not poor, but nor was she rich.
Her bow and arrow were of better quality, mayhap the best he’d seen on the borderlands.
She wasn’t unfounded in her lack of trust, especially on the border between England and Scotland, where treachery was prevalent, and reivers left everyone on edge.
She flicked her attention to where her lovely dark-haired companion pulled a bolt of fabric from a stack and handed it to the merchant with a generous smile.
William was running out of time.
“My father is Laird of the MacLeod clan on Skye.” He indicated his family crest on the hilt of his blade, the bull’s head expertly carved into the gold.
“And ye’re his heir?” The weight of her assessment settled over him.
William squared his shoulders. “Why would I no’ be?”
In his father’s eyes, there was one primary reason—disappointment. It had started early on when William was a boy. The knowledge that nothing he ever did was good enough to satisfy his father. After a time, William gave up trying.
He’d stopped caring. Or so he told himself. But with his father now threatening to name someone else as his heir for the lairdship, he had no choice.
This was his one opportunity to prove his worth by assisting King David in reclaiming Scottish land. And William would stop at nothing to ensure he succeeded.
“I must go.” The lass said abruptly.
“Can I no’ get an answer from ye?” he pressed. “What’s yer name?”
She smirked. “If I decide to join ye, I’ll give it then.”
“We leave at dawn tomorrow.” A sense of urgency always helped spur prompt decisions. “Meet us by the inn.”
Except she didn’t take the bait. She lifted a shoulder with a maddening air of indifference. “I may be there. I may not.”
She began to turn away, and he knew she would be lost if he didn’t press his cause.
“Have ye or yer loved ones no’ ever suffered at the hands of the English?” he asked.
She slowly looked back at him, and he knew his gut had been right.
“Ye’ve no idea,” she ground out.
“Then why let them win?” He stepped toward her. Her eyes sparked in a way that told him he’d struck a note, one he could readily play.
There was a sweet, powdery scent about her. Markedly feminine. He could envision himself gliding his lips over the hollow of her naked collarbone, breathing her in.
“The English have had their way with Scotland for too long,” he said. “Starvation. Raids. Homes burned. Lives stolen.” He shook his head. “No more.” His hand balled into a fist. “King David will reclaim Scotland, and I’ll be there. Will ye?”
Her breath quickened, evident by the swell of those lovely breasts against the neckline of her simple gown. “Dawn?”
He nodded, and she said nothing more, leaving to rejoin the dark-haired woman. Though she hadn’t committed to accompanying them, she would be there.
Or at least he hoped.
Hiding a smile, he put his back to her despite the temptation to watch her depart and approached the inn.
All his men had entered, except the largest warrior who merely lifted his brows at William’s arrival. “Will she join us?” Reid asked.
William shrugged and tried to pass it off as though she were of little concern. “She says she’ll think about it.”
“That’s as close to a nay as ye’ve ever had from a lass.” Reid pulled his auburn hair back into a thong, away from his sharp-featured face. “What do ye think?”
“She’ll show.”
Reid smirked. “An early dawn departure, then?”
It was a tactic William had employed before. A highly effective one.
William simply winked. “Did ye secure the rooms for us?”
“Do ye even have to ask?”
William threw his arm around his second-in-command. There was a reason he’d asked his boyhood friend to be his right-hand man in going up against the English. Reid was resourceful, with a knack of accomplishing any task.
They entered the inn together for a bit of hot food and a few ales before settling in for an early night. As William ate and drank with his men, he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering back to the bonny redhead who spoke with a blended accent. She was fine to look at, aye, but many lasses were.
If her archery skills were as good as she’d exhibited, she would be invaluable as a warrior. They were in an age where a strong bow could give them an advantage, plucking off enough of the enemy to change the tide of battle.
She could be the pivotable role that helped him impress his father.
William hated the twinge in his chest at the thought of his da. He shouldn’t crave the man’s approval the way he did, not when it had never once been given before. But mayhap this time…
He knew the night would be a fitful one as dawn slowly approached, to see if the lass would join them or not. And he hoped to God she would.