Faye's Sacrifice

by Madeline Martin

  She faced him abruptly. “What is it about me ye find so detestable?” She lifted her small, pointed chin. “Am I unpleasing to the eye?”

  He stifled a swell of irritation. After all, he had decided to wed another. The least he could do was explain his reasonings. “Nay. Ye’re bonny. Ye always have been. ’Tis never been ye, but negotiations between clans with dowries and threats.”

  The stiff set of Mistress Blair’s shoulders relaxed. “I see. Then it wasna me?”

  He shook his head.

  She twisted her fingers in front of her waist. She wore a gray kirtle that made her gleam like silver. “I believe yer uncle intends to set my family against ye, Ewan.”

  He started at the use of his Christian name. He’d met her only a handful of times in the course of the negotiations with her father.

  “What has he done?” Ewan asked.

  “Ye mean, what will he do?” She stepped closer, and the weight of her silk skirt nudged at his shins. Too close.

  Ewan edged back slightly. “What do ye know?”

  Mistress Blair leaned toward him and rested her hand boldly on his chest. “We’d be good bedfellows, ye and I.”

  Ewan gently lifted her hand from his chest. “I am faithful to my wife.”

  “We would be a perfect fit.” Her gaze slid down his body and back up to his face. “Passionate, eager.”

  “I’m faithful to my wife,” Ewan repeated. “I believe this conversation is—”

  “I could report to ye what it is yer uncle does,” Mistress Blair rushed. “Ye need only take me into yer bed.”

  Ewan shook his head. “I’m loyal to the woman I married. I think it best ye leave.”

  “Ye’ll grow tired of her,” Mistress Blair said. “Men always do.” She tilted her face confidently up as if she meant to kiss him or be kissed in return. “When ye grow weary of her, ye’ll find my bed warm for ye and my tongue loosened with secrets.”

  With that, she swept away from him and quit the room, leaving the air scented with a cloying powder scent that stuck in the back of his throat.

  Ewan clenched his hand into a fist. Clearly, his uncle did have a plan. There were secrets about, and he would find a way to learn them, something that had nothing to do with Mistress Blair.

  The door to his solar pushed open again, this time revealing Faye. “What did she want?” There was a feigned sweetness to the way she asked him that told him she did not care for the idea of the other woman being in a room alone with her husband.

  “She wanted me to lay with her,” Ewan said honestly.

  Faye blinked as the color rose in her cheeks. She glared over her shoulder at the closed door, as though she meant to shoot the spear of her gaze like a weapon at Mistress Blair.

  Faye’s ire snapped back to Ewan. “Ye didn’t—”

  He had to laugh at that. “I’m faithful to ye, lass. I always will be.” He came around the desk and pulled her into his arms.

  She turned her face from his.

  “Are ye jealous?” he teased. “Even as I tell ye ye’ve no need to worry?”

  “Nay.” It was a lie, evident in the flash in her blue eyes. “Though she is lovely.”

  “No’ nearly as lovely as ye.” Ewan eased Faye’s face toward him, her skin soft under his fingertips. “Besides, ye leave me depleted, lass. How would I ever have the energy for a leman?”

  “Mind yerself.” She playfully poked his chest.

  “I do need yer help though,” he said in all seriousness.

  She lifted her brow with apparent skepticism. “I’ll no’ do anything to help that woman.”

  Ewan shook his head. “Me. And the clan. Mistress Blair alluded to something my uncle planned. She wouldna tell me after I refused her.”

  Faye smirked. “And ye want me to find what it could be,” she surmised.

  “Aye. I believe plans are afoot, and we need to ensure we listen at the wedding for what we can learn.” Ewan gritted his back teeth. If he could catch Cruim in a plot to try to kill him, he would have justification to banish him from the clan.

  As careful as Cruim was, he would have to slip up sometime. When he did, Ewan would be there to see him stumble and ensure he paid the price for his treachery.

  11

  It was easy for Faye to dislike Mistress Blair Gordon. Even as she sat at the other woman’s wedding feast the following day, the bitterness hung between them. But then, such animosity had started the night before when Blair passed Faye as she was leaving Ewan’s solar. After she’d propositioned him.

  Faye hadn’t missed the way the other woman’s gaze had slid over her in apparent assessment, followed by an overconfident smirk. As though finding Faye to no longer be a threat.

  Not that Faye was so easily put off. On the morning of the wedding, Gavina had presented her with an exquisite new kirtle. It was a rich, vivid blue that made Faye stand out like a sparkling sapphire. Her blonde hair had been combed to shining and bound back in a gold caul adorned with pearls.

  If she had any doubt at how she looked in the new attire, she need only take note of the bride’s attitude toward her. For Blair was simmering with barely contained jealousy.

  Faye might have felt her own twinge, for Blair was a stunning bride in a green silk dress that made her hair glow like burnished copper. She tapped her fingertips in time to the music in a graceful movement her new husband seemed oblivious to.

  Cruim was not as Faye had expected. She knew he’d be older but had not expected someone so…withered. His hair was leeched of color, the strands white and flimsy as cotton fibers where it circled his balding pate. There was a gray pallor about his skin, and he continued to cough into his fist.

  The man was so archaic and frail, Faye almost felt sorry for the other woman.

  Almost.

  It did not escape Faye’s notice that when Ewan strode past Blair at the wedding feast, he didn’t turn toward his former betrothed once. Nay, his eyes had remained fixed on Faye with interest.

  “He loves ye.” Moiré nudged Faye gently with her elbow.

  Faye’s cheeks warmed at such words. “Why do ye say that?” She shouldn’t be so pleased by what Moiré had said. Nay, she ought to be upset. She shouldn’t want Ewan’s love, and yet she found herself nearly holding her breath as she waited for his cousin to answer.

  “I’ve no’ ever seen Ewan look at a woman the way he looks at ye.” Moiré followed her cousin with her eyes, a smile pulling at her lips.

  “No’ even with Lara,” Moiré said.

  “Lara?” Faye looked sharply at Ewan’s cousin.

  Moiré lifted her goblet and took a sip of wine. “Aye, she was his first wife. She couldna bear him a child and never got over the shame of it. ’Twas so verra sad.”

  Faye’s stomach tightened. Ewan had been married before? Why had he never mentioned it? Why had no one ever mentioned it?

  “I’ve upset ye.” Moiré put a hand over Faye’s. “I shouldn’t have brought it up at all.”

  Faye shook her head, unsure how to sift through the sudden torrent of emotions. “What happened to her?”

  Moiré’s eyes went large and gentle with sorrow. “I shouldna say.”

  “Please,” Faye pushed. “I would prefer not to ask Ewan.”

  Moiré shifted her focus to her lap and nodded, resigned. “She took her own life,” she whispered. When she looked up again, her eyes glistened with tears. She sniffled and brushed her fingers beneath her right eye. “Forgive me.”

  Before Faye could apologize for pressing her, Moiré slipped from her chair and away from the Great Hall. Faye stared after her in horror. She hadn’t meant to cause the other woman such distress, especially after all of her kindness.

  “May I join the bonniest lass in Scotland?” Ewan’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

  Faye glanced up at her husband, and the charming smile on his face wilted. “Is something amiss?”

  “Ye were married before,” Faye said.

  “Aye,” he repli
ed casually as he settled into his chair beside her.

  His confirmation dug into a tender spot in her chest. She was getting too close. Caring too much. Being too vulnerable.

  “Why didn’t ye tell me?” she asked.

  Ewan shrugged. “It dinna come up.” He searched her face, and his forehead crinkled. He gave a little grunt of acknowledgement. “This should have been mentioned, I take it?”

  Faye lifted her brows.

  He cleared his throat. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably as though what he wished to say might not be something easily discussed in such a setting. And, of course, it would not be when Lara had taken her own life.

  “Moiré told me,” Faye said in a softer voice. “I imagine it must have been hard.” She intentionally looked around the room as well to indicate she understood his hesitation.

  The tension eased from his shoulders somewhat. “Mayhap we can speak more on it later?”

  She nodded.

  “I wasna keeping it from ye.” He paused as if collecting his thoughts. “It isna something I discuss.”

  Awareness tingled at the back of Faye’s neck—the distinct sensation of being watched. She lifted her gaze and found Blair watching her with smoldering hatred.

  Cruim sat beside Blair, a grin on his thin lips as one hand locked possessively around hers. Again, Faye experienced a flicker of pity for the other woman.

  It was a strange thing indeed, disorienting and foreign, to be pushed into a marriage with a man one didn’t know, especially when forced from one’s own home. It had been difficult enough with Ewan who was a fine, fit man…

  A man Blair thought similarly of. Any sense of pity was once more washed away by the reminder of what Blair had offered Ewan.

  “Have ye overhead anything?” He asked quietly.

  Faye glanced at him and shook her head, knowing he referred to the Gordons and their potential threat. “Nay. They go quiet when I approach.”

  “In awe of yer beauty.” Ewan winked.

  Her cheeks heated at his compliment.

  “’Tis true.” He leaned closer. “There’s no’ a man in the room who can take his eyes off ye.” He swept his fingers over her thigh beneath the cover of the table. “Including me.”

  Her body’s reaction was instantaneous, hot and eager with desire. “Ye’re the only one that matters.” She glanced at him through her lashes.

  “Sutherland,” someone shouted from across the room.

  Ewan sighed. “I must go.” He touched his fingers to the underside of her chin, lifting it toward him. “Ye’re beautiful, Faye. So verra beautiful.” His mouth brushed hers in a chaste kiss that made her long for so much more.

  And then he was gone, striding confidently toward a group of his men who in their intoxicated state cheered his arrival. She knew she was not the only one who watched her husband. Blair’s focus had shifted from glaring her hatred at Faye to feasting her eyes upon Ewan with blatant appreciation.

  Ire boiled in Faye’s blood. She’d had enough. The hour was growing late, and she was ready to retire for the evening. After all, the following day would be busy with her new duties as mistress of the castle. Moiré had spent the past sennight explaining what was required, and Faye was ready to take ownership of her new role.

  Faye exited the Great Hall, shutting the noise of revelry away with the sweep of the heavy door. In the hall, the sconces cast meager light and almost no heat. The chilled darkness was a wonderful reprieve after the chaos of noise in the Great Hall.

  She took her time making her way to her chambers. She was nearly to her suite of rooms when a door opened at the opposite end of the hall. The idea of seeing another person, of engaging in yet another tedious discussion, made exhaustion sink deep into her very bones. It was in that moment of longing for solitude that Faye slipped into an alcove to avoid being seen.

  A woman’s throaty chuckle echoed down the otherwise empty corridor. A man’s murmured reply followed, indiscernible save for the masculine timbre. Another titter of amusement followed by the wet sounds of kissing.

  A door clicked closed and footsteps padded to where Faye hid. She pressed herself back against the wall to ensure the shadows fully concealed her, now not wishing to be seen for an entirely different reason.

  A woman walked by with tousled light brown hair and a languid smile spread on her lips, clearly having been recently well-loved.

  Not just any woman.

  Moiré.

  Ewan needed to tell Faye about Lara. But there had been too much ale, too much whisky, too many rounds of cheers and filled tankards.

  He should have declined them all and left when Faye departed the Great Hall. He paused in front of the chamber door and braced himself on the frame.

  Lara.

  Her memory lodged like a burr in his chest. He hadn’t wanted to discuss her with anyone, let alone Faye. As though keeping her name from being spoken would keep the manner of her death from casting the same darkness upon his current marriage.

  She had taken her own life because she couldn’t tolerate the idea of him not loving her. Her death had been his fault. Such a weight would never lift from his soul.

  He unlatched the door to his bedchamber as quietly as he could because of the late hour. This was the first night they had retired to bed separately. He hoped she had not gone to her own chamber and might instead be waiting for him in his bed, sleep warm and silky to curl against.

  His gaze fell on the bed, followed by the sting of disappointment. It was still made and absent his wife. He entered the room and drew up short at a figure sitting before the hearth, staring into the dancing flames.

  Faye.

  She still wore the blue kirtle her maid had sewn for her. The one that fit her body perfectly, contouring the sensual dip of her waist and flare of her hips, hugging the firm roundness of her breasts in a way that made him want to cup his hands around them. She’d taken her hair down from the caul, and the rich, golden waves tumbled down her shoulders.

  She was beautiful. Achingly so. And she was his.

  He closed the door, and she started. Her gaze darted to him, and an embarrassed smile flicked over her lips. “Forgive me. I was lost in my own thoughts.”

  “God, ye’re bonny, Faye.” He slowly walked toward her through a room that seemed to dip and spin.

  She laughed softly. “And ye’re quite drunk.”

  She was at his side in an instant, her floral perfume a balm and an aphrodisiac all at once. “Come, I’ll help ye to bed.”

  He shook his head and regretted it almost as soon as he’d done it for how it made the room twirl faster. “I need to talk to ye. About Lara.”

  She stilled. “That isn’t necessary if ye don’t want to discuss it.”

  “Ye deserve to know.” He reached out for the chair and settled heavily into it. “Mayhap, it makes me a coward, but it will be easier to say if I’m daft with drink.”

  She put her hand over his, her expression so tender it nearly made his heart wince.

  “I should have told ye sooner.” He turned his hand over to wrap around hers. “’Tis no’ an easy thing to bring up.”

  She regarded him with concern. How he wanted to draw her toward him and kiss her. But maybe not for too long or he might tip over. Nay, just long enough to draw her to the bed and nuzzle against her before they fell asleep.

  But now was not the time. Not yet.

  “Our marriage was arranged by a member of my mother’s clan after it was confirmed ye werena able to be found.” Ewan offered her an apologetic look. “Or I’m certain yer grandda would have pushed for our union sooner.”

  She shook her head. “Ye needn’t explain yerself.”

  Ewan squeezed her hand in appreciation for her understanding. “I dinna know her before we wed, but we got on well enough. She was a fine wife and a good woman who ran the keep smoothly.” He paused, uncertain what else to say to recommend Lara. She had not caused any problems. She’d been quiet and biddable, but outside of
that, he could think of little else. Was it any wonder she had taken her own life when he’d been so reluctant to see her as more?

  He winced at how bad his words sounded, even as he spoke. “We were wed only three short years and, in that time, she never once ripened with child. One morning, I went to meet with several tenants, and when I returned, I was informed she had thrown herself from the cliffs.”

  His throat was suddenly dry and the memory sat like a jagged stone in his chest. “Moiré was there when it happened and tried to stop her.”

  Faye touched her fingertips to her mouth. “How horrible.”

  Ewan drew in a deep sigh, but it didn’t alleviate the grip of his grief, his regret. “’Tis worse than even that.” He pulled his hand from Faye’s and stared at his creased palms. For how could he possibly look at her when making such a confession?

  “All this time, I thought she’d done it because of her inability to conceive.” Ewan gave a mirthless laugh. “What a selfish fool I was. She did it…” He swallowed, hating the words before they even left his mouth. “Because I dinna show her that I cared for her. She felt unloved. Unwanted.” He gritted his teeth. “And she was unloved. By me. I dinna love her. I dinna ever take the time to.”

  He lifted his gaze up hesitantly to gauge Faye’s reaction. She continued to gaze upon with him compassion and tenderness.

  He couldn’t stand it and put his face into his hands. “I never loved her, and she took her own life because of it.”

  Faye rose from her chair and came to him, setting her hands on his shoulders. “Most marriages do not have love. ’Tis not uncommon.”

  “Most marriages dinna end in one person taking their own life,” he replied miserably, keenly aware of how his words slurred slightly. “I dinna want it to happen to ye.”

  She knelt down in front of him so he could see her face. The fire in the hearth played shadows over her skin. “It won’t happen to me.”

  He touched the petal softness of her skin. “I care for ye, Faye. Already so much more than I ever did for Lara, may both she and God forgive me.”