Faye's Sacrifice

by Madeline Martin

  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?

  19

  Ewan watched Faye as she slept, the nip of worry at the back of his mind getting progressively sharper and more insistent. For the last few days, she lay in bed a little longer each morning, sleeping deeply. Despite the amount of rest she had received, smudges of exhaustion still bruised the delicate skin under her eyes.

  A gentle knock came at the door.

  He answered the door and found Moiré with a mug of steaming liquid in her hand. “Is she still unwell?” she asked.

  Ewan nodded. “Aye, I think ’tis time to send for a healer.”

  “I’d give it a bit more time,” Moiré replied with a certainty that offered some comfort. “Give her this. It should help.”

  Ewan took the cup and cradled the hot beverage in his palm. “Do ye think…” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Do ye think she’s with child?”

  Moiré pursed her lips. “I’m no’ certain,” she replied slowly.

  “We should call for the healer,” he said with finality.

  “Mayhap, ask her?” Moiré suggested. “A woman knows if she requires a healer or no’.”

  Ewan nodded, thanked her and quietly closed the door. “Faye,” he said softly. “I’ve got a tea for ye from Moiré.” He sat on the bed and gently squeezed his wife’s silky shoulder.

  Faye’s eyes blinked open, heavy with fatigue.

  “Moiré sent this tea for ye.” He held it out.

  Faye wrinkled her nose. “Toss it out and tell her I drank it, please.”

  “Do ye no’ like it?” He sniffed at a tendril of steam and was hit with a musty odor and an underlying sharpness that made his nose burn.

  His face puckered with disgust.

  Faye laughed, and she pushed up to a sitting position. “’Tis how I feel about it. I took a sip once and immediately was ill.”

  Ewan set the mug aside. “Speaking of being ill…” He took her hand and found it warm from sleep—hopefully sleep, and not a fever. That thought chilled him. “I’d like to call a healer.”

  She shook her head and gave a wan smile. “I’ll be fine soon. I just need a few more days, aye?”

  “I’d feel better if we call a healer.” Ewan frowned. “Faye, I’m worried about ye.” He moved his thumb over the back of her hand, stroking it.

  How he loved touching her smooth skin, reveling in the softness of it under his own callused fingers. Her lips lifted at the corners. He loved that too, her reaction to his touch.

  He leaned toward her and nuzzled his nose next to hers before tilting her head back gently for a brief kiss.

  I love ye.

  He needed to say those words to her one of these days. But every time he thought to do it, he feared it might be the one thing to frighten her off. Faye might feel things deeply, but she was slow to express them. It was best for her to say it first, to allow her the control of stating her heart before he did.

  “I care for ye, Faye.” He kissed her again. “So verra much.”

  She stared up at him, her eyes soft with an affection that grazed the depths of his heart. “I care for ye too, Ewan.”

  “Promise me ye’ll summon the healer if this doesna improve,” he said. “I dinna want anything to happen to ye.”

  She nodded.

  “And if ye’re no’ better in sennight, I’m calling the healer.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he shook his head. “Nay, lass. This has already gone on long enough. I should call for her today.” Regret effused him. He shouldn’t have listened to Moiré and given Faye an option. The thought of waiting even longer made an unpleasant knot tense in his gut.

  “’Tis fine, truly.” Faye slipped from his grasp and eased up from the bed. “Do ye see? I’m fine.”

  He didn’t reply. Something was amiss, and he didn’t like it.

  “Go on about yer tasks, husband.” She pulled him to standing from where he sat on the bed. “And leave me to mine.”

  He drew her toward him and inhaled her floral scent. “I’m worried about ye.”

  She smiled up at him. “Ye needn’t be.” She kissed him once more, then nudged him toward the door.

  He left with a heavy heart and waited a moment after the door closed behind him. As expected, the painful sounds of her retching came from the other side. He frowned. Surely, she was with child. It had to be why the women were acting so strangely. Why then wouldn’t Faye allow a healer to see to her?

  The question plagued him all through the day as he met with Monroe and saw to tenants o
n his land. It rolled around in his mind, a rock worn smooth with worry, even as he finally went to his solar to tend to his correspondence. A folded parchment lay on his desk, its wax closure absent a signet marking.

  He cracked the thick seal and swept away the small flecks that littered the surface of his desk. The parchment whispered in his hands as he unfolded it, as though confiding its secrets.

  Careful handwriting looped over the page. His gaze slipped first to the end and found Blair’s signature at the bottom. A warning prickled at the back of his neck. What did she want?

  He skimmed over the contents, and his hand tightened into a fist. He’d been correct. His uncle had been up to something. Blair had information to share but couldn’t write it in a missive in case Cruim found out. She asked to meet him in two days’ time at a cottage near the Shepherd’s Flock tavern in the village.

  Faye wouldn’t like him meeting with Blair, but the note held no insinuation of seduction, and he had need of the knowledge she wished to share. He only hoped she wouldn’t play coy with him again, offering a trade of information for his affections. It was too steep a price to pay.

  Monroe entered the solar with a ledger in his hand.

  “Did ye leave this missive for me earlier?” Ewan asked.

  Monroe looked at the folded note in Ewan’s hand and shook his head. “Nay.”

  Ewan slipped the note into the locked drawer of his desk. “If ye would, find out who did.”

  Monroe nodded. “Of course.”

  Mayhap whoever had delivered the letter would have information Ewan could glean. “Until then, I’d like ye to call a healer,” Ewan said.

  “For Lady Sutherland,” Monroe guessed.

  Ewan sighed. “Aye. I know she willna be happy about it, but I canna ease my worry.”

  “I’ll see to it on the morrow, sir.” Monroe opened the ledger to the most recent page of accounts.

  Ewan listened with half an ear and even less of his brain. His thoughts were too fixated on Faye. Once the healer saw to her, he knew he could set his mind to rest. He only hoped Faye would forgive him for going against her wishes.