“Glub, glub,” gurgled Ewan’s sister in Yvette’s ear.
Yvette bit the inside of her mouth to keep from laughing outright. Adaira was incorrigible, and utterly charming. Never before had she met such a free-spirited woman who cared nothing of convention or what others thought of her.
Eyeing his sister, Dugall bent near Yvette. “Addy be making the strangest sounds.”
Yvette placed her napkin in her lap. “Yes, it seems she’s taken exception to a young man with rather large lips.”
He nodded. “Ye be speaking o’ Brayan, poor bloke. Worse yet, he be fond of fishing. Never gets the bait off his hands.”
Yvette sent Adaira another sidelong smile. It was then she realized Aubry’s seat was next to her brother. She skewered Yvette with spiteful glares every few moments. Yvette’s smile faltered as the joy drained from her. Bewildered, she lowered her eyes to her plate. Why was Aubry so hostile toward her? They’d not even been introduced yet.
Several times throughout the extended meal, Yvette caught Ewan’s eye. He winked once, and she blushed before looking away. One such look lingered. A silent message between two lovers.
“Yvette, I asked ye if ye play any instruments,” said Dugall.
Yvette tore her gaze from Ewan, then smiled at Dugall. “I’m sorry, Dugall. Yes, I play the piano.”
“What are your other accomplishments, Yvette?” asked Aubry her voice laced with ridicule.
Startled, Yvette met her antagonistic stare. What an odd question. “I’m afraid I don’t . . .”
“What, no other accomplishments? Well then, what do you know of running a keep this size?” Aubry waved her hand to indicate Craiglocky.
Was Aubry always this rude? Yvette glanced Ewan’s way. He scowled at Aubry, his brows drawn into a vee. Yvette’s gaze shifted back to her. “Very little, I’m afraid. The largest household I’ve managed with my stepmother had only five-and-thirty staff.”
Dugall sent Aubry a mocking grin, then whispered to Yvette, “Craiglocky has but nine-and-twenty.”
She scanned the table. Only those seated closest to her were privy to the peculiar discussion.
Aubry persisted. “Would you agree, a lady of an estate the magnitude of Craiglocky should be well-educated, perhaps even fluent in another language?”
Yvette drew her brows together. Where was Aubry going with this conversation? Her questions seemed contrived and irrelevant. Unease slithered across Yvette. She dared a swift glimpse in Ewan’s direction again. He looked fiercer than before. His mouth was meshed into a line of irritation and fire smoldered in his eyes.
Aubry saw Yvette’s glance. Her mouth curled into a sneer and potent hatred simmered in her eyes. Yvette caught her breath. Good Lord, Aubry loathed her. But why? The conversations around them dwindled as others realized Aubry was haranguing her.
“Do you speak any other languages, Yvette? Comprenez-vou Francaise?”
“Aubry,” Ewan warned coldly.
Yvette stared at her, perplexed. Why is she asking such strange questions? Her gaze skimmed over Giselle and Adaira—both of whom looked ill-at-ease—before returning to Aubry. Perhaps she was touched in the upper works. Seonaid would have mentioned that wouldn’t she?
“Well, Yvette, do you?” Aubry demanded.
Yvette tilted her head, meeting Aubry’s agitated, feline gaze. “Yes, several actually. My father believed a woman should be as educated as a man.”
A disbelieving laugh trilled from Aubry. Was that a hint of madness flickering in her eyes? “Several?” she scoffed. “Come now, surely you exaggerate.”
Dugall growled at the insult. Isobel looked between Yvette and Aubry, a troubled frown marring her face. More diners began to take note of the discord.
“Indeed?” A smidgeon of reproach was detectable in Yvette’s voice. “Should I be so inclined, I might comment on the preferred manners of ladies and the treatment of their guests, only in languages I’m fluent in of course.”
“Please do,” Aubry mocked, “if you do know several. We’re waiting for you to impress us.”
“That’s enough, Aubry.” Ewan’s tone brooked no argument.
Aubry glared daggers at him but fell silent. She drummed her fingers on the tabletop, clearly vexed.
A clansman approached Ewan and whispered in his ear. He stood. “Please excuse me. There’s a matter that requires my immediate attention. I’ll return shortly.”
Yvette swore Ewan spoke the last words to her. Her gaze followed him from the room.
“We’re waiting, Yvette,” Aubry taunted the moment he’d disappeared from sight.
“This is nonsense,” said Adaira. “We’re not waiting. You don’t need to do any such thing, Yvette.”
“Of course you don’t, dear,” Giselle reassured her.
“Nae, ye don’t,” said Dugall, glowering at Aubry.
Did they think she’d exaggerated too? Her gaze traveled the table. It seemed to Yvette that everyone watched the exchange between her and Aubry with perverse fascination, unable to tear their gazes away.
A smile teased the corners of Yvette’s mouth as she tilted her head in acquiescence. She’d give them something to watch then. “As you wish.” She proceeded to do so in French, Italian, German, Latin, Spanish, and Greek.
His face split with a jubilant grin, Dugall held up six fingers and wiggled them at Aubry.
“And,” Yvette continued, “I’ve recently learned another. Scots.”
Up sprang another one of Dugall’s large fingers.
She smiled before softly delivering the coup de grâce. “Ah would ne’er treat a guest sae awfu.”
Aubry’s face mottled unbecomingly, her lips curling into a feral snarl. Titters echoed the length of the table.
“I’m sure you’re aware, Aubry, how important the custom of hospitality is to the Scots. After all, you’re a Scot,” Yvette said with a great deal of satisfaction.
Dead-silence filled the Hall.
The unqualified hatred in Aubry’s glare seared Yvette’s flesh. Sweet Jesus. She oughtn’t to have done that. What possessed her to be so prideful? She’d made an enemy this night. “Aubry, please . . .” she began.
Lips quivering, Aubry pointed at her. “You . . .” Placing her hands on the table, she shoved to her feet. “How could Ewan have married you, you bloody Sassenach?”
Desperate to diffuse the situation and calm Aubry, Yvette tried reassuring her. “We’re not truly married. We only said we were husband and wife to protect me.” She wasn’t about to tell them she would have been ravished otherwise. Her reputation was already in tatters.
Someone gasped, causing Yvette to peer around the table. Several guests averted their eyes. Why was everyone looking so wretched and uncomfortable? Something wasn’t right.
Her gaze skipped to the door. Ewan was nowhere in sight. She returned her attention to those seated at the table. Seonaid appeared crestfallen, and Adaira was muttering dire threats under her breath while flexing her fingers, no doubt aching to wring Aubry’s scrawny neck. No, something was too smoky by far.
Were Giselle’s eyes filled with pity? Even Dugall had settled into an uncomfortable silence.
Aubry peered at Yvette. “You don’t know. Oh, my God, this is too rich.”
A smile of undiluted malice warped her face. “Under Scot’s law, declaring you are married in front of witnesses makes it legal. Ewan did so, not once but twice.”
What?
Yvette recoiled as if slapped.
“Shut-up, ye banshee,” Dugall roared in youthful fury.
Aubry ignored him. “You were in Scotland when you and Ewan professed marriage, weren’t you? Did anyone ask you if you were his wife? Did you say you were?”
Merciful God! Yvette clutched the napkin in her la
p, wadding it into a mangled knot. Her eyes searched Alasdair’s, then Adaira’s, and finally Giselle’s sympathetic gazes, seeking the truth. Her thoughts screamed chaotically.
Oh, Lord, please tell me Ewan would not do that to me. He wouldn’t trap me in marriage. He wouldn’t.
“Did you agree either time? Deny it either time? If you portray yourself as Ewan’s wife, and live with him, the Church of Scotland recognizes the marriage.” Another scurrilous laugh echoed through the Great Hall.
“I can see your answers written on your face,” Aubry taunted.
“Shut yer mouth,” Gregor growled through clenched teeth.
Seonaid begged, “Aubry, hush. Have you lost all sense of reason?”
Aubry scanned the table. She swept her hand to indicate the guests, “We knew of the irregular marriage, and you’ve pretended to be Ewan’s wife since you arrived.”
Yvette shook her head. “No, I was ill and . . .”
Aubry interrupted, shrieking, “Ye are Ewan’s wife, ye filthy, English whore!”
If Yvette had been run through with a sword, the agony would have been less. Each breath she drew felt like a fresh lance from a double-edged blade.
God in heaven, this can’t be happening. It isn’t real. This is a terrible dream, has to be a terrible dream. Is that why Ewan had the license? Did he plan this?
“Married? We can’t be.” Yvette choked. “There’s been no ceremony, no clergy.”
“We Scots don’t require clergy to perform the ceremony. Almost anybody can do it,” Aubry sniggered, “even Craiglocky’s blacksmith.”
Lord Almighty, no. It wasn’t possible. “But we haven’t—” Yvette could not prevent the scarlet she knew blazed across her face. She twisted her napkin tighter. “The marriage hasn’t been consummated.” The last word was almost inaudible.
Several muffled snickers were cut short when Hugh’s incensed glare sliced the table. “Aubry, ye have gone too far.”
Giselle stretched across the table, reaching for Yvette’s hand. “It matters not, dear one. Though it is an irregular marriage, Scot’s Canon Code decrees you’re bound to Ewan, that is if you vowed in front of witnesses you had taken him to husband.”
Oh, dear God, she had.
Aubry screamed, “You’ve stolen the betrothed of another.”
The Hall was swirling, zigzagging, dipping up and down. Yvette feared she might be sick.
“You didn’t know that either did you?” Aubry dealt another calculated, spiteful blow.
“That be a lie!” Dugall pounded his fist on the table, toppling his wine goblet. China and silverware clattered, as crimson stained the pristine cloth. “Ewan made nae match with ye ever.”
Aubry wouldn’t stop. “Ewan could not resist your wealth. He forfeited his happiness and put true love aside to keep Craiglocky.”
“‘Tis not true. She’s lying.” Isobel tried to reassure Yvette, who was sure her face had blanched as pale as the gown she wore. “Ewan would never do such a thing, ever,” Isobel insisted.
“He didn’t even marry nobility,” Aubry crowed, her invective tirade building to a crescendo, “but settled for the daughter of a merchant.”
Flee.
Yvette scooted her chair backward.
Aubry’s next words froze her in place, transfixed. “How many times did you spread your scrawny legs before Ewan decided your money was worth the price of his sacrifice?”
Horrorstruck, Yvette felt her face drain of color. The room swirled faster. She clutched at the table’s edge.
Don’t faint.
As if from afar, she heard the disbelieving gasps and growls of disapproval issued all around at Aubry’s brutal viciousness, and the mind-boggling crude innuendo she had implied.
“The devil take ye, I’ll banish ye from Craiglocky this night,” Ewan roared.
Yvette shot a glance at him, and just as rapidly, looked away. He stood in the doorway, rage etched across his face. She couldn’t bear to look at him, didn’t want to see the treachery in his eyes.
His threatening snarl sobered Aubry. Uncertainty danced across her contorted features. Doubt lingered in her eyes, curbing her savage tongue.
Adaira glared at Aubry. “You nasty, jealous, spiteful, lickspittle.”
“Aubry, how could you?” Seonaid whispered.
With calm fury, Isobel proclaimed, “You’re a disgrace to the Ferguson name, Aubry, to everything that’s honorable and noble in a Scot.”
Escape.
Yvette stood on unsteady legs, grasping the table’s edge for balance. She strove for poised composure, despite feeling like a powerless pawn in a despicable game of human chess, played for the amusement of those who enjoyed tragic endings at the expense of someone else’s happiness-no-their very existence.
The Great Hall radiated silent tension. All eyes were on her. She looked at the strangers staring at her, their eyes reflecting a myriad of emotions. Embarrassment, horror, dismay, pity, outrage, compassion, and yes—even a few smugly satisfied.
“You knew?” She looked to Hugh and Duncan, before swinging her gaze to Alasdair and Gregor. They bowed their heads in chagrin. Her turbid gaze swept the rest of Ewan’s family.
“You all knew?” Yvette searched Giselle’s sorrowful eyes, then Adaira’s tear-filled ones. “You must think me such a fool.” Her agonized whisper exposed her vulnerability. Her shame. Her absolute humiliation.
Seonaid’s face crumpled, a plump tear trailing over her cheek.
Ewan touched her arm. “Evvy—”
She whirled around. “Don’t you touch me,” she hissed between stiff lips.
Yvette knew her gaze was a mirror of desolation when she finally met his eyes. “How could you?” she whispered. “I trusted you.” She’d never make that mistake again.
He reached for her again. “Please . . .
She slapped away his hand. “Don’t.”
She clenched her teeth to still her quivering mouth and chin. Closing her eyes against the torrent of tears cascading down her face, she drew in a bracing breath.
Lord, give me the strength to walk from this room with my head held high.
On wooden legs, she stepped away from her chair.
Ewan grasped her elbow, restraining her. “Evvy, I don’t know what she told you, but . . .”
Aubry jerked her chair aside. It clattered to the floor, skidding several feet. In the eerily silent Hall, the jarring crash echoed harshly.
Yvette yanked her arm free just as Aubry threw herself into Ewan’s arms, wailing her remorse.
“Forgive me, Ewan. Don’t send me away. I love ye. I always have. Say ye love me. I don’t care ye are married now. We can still be together.”
To Yvette’s tormented mind, it looked like he embraced Aubry, comforting her.
She could bear no more. With steadfast single-mindedness she sought to escape this place of insufferable pain. Backing away from the table, she shoved away the restraining hands. Like a wild animal, caught in a snare, she fought her way free.
Spinning around to face the door, she ran from the room. Her heart was breaking. A fresh, jagged, agonizing crack fracturing further with each stumbling step she took, until she feared the fragile vessel would shatter into nothingness, and she would exist no more, wanted to exist no more so intolerable was her pain.
Great sobs welled-up, choking Yvette, as streams of tears blinded her progress. She didn’t know the castle’s lay-out, didn’t even know how to return to her chamber. Yet she ran. Ran to escape the pain shredding her soul. Ran to obliterate the betrayal clawing at her mind. And ran to forget the love gushing from her broken heart.
Why, oh God, why? How could you let this happen?
Chapter 25
Hours later, the castle and immediate
grounds having been searched multiple times, Yvette had yet to be found. Standing in the Great Hall, Ewan raked a hand through his hair. Had she ventured as far as the loch, or worse, the forest? He released a frustrated breath. She didn’t know how dangerous the bogs were. Many a Scot, with far greater familiarity than she, had perished in their unforgiving mire.
“Gregor, you and Alasdair take some men and extend the search. I fear Yvette may have gone farther than I thought. Send word at once if you see anything suspicious.”
“Aye, Ewan,” Gregor said solemnly.
Ewan knew those pursuing Yvette were already watching the Keep. His men spotted signs of them days ago, and he’d been given information this night that confirmed they had been seen in the village. What if they had her even now? He clenched his fists and teeth until both ached.
His mind shied away from the thought. A fierce protectiveness for his wife roiled in his gut. He’d wanted to horsewhip Aubry when his mother told him what she’d said.
Giselle laid a comforting hand on his arm. “We shall find her, Ewan.”
“I drove her to this, Mother. I should have told her at Munlocky’s, but she was very ill.”
“You’ve only done what you believed was in her best interest. You can explain your actions to Yvette. She seems a reasonable young woman, she’ll listen. Especially if you tell her you love her.”
Ewan arced his brows in surprise.
She smiled. “Cher, one has only to look at you when she’s in the room to know ‘tis so.”
He shook his head. “I’m not so sure, Mother. I’ve hurt her. She doesn’t easily trust, has good reasons not to, and I betrayed her trust.” Raising his eyes, he took in the now empty Hall. He had had such hopes for this night.
“Merde, I can’t wait here, doing nothing.” He threw his arms wide. “I’m going to search outside again.”
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