Highlander's Hope

by Cameron, Collette

  As he turned to stride from the room, Seonaid entered the Hall. “I found her.”

  “Where?” Ewan rushed to her. “Where is she? I must speak with her.” He took Seonaid’s arm, expecting her to lead him to his wife.

  Seonaid shook her head. “No, not tonight. I’m sorry.”

  “What do you mean not tonight?” Ewan gaped at her incredulous. “I have to explain . . .”

  “Yvette’s already abed. I found her with my animals and helped her upstairs.” She stared at him, then shifted her doe-like gaze over his shoulder. What did she see?

  “Trust me in this, Ewan. You must wait until tomorrow.”

  Yvette sat in the turret’s window seat staring bleakly at the choppy loch as morn’s joyful colors rose to splay across the sky. Toying with her shawl’s silky fringe, she watched a couple of ragamuffins dart into the wooded area near the dock.

  She had changed into a plain, black dress. The ivory gown lay crumpled in a corner. She shuddered anew at the memories associated with it.

  A soft knock disturbed the quiet of the room. Yvette crossed to the door, but didn’t open it. “Yes?”

  Giselle’s kind voice responded. “I’ve brought you breakfast.”

  “No, thank you. I’d like my trunks though, as soon as possible, and a carriage ordered, please.” Not waiting for a response, she returned to her perch in anticipation of Ewan and the dreaded confrontation he insisted upon.

  She had not long to wait. Less than half an hour later, knuckles rapped at her chamber.

  She unlocked the door. Leaving it standing open, she returned to the window seat. She could no more sit on the divan, where she and Ewan had been intimate yesterday, than she could mend the cracks in her shattered heart. She clutched a pillow to her middle, much like a shield, as she hunched in the alcove.

  From beneath her lashes, she watched him enter the chamber. Attired only in breeches and a shirt, he stood in the middle of the room, warily studying her. There was another time he stood in her chamber thus attired.

  With controlled deliberateness, she forced the image from her mind.

  His brows were drawn into a harsh vee as he scrutinized her. She knew she looked tired. She had seen the dark circles rimming her eyes when she had stood before the dressing table mirror and secured her hair into a severe knot this morning.

  Yvette lifted her head and met his gaze head on. Those disconcerting eyes of his seemed to peer straight into her soul. She spoke with quiet resolve. “My lord, I asked for my trunks. They’ve yet to be brought to me. I’m leaving as soon as I’ve packed.”

  He stiffened. “Evvy, that, I cannot allow.”

  “You misunderstand me. I’m not asking your permission.”

  He heaved a weighty sigh.

  She tilted her chin in defiance. “Surely, you did not think I would remain here after last night?” After she’d learned what an unscrupulous rogue he was.

  He stood spread-eagle before her, his hands resting on his lean hips. He cocked his head to one side. “You’re my wife, legally, before God and King, whether you can accept it or not. There are those who wish you harm. ‘Tis my duty to protect you.”

  Yvette narrowed her eyes to thin slits, fisting one hand into the pillow. “So, mere duty caused you to deceive me and coerce me into marriage? My substantial wealth wasn’t an enticement at all?”

  She glared at him. “You’re eagerness to declare us betrothed at the inn, the convenient license, was that part of your scheme too?” She shook her head. “Did you snicker at how gullible I was? You made a May game of me, to be sure.”

  She went rigid and gaped at him horrified. “Sweet Jesus, was Munlocky’s a ploy too?” Her voice shaking with disbelief and hurt, she raged, “Did you deliberately take me there, knowing what the outcome would be? Did you?”

  “It wasn’t like that. I never intended to deceive you. I’ve only ever tried to protect you.” With one hand resting on his hip, he rubbed the nape of his neck with the other. “And I don’t need your wealth. I’ve accumulated my own fortune.”

  He extended his hand palm upward, then made a sweeping gesture. “If I could undo what’s been done, I would, but there’s naught for it now. The blade’s been forged, and there’s no uncasting it.”

  She lowered the pillow to her lap, plucking at the tatting, a clear indication she was infuriated with him. “Would you have me believe, because you claim your intentions were honorable, the affront you committed against me was acceptable? What of your duplicity? When were you going to tell me, Ewan?” She jerked at the threads, a sense of satisfaction filling her as they began to unravel. Much like her life.

  “Out riding? Over tea? In bed? When, Ewan, when?” She hated how shrill her voice sounded.

  She calmed her hands and glared daggers at him before continuing in a mocking imitation of him.

  “Oh, by-the-by, Yvette, I do hope you’ve no notions of acquiring a husband of your own choosing—one who has some affection for you. I dare say, ‘tis a bit too late for that.

  Gads, I believe I forgot to mention it. You’re already married.

  To me!”

  Yvette punched the pillow for emphasis before tossing it onto the seat beside her.

  “Dammit, Yvette,” Ewan ran his fingers through his hair, “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing for it now. What’s done is done. We’re brought to Point Non Plus.”

  Unable to stay seated any more, Yvette jumped to her feet. She swept past his intimidating figure, tossing a defiant challenge as she passed. “I disagree, my lord. There are other options. The marriage hasn’t been consummated. It can be dissolved.”

  Before she knew what he was about, Ewan snaked out his arm, twined it around her waist, then jerked her to his solid side. Astonishment prevented her from resisting. She stood in his embrace, wide-eyed, mouth parted.

  “That can be remedied, ma belle.” His head swooped downward, his mouth taking hers in a plundering, punishing kiss.

  Yvette stood stock-still, too stunned to fight him, and truth be told, not altogether unaffected by the skillful play of his lips upon hers. He lifted her in his arms, carrying her to the bed, where he continued the gentle onslaught against her overwhelmed senses.

  She felt herself slipping, caving in under his spell of practiced passion. She had to stop him before she lost what meager self-respect she had left.

  Wrenching her mouth free she gasped, “You’d force me?”

  Turquoise clashed with sapphire. “There would be no forcing. We both know it. But no, I want you to come to me of your own free will.”

  If he took Yvette now, there would be no question of an annulment. He knew with everything in him, she would never be his if he, if they, yielded to their desires now.

  Oh, she would respond. She was a sensual woman. He had tasted her sweet, hot passion. He’d come to know her, though. She would feel an even deeper sense of betrayal for having that choice taken from her, too. She had to want him as much as he wanted her. He would leave the decision to her, had to leave it to her, no matter the outcome.

  Continuing to hold her, he peered into her eyes. “You’re not to leave the Keep’s grounds under any circumstances. You’re free to roam inside the walls of Craiglocky as you please, as long as an armed escort is with you.”

  “So, I’m to be a prisoner then?” Blue sparks glimmered in her eyes.

  “‘Tis for your own safety.” He resisted the urge to shake her, to make her listen to reason. “Signs have been seen of those seeking to harm you.”

  “May I venture into the village, with an armed escort of course?” Sarcasm riddled her question.

  Angling his head, Ewan considered her request. “Aye, but you must be accompanied by no less than a dozen of my clan. I shall speak with them.”

  “Are you sure
a mere dozen is sufficient, Laird McTavish?”

  Ewan’s lips thinned. “Don’t push me, Yvette.” The timbre of his voice brooked no argument.

  Yvette averted her gaze as she swallowed her retort.

  Watching her slim throat convulse, brought him no satisfaction. Now he could add fear to her lists of complaints against him.

  Ewan released her, then rose from the bed. He traveled to rest against the worn stones framing the aged windows and gazed out the warped panes. Both expression and voice devoid of emotion, he told her, “I shall be leaving Craiglocky within the hour.”

  Silence.

  So what had he expected? Her to protest his leaving? Not bloody likely when she was hell bent on putting as much distance between them as a matched team enabled.

  “I’ve received a message from Ian. The young lad who ran for help when Vangie’s labor began is responsible for the notes left for you at Somersfield.” He suppressed a sigh and shifted his weight to his other foot.

  “The boy claims Fielding was blackmailing him. The lad’s mother was ailing and needed a doctor’s care. Fielding paid the chap to carry his threatening missives. I want to question the boy myself, and I’ve business in London.”

  Still nothing. Confound it all. He’d made a mull of it.

  “Ian and I believe Fielding, Pauline, and Edgar are working for the same person, and I need to tell Yancy who we suspect.” Ewan was resigning his position with the War Office too. Prinny be damned.

  “I shall be gone for three weeks, possibly more.”

  Was she even listening to him? Ewan turned from the window. Yvette hadn’t moved. “I’d have asked you to marry me, petite amie. I have wanted to propose to you since you tumbled headlong into my carriage that day in London. One dance at Ian and Vangie’s reception and I knew my heart was forever yours.”

  He curled his lips at the revelation. He admitted with a slight shrug, “Yes, I’ve adored you for over two years.”

  She remained mute, staring at him with unblinking, fawn-like eyes.

  “I was willing to wait for you to come to love me. I hoped you were beginning to feel for me what I cherish in my heart for you. I’ve not handled things well, I’ll admit it.” He paused, raking a hand through his hair again.

  He did sigh then. His gaze trailed over her curves before meeting her eyes once more. “I wanted you for my own. I didn’t consider your desires as I should have. It was selfish of me.”

  Lolling against the window’s edge—the effort to stand on his own was too great—Ewan continued, regret lacing each word. “While I’m gone, you decide whether you’re able to forgive me, if we have any chance of a future together.”

  He reached into his pocket and withdrew the Luckenbooth brooch. “When I return, if you’re wearing this brooch, I’ll know there’s reason to hope, that somehow, someway, I can make amends to you. I shall spend a lifetime doing so, if you only give me the chance, Evvy.”

  Ewan stopped his monologue to stare at the view once more. His shoulders slumping in defeat he said, “If you can’t, I shall petition the Church for an annulment. I see no reason why it shouldn’t be granted. We’ve not been intimate. It could take years though, l’amour de ma vie.”

  His gaze swung to Yvette before lowering to the brooch in his hand. “The Church disapproves of annulments almost as much as it does divorce.”

  Giving her a searching look, he strode to the bed, then placed the brooch on the coverlet. It sparkled in the morning light, inches from where his reluctant bride lay staring at him.

  Bending over Yvette, Ewan kissed her on the forehead. “I love you.”

  Chapter 26

  The room was unnaturally quiet after Ewan left, taking Yvette’s mangled heart with him. She lay on the bed, staggered and incapable of forming a single articulate sound.

  Sweet God in heaven, he loved her? Had loved her for years?

  She couldn’t help herself. Her hand crept out, and her fingers grazed the glittering jewels. She lifted the pin. It was warm from being in his pocket. There was an inscription across the front which had not been there the first time she’d seen it in the jeweler’s.

  Love of My Life, the same words Ewan has spoken to her. Her eyes filled with anguished tears when she read the words etched there.

  Clutching the brooch to her heart, Yvette curled into a ball and cried. Cried until there were no more tears, the reservoir of her sorrow exhausted. Then mercifully, she slipped into the forgetfulness of sleep.

  It was late afternoon before she awoke, and the crushing memories came flooding back. Clutching the brooch in her hand, she climbed from the bed, her movements like that of an old woman. She stared at the symbol of Ewan’s love. The symbol of what she now feared she had lost.

  He loved her.

  He had lied to her.

  Yes, but he loved her.

  He had tricked her into marriage.

  Had he? Or had he done what he must to protect her, because he loved her.

  She didn’t know. Nothing made sense right now. Love, betrayal, fear, fury, deceit, trust, and a myriad of other emotions tumbled, pell-mell, round inside her. A mixed-up, messed-up jumble she couldn’t sort through.

  A single tear teetered at the corner of her eye before dropping on the brooch where it glistened, almost taunting her. A cheerless smile tilted her mouth.

  She had her meaningful declaration of love.

  For the first three days after his departure, she refused to leave her chamber. Seonaid brought the bunny to visit. Yvette wasn’t inclined to talk, so Seonaid did the chatting.

  “There are dozens of orphans running half-clothed and hungry throughout the countryside, and we’ve need of a physician to treat the poor and infirm. Gregor and I do our best,” she insisted, “but alas, our knowledge is limited.”

  Yvette, lost in her own unhappy thoughts only half-listened.

  Seonaid rattled on, “Do you know, most of the Scots hereabouts don’t have an iota of education?”

  Yvette’s gaze flicked to Seonaid, then returned to the window she laid curled against.

  “Now, don’t misunderstand me. Both Ewan and father are diligent overseers, but Scots have pride.” Seonaid shook her head and petted the sleeping bunny in her lap.

  “They’ll not take charity. No indeed. Ewan’s people want to be indebted to no man. Give them the means, and they’ll take care of the need themselves.” Her voice rang with pride.

  The tiniest smile tilted the corners of Yvette’s mouth.

  “Did I tell you,” asked Seonaid, “I’ve planted some new varieties of herbs outside the east side of the castle? I do believe the rich soil and abundant sunshine on that side of the Keep might produce a heartier variety of plant life.”

  Yvette wrapped her shawl tighter round her shoulders and shook her head. Politeness necessitated she reply. “No, you’ve not mentioned it.”

  Seonaid smiled. “I’ve even tried some new specimens which flourish in the wetlands, though,” her tone became much more serious, “I’m careful never to venture too near the bogs.”

  Other than Seonaid, Yvette refused any visitors. She spent the days, lost in misery, gazing at the scene beyond the window’s warped panes. She slept little and ate even less, losing weight she could ill-afford to spare.

  She missed Ewan. Her eyes misted with tears. She dreamt of him each night. Not the passionate, sensual dreams of weeks ago, but visions of him grinning as he handed her from a carriage or passed jam to her at breakfast. Even dreams of her riding across his lap, a tender smile on his lips and devotion in his eyes.

  Reason returned as Yvette’s emotions calmed, and she recognized the truth. Ewan wasn’t entirely to blame for their predicament. He had been trying to protect her. Perhaps his methods were questionable, but she knew, if she were honest
with herself, she had not objected to a betrothal to him.

  Or to being his wife.

  Now that she knew he loved her, wouldn’t marriage have been her choice?

  She exhaled a gusty poof of air, her breath fogging the window glass. The sigh sounded wistful, even to her. A movement caught her eye. There, near the dock, three children, two boys and a slip of a girl, skipped along. One of the boys looked to have a loaf of bread under his scrawny arm. Some goodwife had been careless and left her bread to cool where small, thieving hands could snatch it.

  She’d noticed children scurrying into the woods on multiple occasions during her self-imposed vigil. They must be some of the war orphans Giselle and Seonaid spoke of.

  So great was Yvette’s sudden epiphany, she spoke aloud, “The orphans, of course!” A grin split her face.

  Dear Vangie, had been orphaned at six and lived with a miserly aunt and uncle. They had treated her little better than a servant. It was only when she visited Yvette or her Romani family that Vangie had experienced any happiness. Yet, compared to these urchins—Yvette searched the trees again, catching a glimpse of a yellow skirt—Vangie had been blessed.

  Something resonated within Yvette. Making an impulsive decision, she wrote Mr. Dehring a letter. Rereading it, a smile of satisfaction curled her lips. She wrote another missive, this one to her stepbrother, the Earl of Clarendon. Sealing the letters with wax, she left her room with purposeful intent.

  Standing at the bottom of the staircase, Yvette was unsure where she would find Hugh or Duncan. Hearing voices in the Great Hall, she squared her shoulders and marched toward the room which, only days ago, had witnessed her ruination. Inhaling, she determined to put that aside.

  She had a purpose for leaving the bower, for she knew now where her chamber was located. The two doors she had never had cause to use, led to Ewan’s suite and a common sitting area.

  Yvette was within her rights to seek Craiglocky’s steward and Ewan’s second in command. After all, she was the Lady of Craiglocky now. At her appearance, the conversation in the Hall dwindled, then ceased altogether. It appeared the family was preparing to dine. Everyone was present except for Dugall, Aubry, Seonaid, and Lilias.