Eadan's Vow: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Fate Book 1)

by Stella Knight

  “My father said she’s bonnie. Are ye certain ye’re not using her tae end our betrothal?”

  There was a hint of warning in Magaidh’s seductive tone.

  “No,” he said fiercely. From where she stood, Fiona could see their shadows move. She suspected Eadan was touching her cheek, and an inappropriate rush of jealousy flowed through her. “I—" His voice wavered, as if he were forcing himself to continue— “I wish to marry ye.”

  “Good,” Magaidh said, satisfaction shaping her words.

  Fiona held herself still as their footfalls disappeared, pushing aside her jealousy. What Eadan said—or did—with Magaidh was none of her concern. She was only posing as his bride until she could figure out how to get the hell out of 1390 and back to her own time. And that was what she would do. Somehow.

  Chapter 9

  When Eadan came to her chamber to collect her for supper, he seemed to detect something was wrong.

  “Are ye all right, lass?” he asked, his blue eyes sweeping over her face.

  “I’m fine,” Fiona said, trying to keep her tone neutral. She resisted the urge to ask about his moment in the corridor with Magaidh, reminding herself that it was none of her concern.

  His eyes told her he didn't believe her, but he changed topics, giving her a brief overview of what to say in case anyone asked too many questions.

  "The guests will stare, and there will be gossip; try yer best tae ignore it,” Eadan continued. “My hope is that most of the questions will be directed tae me.”

  “Maybe I can take my meals in my rooms,” Fiona said, uneasy at the thought of facing other people in this time. “If people are going to ask too many—"

  “It’ll seem more suspicious if I hide ye away in your chamber,” Eadan said, shaking his head. “Ye willnae be here long, lass, and then they’ll be on tae the next piece of gossip.”

  Fiona nodded, taking a deep breath to quell her hammering heartbeat. She told herself that this was just a meal; she'd already done the hard part and told the nobles her story, which they seemed to buy, so this should be a piece of cake.

  Still, her throat went dry with anxiety as Eadan escorted her from her chamber and down to the great hall.

  Eadan was right about the stares. As soon as they stepped into the hall, all eyes turned to her. Fiona swallowed, averting her eyes from the guests as Eadan gestured for her to take a seat several seats away from him. For appearance’s sake, he couldn't have the “wife” he was on the verge of sending away seated at his side.

  As the meal began, she tried to ignore the probing stares of the guests, focusing only on her meal and the surroundings. The hall was massive, and there must have been at least fifty guests. She, Eadan, and the nobles sat at the head table, while several other tables were situated around the hall for the other guests. Two large fireplaces situated at opposite ends of the hall, along with multiple candles provided ample illumination for the large space.

  Fiona turned her focus to the food. To her surprise, she found it delicious. The guests were served roasted chicken, bread, and assorted vegetables with wine or ale. From what scant medieval history she knew, she’d assumed the food would be bland without the modern day spices she was used to. Instead, everything was earthier, hitting her tongue with an array of flavors.

  She was halfway through eating her meal when a woman who sat opposite her spoke up.

  “Ye’re from England, are ye?” the woman asked. “Yer accent is not the same as the English.”

  Fiona looked up. The woman had pointed, hawk-like features, with dark eyes and inky black hair. She surveyed Fiona with cool eyes.

  Fiona took a breath and repeated the story she’d told the nobles about her travels as a child, picking up foreign tongues which influenced her accent. But the woman’s cool expression remained, and dread pooled in her stomach. She prayed she wouldn’t ask any more questions.

  “I'm called Elspeth Graeme," she said, her tone cool. "I'd love tae get tae ken ye more, before ye're on yer way. My home isnae far from the castle. Ye should stop by for a visit."

  Fiona froze, fear filling her at the thought of leaving the castle. Instinctively, her eyes darted to Eadan, but he was engrossed in conversation with Ronan. Would it make her more—or less—suspicious if she refused?

  “That would be lovely,” Fiona said, with a forced smile. “I will have to ask Eadan, of course.”

  “Eadan will approve; he was friends with my late husband."

  Elspeth stated this in a matter-of-fact way; no sorrow behind her words. Fiona had to hide her astonishment; she seemed far too young to be a widow. She looked to be no older than twenty-three or twenty-four. But then again, people got married younger—and died sooner—here than in her own time.

  “I just want tae ken more about the woman Eadan married," Elspeth continued, and Fiona didn't miss the vague suspicion in her voice. “’Tis not like him tae be so impulsive; the whole castle is talking about it.”

  "It was a foolish thing to do," Fiona said. “I just wish to have our marriage annulled and continue on my way. I've no wish to interfere with his betrothal."

  She had the feeling she'd have to repeat this statement many times to get this point across. Elspeth looked pleased by this statement, and Fiona wondered if she was a friend of Magaidh's. Whomever she was, Fiona didn't trust her one bit—there was something disingenuous about her. She hoped that Eadan could get her out of this social call.

  Thankfully, the meal ended with no more probing questions from Elspeth or any other guest, and Eadan escorted her back to her chamber. She told him of Elspeth’s request, expecting him to tell her he'd get her out of it. Instead, eagerness filled his eyes.

  "She's a member of Clan Macleay because of her late husband. But she's close with Magaidh and many nobles of Dughall's clan," he said. "It may be wise for ye tae become friendly with her. While ye’re there, perhaps ye’ll gain some information about Dughall.”

  "I don't think we're going to become friendly," Fiona said, recalling Elspeth's coldness.

  “Magaidh hates this arrangement as much as I do. I’m sure she’s confided in Elspeth about it,” Eadan said, waving away her concerns.

  “Eadan—I agreed to pose as your bride. I’m no spy. It was difficult enough for me to answer the one question she asked,” Fiona protested.

  Eadan looked down at her, his expression softening.

  "Ye’re right. I can only imagine how difficult this has been for ye, but ye've done well. Ye doonae have tae ask her anything, but I do think ye should make an effort tae be friendly. Refusing her invitation only arouses suspicion. Make one brief visit and that should satisfy her.”

  This didn’t make Fiona feel any better. Who knew what type of questions she would ask? But she was pulled from her troubled thoughts when she realized that Eadan wasn’t leading her down the familiar corridor that led to her chamber; instead, he was walking toward the rear of the castle.

  "Where are you going?”

  "Tis a lovely night," he said, glancing down at her. "I thought ye might want tae enjoy the night air after the day ye’ve had."

  He smiled at her, his blue eyes twinkling, and a rush of heat filled Fiona; for a moment, she forgot all about Elspeth and her clear dislike.

  They made their way out the rear of the castle to the inner courtyard. Outside, the air was damp with the promise of rain. He led her to the outer courtyard, taking her just past the gate.

  Here, she could see the surrounding landscape, and Fiona let out a soft gasp. Stars blanketed the night sky and moonlight bathed the trees and the nearby lake in an almost ethereal glow. She itched for her sketch pad, wanting nothing more than to commit this image to memory.

  "I used to paint," she said, the confession spilling from her lips before she could stop it. "Landscapes just like this. I'd love to paint something like this."

  "Aye?" Eadan said, looking at her in surprise. "I've never met a lass who had an interest in painting."

  Fiona bit her lip,
wondering if she'd said too much. As far as she knew, women weren't allowed to be artists in this time. But Eadan didn't look angry—he looked intrigued.

  "A—a friend of my father's was a painter," she hedged. "He'd sometimes let me paint. I enjoyed it. It helped relax me."

  "Perhaps I can get ye some materials. Parchment and pigments," Eadan said, surprising her. "Can be a way of passing the time while ye're here."

  "I'd like that," Fiona said, pleasantly surprised.

  Eadan smiled, and another rush of warmth swept over her. He was distractingly handsome, and his smile only enhanced his masculine beauty. Unbidden, the memory of his lips on hers sprang into her mind, and she took a breath, forcing her attention back to the surrounding landscape.

  "My father used tae take me riding at night, just so we could look out on the lands," Eadan said, following her gaze. "Reminded me of my responsibility tae these lands. Reminded me that one day, it would all be mine."

  Fiona studied him, noticing the strain in his eyes. His need to have a complete stranger pose as his bride showed how desperate he must be to protect his clan, and her heart tightened with sympathy.

  “I hope you find the information you need,” she said. "And who knows? Maybe Elspeth will warm up to me."

  "Ye’ve a kind heart, lass," he said, after a brief pause. He studied her, so intently that she felt her cheeks warm as he appraised her. “And . . . ye can tell me where ye’re truly from.”

  Fiona blinked in astonishment. Eadan was perceptive; he must have sensed that her made-up back story was bull. His eyes probed hers as if willing her to tell the truth, but how could she? How could she tell him she was from the twenty-first century and she’d inexplicably ended up in this time? He would think she was crazy, or even worse, she realized with a shudder, that she was a witch. The fourteenth century wasn't exactly known for forward thinking.

  So she averted her gaze, again focusing on the surrounding landscape.

  "I'm telling the truth. I—I just want to get to Jenloss Abbey.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Eadan stiffen.

  "Let's get ye back to yer chamber,” he said, and she knew that the brief moment of intimacy they'd just shared had vanished.

  Chapter 10

  Eadan didn’t know how much longer he could stand Dughall's presence. He'd clenched his teeth so many times he feared he'd bite off his own tongue.

  It was early the next morning. Eadan, Dughall and their men were out on a hunting trip in the forests that lay just beyond the castle grounds. He'd arranged for the outing before Fiona's mysterious appearance. When he planned the outing, it was with the hope that Dughall would slip and reveal some hint of what he was up to.

  But Dughall treated Eadan with barely contained hostility; the postponement of the betrothal and Fiona's abrupt appearance must have angered him. He'd been short and brusque with Eadan and his men all morning, and it was trying Eadan's patience. Any time Eadan attempted to discuss the truce between their clans and what that would entail, Dughall would interrupt and insist they not talk clan business during their leisure time.

  Now, he glared at the back of Dughall's balding head as he trudged ahead with his men, scouring the forest for the deer, hares, or wild boars that roamed here. Eadan knew Dughall wouldn't take his “marriage” to Fiona lightly, but he had to admit to himself it wasn't Dughall that bothered him. It was the knowledge that Fiona was lying to him about who she truly was. He had a good instinct about people lying to him. After he'd opened up to her last night, there was a part of him that hoped she'd do the same.

  He recalled the way she looked last night in the moonlight; the awe in her lovely brown eyes as she took in the landscape, her full lips slightly parted, her breasts straining against the bodice of her dress . . .

  “If ye expect him tae tell ye his dastardly plan, ’tis not working,” Ronan said in a low voice, pulling Eadan from his lust-filled reverie. He walked closely at Eadan's side, his gaze trained on Dughall.

  “Aye, I ken,” Eadan grumbled. "But I had tae try.”

  Up ahead, Dughall stilled, gesturing for quiet. A deer grazed a clearing up ahead. The men all went still as Dughall steadied his bow, aiming for the deer's flank. He landed the kill, and the deer slumped over on its side.

  “Another kill," Dughall said, turning to face Eadan with triumph. “Ye need tae catch up, Eadan. The chief of Clan Macleay needs tae be a strong hunter. Shows what a good fighter he is. And I want my Magaidh tae have a husband who protects her.”

  Eadan straightened; this was the direction he'd hoped the conversation would go.

  "Aye," Eadan said, moving forward until he was at Dughall's side. "But I fear this business with Fiona could take time tae sort out. Getting an annulment tae a foreign bride is more complicated than I thought. It may be hard tae find the priest who married us.”

  He watched Dughall carefully, noting the brief flare of rage in his green eyes before it vanished. Dughall smiled, though his face remained tight.

  “Ye’re an honorable man, Eadan,” he said. “I trust ye’ll honor yer word tae my daughter once ye’ve secured yer annulment."

  “’Tis a shame yer wife’s going tae Jenloss Abbey,” said Uisdean, one of Dughall's men, shaking his head. “A bonnie lass with a body like that’s not made for life in a nunnery. If she needs someone, I’ve a vacant spot in my bed for—"

  Eadan reacted without thinking. In an instant, he had the man slammed against a tree, his hand around his throat. It wasn’t until Ronan's shouts permeated his haze of furor that he realized he was cutting off Uisdean’s air.

  He released him, stumbling back as Dughall and another one of his men hurried forward, helping Uisdean away from the tree.

  “What’s gotten intae ye, Eadan?” Dughall roared.

  Eadan blinked, his fists clenched at his sides, taking several breaths to calm himself. Hot fury had filled every part of him when Uisdean spoke of Fiona in his bed.

  Dughall and his men glared at him, and Eadan cursed himself. He should have restrained himself. This was not the way to get Dughall to open up to him.

  “Were ye trying tae kill my man?”

  “I’m—sorry,” Eadan ground out. “Fiona’s still my wife. I willnae have her spoken of like a whore.”

  “A wife no one knew of ’til the other day. A wife ye supposedly no longer care for,” Dughall said, his eyes filling with suspicion.

  “I would’ve reacted the same way had he insulted Magaidh,” Eadan lied. “Ye just said I’m a man of honor. Ye ken this tae be true, Dughall.”

  Dughall didn’t reply, his features strained as he glared at Eadan.

  “I think we’re done hunting for the day," he said tightly.

  As they made their way back to the castle, Ronan shot him a look of disbelief. Frustration coursed through him—what was he thinking? But just the thought of what Uisdean had said about Fiona caused another wave of fury to sweep over him.

  He offered Uisdean some ale or a meal in the castle after offering another apology, but he stiffly refused, and Dughall and his men left under a haze of tension.

  “Eadan—” Ronan began, as soon as the men were gone, and he accompanied him down the long corridor toward his chamber.

  “I ken what I did was foolish,” Eadan said, as they entered his chamber. “I doonae need ye tae remind me.”

  Ronan fell silent, studying him closely. “Are ye sure yer—arrangement—with Fiona is a way of holding off the betrothal?”

  “Aye. Of course,” Eadan said, glaring at him. "Ye ken I've been thinking of ways tae get out of the betrothal for some time now. There’s nothing more between me and Fiona, I was just protecting her honor."

  Eadan didn't know if he was trying to convince himself or Ronan, but Ronan didn’t look convinced by his words.

  “Just remember what yer goals are—and killing one of Dughall’s men isnae the way tae accomplish ‘em.”

  Ronan left him alone before he could reply. Eadan changed out of his h
unting clothes before heading to his private study, where he tried to concentrate on the concerns of the day, looking over a stack of deeds and rents owed that he needed to review. But he found it hard to concentrate, his frustration over his actions during the hunt continuing to plague him.

  He didn't look up when he heard a soft knock on the door, but he stilled when Fiona’s familiar sweet scent filled the room. He looked up to find her hovering by the doorway. She looked lovely in a gown of deep crimson paired with a plaid cloak, but her eyes were troubled.

  Forgetting his own concerns, he got to his feet and strode to her, a wave of protectiveness sweeping over him.

  “Fiona? What is it?”

  "I'm more nervous than I expected," she said, giving him a shaky smile, “about my meeting with Elspeth. The carriage is waiting downstairs, but I don’t want to leave. I—I’ve felt safe at the castle for the past couple of days."

  "Then ye doonae have tae go," he said swiftly. "I'll say ye've fallen ill, make my excuses."

  Fiona's eyes widened in surprise at his concession, and guilt filled him. Had he been so rigid? Did she think she had no choice in the matter?

  "No," she said, after a brief pause. "I'll go. I'm sure she'd just reschedule the meeting, and you were right—if I don’t go it’ll just raise more suspicion. I’ll just get this over with. I’m—I’m sorry to have bothered you,” she said, looking embarrassed.

  "Ye didnae bother me," he insisted. He reached for her hand, and tendrils of heat roiled through him at the contact with her skin. "Ye’re helping me, Fiona. And for that I' m grateful."

  As her eyes locked with his, the heat that had filled him at her touch ignited into the hot flames of desire. An ache he didn't realize he had until now swelled, and he leaned forward, capturing her lips with his.

  She responded, and his erection swelled against his kilt as he pulled her close, reveling in the sensation of her breasts pressed against his chest. He plundered her mouth with his, wanting nothing more than to lower her bodice and seize one of her lovely breasts with his mouth, to lift the hem of her gown to taste the sweetness between her legs, before sinking into her, claiming her body for his own.