Faye's Sacrifice (Borderland Rebels Book 1)

by Madeline Martin

  She continued to walk on, certain she would come across a village at some point. The grass was thick and patchy underfoot. Her feet had long since gone numb, making it difficult to walk. A particularly rough bit of earth caught at her toe and sent her sprawling against a large rock.

  She pushed off the damn thing, leaving behind a smear of red. Anger and frustration whipped through her.

  How could such a place be so desolate? She would never have been able to walk this long on the border without encountering at least a handful of other people. This was not how her plan was supposed to go.

  Tears prickled hotly in her eyes.

  She’d spent the three weeks of travel being well behaved with the men, anything to be let out of that horrid crate. They only trusted her enough to remove her shackles a few days prior. Even then, she hadn’t had the opportunity to attack Dougal and steal the key until that very morning.

  A sob choked from her throat, which was now raw from breathing in the frigid air. She would die out here before she returned to her grandfather.

  A heaviness settled in her limbs, so she was nearly weighted down with exhaustion. It was not the first time. She blinked slowly in an attempt to stave off the sensation, to prevent it from overwhelming her. The tiredness came in waves, each one a stronger pull of temptation than the last to lie on the hard ground and close her eyes. To sleep. To be warm.

  Warm.

  She couldn’t imagine ever being anything other than cold ever again at this point.

  She wanted to curl into a ball beneath a tree where the snow hadn’t settled, against a wide trunk that might block the wind. Only for a moment. To just rest for a quick second.

  Her footsteps slowed, and her eyes slid closed, ready to slumber even as she walked on. Something rolled under her foot, and she pitched forward again. This time, there was nothing to catch herself on, and she landed hard on the icy ground. Snow chilled at the bare skin of her chest, where her cloak had fallen open. The chill snapped her back to awareness.

  She pushed herself up and swept at her heavy wool kirtle to clear away bits of dead grass and frozen crusts of snow. The thick fabric and the squirrel-lined cloak were no doubt the only reasons she’d not frozen to death.

  Yet.

  Movement in the distance caught her attention. A rider.

  She stilled, uncertain whether to call out or to hide.

  If it were one of her grandfather’s men, they would haul her back to the drafty castle and lock her in her room until she could be forced into marriage. Exhaustion tugged at her again, threatening to drag her beneath the quiet, dark surface of sleep.

  Sleep.

  Warmth.

  She staggered and snapped her eyes open. The rider was closer now. Enough to discern his face and realize he was not one of her grandfather’s men.

  He turned toward her, clearly having seen her.

  Energy shot through her, propelling her to her original goal: appeal to someone who might offer her aid. Her fingers slid over her belt, where her dagger usually hung and met with nothing but the smooth leather belt. She silently cursed her grandfather for leaving her unarmed.

  The rider approached, and Faye ran her fingers down her hair, hoping the chill had left her cheeks and lips red. She had to look alluring.

  “Please,” Faye pled softly. “I need yer help.”

  He stopped his horse and leapt from its back. He was a large man, quite handsome with brown hair and hazel eyes. His shoulders were broad beneath the bulk of his fur-lined cloak.

  “What’s happened?” he asked. “Are ye alone?”

  His voice had a deep timbre, and he spoke with the authority of a man whose requests were obeyed without question. Not only was his clothing made of fine quality, but his horse was also exceptional with its black, glossy coat. He was evidently a man of means. One who would surely fall upon the codes of chivalry and aid a woman.

  “I’ve been taken from my home.” Faye had meant to summon tears for effect, yet when they rose to her eyes without effort, she realized they were genuine. “I don’t know where I am and need help returning.” She gazed up at him, imploringly. She knew just how to do it, widening her eyes, softening her mouth, pushing her breasts out ever so slightly. Complete supplication and innocence.

  A muscle worked in his jaw, but his attention didn’t slide to her bosom. “Ye’re on the border of the Sutherland lands.”

  Her back straightened. “Sutherland lands?” She forced herself to remain in place rather than stepping back. “Who are ye?”

  “Ewan Sutherland.” He held her gaze with his intense hazel eyes. “Chieftain of the Sutherland clan. And ye’re Faye Fletcher, aye?”

  Her quickened breath was evident in the frozen huff of air blooming before her mouth. She shook her head, and this time, she did step back.

  He held his hands out to his sides, palms facing her, showing he did not hold a weapon or shackles. “Faye.” This time when he spoke, his voice was tender with kindness. “I’ll no’ force ye to wed me. If ye want to go home, I’ll see to it ye’re returned back to where ye came.”

  She watched him, indecision warring in her mind and mingling with fear so tangible that it left an ugly, metallic taste in her mouth.

  “I’ll no’ take a wife that doesna want me.” He remained standing where he was, cajoling her with his words, but not trying to reach for her.

  A gust of wind blew, cutting through wool and fur alike until it seemed to shake her bones inside her skin. She shuddered.

  Sutherland held a single hand out to her, his fingers outstretched in offering. “I promised always to protect ye. I dinna know if ye recall it—ye are younger than me. But I mean to hold true to that vow.”

  She looked at his extended hand. It didn’t seem threatening. He didn’t seem threatening. She wanted to trust him. Dear God, she wanted it with all of her soul.

  “I’ll keep ye safe,” he said earnestly. “I’ll protect ye.”

  The wind shoved at her from behind again, far more aggressively than the last. It pushed her in his direction, so she was forced to put one frozen foot in front of the other in an effort to remain upright.

  He caught her by the shoulders, his grip strong, yet somehow gentle. “Let me care for ye, Faye.”

  She nodded, unable to voice the words that brought her too much unease. For how could she possibly trust the man she was supposed to wed? Was he not part of the betrothal negotiations?

  But what choice did she have, other than being left to freeze to death?

  He helped her onto his massive horse and swept up behind her. His arms framed her body on either side, and he pulled his cloak around her. The heat immediately enveloped her, spiced with something masculine that mingled with the scent of leather.

  His hold on her was that of a protector, not a captor. As he’d promised.

  Time would tell how well his vows held.

  The warmth of his body at her back wilted her resolve to remain stiffly away from him. Before she could stop herself, she sagged against his chest as the exhaustion of the day dragged her down with a force she could no longer fight.

  But even as she fell asleep, the last few thoughts that tumbled through her mind were ones of worry and doubt. For what would become of her once she arrived at wherever they were going?

  Rage twisted through Ewan, stark and raw. Faye had lain back against him the first minute of their ride back to the castle. By the second minute, her head had lulled to the side in slumber.

  Exhaustion bruised the delicate skin beneath her eyes, and she weighed next to nothing where he held her to him. She could stand to eat a few hearty meals, aye, but that was not what angered him the most.

  When he’d aided her onto his horse, her sleeves had pulled back to reveal the chaffed skin of her wrists. As though she’d been shackled.

  The moment that Ewan realized Faye had been held captive and was being forced to marry him, he had resolved not to go through with the wedding. Now, seeing exactly how she’d b
een treated, he resolved never to return her to her grandfather.

  The lass would be returned safely to her family at the border.

  Monroe appeared in the distance on his horse and trotted over to Ewan’s side. “Ye’ve found her.”

  “Aye, but she’ll no’ be going back to Ross.” Ewan glanced down at Faye as she slept. Something in his chest stirred. She looked so precious and innocent, where she lay against him. Her golden hair and fair skin gave her an ethereal look, like a goddess of old. He knew her eyes to be blue as a summer loch, wide and rimmed with thick, sable lashes.

  His memories of her as a girl did not do justice to the woman she had become.

  His malcontent toward Ross swelled anew.

  “The beast had her chained,” Ewan ground out.

  Faye stirred on his chest, her brow flinching. He instantly regretted the harshness of his tone. The last thing he wished was to frighten the lass.

  God knew she’d been through enough.

  “Once she’s with us, ye could keep her safe,” Monroe said cautiously. Even as he spoke, however, his expression was one of uncertainty.

  “I’ll no’ marry a lass who has been chained up in an effort to force her into marriage.” Ewan glanced down at Faye once more. He kept doing that, he realized, as though it was impossible to stop gazing upon her beauty.

  “It would be war,” Monroe warned.

  Ewan sighed. “Aye, I know.” He turned to his advisor. “It’s no’ right.”

  Monroe nodded, acknowledging the truth of Ewan’s words. It wasn’t right.

  Riders appeared in the distance.

  “Shite,” Monroe muttered under his breath. “Go on to the castle. I’ll try to head them off.”

  The riders’ pace increased, racing toward Ewan and Monroe.

  It was too late. The men had already seen that Ewan had found Faye. Still, he held tighter to Faye and brought his horse to a canter. The Ross clan would be soon upon them, but it would be enough time to get her into Dunrobin Castle and secure her in a place where she could remain protected.

  She sat up abruptly, alert, her head whipping from side to side. “What is it?” She clung to one of his arms and glanced over her shoulder, her eyes wide with fear. “Have they found me?”

  “Aye,” he said. “I’ll get ye inside where ye’ll be safe.”

  She sucked in a breath and nodded; her face beautiful even with the set of determination. God, she was bonny. Plush lips, red from the cold, the bottom plumper than the top. How he’d like to suck it into his mouth and trail his tongue over it.

  His cock stirred, and he halted the direction of his thoughts.

  She was not to be his. Not under the circumstances laid before them. And the last thing she needed was a cockstand jabbing her in the rear from the man who’d promised to protect her.

  Jesu, what was his problem? He snapped the reins and called out for his horse to race the last bit of the way to the castle.

  Once there, he dismounted from the horse and helped Faye from the destrier’s broad back. Ewan put a hand to her slender shoulders and guided her. “This way.”

  She looked about as he rushed her through the castle, shouting orders to the servants as he did so to prepare for an assault from the Ross clan.

  “Sutherland,” Ross bellowed from outside.

  Ewan ignored the call.

  “Let me in to speak with ye, or I’ll kill yer man here.”

  This time, Ewan did stop.

  Monroe. Damn it. Ewan should never have allowed him to remain behind.

  Faye put a hand to Ewan’s chest, and those wide blue eyes lifted to his. “Don’t let him die for me. Speak to them. Please.” Her speech came across with more English to it than Scots, more so than when they’d been bairns.

  “Aye, but no’ with ye here.” He flagged down a servant. “Let Ross in.”

  The servant nodded and ran off to comply with his order.

  “This involves me as well.” Faye walked with Ewan.

  He squared his shoulders. “I told ye I’d keep ye safe.”

  She lifted her chin, her eyes glinting with resolve. “I refuse to be shoved in some room while ye handle my future.”

  He hadn’t thought she could be lovelier than when she slept against his chest. He was wrong. As demure as she’d been asleep, she was now bright with passion, like dry tinder that had been struck with a flame. Wild and bonny.

  “Sutherland,” Ross’s voice was closer now. Just inside the Great Hall.

  Footsteps pattered down the hall, and Moiré appeared, gasping for breath in her haste. “What has happened with the Ross clan?” she asked, her brown eyes wide.

  “I must speak with Ross,” he said to his cousin. “Stay with Mistress Faye, aye?”

  Moiré looked at Faye, and the confusion in her gaze deepened, but she nodded.

  “This is my cousin, Moiré,” Ewan said. “Ye can listen all ye like but stay here. Away from them.”

  When Faye opened her mouth to protest, he took her slender shoulders in his hands. “Stay here.”

  She remained quiet, and a shiver ran through her, reminding him of how cold she’d been. He drew off his cloak and draped it over her shoulders.

  She tugged it more tightly around her and gave a nod. He wasn’t sure if it was in compliance or thanks, but she offered no further protest.

  Assured she would remain hidden while he handled the situation, he left her in the corridor and pushed through the door leading to the Great Hall. He secured it closed behind him and made his way to the dais where Ross and several of his men waited.

  “Where is my granddaughter?” Ross demanded with a scowl as he pushed Monroe to Ewan’s side.

  Ewan narrowed his eyes at the older man. “I’ll no’ marry a lass being forced to wed me. Especially no’ one who has been held captive and abducted from her home.”

  “Berwick is mine.” Ross’s shout rang off the walls around him, and his face turned a dark shade of red. “If ye refuse to wed her, I’ll attack yer people until every last one of them is dead.”

  The threat sent a chill scraping down Ewan’s spine. Regardless, he folded his arms over his chest and scoffed. “We’ve endured yer fighting for years. We’ll do so again now.”

  “Give her to me,” Ross demanded.

  “So ye can sell her into another marriage?” Ewan widened his stance. “Nay.”

  Ross took several menacing steps forward, his hand on the hilt of his blade as though he meant to draw it free and slay Ewan where he stood. Still, Ewan held his ground and met the icy glare of the older chieftain.

  Ewan had anticipated more threats, mayhap even an attempt at gutting him. He had not expected a shrewd expression to cross Ross’s face or the question that followed. “What if there was another option?”

  4

  Faye leaned against the crack in the door. Her ear ached from pressing it so firmly to the wood, but her grandfather’s words had become difficult to discern.

  Ewan’s cousin stood at her side, in deep concentration as she also tried to listen. She was a pretty young woman with light brown hair and dark eyes, mayhap older than Faye, though only slightly.

  No doubt, she was worried about what she heard. Faye would be if she were of the Sutherland clan.

  Ross had threatened war. He intended to kill them all, and still, the Sutherland chieftain had stood his ground. Protecting Faye. Just as he’d promised.

  Her chest squeezed. Could she have so many deaths on her conscience simply because she refused to wed a man who was willing to risk his people to return her to her home?

  She gritted her teeth, determined to remain as stoic as Sutherland.

  “What other option?” Sutherland asked, his voice wary.

  “A more biddable lass,” Ross said. “Another of my granddaughters.”

  Faye’s blood chilled. Even the heavy cloak Sutherland had draped over her shoulders could not quell the coldness frosting in her veins.

  “I’ll no’ marry anyon
e ye force my way.” Sutherland’s reply was resolute. Heroic.

  “This one is a good lass,” Ross continued. “She’ll do as she’s told and is as bonny as her sister, but with hair dark as peat.”

  Clara.

  Nay.

  “I told ye,” Sutherland said. “I’ll no—”

  “Nay.” Faye pushed out into the Great Hall before she could stop herself. Before fear drowned out the last of her bravado. “I’ll marry him.”

  Sutherland frowned at her, but her grandfather grinned. “I knew that would lure ye out.” He chuckled. “But make no mistake, I’ll take that sister of yers for a marriage if ye manage to worm yer way out of this.”

  “Promise me that ye’ll leave my family be.” A storm of rage and sorrow swept through her and nearly made her voice quaver. “No more marriages, no more abductions. Ye leave them be.”

  Her grandfather stared at her as if she were a child attempting to rebuke him. “Ye’re no’ in a position—”

  “I’m not done.” Faye wanted nothing more than to lower her gaze from the steely cut of his glare but refused to give him the satisfaction. She would win this battle.

  After all, he’d shared his weakness. Berwick. And she was the key to obtaining his greatest desire.

  “This marriage will stop all fighting between the Ross and Sutherland clans.” She looked between the two men. “There will be peace.”

  Her grandfather sputtered his disbelief and looked to Sutherland as if seeking confirmation to what Faye had demanded. She nodded at the man she would marry, letting him know her mind was set.

  “Give the lass what she wants,” he said solemnly. “And I’ll wed her.”

  Ross studied them both as the options weighed and counterbalanced against one another in his mind. “The wedding will take place now,” he said finally. “Followed by a bedding ceremony.”

  “A wedding with no bedding ceremony,” Faye countered before Sutherland could speak.

  Her grandfather turned his green eyes on her. They weren’t soft with tenderness like her mother’s, but hard and unyielding, like chips of emeralds. “A bedding ceremony as well to verify the marriage canna be annulled. That, or I walk from these doors and send my men in two directions. One here to kill every Sutherland they can find, and another down to Castleton to bring me the rest of yer sisters.”