“To the chapel.” Ross indicated for Sutherland to lead them.
Moiré said from Faye’s side, “Surely ye can allow her a moment to prepare. It is her wedding day, after all.”
Faye regarded Ewan’s cousin, unable to say when she had approached. Especially in light of all that had transpired in the meeting.
“’Tis already late afternoon.” Ross indicated the large doorway of the Great Hall. “To the chapel, so there will be time to sup and celebrate our alliance.”
Moiré tossed a sympathetic frown in Faye’s direction. While it had been kind of Moiré to help, Faye was grateful her grandfather had insisted on their immediate wedding. For with time to consider her choices, she might find herself lacking the strength to go through with it all.
Her mind was a fog of exhaustion from her attempt to escape. Her limbs were weak with weariness, and her stomach growled with savage hunger. She scarcely had the fortitude to remain upright, let alone wed a man she didn’t know.
A husband she didn’t want.
She’d never wanted marriage. Not after having seen what her mother had gone through after loving a man, then losing him. When Faye’s da died, it had nearly killed her mum as well. Mum had never recovered, not fully. There was always sadness around her eyes, and an inability to truly laugh, to enjoy life. It was as though part of her had died along with Da.
Faye had long ago sworn to never be like her. No one would ever have such power over her so as to hurt her so deeply. Throughout Faye’s life, she’d had enough pain.
Sutherland approached her. “Ye dinna have to do this,” he said in a low voice.
She didn’t allow herself to soften lest she caved. “Aye, I do.”
“I’ll be a good husband to ye, Faye,” he vowed. “Nothing will happen to ye while with me. I’ll keep my promise to protect ye. Always.”
The image of the boy he’d been flashed in her mind again. His earnest gaze was so similar, despite how his boyish face and body had sharpened into that of a man.
She nodded, uncertain of what to say. He was too handsome, too considerate. The kind of man who would seek the heart she was so unwilling to give.
Even still, she could not stop her fingers from smoothing over her hair, which must be frightful after the hours she wandered through the brutal highlands. A glance down at her kirtle confirmed it was streaked with mud and had a tear at the neckline with several threads jutting out like sparse hairs. Aye, she looked a mess.
Sutherland didn’t appear at all bothered by her rumpled state and offered her his arm. She slid her hand into the warm crook of his elbow, and they walked through the castle toward their fate together. The castle was dark, its shutters locked tight, blocking out cold and light alike. Candles lit the corridors and cast heavy shadows within the thick walls as well as an odor of smoke. Their footsteps were silent on the thick layer of rushes, silencing their ominous march.
To be married.
The thought stole her breath.
Married.
Panic fluttered in her chest. Everything in her screamed to grab the dagger tucked into Ewan’s boot and escape. If she stole a horse, she could cover more ground. Mayhap find a village. Get help.
And then what?
Then, her grandfather would go back to Castleton and appeal to Clara. All he needed to say was that her sacrifice to move to the Highlands and wed a chieftain would save lives, and Clara would come without a moment’s hesitation.
Damn Clara for her goodness.
They entered a small stone chapel. Colorful glass lined either wall, providing more light than any candle within the castle. A man stood at the front, wearing dark robes. His head lifted in surprise at their approach, and his gaze flitted between their party before settling on Sutherland. “May I help ye, sir?”
Faye did not miss the way Sutherland’s body tensed before replying to the clergyman. “We’re here to be wed.”
Under the watchful gaze of Ewan’s enemy, he married a woman who was little more than a stranger. The ceremony was a short affair, rushed through by the local priest who’d had no time to prepare the vows properly.
While Faye had readily agreed to the vows, Ewan had faltered. She had been stolen from her family, chained for weeks of travel and hunted down like sport—all for this moment so that he might marry her. He hated the circumstances. No woman should be treated thus.
She met his eyes and nodded. Only then did he force the words from his mouth and allow their souls to be bound to one another.
The priest pronounced them man and wife and bade Ewan kiss his new bride. She regarded Ewan with a searching stare, as though trying to learn who he was in that brief span of time. Her blonde hair settled like gold cloth around her shoulders and fell over the small tear in her dress. He’d noticed her sweeping her fingers over her tresses to cover the spot, in an apparent self-conscious attempt to appear presentable despite the situation.
It warmed him to the core that she should care. It made a powerful yearning spring forth within him, one that longed to draw her against his body and let his lips play over hers. With a flash of regret, he recalled his ceremony to Lara. It had been well-planned, but he had not been hit with the same urges for his demure wife.
A fresh slice of pain twisted in Ewan’s heart at the thought of his late wife.
He lifted Faye’s slender hand to his mouth, rather than kissing her lips. He would not presume her affections, especially in light of how readily she’d already been taken advantage of.
Ross did not protest the kiss, and for that, Ewan was grateful. Maybe the old bastard had a heart after all.
Ewan offered Faye his arm once more, and they returned somberly to the Great Hall, where
