The costly table runners used for good company had been set on the trestle tables, and several silver candlesticks and salt cellars glinted in the firelight. The simple dinner of stewed vegetables and roasted quail the cook had prepared was laid out like a fine feast.
Moiré caught Ewan’s eye as he entered the Great Hall, conveying with her gaze the words he could hear in his head. I told ye so. And she had—before his departure to Balnagown, she had warned him not to consider Ross’s proposition.
If he’d wed Mistress Blair, he’d be with a woman who had wanted to be with him, under far better circumstances.
But he’d been too curious about Faye, his interest piqued by the pretty girl he’d known. What was worse, he’d been correct in his assumption that she had only become more attractive.
He walked her to the dais, where she sat at his right side. His clan members settled at the surrounding trestles in oppressive silence; their shuffling feet gave off a sound like the downpour of rain. They looked to him with solemn faces, expecting a grand speech, but what was he to say on such an occasion?
Instead, he lifted his goblet of hastily poured wine and said simply, “To peace.”
They all drank as a pathetic band of minstrels quickly set up and filled the silence with a tune far too cheerful for the occasion.
Beside Ewan, his bride maintained a smile that quivered at the corners and contrasted the dullness in her eyes. No doubt, her thoughts were reeling from the turn of events as much as his. It had all been done too fast to process fully.
“Would ye care to dance?” he asked.
Her gaze moved first to the empty square of space for dancing before turning her attention to him. “I suppose it is expected,” she replied at last.
“I dinna think anything is expected in this madness,” he replied.
Her eyes brightened somewhat with a more earnest smile. “I think it should be a pleasant distraction.”
It was all the answer he needed. He got to his feet and extended his hand to her, which she readily took.
They approached the dance floor and stood opposite one another, where she curtseyed, and he bowed. Amid the trill of a pipe and the gentle pluck of stringed instruments, they came together and spun about to the sweet rhythm of the music.
“Do ye recall much of me from when we were children?” she asked as they stepped toward one another.
“Aye.” He caught her slender waist and lifted her briefly before setting her on the floor. Her breasts gave a slight bounce that he could not help but notice. “I only saw ye on the few occasions ye visited Scotland to see Ross. What of ye? Do ye remember anything of me?”
She studied his face with an openness he liked, as though trying in earnest to summon his younger self into her mind. “My only recollection is of a boy with brown hair and hazel eyes who promised he would always protect me.” Her cheeks had gone pink, but he could not tell if it was from a blush or the exertion of their dance. He found himself hoping for the former.
“I supposed I havena changed so verra much.” He smiled at the jest toward himself.
Her gaze dipped downward and shifted away as an unmistakable blush crept over her cheeks. “I wouldna say that,” she whispered.
His cock twitched in response. He was not an unattractive man, he knew. Women had offered to become his leman after Lara’s death, though he’d never accepted. There had been too much weighing down his thoughts with the ache of her death and the insistent press of his uncle’s desire for leadership of the clan.
Knowing his appearance pleased Faye, however, brought him more pride than he’d bothered to consider in a long time. For he certainly found her alluring.
The music drew to a close, and they drifted apart to bow and curtsey one final time. As he led her back to the dais, he caught sight of Moiré sitting at a table by herself. She lifted her brows and waved him over.
“Forgive me,” he said to his new wife. “I must speak with my cousin a moment.”
Faye nodded and lifted her waiting goblet to her lips as Ewan departed to join Moiré.
“She’s beautiful.” His cousin tilted her cup in celebration toward him. “Felicitations.”
He nodded his head in thanks as she drank deeply from the goblet. “I’d hoped for yer assistance in making her feel welcome.”
“Of course,” Moiré replied readily, as he knew she would.
“She’s been taken from her family and forced into this, as I’m sure ye’ve gathered.”
Moiré nodded, her eyes softening with sympathy. “Aye. The poor lass. I’ll do anything I can to help.”
“Including showing her duties as mistress of the castle, aye?” he pressed.
After Lara’s death, Moiré had taken on the responsibility of running the castle. Faye would, of course, be assuming the task now that she was his wife.
“Ye need no’ worry, Ewan.” Moiré gently patted his arm, her demeanor as good-natured as ever. “I’ll show her what she needs to know.”
The tension drained from his shoulders. He’d hoped she wouldn’t be offended at Faye assuming the role Moiré had spent almost two years handling with smooth efficiency. He should have known better. Moiré was always considerate and accommodating.
“If I might make a suggestion?” she offered.
Ewan nodded, grateful for any recommendation regarding his new wife and their marriage by unusual circumstance.
“Ye may wish to have a care with how ye handle Lady Sutherland,” she said. “To ensure she knows ye care for her.” She glanced toward Faye, her eyes sparkling. “As I feel ye will soon care for her greatly.”
“Let her know I care for her?” Ewan repeated with uncertainty. “What do ye mean?”
Moiré shook her head. “I shouldna have said anything.”
“I wish ye would.”
Moiré’s pleasant expression dropped, and she nibbled on her lower lip. “I dinna think Lara felt as
