Ewan’s face went cool as the blood drained from it. “Why would ye say that?”
Moiré’s brow crumpled. “I shouldna—”
“Why would ye say that?” He demanded, more harshly than he’d intended. “Did she…” A band of tension squeezed at his chest. “Did she tell ye that?”
Moiré held her breath and nodded. “I’m sorry.”
An ache clawed within him, ripping old wounds open. He nodded and patted her shoulder, unable to summon anything to say.
“I’m sorry,” Moiré repeated in a horrified whisper.
“I needed to know.” He swallowed at the stubborn lump in his throat. “Was that why…” He couldn’t even bring himself to say the words. Instead, they hung in the air, unspoken.
Was that why Lara had taken her own life?
Moiré closed her eyes, and a tear trailed down her cheek. She blinked her eyes open and regarded Ewan with a pained expression. “Be good to yer new wife, aye?”
Ewan clenched his hand into a fist and vowed that he would care for Faye and leave no doubt in her mind that he fully intended to love her.
5
Faye didn’t want anyone to notice her discomfort, and yet how could they not when she was set on display? The dais sat higher than the trestles lining either side of the Great Hall.
It was finer than anything she’d ever dined on. Blue runners ran along the polished wood and silver glinted among bits of heater that had been plucked to adorn the table.
She had never been around such costly things, nor had she been put in a position where all eyes were set upon her. Sutherland was gone only minutes, though it truly felt like hours. He spoke first to his cousin, then to Monroe, before he returned to her. Through it all, she sat alone with only a goblet of wine and plate of food for company. And all those eyes, gazing up at her, wide with curiosity.
No doubt waiting for the bedding ceremony.
She wished they would start it, get the ordeal over with. Let those cold, curious eyes feast on her in her most vulnerable moment. A knot of emotion settled as an ache at the back of her throat, but she discreetly swallowed it away.
“Forgive me,” Sutherland said as he returned.
Faye relaxed somewhat as he settled by her side. Not that she knew him well enough to find comfort in his presence, but he was someone—anyone—who would take some of the gawping attention.
Her grandfather rose with his goblet of wine in hand, which he tapped with his open fingers, so his ring pinged sharply against the metal. The room went silent as people turned to him with expectations.
He lifted his drink high in the air in a silent toast toward the dais. “Felicitations to the happy new couple.” He smirked. “Let us put these two to bed.”
Faye’s stomach clenched, and her head swam with a lightheaded sensation that threatened to make her slide from her seat. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to be in this situation. She didn’t want to be married.
But she was. And there was nothing for it, but to stand with her plastered smile and her quivering insides.
This was no battle she could win or conversation she could flirt her way out of. Sutherland got to his feet first and offered her his hand. She accepted and stood on shaky legs.
His people had consumed a good amount of spirits, and though some remained quiet at the stunning turn of events, others threw up raucous and ribald cheers. The chants and jeers filled the large room and buzzed in Faye’s ears.
The crowd followed them, pressing at their backs, forcing them up narrow stairs she had never climbed to a capacious chamber she had never entered. A bed stood at its center, a massive thing with thick posts at each corner and heavy curtains hanging from all sides. Her heartbeat slammed so hard in her chest that she was certain the revelers could hear it over their own happy cries.
Two screens had been erected at opposite sides of the room, no doubt where they would prepare. Faye hesitated, uncertain of what to do. These were customs of the wealthy, and she’d not been wealthy a day in her life. Aye, they lived in a manor in Castleton, but it was for protection rather than power. A means of keeping them safe from reivers.
She was breathing too hard; her heart pounding too ferociously. White spots bloomed in her vision, and she regretted having had more wine than food. But her stomach had been nervous and her mouth dry.
A cool hand closed over hers, and Moiré was there with a gentle smile. “Come with me. I’ll see to ye.”
Faye allowed the other woman to lead her behind a screen, a flimsy barrier between her and the people who had so willingly invaded her privacy.
“This is wrong.” Moiré frowned and patted Faye’s forearm. “Ye’re doing fine. Mayhap better than I would, were I in yer situation.”
Faye simply nodded, too numb to say anything else. How had this happened? Just one month prior, she’d been at Castleton with her family, shelling beans and getting upset with Clara for bringing up the English. Clara, of all people, who didn’t deserve anyone’s scorn. Theirs had been a quiet, mundane life that had been violently upended to this shocking moment of undressing before strangers in lands she didn’t know.
That stubborn ache returned to the back of her throat.
“I brought ye one of my nightrails,” Moiré said. “’Tis all I could find with such sudden notice.”
The other woman was a good two inches shorter than Faye. Still, an ill-fitting garment was a far cry better than being naked.
“Mayhap, my chemise…” Faye glanced down at her mud-stained skirts, and the words died on her tongue. Her chemise would be in no order to be put on display.
She put her back to Moiré and allowed the other woman to help undress her and slide the sark on. It was a thin
