Moiré set to work on Faye’s hair next, quickly brushing the blonde tresses and carefully arranging them down Faye’s shoulders to cover the peaks of her nipples. Once done, Ewan’s cousin peeked around the screen and nodded to Faye.
It was time.
Faye hesitated a long moment, drawing a breath and whatever strength she could scrape up from the dregs of her courage.
She stepped around the flimsy screen, and cheers rose up. It was one thing to entice a man into conversation with the swell of her bosom over the neckline of her gown, and quite another to be put on display in such a manner. Her face blossomed with heat, and she averted her eyes from the crowd to avoid their stares sliding over her. Not that it mattered. She could feel them. Like ants creeping over her skin, crawling over every inch of her, until she wanted to hide in a corner and scream.
Across the room, Sutherland wore only his trews, his chest bare. Though Faye’s nerves vibrated with an onslaught of anxiety and fear and humiliation, she was not blind. Her husband was a finely built man. Thanks be to God that he was not old and fat.
She kept her footsteps slow as she made her way toward the bed under the weight of so many viewers, her head held high.
The priest who had wed them began to pray, his words a drone beneath bawdy jests and laughter. Faye lifted the heavy coverlet and slid into bed as Sutherland did too. She covered herself high enough to shield her breasts from view but still could not relax. The priest finished his prayer and made the sign of the cross over their bed.
Not much longer.
Or so she hoped.
Servants moved on either side of the bed, drawing the curtains around them until the light outside was snuffed out. Footsteps exited the room, and silence took its place, filled only with the steady, gentle breath of the stranger beside her.
She blinked back the sudden threat of tears at her relief and swallowed. “Are they gone?” Her voice was small in the overbearing darkness. She winced.
Would he roll over onto her and press his husbandly rights upon her?
She gripped the blanket tighter, wishing she were home in her shared room with her sisters instead of here. With this man. In this horrible situation.
A crack of light appeared, and the ropes creaked as Sutherland left the bed. A heavy thunk of wood sliding on wood interrupted the quiet—a door being barred.
Faye started at the sound in spite of herself.
The curtains drew back on all sides, letting in the light once more. Sutherland stood beside the bed, now wearing a fresh leine over his trews, covering his naked torso. He offered her an apologetic smile that bordered on sheepish. “I’m glad that’s done with.”
“As am I,” she said softly.
He held up a heavy robe in his hands in an invitation for her. “I noticed ye dinna eat much at supper and had Monroe bring some food. I thought mayhap we might share it and become reacquainted.”
Faye hesitated at his kindness. She didn’t desire to become reacquainted. He seemed to be a good man. But good men were oftentimes a disappointment.
More than a disappointment, they had been a source of great pain, an opportunity for incredible hurt. Still, as much as she loathed the idea, the thought of being blanketed in a heavier garment was too tempting an offer to refuse.
She slid from the bed and allowed him to wrap her in the heavy robe. The layer of clothing might be a small thing, but to her at that moment, it was a reminder of her own awareness. Of whom she was and what she was capable of. It put her back in control of her senses.
She would do what she must as a wife, but she would not allow herself to trust this man. And most certainly, she would bar her heart from even considering the notion of caring for him, let alone loving him.
Ewan couldn’t tamp down the protective urge that rose inside him. Faye had looked so vulnerable at the bedding ceremony, her eyes wide in her pale face, even as her back had remained straight and proud.
He led her to the table by the hearth and retrieved the platter of food Monroe had smuggled behind Ewan’s screen. It was only a bit of meat and cheese with two loaves of bread, but it was better than the few bites of vegetables he’d seen her eat earlier.
He led her to the small table and set the food in front of her, then poured a goblet of wine for each of them. His actions were loud in the quiet of the room, compensating for all the things he had no idea how to say. When at last, the table was properly set, the silence became oppressive. Music and the hum of indiscernible chatter from the Great Hall floated in, muffled by the thick door.
Ewan cleared his throat and scrambled for something to say. “’Tis a lot of years to cover.” He took a loaf of bread, broke it in half and gave her one of the pieces.
“We don’t have to.” She plucked off a small chunk and slid it into her mouth, the movement slow and carrying an unexpected sensuality.
“I’m sure ye’ve changed from the lass I knew.” He bit into his bread.
“How do ye think I have?” She lifted the goblet to her mouth and took a delicate sip of wine that left her lower lip glossy.
“I dinna recall ye sounding so English,” he offered.
She gave a little laugh at that, though it appeared without mirth. “The English think I sound Scottish.”
“Ye live near the border, aye? On the English or the Scottish side?”
She
