Drake was the eldest of the four of them and had been visiting the last sennight. The following morning, he was due to return to the English side of the border to resume his duties as Captain of the Guard at Werrick Castle.
His job was one of great importance and brought him an abundance of pride. It was not the knighthood he’d hoped to obtain as their father had, but it was an honorable position in a noble household. One that afforded them all a much better life than what they’d had before. No longer were they forced to wear threadbare clothes that left them chilled in the winter.
Nor did they go without food so long that their bellies snarled with hunger.
She was grateful for what he did for them but did not care for him being gone so long or being so far away—especially at the place where his heart had been broken by one of the earl’s daughters. Her handsome brother should have already had a wife and children, and she suspected his lack of procuring one had a good deal to do with Lady Anice.
If Drake knew their grandfather was nearby, and that Faye had been approached, he would undoubtedly delay his return to Werrick Castle. She wouldn’t have Drake risk his job on her account. Not when they were finally doing so well, in a stone manor outside the village with some livestock and enough food and clothing to be comfortable.
“’Tis only that I’m sad ye’ll be leaving us on the morrow.” Faye gave her brother a perfect smile. A lifetime of practice had rendered the expression convincing.
Drake’s worry lightened into an endearing expression, and he ruffled her hair. “I’ll be back before ye start to miss me.”
She smoothed her fingers over her tresses to ensure his affection hadn’t left her mussed. “But I already miss ye, and ye’ve not even left yet.”
He chuckled. “Ach, my honey-tongued sister. One day ye’re going to get yerself in trouble with such pretty words.”
“I’m sure I’ll find a way out of it.” She grinned.
Together, they wandered down the trail leading to their home Drake had constructed for them two years prior. It had taken considerable time to save enough, but the home provided them with protection for themselves, as well as their livestock.
Faye’s meeting with the chieftain churned in her thoughts, though she’d tried to set it aside. He was nothing she couldn’t handle. After all, how much of a threat could one old man be?
Sutherland, Scotland
Ewan Sutherland, Chieftain of the Sutherland clan, was getting married. Again.
Or at least, he would be promised to the chieftain of the Gordon clan’s daughter once he affixed his signature to the lengthy agreement set before him. The quill remained perched in his fingertips; the point not quite settled upon the page. A drop of ink slid from the sharpened tip and beaded on the parchment before absorbing into a blotch of black.
“Ye dinna want to marry the lass?” Monroe asked from his seat opposite Ewan’s desk.
Ewan lifted his head to regard his advisor as he considered the question.
Mistress Blair Gordon was fine enough. Ewan had met her several times at feasts held by the Gordon clan. She’d been a talkative young woman whose face dipped demurely to the ground any time her father was nearby.
There had been a girlish excitement about her, not at all like the formal stiffness of Lara. The thought of his first wife brought an uncomfortable tightness to his chest.
Why then was he so opposed to signing the damn betrothal contract?
Ewan set the quill aside.
“Ach, that’s what I thought.” Monroe’s dark brows twitched. “There may be another option.”
“I canna remain unwed,” Ewan grumbled bitterly.
He didn’t want a wife. But he needed an heir. And alas, one could not come without the other. Or at least, not a legitimate heir. And he wouldn’t complicate a lad’s life with having him be born a bastard.
“I dinna mean ye should remain unwed.” Monroe smoothed a hand over the heavy wooden chair arm and scanned the capacious solar as though seeking to ensure their privacy, despite their being alone. “Though yer uncle remains curiously quiet over the matter.”
“Curious,” Ewan repeated bitterly. “I dinna expect him to support a union where an heir might prevent him from inheriting the title of chieftain should I die. We all know he’s been eyeing it since my da passed.”
Ewan rubbed at a knot of tension at the back of his neck. Having his uncle in his close council allowed Ewan to maintain a watchful eye on him, but it didn’t mean the task was easy or pleasant.
Ewan’s cousin, Moiré, kept him abreast of her father’s activities to ensure they were not nefarious. She had come to be something like a sister to him. Without any sisters of his own and his elder brother having passed years ago, Ewan found himself often seeking her counsel and relying on her to perform the duties of the castle’s mistress since Lara’s death.
“Ye received a missive from the Chieftain of the Ross clan.” Monroe withdrew a folded bit of parchment from the pocket of his doublet. “It arrived by messenger moments ago. The lad informed me it had something to do with yer betrothal.”
“My betrothal?” Ewan took the letter, cracked the thick seal depicting a hand holding a laurel wreath and unfolded it to read the contents within.
Once done, he lowered the parchment to the top of his desk in wonder. “Faye Fletcher.”
“I’d nearly forgotten about her,” Monroe confessed.
“As had I.” Ewan pushed up from his hard wooden seat and approached the fireplace where the flames licked over dry tinder. “But our betrothal contract was never signed by her mother. ’Tis no’ binding.”
He hadn’t seen Faye since they were children—when she’d left after a visit from England and had never returned. It was why she’d slipped from his thoughts
