He was strong and warm, exquisite comfort. He enveloped her in all those wonderful sensations and held her to him as he stroked her back, which only made her sobs come harder.
When the better part of her sorrow had quelled, she swiped at her tears and pushed back to gaze up at him. “Forgive me. I should not have reacted so.”
“Ye dinna need to apologize.” He stroked her cheek, his expression pained. “’Tis I who owe the apology. I should have pressed to know more about ye when ye dinna return to Scotland. I should have known this was what ye’d endured. I would have done everything in my power to see ye and yer family safe.”
Though she was hesitant to trust him, the truth of his words lodged in her chest. He would have done everything in his power to ensure she and her family had remained safe.
“We managed,” she replied.
“Ye shouldna have had to.” He swept her hair back from her face. “I vow to ye, ye’ll no’ ever suffer again in yer life.”
She stared up into his hazel eyes, mesmerized by the flecks of green and amber and black within. “Ye needn’t do that,” she protested.
He drew off his gloves and tenderly put his hands on either side of her face. “Let me care for ye, Faye.” He smoothed his hands downward in a caress that stopped under her chin. “Open yer heart to me.”
Her heart?
How could she possibly open her heart to anyone when it was bound with iron and locked with a key that went missing long ago?
She stared up into his beautiful eyes and felt the stirrings of lust pulse to life. Though she knew her attraction to him to be strong, she understood her desire for what it was: a distraction.
One she would not indulge.
She opened her mouth, uncertain what to say when the thundering of approaching horse hooves rumbled in the distance. Together, she and Ewan turned toward the sound as riders crested a nearby hill.
“Get on yer horse and head back to Dunrobin,” Ewan said in a low voice. “I’ll handle this.”
Even if Faye had known the way back to the castle, she wouldn’t leave his side. Not when there were so many warriors, and only one of him.
“I can fight.” She pulled her eating dagger from her belt. It was nowhere near as fine as the sharpened weapon Drake had given her when she’d turned fourteen, the one her grandfather had confiscated. But it would do.
Ewan gave her a hard look. “Go now, lass. I dinna want ye to be injured.”
She tightened her grip on her weapon. “I won’t be.”
He eyed the blade. “Is that an eating dagger?”
“Who are they and what do they want?”
Ewan squared his shoulders, shielding her from the onslaught of men approaching. “They’re from the Gordon clan. And they’re here because I was in negotiations to wed their Chieftain’s daughter before I was approached by Ross.”
Faye’s stomach clenched as the mass of stony-faced riders approached. “Do ye mean…?”
“Aye,” Ewan said. “I married ye instead of Mistress Blair. And they’re no’ pleased.”
Ewan pulled his sword free of its sheath and ensured he was directly in front of Faye. She was a spirited lass, one who only obeyed when she wished to. And while he appreciated such fire in her, he did not like that it now put her in danger.
The Gordons were never predictable. They could be coming to demand a meeting with him as much as they might be coming to slay him. Or the woman he’d wed.
Outrunning them would be pointless. They would meet him at Dunrobin, and the act of trying to flee would label him a coward. Nay, he was best left facing them with his stubborn wife safely tucked behind his back.
With her paltry eating dagger.
Once they were back at Dunrobin, he’d ensure she had a proper blade.
The bald chieftain led his group of a dozen Gordon warriors, his scalp red with rage. Gordon held up his fist to stop his men and glared at Ewan. “Sutherland.” Both rows of teeth showed as he spoke, biting out each word. “We had an agreement.”
Ewan squared his shoulders and faced the other chieftain head-on. “What is it ye want?”
He peered around Ewan to Faye and sneered. “Is that her? The Ross whore?”
“Ye’re lucky I dinna smite yer head from yer body,” Ewan growled. “Mind yer tongue around my wife.”
“Ross says ye had a betrothal since ye were bairns,” Gordon glared at him.
Damn Ross and his determination with the unsigned agreement. “The betrothal wasna valid. Are ye here to fight or to talk?”
Gordon had always been the straightforward sort. Whatever path he set his mind to, he made known. He studied Ewan and grunted. “Talk.”
Ewan sighed and eased the sword into its sheath. “Come to the castle where we can speak properly.”
“Ach, aye, we’re on our way there now.” Gordon scoffed. “It appears yer uncle is willing to be the man ye dinna have the ballocks to be.”
Ewan maintained his relaxed demeanor even as dread tightened in his gut. Not only was Cruim claiming to wish to wed Mistress Blair, but he was also negotiating the arrangement at Dunrobin rather than his own manor. Meaning he wanted Ewan to be aware of the dealings. But why?
To make his desire for the chieftainship publicly known among the clan?
And why had Moiré not told him?
“I’ll meet ye there,” Ewan said with finality.
The Gordons didn’t wait for him before they rode off toward the castle. Ewan turned to aid Faye onto her steed and found her already mounted.
“Are we going to let them arrive before us?” She took up her reins and raised a brow at him.
Ewan grinned at her temerity. Without another word, he leapt into his saddle, and together they streaked across
