“Unless we have a son,” Faye surmised.
Ewan leaned his head back and took her hand. With a wicked grin, he dragged it down his chest and stomach to where his arousal strained eagerly against his trews.
Desire dampened her center and left her hot with immediate lust.
“We should ensure I get with child soon.” Faye cupped her hand around the hard column.
“We can start now.” He caught her wrist and gently drew her around the chair as his fingers worked to free his cock. “Come to me, wife.”
She climbed atop his lap and sunk down onto his length with a sigh of pleasure. They gripped one another with desperate passion, arching and thrusting as she rode him until they both cried out in shared pleasure. Later, as their hearts calmed from the intensity of their coupling, Faye considered the possibility of a bairn in earnest.
It was a strange thing to ponder, as it was nothing she’d ever wanted before. Quite the opposite, rather. Children were loud, time-consuming and filthy.
An image popped in her mind of Ewan holding their babe, his face sweet and tender as it often was when he spoke to her. An unwanted warmth filled her chest.
It was more than a bairn with Ewan that appealed to her—it was the man himself. And that held the strong possibility of leading to love, which Faye knew could hurt her worse than anything else.
Having the Gordons stay at Dunrobin disrupted the easy comfort of daily life. Especially when Ewan felt he could not leave the castle. Not when another clan occupied a good portion of it.
More than anything, he most regretted the discomfort Moiré clearly felt in the presence of Finn. She often disappeared, feigning excuses so that she might go to her chamber.
As Gordon had predicted, his daughter arrived two mornings later with her maid and several warriors in tow. Which meant the wedding would be held the following day, thanks be to God. Then the Gordons would finally leave, and Cruim would remove himself to his manor with his new wife.
It was an awkward thing, however, to have a woman nearby whom Ewan had intended to wed. Mistress Blair’s gray-blue eyes lingered upon him, often like a weight he could feel in his soul.
As the castle bustled with activity for the upcoming nuptials, Ewan often escaped into his solar. It was truly bad indeed if he was willing to lose himself in the transfer of Berwick to Ross rather than hear one more question about food preparations or minstrels for hire. He didn’t give a goat’s arse about any of it.
The door to his solar creaked open, and he glanced up to find Mistress Blair peeking in his room. Her curly red hair was bound up, revealing her long, slender neck. “May I speak with ye?” she asked in her husky voice.
He intentionally looked behind her. “Where is yer maid?”
“I dinna want anyone to know I’ve come to see ye,” she replied. “I wanted to speak privately.”
Ewan swallowed down his displeasure. After all, he had rejected her as his wife. He knew what that had done to Moiré. The least he could do was talk to Mistress Blair and keep her confidence.
Ewan nodded and indicated the seat opposite him. She closed the door behind her and strolled past the chair, her hands tucked behind her back as she explored the solar.
“I apologize for having so abruptly ended our marriage negotiations,” Ewan said.
She faced him abruptly. “What is it about me ye find so detestable?” She lifted her small, pointed chin. “Am I unpleasing to the eye?”
He stifled a swell of irritation. After all, he had decided to wed another. The least he could do was explain his reasonings. “Nay. Ye’re bonny. Ye always have been. ’Tis never been ye, but negotiations between clans with dowries and threats.”
The stiff set of Mistress Blair’s shoulders relaxed. “I see. Then it wasna me?”
He shook his head.
She twisted her fingers in front of her waist. She wore a gray kirtle that made her gleam like silver. “I believe yer uncle intends to set my family against ye, Ewan.”
He started at the use of his Christian name. He’d met her only a handful of times in the course of the negotiations with her father.
“What has he done?” Ewan asked.
“Ye mean, what will he do?” She stepped closer, and the weight of her silk skirt nudged at his shins. Too close.
Ewan edged back slightly. “What do ye know?”
Mistress Blair leaned toward him and rested her hand boldly on his chest. “We’d be good bedfellows, ye and I.”
Ewan gently lifted her hand from his chest. “I am faithful to my wife.”
“We would be a perfect fit.” Her gaze slid down his body and back up to his face. “Passionate, eager.”
“I’m faithful to my wife,” Ewan repeated. “I believe this conversation is—”
“I could report to ye what it is yer uncle does,” Mistress Blair rushed. “Ye need only take me into yer bed.”
Ewan shook his head. “I’m loyal to the woman I married. I think it best ye leave.”
“Ye’ll grow tired of her,” Mistress Blair said. “Men always do.” She tilted her face confidently up as if she meant to kiss him or be kissed in return. “When ye grow weary of her, ye’ll find my bed warm for ye and my tongue loosened with secrets.”
With that, she swept away from him and quit the room, leaving the air scented with a cloying powder scent that stuck in the back of his throat.
Ewan clenched his hand into a fist. Clearly, his uncle did have a plan. There were secrets about, and he would find a way to learn them, something that had nothing to do with Mistress Blair.
The door to his solar pushed open again, this time revealing Faye. “What did she want?” There was a feigned sweetness to the way she asked him that
