“I grew weary of the rules.” Moiré sucked in a breath and shook her head. “I made my own choice. I know he doesna want me as a wife. I understood that when I went to him and I dinna expect anything from him, above what we shared last night.”
Faye had heard other women claim such and had seen their hearts broken regardless.
“Ye know this will impact yer options for marriage,” Faye said gently. “Unless ye are certain he will keep yer secret.”
Moiré lifted her chin with a flash of spirit Faye had not yet seen. “Mayhap, that was the point.”
Faye opened her mouth, unsure what to say to such defiance. Part of her cheered the other woman on, for taking a stand for her own path. But the other part of Faye feared Moiré would come to regret such a decision, especially with so much of her life still ahead of her. She was young and attractive. Someone may steal her heart yet. And a secret such as Moiré’s could be an impossible wall between herself and happiness.
“I dinna…” Moiré pressed her lips together.
“Ye didn’t what?” Faye pressed.
“I saw how ye were forced to wed Ewan.” Moiré shook her head, her face set. “I dinna want to ever be in such a position.”
“Ewan would never do that to ye,” Faye gasped.
“He wouldna,” Moiré conceded. “But my da has the support of the Gordons now. I wouldna put it past him to do as yer grandda did to ye.” She caught Faye’s hand in her hot grip. “Dinna tell Ewan about Finn, please. Or anyone else.”
Ewan.
Even the mention of his name fanned the flame of hurt within her. She was not a good wife to Ewan, most assuredly not what he deserved. She didn’t want to be loved, and now she was considering holding back such a large secret…
“We women who have been so wronged by men must stick together.” Moiré’s gaze pleaded silently with Faye.
Uncertainty twisted in Faye’s gut, but still, she found herself nodding in reassurance to Ewan’s cousin. “Aye,” she said at last. “I will keep yer counsel.”
But even as she vowed to keep such secrets, she already knew to do so was a grave mistake.
Ewan had yet to deed Berwick to the Ross Chieftain. The parchment with the terms written out in a neat, slanting hand lay out on his desk, weighted down with stones on either corner to keep it from rolling up.
Giving Ross what he wanted did not sit well with Ewan. Dealing with a man such as him never did.
The ghost of a lingering headache pounded in the background of Ewan’s brain, punishment for having consumed far too much alcohol the night before.
Thoughts of Faye drifted into Ewan’s mind, but he tried to shove them away. There was too much in the forefront that required his concentration. He had ensured the Gordons left that morning without issue and that his uncle and his new bride were on their way to Cruim’s manor on the outskirts of the village.
In all the revelry the night before, the Gordons had not once mentioned an intent to overthrow Ewan. They had, however, indicated Cruim’s decision to negotiate a union between Moiré and one of the Murray Chieftain’s sons, a clan the Gordons sought to align with. If Moiré was not amenable to the idea, Ewan would do what he could to aid her.
Ewan skimmed the contract for the land to Ross once more, and his gut twisted with dislike. After all the years of constant attacks from the Ross clan and what Ross had done to his own granddaughter, the idea of deeding over the land felt like a reward for nefarious deeds.
The savory scent of a meal tugged at Ewan’s awareness, and his stomach issued a low, hungry rumble. He lifted the stones, so the parchment curled in on itself, and tucked the document into his drawer. He would consider it tomorrow. Again.
Ross’s patience would only last so long. Ewan needed to come up with a solution, and soon.
He arrived in the Great Hall as everyone else was taking their seats for the evening meal. His gaze found Faye, and his heart gave a solid kick against his ribs.
“I don’t want to be loved.”
Such words were hard to absorb.
He settled into the large, ornate chair on the dais beside her. She was resplendent in a red kirtle with a gleam of gold glinting from her circlet.
She cast him an anxious glance. “Ye’re displeased with me.”
He considered her words. She hadn’t made him discontented; it was her determination to not fall in love that vexed him.
“I canna force ye to want anything,” he replied in a quiet voice for her ears only. “Especially no’ love.”
She nodded and nervously touched the metal stem of her goblet. Her fingers were elegant, graceful as they stroked over the metal.
“’Tis no’ because of ye.” She paused until the maid delivering bowls of bread walked away. “I…” She released the goblet, and her fingers twisted against one another in her lap. “There has been much betrayal in my life.”
“And it’s made ye hesitant to trust,” Ewan surmised.
She nodded slowly.
Understanding dawned on Ewan then. It wasn’t that Faye didn’t want love. It was that she was afraid.
That, at least, was something he could manage.
But now was not the time for platitudes or trying to sway her with words. Not when actions worked so much better.
“I’d like to know what happened, but only as ye feel comfortable telling me,” Ewan said. “I’ll no’ force anything from ye. Especially no’ a feeling.”
Her rigid demeanor relaxed somewhat.
“Ye assumed the role of mistress of the castle today, aye?” He inspected the table, set with fresh linen and dotted with sprigs of heather.
Color flushed at her cheeks. “Aye. And I had the cook prepare one of yer favorite meals.”
“Ye know my favorite meal?” Pleasure rushed through him that she
