The man behind Faye grunted and spat on the ground.
Her body remained tense, ready to run. Even still, she could not stop her mind from plunging into memories she’d long since forgotten. A savage land of vivid green grass and brilliant blue skies with patches of amethyst heather sprinkled like shadows through the mountains.
And a boy, older than her, light brown hair falling into his hazel eyes as he looked earnestly at her and held out his hand. “Ye dinna need to be afraid. I’ll always protect ye.”
As soon as the recollection was there, it was gone, like a slight ripple on a still pond.
“We’ve got a long ride ahead of us.” The Ross Chieftain heaved a great sigh, and lines of fatigue showed on his aged face. “Be a biddable lass, and we can keep ye unbound. Or I’ll be forced to keep ye chained and boxed for the next three weeks.”
Three weeks?
Faye balled her hands into fists. She would be compliant long enough to earn their trust, but as soon as they least expected it of her, she would fight back. She would gain her freedom and not stop running until she was home.
Ewan had not been on Ross lands in many years. Even his horse seemed wary as they made their way toward Balnagown Castle. Certainly, his cousin Moiré had warned him against even considering Faye as his wife.
“If ye decide no’ to wed her,” Monroe said from his side, “I’ll ride out posthaste to inform Gordon ye’ll accept the marriage to Mistress Blair.”
Ewan nodded. Though he was not interested in either prospect, he knew a decision must be made. And the Chieftain of the Gordons was growing tired of waiting.
The journey to Balnagown had taken Ewan and Monroe into the afternoon. Now, the castle rose before them, spires stretching up toward the brightly lit sky. The woman Ross claimed Ewan had been betrothed to since childhood was within those cold, stone walls. Unless Faye’s mother had signed the agreement, which Ewan was not aware of, the contract was not binding.
“I dinna like this,” Ewan said under his breath.
Monroe cast him a guarded look. “Her dowry is substantial,” he replied hesitantly. “It would do considerable good for our people.”
Ewan didn’t reply. He didn’t have to. They both knew what this union would bring. Not only fortune but things more priceless than land: peace. As long as the Ross clan kept up their end of the terms. Which was doubtful.
A short, round man met them near the stables and bade them follow. They were led into the Great Hall, where a lingering fetid odor bespoke of rushes that hadn’t been changed in some time. Shadows of smoke scarred the whitewashed walls above the wall sconces, and thick wooden beams lined the ceiling above like the rib cage of a great beast.
Ross sat at a dais in a fine doublet, looking down at them from his steepled fingers. He stood as Ewan and Monroe approached.
“Sutherland.” His voice was still as heavy and ragged as Ewan remembered from their few interactions.
They clasped forearms like allies. For soon, they might well be.
“Thank ye for coming.” Ross grinned at him, revealing yellowed teeth beneath his russet and white beard. “It heartens me that ye’re finally keeping yer word on yer betrothal after all these years.”
“The contract wasna ever signed by the lass’s mum,” Ewan said.
Ross’s chest puffed out. “’Twas signed by me.”
“Which was no’ binding,” Monroe pointed out.
Ross slowly shifted his gaze to Monroe with quiet irritation before returning it to Ewan. “I want to honor my part of the agreement. I’d like to think ye’re man enough to do the same.”
Ewan ignored the blatant goad. “I thought Mistress Faye had left Scotland for good.”
“She’s back.” Ross’s smile became more of a grimace. “And she’s ready to make good on the betrothal, same as ye.”
“It wasna—”
“I signed it,” Ross growled.
“Ye’re no’ her guardian.” Ewan glanced around the great hall, expecting the lass to make an appearance.
His curiosity had been teased awake by the prospect of seeing her again. Though it had been a good sixteen years since they’d known one another, he could still recall being awed by her beauty.
Ross surreptitiously scanned the doors along the side of the Great Hall as though he’d expected them to open at any second. They did not. A moment of heavy silence passed.
The older chieftain cleared this throat. “Ye should know, she may be different than the lass ye knew. She’s been living on the borderlands between England and Scotland. ‘Tis a hard land, as ye know. She is no’ as—”
A door opened and a woman in a homespun gown entered the room. She was of a sturdy build, like a farmer’s wife, with tufts of blonde peeking from beneath her mob cap. Her face was hard with a determined set that was not entirely pleasant. He met Monroe’s eyes, but his advisor kept his expression blank.
“Fetch me Dougal,” Ross snapped at the woman. “And get us some ale, aye?”
She started in surprise. “Aye, sir.” She bobbed a short curtsey and practically ran to do as he bade.
Ewan’s shoulders relaxed somewhat. The woman was a servant. Not Faye.
“It shouldna be much longer.” Ross indicated the seats at the dais, and they all settled at the long table in the otherwise empty room.
The woman rushed back, a flagon in one hand and three goblets in the other. With practiced efficiency, she laid them out on the table and quickly poured the ale. As she was completing her task, a tall, bald man entered the Great Hall. Presumably Dougal.
He kept
