“Where is my granddaughter?” Ross demanded. “And what the feck happened to ye?”
Dougal slid a look toward Ewan and Monroe before replying, “If we could speak privately, sir.”
Ross issued a curse and pushed up to his feet. He led Dougal to a rear corner where the two proceeded to whisper.
“What do ye make of all this?” Ewan asked his advisor.
Monroe tapped a long finger on the table’s marred surface. “’Tis…extraordinary.” The diplomatic answer was given with care and followed by a sip of ale.
Ewan grunted in reply, no more amused by the passing of wasted time than he was Ross’s inability to produce Faye.
The chieftain returned to them; his mouth pressed in a firm line beneath his overgrown beard. “It would appear yer intended bride is missing.”
Even Monroe lifted a brow at this.
“Missing?” Ewan repeated.
“Aye, she escaped from her room early this morning.” Ross’s already ruddy face went a new shade of vivid red.
Escaped?
“Ye make it sound as though ye were holding her captive,” Ewan replied.
Ross drank from his goblet before bothering to reply. “The lass is willful.”
“I’ll no’ wed a lass being forced to marry me.” Ewan got to his feet, and Monroe stood at his side. “Leave the lass in peace. I’ve other prospects.”
“Nay,” Ross growled. “Berwick is mine. Ye promised it to me.”
“No’ like this.” Ewan stepped away from the dais.
“Aye, like this.” Ross slammed his fist on the table’s surface. The sound slapped off the stone walls and made a servant freeze in fear.
Ross leaned over the table menacingly. “Ye’ll no’ get out of yer contract with us, Ewan Sutherland. If ye refuse to wed her, I’ll ensure ye pay dearly for yer negligence.”
“Are ye threatening me?” Ewan demanded. “For a contract that doesna hold bearing?”
Ross glared at him. “If ye dinna follow through with our agreement, I’ll see ye’re properly punished.”
“There is no agreement.” Ewan glared back at his enemy, a man who he’d intended to secure peace, not start a war. This had all gone wrong.
They couldn’t afford to anger the Rosses further. Not when the Ross clan attacks were already so brutal. Not with their own stores already reduced after all the years of fighting they’d endured.
Something niggled at the back of Ewan’s mind about Faye Fletcher. He came back to the dais. “Ye said she was from the borderlands, aye?”
“Aye.” Ross grimaced around the word.
“How long has she been here?”
Ross lifted his ale and took a swig. Foam dotted his beard around his mouth when he lowered his goblet. “Nigh on three days.”
Dread crept through Ewan. “Ye mean to say the lass is now somewhere outside the castle, alone and in a land she doesna know?”
Ross nodded once, appearing more enraged than concerned for his granddaughter.
The girl he’d known as a boy rose to the forefront in his mind once more. She’d been a slight thing—delicate with small, fragile hands he could easily tuck entirely against his large palms. He’d vowed to protect her then and had always kept that promise in the times she visited with her grandfather. Even from the wolf that had set on them once. The scar at his forearm burned with the reminder, and he could not help but recall how she had shivered afterward with fear.
And now she was alone in the wilderness of Kildary, a land both foreign and dangerous.
“How long has she been missing?” Ewan asked.
“As of early this morn.” Ross set down his goblet. “My men have been looking for her and assumed they’d have her back already. Which is why they dinna tell me until now.” He glared at Dougal, who kept his soldier’s gaze set in the distance, his face impassive.
Ewan let a curse slip from his mouth, something he rarely did.
“Does that mean ye’ll help find her?” Ross’s thick brows rose.
Ewan drained his ale before giving the answer he somehow knew he’d deeply regret. “Aye,” he replied. “I’ll help ye find her.”
3
Faye was freezing. Her breath puffed white as the snow covering the dead, straw-like grass at her feet. All around her, trees rose like spear shafts, too skinny to block out the bitter wind and too dense to let in a bit of warmth from the sun.
She’d stopped shaking some time back. A bad sign. With fingers she could no longer feel, she smoothed her unbound hair, trying to look as presentable as was possible. She wore a new dress, which her grandfather had procured so that she might look “bonny” for Ewan Sutherland. A man she hoped never to be forced into meeting.
Mayhap she looked fine enough to impress someone—anyone—who might offer her aid.
Her hopes, however, were fleeting. Especially when she hadn’t happened upon a soul for hours. Not since she’d hidden in a half-rotted log to evade her grandfather’s men. They’d given up some time ago, but they would be back.
She continued to walk on, certain she would come across a village at some point. The grass was thick and patchy underfoot. Her feet had long since gone numb, making it difficult to walk. A particularly rough bit of earth caught at her toe and sent her sprawling against a large rock.
She pushed off the damn thing, leaving behind a smear of red. Anger and frustration whipped through her.
How could such a place be so desolate? She would never have been able to walk this long on the border without encountering at least a handful of other people. This was not how her plan was supposed to go.
Tears prickled hotly in her eyes.
She’d spent the three weeks of travel being well behaved with the men, anything to be let out of that horrid crate. They only trusted her enough to remove her shackles a few days prior. Even then, she hadn’t had the opportunity
