A sob choked from her throat, which was now raw from breathing in the frigid air. She would die out here before she returned to her grandfather.
A heaviness settled in her limbs, so she was nearly weighted down with exhaustion. It was not the first time. She blinked slowly in an attempt to stave off the sensation, to prevent it from overwhelming her. The tiredness came in waves, each one a stronger pull of temptation than the last to lie on the hard ground and close her eyes. To sleep. To be warm.
Warm.
She couldn’t imagine ever being anything other than cold ever again at this point.
She wanted to curl into a ball beneath a tree where the snow hadn’t settled, against a wide trunk that might block the wind. Only for a moment. To just rest for a quick second.
Her footsteps slowed, and her eyes slid closed, ready to slumber even as she walked on. Something rolled under her foot, and she pitched forward again. This time, there was nothing to catch herself on, and she landed hard on the icy ground. Snow chilled at the bare skin of her chest, where her cloak had fallen open. The chill snapped her back to awareness.
She pushed herself up and swept at her heavy wool kirtle to clear away bits of dead grass and frozen crusts of snow. The thick fabric and the squirrel-lined cloak were no doubt the only reasons she’d not frozen to death.
Yet.
Movement in the distance caught her attention. A rider.
She stilled, uncertain whether to call out or to hide.
If it were one of her grandfather’s men, they would haul her back to the drafty castle and lock her in her room until she could be forced into marriage. Exhaustion tugged at her again, threatening to drag her beneath the quiet, dark surface of sleep.
Sleep.
Warmth.
She staggered and snapped her eyes open. The rider was closer now. Enough to discern his face and realize he was not one of her grandfather’s men.
He turned toward her, clearly having seen her.
Energy shot through her, propelling her to her original goal: appeal to someone who might offer her aid. Her fingers slid over her belt, where her dagger usually hung and met with nothing but the smooth leather belt. She silently cursed her grandfather for leaving her unarmed.
The rider approached, and Faye ran her fingers down her hair, hoping the chill had left her cheeks and lips red. She had to look alluring.
“Please,” Faye pled softly. “I need yer help.”
He stopped his horse and leapt from its back. He was a large man, quite handsome with brown hair and hazel eyes. His shoulders were broad beneath the bulk of his fur-lined cloak.
“What’s happened?” he asked. “Are ye alone?”
His voice had a deep timbre, and he spoke with the authority of a man whose requests were obeyed without question. Not only was his clothing made of fine quality, but his horse was also exceptional with its black, glossy coat. He was evidently a man of means. One who would surely fall upon the codes of chivalry and aid a woman.
“I’ve been taken from my home.” Faye had meant to summon tears for effect, yet when they rose to her eyes without effort, she realized they were genuine. “I don’t know where I am and need help returning.” She gazed up at him, imploringly. She knew just how to do it, widening her eyes, softening her mouth, pushing her breasts out ever so slightly. Complete supplication and innocence.
A muscle worked in his jaw, but his attention didn’t slide to her bosom. “Ye’re on the border of the Sutherland lands.”
Her back straightened. “Sutherland lands?” She forced herself to remain in place rather than stepping back. “Who are ye?”
“Ewan Sutherland.” He held her gaze with his intense hazel eyes. “Chieftain of the Sutherland clan. And ye’re Faye Fletcher, aye?”
Her quickened breath was evident in the frozen huff of air blooming before her mouth. She shook her head, and this time, she did step back.
He held his hands out to his sides, palms facing her, showing he did not hold a weapon or shackles. “Faye.” This time when he spoke, his voice was tender with kindness. “I’ll no’ force ye to wed me. If ye want to go home, I’ll see to it ye’re returned back to where ye came.”
She watched him, indecision warring in her mind and mingling with fear so tangible that it left an ugly, metallic taste in her mouth.
“I’ll no’ take a wife that doesna want me.” He remained standing where he was, cajoling her with his words, but not trying to reach for her.
A gust of wind blew, cutting through wool and fur alike until it seemed to shake her bones inside her skin. She shuddered.
Sutherland held a single hand out to her, his fingers outstretched in offering. “I promised always to protect ye. I dinna know if ye recall it—ye are younger than me. But I mean to hold true to that vow.”
She looked at his extended hand. It didn’t seem threatening. He didn’t seem threatening. She wanted to trust him. Dear God, she wanted it with all of her soul.
“I’ll keep ye safe,” he said earnestly. “I’ll protect ye.”
The wind shoved at her from behind again, far more aggressively than the last. It pushed her in his direction, so she was forced to put one frozen foot in front of the other in an effort to remain upright.
He caught her by the shoulders, his grip strong, yet somehow gentle. “Let me care for ye, Faye.”
She nodded, unable to voice the words that brought her too much unease. For how could she possibly trust the man she was supposed to wed? Was he not part of the betrothal negotiations?
But what choice did she have, other than being left to freeze to death?
He helped her onto his massive horse and swept up behind her. His arms framed her body on either side, and
