His hold on her was that of a protector, not a captor. As he’d promised.
Time would tell how well his vows held.
The warmth of his body at her back wilted her resolve to remain stiffly away from him. Before she could stop herself, she sagged against his chest as the exhaustion of the day dragged her down with a force she could no longer fight.
But even as she fell asleep, the last few thoughts that tumbled through her mind were ones of worry and doubt. For what would become of her once she arrived at wherever they were going?
Rage twisted through Ewan, stark and raw. Faye had lain back against him the first minute of their ride back to the castle. By the second minute, her head had lulled to the side in slumber.
Exhaustion bruised the delicate skin beneath her eyes, and she weighed next to nothing where he held her to him. She could stand to eat a few hearty meals, aye, but that was not what angered him the most.
When he’d aided her onto his horse, her sleeves had pulled back to reveal the chaffed skin of her wrists. As though she’d been shackled.
The moment that Ewan realized Faye had been held captive and was being forced to marry him, he had resolved not to go through with the wedding. Now, seeing exactly how she’d been treated, he resolved never to return her to her grandfather.
The lass would be returned safely to her family at the border.
Monroe appeared in the distance on his horse and trotted over to Ewan’s side. “Ye’ve found her.”
“Aye, but she’ll no’ be going back to Ross.” Ewan glanced down at Faye as she slept. Something in his chest stirred. She looked so precious and innocent, where she lay against him. Her golden hair and fair skin gave her an ethereal look, like a goddess of old. He knew her eyes to be blue as a summer loch, wide and rimmed with thick, sable lashes.
His memories of her as a girl did not do justice to the woman she had become.
His malcontent toward Ross swelled anew.
“The beast had her chained,” Ewan ground out.
Faye stirred on his chest, her brow flinching. He instantly regretted the harshness of his tone. The last thing he wished was to frighten the lass.
God knew she’d been through enough.
“Once she’s with us, ye could keep her safe,” Monroe said cautiously. Even as he spoke, however, his expression was one of uncertainty.
“I’ll no’ marry a lass who has been chained up in an effort to force her into marriage.” Ewan glanced down at Faye once more. He kept doing that, he realized, as though it was impossible to stop gazing upon her beauty.
“It would be war,” Monroe warned.
Ewan sighed. “Aye, I know.” He turned to his advisor. “It’s no’ right.”
Monroe nodded, acknowledging the truth of Ewan’s words. It wasn’t right.
Riders appeared in the distance.
“Shite,” Monroe muttered under his breath. “Go on to the castle. I’ll try to head them off.”
The riders’ pace increased, racing toward Ewan and Monroe.
It was too late. The men had already seen that Ewan had found Faye. Still, he held tighter to Faye and brought his horse to a canter. The Ross clan would be soon upon them, but it would be enough time to get her into Dunrobin Castle and secure her in a place where she could remain protected.
She sat up abruptly, alert, her head whipping from side to side. “What is it?” She clung to one of his arms and glanced over her shoulder, her eyes wide with fear. “Have they found me?”
“Aye,” he said. “I’ll get ye inside where ye’ll be safe.”
She sucked in a breath and nodded; her face beautiful even with the set of determination. God, she was bonny. Plush lips, red from the cold, the bottom plumper than the top. How he’d like to suck it into his mouth and trail his tongue over it.
His cock stirred, and he halted the direction of his thoughts.
She was not to be his. Not under the circumstances laid before them. And the last thing she needed was a cockstand jabbing her in the rear from the man who’d promised to protect her.
Jesu, what was his problem? He snapped the reins and called out for his horse to race the last bit of the way to the castle.
Once there, he dismounted from the horse and helped Faye from the destrier’s broad back. Ewan put a hand to her slender shoulders and guided her. “This way.”
She looked about as he rushed her through the castle, shouting orders to the servants as he did so to prepare for an assault from the Ross clan.
“Sutherland,” Ross bellowed from outside.
Ewan ignored the call.
“Let me in to speak with ye, or I’ll kill yer man here.”
This time, Ewan did stop.
Monroe. Damn it. Ewan should never have allowed him to remain behind.
Faye put a hand to Ewan’s chest, and those wide blue eyes lifted to his. “Don’t let him die for me. Speak to them. Please.” Her speech came across with more English to it than Scots, more so than when they’d been bairns.
“Aye, but no’ with ye here.” He flagged down a servant. “Let Ross in.”
The servant nodded and ran off to comply with his order.
“This involves me as well.” Faye walked with Ewan.
He squared his shoulders. “I told ye I’d keep ye safe.”
She lifted her chin, her eyes glinting with resolve. “I refuse to be shoved in some room while ye handle my future.”
He hadn’t thought she could be lovelier than when she slept against his chest. He was wrong. As demure as she’d been asleep, she was now bright with passion, like dry tinder that had been struck with a flame. Wild and bonny.
“Sutherland,” Ross’s voice was closer now. Just inside the Great Hall.
Footsteps pattered down the hall, and Moiré appeared, gasping for breath
