Adrienne Basso (19 page)

“Have you heard the news about the earl’s marriage?” Fiona asked.

“Yes. There is talk of little else.” His eyes were kind, sympathetic.

Yet the words brought all the wounded emotions she struggled to control rushing back. “The announcement was not unexpected,” she lied. God forgive her, now she was lying to a priest. A man she considered a friend.

A frown gathered across Father Niall’s brow. “Still, it must be painful for you.”

“’Tis hardly pleasant,” Fiona quipped, but her voice fell flat. “I will need to make arrangements to leave. Can you help me?”

“What about Spencer? Will he go with you?” The priest cleared his throat. “I’ll admit I had my doubts when you first proposed coming to Scotland, but Spencer has thrived here. Would you take that from him now, my lady?”

“Nay.” A grim smile tugged at Fiona’s mouth. “Spencer needs the training the earl is providing. Though it adds another layer to my sadness, he must stay.”

“You must be strong, Lady Fiona, and trust in God that all will be well.”

“I’m trying. Yet ’tis difficult to have faith under these circumstances.” She began walking toward the door, then stopped and turned. Fearing the answer, yet needing to know, Fiona whispered, “Am I being punished, Father Niall? For being wicked, immoral, for taking a man to my bed who was not my husband?”

The priest’s face crumbled with sympathy. “God understands the weakness of the flesh, for were we not made in his image? He is not a vengeful being, though he expects us to atone for our sins. And I know that you understand it would be an even graver sin to encourage the earl to commit adultery after he has taken a new wife.”

“I agree. That is why I need to leave this place as soon as possible.”

Father Niall nodded, yet his face looked troubled. “So you’ve heard?”

“What? There is more?”

The priest’s eyes slid over her. “I regret having to tell you, but I heard the cooks talking after morning Mass. Laird Sinclair and his daughter will be arriving tomorrow.”

 

 

“Maybe this time the earl will find true love,” the laundress said. “I’ve heard that it can happen, even in an arranged marriage.”

A group of servants were busy hanging out the laundry, their chattering voices easily overheard. Fiona made a move to turn away, but several highly raised brows let her know that she had been spotted. Curiosity, mixed with a dash of pity along with a hint of satisfaction, lined many of the women’s faces.

Fiona’s pride rushed forth. There was no help for it. She’d have to test her composure and walk past them.

“I’ve heard tell that she’s young and pretty,” one of the women exclaimed as Fiona drew near.

“The looks of an angel, that’s what Duncan told me,” another chimed in.

Fiona couldn’t seem to catch her breath as a large sob lodged itself in her throat. She battled to force it down. She’d rather walk barefoot in the snow all the way back to England than break down and prove that their words were causing her pain.

“If she’s as pretty as they say, he willnae be able to resist her, I’m sure.” The laundress snickered. “Not that he’d even try.”

“Aye, we’ll have the heir we’ve been praying for within the year, mark my words.”

Pain stabbed at Fiona’s chest. A child. Gavin’s child. The sob rose again in her throat, threatening to burst from her at any moment.

Fiona kept her steps slow and measured, but she barely made it beyond them before bursting into tears. Her legs sagged, her steps faltered. Scurrying around, she searched for a quiet, desolate corner of the bailey where she could be alone to vent the misery that was strangling her heart.

Gavin discovered her there nearly an hour later, her back pressed against the wall, her knees drawn to her chest, her eyes staring sightless ahead.

“Dammit, Fiona, I’ve got half my men out searching fer ye.”

She looked at him with anguish in her heart. “Would that not make it much easier, if I simply vanished from the castle?”

“Jesus, lass, there’s no need fer such drama.” Gavin crouched beside her. “Ye’re going to make yerself sick over this situation. I dinnae know how many times I have to tell ye that nothing will change between us.”

“What an utterly ridiculous thing to say,” Fiona snapped.

As if trying to prove his point that naught was different between them, Gavin leaned forward. His head dipped. Their lips pressed together. At the contact, Fiona felt all the aching love in her soul pour out to him. For a mere instant, her heart pounded with optimism and hope for the impossible, longing to believe what he was saying.

His powerful arms wrapped around her, his ardent heat reaching through the layers of cold surrounding her. Closer. She needed to be closer. Fiona’s tongue circled his, urging him on, savoring the moment she knew was fleeting.

The hard, blunt evidence of his desire for her pressed insistently against her thighs. It woke her from the trance of passion. She was in danger of becoming lost, of moving back instead of forward. Fiona yanked her head away, breaking the kiss, struggling to pull back.

But Gavin refused to relinquish his hold. The roughness of his jaw scratched her tender flesh as he trailed hot, moist kisses down her throat. She felt the familiar tingling heat between her legs as her body betrayed her, yet she fought against it.

“Don’t! Stop!” Fiona yelled, emphasizing her point by pounding Gavin’s shoulders.

It took a moment for her cries of protest to register. When they did, Gavin’s head raised. “What?”

“Unhand me,” she hissed. “I don’t want this, I don’t want you.”

“Calm down,” he replied as if he didn’t believe a word she was saying.

She ceased struggling and he looked into her eyes, his expression once more turning dark with desire. At the sight of it, Fiona felt something tilt inside her; the honesty of their passion was now askew. This was wrong. It had to stop. Now! She was no match for him in physical strength. She knew he could take her, no matter how many times she pushed him away. And none would gainsay him—it was his right as lord of the castle and she was his acknowledged mistress.

“Kindly release me, my lord.”

This time her icy decree reached him. Looking none too pleased, Gavin dropped his arms. Needing to distance herself further, Fiona stood, then tried taking a step back, but her shoulder blades hit the wall. Her hands tightened into fists, but she hid them in the folds of her gown.

Gavin slowly rose to his feet. “I know the news of my marriage has been a shock to ye, but I need ye to know this is not my choice. I have a duty to my clan and my king that cannae be forsaken.” He eyed her with such tenderness her vision started to blur. “I’ve told ye that nothing need change between us and I meant it. Ye’ll have yer own set of rooms in the north tower—”

“What?” Her jaw dropped. “You expect me to stay beneath your roof after you are married? To live here with you and your wife?”

“’Tis the way it’s usually done. But if that upsets ye so much, I’ll give ye the choice of any of my smaller holdings, so ye may have a home that is all yers. I only ask that it be less than a day’s ride from here, so I can easily visit.”

Shards of red sprang before her eyes. Fiona had never before felt such fury. Her body shook with it, nearly exploded with it. Reacting to the anger that pumped through her veins, she raised her hand and slapped his jaw with her open palm.

His reaction was swift. Gavin raised his own hand. Fiona braced herself, but an answering blow never came. Instead, she saw a flash of self-loathing, an emotion that he previously kept hidden. The sight of it made her feel worse, and oddly guilty. She had started them down this road with her ridiculous proposal to become his mistress and it appeared they had both gotten far more than they had ever anticipated.

“Oh, Gavin,” she whispered.

“What’s happened to us, Fiona?”

“The truth has come to light. ’Tis harsh to accept. It makes no compromises, no changes in the hopes of avoiding pain. I now know the truth. I acknowledge the truth.” Her voice shook with misery. “I hate the truth.”

“Ye must accept what cannae be changed, Fiona.”

“I’m trying. ’Tis you who are not being truthful. I must leave—”

“No! I forbid it!” The cold arrogance in his eyes darkened, then slowly started to fade and his harsh expression softened. “Please, Fiona, give me a chance to work this out.”

She began shaking her head, tossing it furiously back and forth. Gavin captured it between his large hands, holding it steady, forcing her to look him directly in the eye. She felt the pull of his frustration and her heart broke anew.

He pressed a kiss to her lips. Subtle, sweet, loving. His lips were soft, gentle, his possession of her reverent. ’Twas the most emotional kiss she had ever experienced, perfect in every way. It stole Fiona’s breath with tenderness and longing. Yet for all its magic, it could not change the facts nor alter the future.

The earl was going to marry another woman.

God help them all.

The morning arrival of the earl’s betrothed was met with all the fanfare of a royal progress. Crowds lined the streets of the village cheering as the procession rode passed. Fiona stood hidden in the shadows of her small tower chamber, watching it all as a detached numbness settled over her body.

When the last of the Sinclair soldiers, retainers, and clansmen came through the gates and the crowds returned to their work, Fiona took a deep breath to calm herself. There was nothing she could do now. Since running from Gavin yesterday afternoon, she had once again retreated to her chamber, anxiously awaiting news from Father Niall. She knew the possibility of leaving before the earl’s intended entered the castle was slim; nevertheless, it had been a fragile hope.

Determined not to wallow in self-pity while she waited, Fiona picked up her needle and thread and began sewing a shirt for Spencer. Concentrating on the tiny, neat stitches provided a slight distraction. The garment took shape as the day wore on; however, when the sun began to set and no word had arrived from the priest, Fiona knew she would have to wait at least another day before departing.

A sudden loud knock on her chamber door gave her a momentary start of optimism, but when Alice answered it, they found Duncan standing in the doorway.

“The earl sent me to fetch Lady Fiona to the evening meal.”

Fiona felt her stomach clench into a knot. She heard Alice mumble something, then Duncan raised his voice, repeating his instructions. Fiona could see the strain in Alice’s back as Duncan spoke. The twinge of guilt at the sight was not easily ignored. ’Twas Fiona’s battle to fight, not her maid’s.

“I fear I am indisposed this evening, Duncan. Please send my regrets and inform the earl of my infirmary.” Fiona turned away in dismay, mouthing a silent prayer that he would listen.

Duncan’s face became impassive. “Ye’re to come to the great hall. I’m sure if I go there without ye, someone else will be sent to fetch ye. And I imagine they willnae be as understanding or tolerant as me.”

Something inside Fiona went still. She stared determinedly at him, but Duncan never moved a muscle. Visions of being bodily dragged into the great hall fluttered through her mind, bringing on a mild panic.

“I need some time to prepare,” she finally answered.

Duncan nodded. “I’ll wait, but dinnae take too long or else we’ll be making a grand entrance.”

With an answering nod, Fiona shut the door, then leaned back against it. Shame washed through her. It was too much. How could she face them? How could she walk into that hall and pretend she was nothing more than a grateful widow to whom Gavin had shown chivalrous consideration?

Yet it needed to be done. The Sinclairs had no doubt heard the rumors about her. It would look suspicious if she were absent from such an important event as their arrival banquet, especially since she had not been seen by any of them the entire day.

“We must hurry. Fetch the new blue silk gown, Alice.”

The maid scrambled to do her bidding, shaking out the garment vigorously to ensure there were no wrinkles. Fiona had been daring in her styling of the garment, using the costly blue silk Gavin had purchased as a gift for her at the fair. The tight, square bodice allowed a hint of her breasts to show and the close-fitting skirt hugged the rest of her body like a glove, revealing every inch of her feminine curves.

Having only just finished the embroidery on the neckline and sleeves last week, Fiona had not yet worn the gown. She was planning on surprising Gavin one evening, hoping he would approve of her daring choice. Well, now there would be no intimate revealing of the garment, yet Fiona somehow suspected that Gavin would be
surprised
.

As Alice laced up the back, pulling tightly to ensure the fabric flowed perfectly, Fiona smoothed down the sides. Though it might be considered false, the beautiful dress gave her fledgling courage a boost. She sat quietly as Alice skillfully arranged her hair into an intricate crown of braids and then carefully added the circlet of gold and a white veil.

“You look like a queen, my lady,” Alice said passionately.

Shaking off that repellent thought, Fiona rose to her feet and opened the door. As promised, Duncan was waiting. His jaw momentarily dropped when she stepped into the light provided by the wall torch. Grateful for another boost to her confidence, Fiona took hold of his arm.

They descended the staircase slowly and stood at the entrance to the great hall. As she had hoped, the celebration was loud and lively, packed with people all eager to catch a glimpse of the earl’s intended bride.

Aileen Sinclair was easy to spot. She looked young and fresh sitting beside the earl on the dais, her shimmering red hair unbound, flowing across her shoulders like a river of fire. The sight of the couple made Fiona’s stomach twist, yet she managed to force her feet to move forward.

She had thought she and Duncan could get lost in the crowd as they approached, but after traveling a few feet, heads began to turn. The conversation around them died away. Looking neither right nor left, Fiona quickened her step. She kept her mind blank, her chin high, her spine straight.

“Good evening.” Fiona stood before the dais and executed a deep, graceful curtsy. She could feel Lady Aileen’s gaze on her, but held off looking in her direction for as long as possible.

“Lady Fiona, at last.” Gavin gave her an appraising look, his eyes scanning her from head to toe, making her glad she had worn the daring gown. “May I present Laird Sinclair and his daughter Lady Aileen.”

“Milady,” the laird grumbled, turning his attention back to his meal.

Not precisely a snub, yet close enough. Knowing it was not possible to avoid looking at Aileen any longer, Fiona braced herself, then raised her chin. A lively, intelligent set of eyes met hers, along with a timid smile.

“I am delighted to meet ye, Lady Fiona,” the younger woman said. “’Tis a relief to have another lady sitting at our table. The men speak of little else but war and sieges and battles. ’Twill be a pleasure to have a change of topic.”

Lacking a reply, and the wits to form one, Fiona merely smiled. An awkward silence grew and her pulse spiked with dread as she waited for someone to shout out the truth, to reveal who and what she really was in this household, but none spoke of it. Not for her sake, of course, but for the earl. To a man, they supported their overlord and would do nothing to disgrace or dishonor him.

“Allow me,” Duncan said, taking Fiona’s arm and steering her toward the end of the dais.

As she took her seat, Fiona wondered how many hours she would spend on her knees in prayer, asking for forgiveness for this deception. Her only sliver of comfort was knowing that their relationship was firmly in the past, regardless of what Gavin believed.

 

 

The sight of Fiona approaching the dais kindled immediate unease in Gavin. A week ago his trust in her to act with dignity and decorum under any circumstances would not have been questioned. But she had been in such emotional turmoil these last few days, he acknowledged that anything was possible.

A part of him—a most cowardly part of him—longed for her temper to flare and her judgment to fail and reveal their relationship in a scene so epic it would turn the hair on Laird Sinclair’s head gray and thus force the man to back out of the betrothal contract.

But when she reached the dais, Fiona was all dignity and graciousness, as befitting her noble rank. She even managed to greet Lady Aileen with a tight smile.

Of course for him there was naught but dagger looks. Still, he felt the connection between them. His chest—along with other parts of his anatomy—swelled when she met his gaze. She looked magnificent!

At the sight of her standing so straight and proud, something wicked stirred to life inside him. Her close proximity was bothering him in ways that could prove embarrassing. Gavin grit his teeth and struggled to rally his control. She had ignored him for days and now she stood before him wearing a gown with such seductive powers his head was spinning.

She’d done it deliberately. He understood why. He’d hurt her and she wanted to show him precisely what he was giving up. He should have anticipated this reaction. At her core, Fiona was a fighter. ’Twas one of the many things he admired about her.

Somehow Gavin managed to keep his eyes from following her like a lovesick pup as she took her seat. It wasn’t easy. Startled from his reflections, Gavin forced himself to concentrate on those seated around him—namely his betrothed.

Aileen clearly had no notion of the true circumstances of his relationship with Fiona. The lass was all smiles and innocent good humor, shyly flirting with him and graciously attempting to engage all those seated around her in the conversation, including Fiona.

The occasional scowl on Laird Sinclair’s face indicated the man might have more of an inkling of the truth, but he was not about to jeopardize an important alliance because of it.

Gavin lifted his goblet and glanced toward the end of the table. One look at Fiona’s white face, enormous eyes, and the set, tight lines around her mouth and the ale in his mouth turned sour. Shame bit at him. He couldn’t do it. Could he?

He prided himself on being a man of honor and integrity. Housing his new bride and his mistress underneath the same roof was an act of cruelty, a decision beneath him. It was a selfish solution that only considered his needs and desires while ignoring those of the two women.

No. He would not subject them all to such a wretched fate. Instead, he would ready one of his smaller holdings for Fiona, giving her an independent residence of her own. This would give them the privacy they required and allow all three of them to retain their dignity. Other noblemen might feel at ease housing their wives and mistresses together, but that arrangement would not suit in this circumstance.

He realized Fiona would need time to understand this, and accept it. Yet as long as she resided on his land, she was answerable to him. He would have all the time it required to convince her that this was the best choice, the only choice.

Gavin stared into his empty goblet and smiled with irony. If only it were so simple.

 

 

Fiona spent another sleepless night, her chamber door firmly locked, and Alice stretched on a pallet in front of it. The precaution had been a wise one, for in the early morning hours there had been a soft knock, accompanied by her whispered name. Clamping her hands firmly over her ears, Fiona had ignored Gavin’s attempts to speak with her, knowing nothing good could come of the encounter.

Bleary-eyed the following morning, Fiona had kept herself sequestered in her chamber through the long day and night, awaiting word from Father Niall. It never came. Disheartened, she again sent her regrets for the evening meal, claiming illness, but this time no one was sent to fetch her and drag her into the great hall. It was better that way, she told herself firmly, for it spared her from the pretense of acting as though all was well and saved her from the pain of seeing Gavin with his intended bride.

However, by the third day Fiona knew she needed to leave her confined space, if only for a few hours, or else she would go mad. She waited until the morning meal ended before sending Alice to verify that Gavin was busy with his guests. Only then did she venture from the safety of her chamber, slipping unobtrusively outside.

The gust of misty wind hit her full in the face, yet it felt invigorating. Hoping the rain would hold off for at least an hour or two, Fiona kept her face down and her feet swiftly moving.

She cautiously approached the kitchen garden, peering left, then right before hurrying toward the gate. Yet the sounds of female voices stopped Fiona cold. There was no time to react; a group of women, Lady Aileen in the center, rounded the corner.

Fiona turned to flee, needing to go somewhere, anywhere to avoid meeting Lady Aileen and her fawning entourage. Alas, she was not fast enough as the younger woman called out her name and sent her a cheerful wave.

“Lady Fiona!”

Inwardly Fiona cringed, but she slowly turned and forced a friendly smile. “Good morning, Lady Aileen.”

“Oh, please, ye must call me Aileen.” The younger woman approached, her face wreathed with an open, eager expression that reminded Fiona of Laddie when he wanted a treat or a good scratch behind the ears.

“Thank you. I, of course, am Fiona.”

Aileen’s smile brightened. “Come, let’s walk. I’ve been told ye tend the herb garden near the kitchens. I should like to see it.”

Fiona’s brows drew together. Why was Aileen being so friendly? Where was her aversion to the English? Her mistrust and loathing of the enemy? The rest of the castle women never had any difficulty showing their distaste for her. Why should Aileen be any different?

But different she appeared to be. Aileen sent the other women on their way and the two of them entered the walled garden alone, the younger woman seemingly unaware of the tension crawling through Fiona.

As the strained silence grated, the need to make conversation for the sake of courtesy—and Fiona’s sanity—grew stronger. And still she remained at a loss for words.

Aileen, however, suffered no such ailment. She chattered cheerfully about her journey and the various things she was discovering about the castle and its inhabitants, never seeming to notice, or much care, that Fiona remained silent.

When she finally paused to come up for air, Aileen began meandering down the rows of neatly tended herbs, calling out the names of those she knew. There was a restless quality to her movements that was unnerving. A strange feeling skittered through Fiona’s chest. She was just about to make her excuses and leave when Aileen spoke.

“Everyone has been very kind and welcoming, but I was hoping that the earl and I would have a chance to spend more time together.”