Highlander's Hope (21 page)

Desperate to diffuse the situation and calm Aubry, Yvette tried reassuring her. “We’re not truly married. We only said we were husband and wife to protect me.” She wasn’t about to tell them she would have been ravished otherwise. Her reputation was already in tatters.

Someone gasped, causing Yvette to peer around the table. Several guests averted their eyes. Why was everyone looking so wretched and uncomfortable? Something wasn’t right.

Her gaze skipped to the door. Ewan was nowhere in sight. She returned her attention to those seated at the table. Seonaid appeared crestfallen, and Adaira was muttering dire threats under her breath while flexing her fingers, no doubt aching to wring Aubry’s scrawny neck. No, something was too smoky by far.

Were Giselle’s eyes filled with pity? Even Dugall had settled into an uncomfortable silence.

Aubry peered at Yvette. “You don’t know. Oh, my God, this is too rich.”

A smile of undiluted malice warped her face. “Under Scot’s law, declaring you are married in front of witnesses makes it legal. Ewan did so, not once but twice.”

What?

Yvette recoiled as if slapped.

“Shut-up, ye banshee,” Dugall roared in youthful fury.

Aubry ignored him. “You were in Scotland when you and Ewan professed marriage, weren’t you? Did anyone ask you if you were his wife? Did you say you were?”

Merciful God! Yvette clutched the napkin in her lap, wadding it into a mangled knot. Her eyes searched Alasdair’s, then Adaira’s, and finally Giselle’s sympathetic gazes, seeking the truth. Her thoughts screamed chaotically.

Oh, Lord, please tell me Ewan would not do that to me. He wouldn’t trap me in marriage. He wouldn’t.

“Did you agree either time? Deny it either time? If you portray yourself as Ewan’s wife, and live with him, the Church of Scotland recognizes the marriage.” Another scurrilous laugh echoed through the Great Hall.

“I can see your answers written on your face,” Aubry taunted.

“Shut yer mouth,” Gregor growled through clenched teeth.

Seonaid begged, “Aubry, hush. Have you lost all sense of reason?”

Aubry scanned the table. She swept her hand to indicate the guests, “We knew of the irregular marriage, and you’ve pretended to be Ewan’s wife since you arrived.”

Yvette shook her head. “No, I was ill and . . .”

Aubry interrupted, shrieking, “Ye
are
Ewan’s wife, ye filthy, English whore!”

If Yvette had been run through with a sword, the agony would have been less. Each breath she drew felt like a fresh lance from a double-edged blade.

God in heaven, this can’t be happening. It isn’t real. This is a terrible dream, has to be a terrible dream. Is that why Ewan had the license? Did he plan this?

“Married? We can’t be.” Yvette choked. “There’s been no ceremony, no clergy.”

“We Scots don’t require clergy to perform the ceremony. Almost anybody can do it,” Aubry sniggered, “even Craiglocky’s blacksmith.”

Lord Almighty, no. It wasn’t possible. “But we haven’t—” Yvette could not prevent the scarlet she knew blazed across her face. She twisted her napkin tighter. “The marriage hasn’t been consummated.” The last word was almost inaudible.

Several muffled snickers were cut short when Hugh’s incensed glare sliced the table. “Aubry, ye have gone too far.”

Giselle stretched across the table, reaching for Yvette’s hand. “It matters not, dear one. Though it is an irregular marriage, Scot’s Canon Code decrees you’re bound to Ewan, that is if you vowed in front of witnesses you had taken him to husband.”

Oh, dear God, she had.

Aubry screamed, “You’ve stolen the betrothed of another.”

The Hall was swirling, zigzagging, dipping up and down. Yvette feared she might be sick.

“You didn’t know that either did you?” Aubry dealt another calculated, spiteful blow.

“That be a lie!” Dugall pounded his fist on the table, toppling his wine goblet. China and silverware clattered, as crimson stained the pristine cloth. “Ewan made nae match with ye ever.”

Aubry wouldn’t stop. “Ewan could not resist your wealth. He forfeited his happiness and put true love aside to keep Craiglocky.”

“‘Tis not true. She’s lying.” Isobel tried to reassure Yvette, who was sure her face had blanched as pale as the gown she wore. “Ewan would never do such a thing, ever,” Isobel insisted.

“He didn’t even marry nobility,” Aubry crowed, her invective tirade building to a crescendo, “but settled for the daughter of a merchant.”

Flee.

Yvette scooted her chair backward.

Aubry’s next words froze her in place, transfixed. “How many times did you spread your scrawny legs before Ewan decided your money was worth the price of his sacrifice?”

Horrorstruck, Yvette felt her face drain of color. The room swirled faster. She clutched at the table’s edge.

Don’t faint.

As if from afar, she heard the disbelieving gasps and growls of disapproval issued all around at Aubry’s brutal viciousness, and the mind-boggling crude innuendo she had implied.

“The devil take ye, I’ll banish ye from Craiglocky this night,” Ewan roared.

Yvette shot a glance at him, and just as rapidly, looked away. He stood in the doorway, rage etched across his face. She couldn’t bear to look at him, didn’t want to see the treachery in his eyes.

His threatening snarl sobered Aubry. Uncertainty danced across her contorted features. Doubt lingered in her eyes, curbing her savage tongue.

Adaira glared at Aubry. “You nasty, jealous, spiteful, lickspittle.”

“Aubry, how could you?” Seonaid whispered.

With calm fury, Isobel proclaimed, “You’re a disgrace to the Ferguson name, Aubry, to everything that’s honorable and noble in a Scot.”

Escape.

Yvette stood on unsteady legs, grasping the table’s edge for balance. She strove for poised composure, despite feeling like a powerless pawn in a despicable game of human chess, played for the amusement of those who enjoyed tragic endings at the expense of someone else’s happiness-no-their very existence.

The Great Hall radiated silent tension. All eyes were on her. She looked at the strangers staring at her, their eyes reflecting a myriad of emotions. Embarrassment, horror, dismay, pity, outrage, compassion, and yes—even a few smugly satisfied.

“You knew?” She looked to Hugh and Duncan, before swinging her gaze to Alasdair and Gregor. They bowed their heads in chagrin. Her turbid gaze swept the rest of Ewan’s family.

“You all knew?” Yvette searched Giselle’s sorrowful eyes, then Adaira’s tear-filled ones. “You must think me such a fool.” Her agonized whisper exposed her vulnerability. Her shame. Her absolute humiliation.

Seonaid’s face crumpled, a plump tear trailing over her cheek.

Ewan touched her arm. “Evvy—”

She whirled around. “Don’t you touch me,” she hissed between stiff lips.

Yvette knew her gaze was a mirror of desolation when she finally met his eyes. “How could you?” she whispered. “I trusted you.” She’d never make that mistake again.

He reached for her again. “Please . . .

She slapped away his hand. “Don’t.”

She clenched her teeth to still her quivering mouth and chin. Closing her eyes against the torrent of tears cascading down her face, she drew in a bracing breath.

Lord, give me the strength to walk from this room with my head held high.

On wooden legs, she stepped away from her chair.

Ewan grasped her elbow, restraining her. “Evvy, I don’t know what she told you, but . . .”

Aubry jerked her chair aside. It clattered to the floor, skidding several feet. In the eerily silent Hall, the jarring crash echoed harshly.

Yvette yanked her arm free just as Aubry threw herself into Ewan’s arms, wailing her remorse.

“Forgive me, Ewan. Don’t send me away. I love ye. I always have. Say ye love me. I don’t care ye are married now. We can still be together.”

To Yvette’s tormented mind, it looked like he embraced Aubry, comforting her.

She could bear no more. With steadfast single-mindedness she sought to escape this place of insufferable pain. Backing away from the table, she shoved away the restraining hands. Like a wild animal, caught in a snare, she fought her way free.

Spinning around to face the door, she ran from the room. Her heart was breaking. A fresh, jagged, agonizing crack fracturing further with each stumbling step she took, until she feared the fragile vessel would shatter into nothingness, and she would exist no more, wanted to exist no more so intolerable was her pain.

Great sobs welled-up, choking Yvette, as streams of tears blinded her progress. She didn’t know the castle’s lay-out, didn’t even know how to return to her chamber. Yet she ran. Ran to escape the pain shredding her soul. Ran to obliterate the betrayal clawing at her mind. And ran to forget the love gushing from her broken heart.

Why, oh God, why? How could you let this happen?

Chapter 25

Hours later, the castle and immediate grounds having been searched multiple times, Yvette had yet to be found. Standing in the Great Hall, Ewan raked a hand through his hair. Had she ventured as far as the loch, or worse, the forest? He released a frustrated breath. She didn’t know how dangerous the bogs were. Many a Scot, with far greater familiarity than she, had perished in their unforgiving mire.

“Gregor, you and Alasdair take some men and extend the search. I fear Yvette may have gone farther than I thought. Send word at once if you see anything suspicious.”

“Aye, Ewan,” Gregor said solemnly.

Ewan knew those pursuing Yvette were already watching the Keep. His men spotted signs of them days ago, and he’d been given information this night that confirmed they had been seen in the village. What if they had her even now? He clenched his fists and teeth until both ached.

His mind shied away from the thought. A fierce protectiveness for his wife roiled in his gut. He’d wanted to horsewhip Aubry when his mother told him what she’d said.

Giselle laid a comforting hand on his arm. “We shall find her, Ewan.”

“I drove her to this, Mother. I should have told her at Munlocky’s, but she was very ill.”

“You’ve only done what you believed was in her best interest. You can explain your actions to Yvette. She seems a reasonable young woman, she’ll listen. Especially if you tell her you love her.”

Ewan arced his brows in surprise.

She smiled. “
Cher,
one has only to look at you when she’s in the room to know ‘tis so.”

He shook his head. “I’m not so sure, Mother. I’ve hurt her. She doesn’t easily trust, has good reasons not to, and I betrayed her trust.” Raising his eyes, he took in the now empty Hall. He had had such hopes for this night.

“
Merde
, I can’t wait here, doing nothing.” He threw his arms wide. “I’m going to search outside again.”

As he turned to stride from the room, Seonaid entered the Hall. “I found her.”

“Where?” Ewan rushed to her. “Where is she? I must speak with her.” He took Seonaid’s arm, expecting her to lead him to his wife.

Seonaid shook her head. “No, not tonight. I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean not tonight?” Ewan gaped at her incredulous. “I have to explain . . .”

“Yvette’s already abed. I found her with my animals and helped her upstairs.” She stared at him, then shifted her doe-like gaze over his shoulder. What did she see?

“Trust me in this, Ewan. You must wait until tomorrow.”

Yvette sat in the turret’s window seat staring bleakly at the choppy loch as morn’s joyful colors rose to splay across the sky. Toying with her shawl’s silky fringe, she watched a couple of ragamuffins dart into the wooded area near the dock.

She had changed into a plain, black dress. The ivory gown lay crumpled in a corner. She shuddered anew at the memories associated with it.

A soft knock disturbed the quiet of the room. Yvette crossed to the door, but didn’t open it. “Yes?”

Giselle’s kind voice responded. “I’ve brought you breakfast.”

“No, thank you. I’d like my trunks though, as soon as possible, and a carriage ordered, please.” Not waiting for a response, she returned to her perch in anticipation of Ewan and the dreaded confrontation he insisted upon.

She had not long to wait. Less than half an hour later, knuckles rapped at her chamber.

She unlocked the door. Leaving it standing open, she returned to the window seat. She could no more sit on the divan, where she and Ewan had been intimate yesterday, than she could mend the cracks in her shattered heart. She clutched a pillow to her middle, much like a shield, as she hunched in the alcove.

From beneath her lashes, she watched him enter the chamber. Attired only in breeches and a shirt, he stood in the middle of the room, warily studying her. There was another time he stood in her chamber thus attired.

With controlled deliberateness, she forced the image from her mind.

His brows were drawn into a harsh vee as he scrutinized her. She knew she looked tired. She had seen the dark circles rimming her eyes when she had stood before the dressing table mirror and secured her hair into a severe knot this morning.

Yvette lifted her head and met his gaze head on. Those disconcerting eyes of his seemed to peer straight into her soul. She spoke with quiet resolve. “My lord, I asked for my trunks. They’ve yet to be brought to me. I’m leaving as soon as I’ve packed.”

He stiffened. “Evvy, that, I cannot allow.”

“You misunderstand me. I’m not asking your permission.”

He heaved a weighty sigh.

She tilted her chin in defiance. “Surely, you did not think I would remain here after last night?” After she’d learned what an unscrupulous rogue he was.

He stood spread-eagle before her, his hands resting on his lean hips. He cocked his head to one side. “You’re my wife, legally, before God and King, whether you can accept it or not. There are those who wish you harm. ‘Tis my duty to protect you.”

Yvette narrowed her eyes to thin slits, fisting one hand into the pillow. “So, mere duty caused you to deceive me and coerce me into marriage? My substantial wealth wasn’t an enticement at all?”

She glared at him. “You’re eagerness to declare us betrothed at the inn, the convenient license, was that part of your scheme too?” She shook her head. “Did you snicker at how gullible I was? You made a May game of me, to be sure.”

She went rigid and gaped at him horrified. “Sweet Jesus, was Munlocky’s a ploy too?” Her voice shaking with disbelief and hurt, she raged, “Did you deliberately take me there, knowing what the outcome would be? Did you?”

“It wasn’t like that. I never intended to deceive you. I’ve only ever tried to protect you.” With one hand resting on his hip, he rubbed the nape of his neck with the other. “And I don’t need your wealth. I’ve accumulated my own fortune.”

He extended his hand palm upward, then made a sweeping gesture. “If I could undo what’s been done, I would, but there’s naught for it now. The blade’s been forged, and there’s no uncasting it.”

She lowered the pillow to her lap, plucking at the tatting, a clear indication she was infuriated with him. “Would you have me believe, because you claim your intentions were honorable, the affront you committed against me was acceptable? What of your duplicity? When were you going to tell me, Ewan?” She jerked at the threads, a sense of satisfaction filling her as they began to unravel.
Much like her life
.

“Out riding? Over tea?
In bed
? When, Ewan, when?” She hated how shrill her voice sounded.

She calmed her hands and glared daggers at him before continuing in a mocking imitation of him.

“
Oh, by-the-by, Yvette, I do hope you’ve no notions of acquiring a husband of your own choosing—one who has some affection for you. I dare say, ‘tis a bit too late for that.

Gads, I believe I forgot to mention it. You’re already married.

To me!
”

Yvette punched the pillow for emphasis before tossing it onto the seat beside her.

“Dammit, Yvette,” Ewan ran his fingers through his hair, “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing for it now. What’s done is done. We’re brought to Point Non Plus.”

Unable to stay seated any more, Yvette jumped to her feet. She swept past his intimidating figure, tossing a defiant challenge as she passed. “I disagree, my lord. There are other options. The marriage hasn’t been consummated. It
can
be dissolved.”

Before she knew what he was about, Ewan snaked out his arm, twined it around her waist, then jerked her to his solid side. Astonishment prevented her from resisting. She stood in his embrace, wide-eyed, mouth parted.

“That can be remedied,
ma belle
.” His head swooped downward, his mouth taking hers in a plundering, punishing kiss.

Yvette stood stock-still, too stunned to fight him, and truth be told, not altogether unaffected by the skillful play of his lips upon hers. He lifted her in his arms, carrying her to the bed, where he continued the gentle onslaught against her overwhelmed senses.

She felt herself slipping, caving in under his spell of practiced passion. She had to stop him before she lost what meager self-respect she had left.

Wrenching her mouth free she gasped, “You’d force me?”

Turquoise clashed with sapphire. “There would be no forcing. We both know it. But no, I want you to come to me of your own free will.”

If he took Yvette now, there would be no question of an annulment. He knew with everything in him, she would never be his if he, if they
,
yielded to their desires now.

Oh, she would respond. She was a sensual woman. He had tasted her sweet, hot passion. He’d come to know her, though. She would feel an even deeper sense of betrayal for having that choice taken from her, too. She had to want him as much as he wanted her. He would leave the decision to her, had to leave it to her, no matter the outcome.

Continuing to hold her, he peered into her eyes. “You’re not to leave the Keep’s grounds under any circumstances. You’re free to roam inside the walls of Craiglocky as you please, as long as an armed escort is with you.”

“So, I’m to be a prisoner then?” Blue sparks glimmered in her eyes.

“‘Tis for your own safety.” He resisted the urge to shake her, to make her listen to reason. “Signs have been seen of those seeking to harm you.”

“May I venture into the village, with an armed escort of course?” Sarcasm riddled her question.

Angling his head, Ewan considered her request. “Aye, but you must be accompanied by no less than a dozen of my clan. I shall speak with them.”

“Are you sure a mere dozen is sufficient, Laird McTavish?”

Ewan’s lips thinned. “Don’t push me, Yvette.” The timbre of his voice brooked no argument.

Yvette averted her gaze as she swallowed her retort.

Watching her slim throat convulse, brought him no satisfaction. Now he could add fear to her lists of complaints against him.

Ewan released her, then rose from the bed. He traveled to rest against the worn stones framing the aged windows and gazed out the warped panes. Both expression and voice devoid of emotion, he told her, “I shall be leaving Craiglocky within the hour.”

Silence.

So what had he expected? Her to protest his leaving? Not bloody likely when she was hell bent on putting as much distance between them as a matched team enabled.

“I’ve received a message from Ian. The young lad who ran for help when Vangie’s labor began is responsible for the notes left for you at Somersfield.” He suppressed a sigh and shifted his weight to his other foot.

“The boy claims Fielding was blackmailing him. The lad’s mother was ailing and needed a doctor’s care. Fielding paid the chap to carry his threatening missives. I want to question the boy myself, and I’ve business in London.”

Still nothing. Confound it all. He’d made a mull of it.

“Ian and I believe Fielding, Pauline, and Edgar are working for the same person, and I need to tell Yancy who we suspect.” Ewan was resigning his position with the War Office too. Prinny be damned.

“I shall be gone for three weeks, possibly more.”

Was she even listening to him? Ewan turned from the window. Yvette hadn’t moved. “I’d have asked you to marry me,
petite amie
. I have wanted to propose to you since you tumbled headlong into my carriage that day in London. One dance at Ian and Vangie’s reception and I knew my heart was forever yours.”

He curled his lips at the revelation. He admitted with a slight shrug, “Yes, I’ve adored you for over two years.”

She remained mute, staring at him with unblinking, fawn-like eyes.

“I was willing to wait for you to come to love me. I hoped you were beginning to feel for me what I cherish in my heart for you. I’ve not handled things well, I’ll admit it.” He paused, raking a hand through his hair again.

He did sigh then. His gaze trailed over her curves before meeting her eyes once more. “I wanted you for my own. I didn’t consider your desires as I should have. It was selfish of me.”

Lolling against the window’s edge—the effort to stand on his own was too great—Ewan continued, regret lacing each word. “While I’m gone, you decide whether you’re able to forgive me, if we have any chance of a future together.”

He reached into his pocket and withdrew the Luckenbooth brooch. “When I return, if you’re wearing this brooch, I’ll know there’s reason to hope, that somehow, someway, I can make amends to you. I shall spend a lifetime doing so, if you only give me the chance, Evvy.”

Ewan stopped his monologue to stare at the view once more. His shoulders slumping in defeat he said, “If you can’t, I shall petition the Church for an annulment. I see no reason why it shouldn’t be granted. We’ve not been intimate. It could take years though,
l’amour de ma vie
.”

His gaze swung to Yvette before lowering to the brooch in his hand. “The Church disapproves of annulments almost as much as it does divorce.”

Giving her a searching look, he strode to the bed, then placed the brooch on the coverlet. It sparkled in the morning light, inches from where his reluctant bride lay staring at him.

Bending over Yvette, Ewan kissed her on the forehead. “I love you.”