Highland Warrior Page 9

  The moment he stepped into Ewan’s bedchamber and shut the door behind him, Gregor demanded, “What did ye do to the lass, ye fool?” He marched up to the bed and glared at Ewan, who did not look any happier than Fiona had.

  Ewan sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “Why would ye think I did anything to Fiona?”

  “Mayhap because she looked as if ye had returned one of her daggers the hard way, by burying it in her heart?”

  That implied that he had somehow hurt Fiona’s feelings, and Ewan refused to believe that. “Ye mistake the matter.”

  Gregor crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Nay, I dinnae think so. I met her just outside your door and she didnae smile. Fiona always smiles. She didnae pause to have a wee talk, either. Nay, she looked pale as death and fled to her bedchamber. So, I ask again, what did ye say or do to her?”

  It was not a subject Ewan wished to discuss with Gregor, but he knew his brother would not leave it alone. Or worse, he would come to some conclusion of his own. Ewan sighed and decided he was also too tired and too heartsick to argue or lie.

  “I told her to go away and that ’twould be best if Mab tended me from now on,” Ewan replied and nearly flinched beneath the hard, overly sharp gaze Gregor fixed upon him.

  “Why? The lass has tended ye faithfully and verra weel.”

  “Because I cannae be alone with her,” Ewan snapped and dragged a hand through his hair. “I cannae keep my cursed hands off her.”

  “And ye see that as a bad thing?”

  “Of course it is a bad thing. She is a hostage. And although she still hasnae admitted to it, she is a weelborn lass. Undoubtedly a virgin, too. She doesnae need some overgrown fool mauling her every time she chances to draw too near to him.”

  “Since ye arenae bruised or bleeding, I would think she isnae protesting the mauling too heartily,” drawled Gregor.

  The truth of that struck Ewan like a hard right to the jaw. Fiona did not resist his kisses. If he dared trust his own judgment, she melted in his arms, returned his passion in full measure. Perhaps it was foolish to keep pushing her away. What he ached for was, apparently, there for the taking. Any other man offered such a boon would take it, swiftly and greedily, so why not he?

  Then he scowled, suspicion flaring to life within his mind and heart. Just why would a woman as lovely as Fiona feel any passion for him? Passion could be feigned, be no more than some base deceit used to weaken his guard and loosen his tongue. Although he had decried such a possibility to his father, and did not seem able to wholeheartedly believe it himself, he could not blindly discard it, either.

  What he had told Gregor was also the truth, and one he needed to keep firmly fixed in his mind. If Fiona was not a spy and a threat, then she was a hostage. Many a man would think that gave him the right to use her, but he was not one of them. Fiona would be returned to her own people untouched. His honor demanded it. So did common sense. The very last thing he needed was to add another enemy to the lists of those arrayed against him and the people of Scarglas.

  “She is a maid,” said Ewan. “An innocent. Tisnae so difficult to overwhelm an innocent.” He stoutly ignored Gregor’s look of disgust. “And if she isnae an innocent, a hostage we can ransom, then she is one of the enemy set in the midst of us to cause trouble and ’twould be folly to let lust cloud my thinking. I fell into that trap once and have enough wit to recall a lesson weel learned.”

  “Fiona isnae like Helena.”

  “Nay? Helena seemed all that was sweet and innocent, then led me like a lamb to the slaughter.”

  “Sweet, mayhap, but I suspicion ye discovered she wasnae so verra innocent.”

  “I may be wrong about Fiona’s innocence, too. There is only one way to be sure and that is to take her to my bed. If she is a virgin, then I will rob her of her chastity. That might lessen her worth when we ransom her, and ’twould surely leave her kinsmen thinking of vengeance. It could also set both of us before a priest, dragged there by our father or her kinsmen, and I want no wife. Whoever she turns out to be—innocent hostage or clever foe—the wisest thing for me to do is to leave her alone.”

  Gregor shook his head. “Ye think too much, Ewan. Ye chew o’er every riddle and thought as if ’tis a piece of tough meat. Sometimes things are exactly what they appear to be.”

  “Too often they are not. Now, tell me how matters stand,” he ordered. “I will be stuck abed for several more days, I fear, and ye shall have to be my eyes and ears.”

  Ewan was pleased when Gregor accepted the change of subject even though it was clear he would have liked to say more concerning Fiona. To his relief, everything seemed to be peaceful for the moment. He soon grew too weary to continue the discussion, however. After Gregor left, Ewan slumped heavily against the pillows. He realized Fiona was right, that he had used up what little strength he had regained in his attempt to get out of bed too soon, and that annoyed him.

  He sighed as he closed his eyes and fought to ignore the pain in his leg and the lingering ache in his head. Slowly, he ran his tongue over his lips. He could still taste the sweet warmth of Fiona’s mouth. The clean womanly scent of her, touched with a hint of lavender, still lingered in the air. The heat of her small, soft hand was a potent memory against his skin. She was a heady brew, a fever in his blood that he feared was incurable.

  So, why not feed that fever? he asked himself. Why not heedlessly reach out and take what she seemed so willing to give him, much to his amazement? He had the wit and strength to avoid any consequences. As laird, he ought to be able to hold firm against his father’s ploys to marry him to Fiona. Most would consider his bedding a female hostage no great crime, even a right, just a part of the ransom. If her kinsmen cried out for revenge, well, what was one more enemy added to the vast hordes his father had already made? Maybe Gregor was right to think him a fool to keep pushing Fiona away.

  Cursing softly, he struggled to clear his mind of all thought of Fiona, passion, and need. He was not his father, Ewan sternly told himself. He had restraint, could fight the natural urge to take what he wanted when he wanted it. All the reasons he had given Gregor for keeping a distance from Fiona were sound ones. The soundest one of all was the one he had not told his brother. Ewan knew, deep in his heart, that if he took Fiona into his bed, he would soon take her into his heart. That utterly terrified him.

  Chapter 8

  Fiona stared blindly out at the men cavorting in the moonlight within the circle of stones. The window in the solar, a room obviously intended for the lady of Scarglas to use, looked out over that strange configuration of stones. It was a place shrouded in age and mystery. If the spirits of the ancients still lingered there, she had to wonder what they thought of the dozen or so naked fools leaping and twirling about in the moonlight, pausing in their strange dance only to get themselves more to drink. She had come up here to watch them, thinking that such a sight would surely amuse her enough to pierce the shroud of gloom she was wrapped in. Instead, she was fighting the urge to weep, loudly and without restraint.

  Had it been only a few hours since Ewan had so coldly pushed her aside? She had fled to her bedchamber to lick her wounds and try to regain her composure, something she still found elusive. She had wept, but it had not really eased the pain of his rejection or the humiliation she felt. In truth, all crying had done was make her head ache and her eyes grow swollen and red. She refused to indulge in such a useless weakness again. Since her eyes ached from the weight of the tears she held back, she feared her resolve was crumbling fast.

  When Mab entered the room, several gowns draped over her arms, Fiona tried to smile at the woman. The quick, sharp look the woman gave her told Fiona it had obviously been a pathetic effort. Mab quite often seemed to be skipping along in her own little, happy world, easily distracted and caught up in grand plans to mix up some miraculous cure, but Fiona knew there was a sharp mind there. She just wished the woman had not chosen to fix those keen wits on her for the moment.

 
“Which of the old laird’s wives did these gowns belong to?” she asked as Mab draped the gowns over a large oak chest banded with leather and iron.

  “His second wife,” Mab replied as she walked over to the window Fiona sat in front of. “She bore him Gregor, Adam, Brian, Ross, and Nathan. Annie lasted the longest of the old fool’s wives. Nine years. Died shortly after bearing Nathan. I think old Fingal might actually have been fond of her in his way. Nay faithful or loving, but fond. Some blame his persistent unfaithfulness for her death. Tis said she looked out her bedchamber window, saw Fingal plowing a buxom maid, and when she tried to throw something verra heavy out the window at him, fell out. Died at his feet.”

  “Tis a shame she didnae land on him and take him with her,” Fiona snapped and shook her head. “The mon is like a spoiled child. Someone should beat some restraint and responsibility into the old fool. Ewan had a different mother?”

  “Aye. Fingal’s first wife, Mary, the daughter of the previous laird. She died birthing Ewan. Fingal liked to tell the lad he was such a big, strapping bairn no mere woman could bear more than one of him.”

  “Jesu. Does the mon ne’er think ere he speaks?” Despite her hurt and anger, Fiona felt a brief surge of pity for the boy Ewan had been, a child made to think he had caused his mother’s death. “I suppose it shouldnae surprise me. Tis clear he doesnae think before he acts, either.”

  Scowling out the window at the moonlit figures prancing about in the circle of stones, Mab said, “True enough. Just look at the fool and his foolish friends. Skipping about naked in the moonlight, drinking until they fall on their faces, and painted blue like heathens. Dinnae ken how they can think such nonsense will enhance their virility. In this cold, ’tis certain their privates are looking as small as any bairn’s by now.” She smiled when Fiona laughed, then grew somber again. “Why am I now ordered to be the only one to tend to the laird?”

  Startled by the abrupt question, Fiona answered truthfully. “Because he ordered it. He obviously cannae abide me near him.” She cursed as she felt the warm sting of tears upon her cheeks.

  Mab handed her a delicately embroidered square of linen. “Now, ye cannae truly believe that.”

  “Aye, I can. He was verra clear in his dismissal of me. I am such a fool,” she whispered.

  “Now why would ye think that?” Mab asked as she sat on the window bench next to Fiona.

  Fiona stared at the now twisted and damp linen in her hands. For a moment, she considered changing the subject, or telling some lie. Then, she inwardly shrugged. Mab would not believe a lie and it might help to talk to someone about Ewan, about what she felt and how he was acting. She was failing miserably in trying to sort out the matter on her own.

  “The mon pulls me close, then pushes me away,” Fiona replied. “He kisses me senseless, then ignores me. This afternoon he kissed me, then coldly sent me away, and ’tis clear he wants me to stay away.” She took a deep breath to steady herself and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I thought ’twas just that he wanted me, but his sense of honor kept making him retreat. But today, weel, he was disgusted with me, disgusted that he could e’en think to sate his lusts upon me. I am certain of it.”

  “Are ye? Weel, ye may indeed be a fool if ye are thinking such things.” She ignored Fiona’s scowl. “How did he look? What told ye he was disgusted with ye?”

  Trying not to let foolish hopes stir in her heart, Fiona told Mab exactly how Ewan had looked after he had abruptly ended their embrace. “I thought his wounds pained him, but when I said his name, he coldly told me to go away. Then he said he thought it would be best if ye tended to him from now on.”

  “I see no disgust there, Fiona. Of course, he would think it best for me to tend him as ’tis clear he cannae keep his hands off ye.”

  “Aye, because his monly lusts stir when a woman is near. Then he realizes which woman he holds and turns away. I suppose I should be glad he doesnae just take what he needs ere he opens his eyes.”

  “Fiona, Ewan ne’er just takes what he needs. He ne’er just reaches for a lass because of, er, monly lusts. I think he fears becoming too much like his father. Ewan isnae e’en like his brothers, who are lusty lads but show far more restraint than their father, a restraint taught them by Ewan. I have heard some of the lads call him Brother Ewan and tease him about his monkish ways.”

  “Ewan monkish?” Fiona found it difficult to believe the man who kissed her with such fierce passion could ever be monkish in his habits.

  “Aye. He beds a woman but once a year. On his birthday, he goes to the village and spends a night with a whore. From what little I have learned, it sounds a wee bit, weel, cold-blooded. He favors none above the others, just chooses one who looks clean and takes her to bed. He leaves at dawn and doesnae return. Tis almost as if he takes some physic for his health, rather like an occasional bleeding to relieve one’s body of any ill humors.”

  Fiona laughed briefly, unable to resist the humor of Mab’s words, but quickly grew serious again. “Once a year? Are ye certain, Mab?” Hope was again stirring in her heart and that frightened Fiona.

  “Verra certain. There was one time, near eight years past, that he broke with that habit. A lass named Helena came to Scarglas. Ewan was besotted, I fear. There was talk of marriage.”

  The thought of Ewan being besotted with some woman, even eight years ago, was painful. Fiona told herself not to be such an idiot. The man was nearly nine-and-twenty. It would be strange indeed if he had not suffered some infatuation at least.

  “What happened? He didnae marry her, did he?”

  “Nay. She was sent here by one of Scarglas’s enemies. That lass led poor Ewan into a trap that nearly cost him his life. Tis where he got that scar upon his face.” Mab sighed. “Ewan was always a serious lad, but what lightness of spirit he did have faded on that day. Ewan returned to his habit of indulging his monly lusts but once a year.”

  “Mayhap he but nears the end of his year of celibacy.”

  “Idiot. I told ye all of that so that ye would see and understand that Ewan is a mon of great resolve and restraint. Do ye think none of the lasses about here have tried to pull him into their beds? He may nay be the bonniest of the brothers, or e’en verra skilled at wooing a lass, but he is the laird. And before that, he was the laird’s chosen heir. A mon like that doesnae just grab a lass because he has an itch. Nay, not unless that itch is verra strong indeed.”

  Fiona asked Mab if she wanted some cider, then rose to get them each a drink. She thought over all Mab had told her as she filled two goblets with the highly spiced cider. If she believed all Mab said, then she could yet again believe Ewan pushed her away out of a sense of honor, perhaps even some personal fear. What made her reluctant to believe that again was a deep fear of further rejection from Ewan. One taste was enough. It hurt too much.

  Before Menzies had slithered into her life, she had never known rejection. Men had appreciated the way she looked, had flattered her and complimented her on her beauty. She did not think she was vain, but she had enjoyed their appreciation. The first time she had faced the loss of that appreciation, realized the scars had changed how men looked at her, she had been hurt. She had finally accepted what Gilly and others told her, that such men were shallow fools and not worthy of one tear, that she would soon find a man who had the wit to look deeper. She had thought Ewan was that man. A part of her still wanted to, but she did not trust it.

  “Ah, Mab, I am a coward,” she said as she handed Mab her drink and sat down beside her. “I believed I had found a mon who could see beyond my scars, but he threw me aside.”

  “Foolish child.” Mab took a sip and murmured her appreciation of the brew. “He didnae throw ye aside.”

  “It certainly felt that way.”

  “I am sure it did, but I am also sure he didnae do that. Nay, he is trying to protect ye from his desires. Mayhap he also seeks to protect himself.”

  “From me? I am no threat to him.”

  “Oh,
but ye are. Many men see women as a threat, most certainly those women who make them feel things they dinnae want to feel. I believe ye make Ewan feel things he doesnae want to feel.”

  “Lust.”

  Mab shrugged. “Nay doubt of that, but I think ’tis more. After all, the mon has shown admirable restraint over his lusts for many years. In truth, Ewan has always shown admirable restraint in all his emotions.” Mab frowned and sipped her drink. “In many ways, Ewan remained so e’en when he was besotted with Helena.”

  “Then how do ye ken he was besotted?”

  “He took her to his bed and it wasnae his birthday. He was a wee bit distracted. She could actually turn his attention away from his work. Wee things. Verra wee things. Now that I think upon it, Ewan didnae bed her. She bedded him. It says a lot about a mon that people can think him besotted simply because he can be seduced into bed by a beautiful woman. That did put him in what, for Ewan, passed for a cheerful mood. It quite unsettled his brothers.”

  Fiona smiled. “I understand. My brother was a verra restrained mon once. Still is in many ways. I remember the first time our Gilly made him laugh. We were all quite shocked. A few women e’en got teary o’er it. Connor had carried the weight of all of us for years, our survival all-important to him, and he had hardened himself. It was all too much to set upon the shoulders of a lad of but fifteen. He shouldered it weel, but it robbed him of his youth and made him bury all softness. Our Gilly helped him see that he could show a wee bit of those softer feelings and still be the strong laird he felt he needed to be, could still hold the respect and obedience of his clan.”

  “And who did ye think has shouldered the weight of Scarglas and its people?” Mab said softly.

  The revelation prompted by Mab’s question came upon Fiona so quickly she gasped. There were indeed many similarities between Ewan and Connor. Of course, Connor had not restrained his manly passions much at all, but she suspected he might have if he had had a father like Sir Fingal. Despite that, it was the sins and follies of the parents which had formed each man. Fiona was not quite sure how this sudden understanding would help her, however.