Eadan didn’t know how much longer he could stand Dughall's presence. He'd clenched his teeth so many times he feared he'd bite off his own tongue.

It was early the next morning. Eadan, Dughall and their men were out on a hunting trip in the forests that lay just beyond the castle grounds. He'd arranged for the outing before Fiona's mysterious appearance. When he planned the outing, it was with the hope that Dughall would slip and reveal some hint of what he was up to.

But Dughall treated Eadan with barely contained hostility; the postponement of the betrothal and Fiona's abrupt appearance must have angered him. He'd been short and brusque with Eadan and his men all morning, and it was trying Eadan's patience. Any time Eadan attempted to discuss the truce between their clans and what that would entail, Dughall would interrupt and insist they not talk clan business during their leisure time.

Now, he glared at the back of Dughall's balding head as he trudged ahead with his men, scouring the forest for the deer, hares, or wild boars that roamed here. Eadan knew Dughall wouldn't take his “marriage” to Fiona lightly, but he had to admit to himself it wasn't Dughall that bothered him. It was the knowledge that Fiona was lying to him about who she truly was. He had a good instinct about people lying to him. After he'd opened up to her last night, there was a part of him that hoped she'd do the same.

He recalled the way she looked last night in the moonlight; the awe in her lovely brown eyes as she took in the landscape, her full lips slightly parted, her breasts straining against the bodice of her dress . . .

“If ye expect him tae tell ye his dastardly plan, ’tis not working,” Ronan said in a low voice, pulling Eadan from his lust-filled reverie. He walked closely at Eadan's side, his gaze trained on Dughall.

“Aye, I ken,” Eadan grumbled. "But I had tae try.”

Up ahead, Dughall stilled, gesturing for quiet. A deer grazed a clearing up ahead. The men all went still as Dughall steadied his bow, aiming for the deer's flank. He landed the kill, and the deer slumped over on its side.

“Another kill," Dughall said, turning to face Eadan with triumph. “Ye need tae catch up, Eadan. The chief of Clan Macleay needs tae be a strong hunter. Shows what a good fighter he is. And I want my Magaidh tae have a husband who protects her.”

Eadan straightened; this was the direction he'd hoped the conversation would go.

"Aye," Eadan said, moving forward until he was at Dughall's side. "But I fear this business with Fiona could take time tae sort out. Getting an annulment tae a foreign bride is more complicated than I thought. It may be hard tae find the priest who married us.”

He watched Dughall carefully, noting the brief flare of rage in his green eyes before it vanished. Dughall smiled, though his face remained tight.

“Ye’re an honorable man, Eadan,” he said. “I trust ye’ll honor yer word tae my daughter once ye’ve secured yer annulment."

“’Tis a shame yer wife’s going tae Jenloss Abbey,” said Uisdean, one of Dughall's men, shaking his head. “A bonnie lass with a body like that’s not made for life in a nunnery. If she needs someone, I’ve a vacant spot in my bed for—"

Eadan reacted without thinking. In an instant, he had the man slammed against a tree, his hand around his throat. It wasn’t until Ronan's shouts permeated his haze of furor that he realized he was cutting off Uisdean’s air.

He released him, stumbling back as Dughall and another one of his men hurried forward, helping Uisdean away from the tree.

“What’s gotten intae ye, Eadan?” Dughall roared.

Eadan blinked, his fists clenched at his sides, taking several breaths to calm himself. Hot fury had filled every part of him when Uisdean spoke of Fiona in his bed.

Dughall and his men glared at him, and Eadan cursed himself. He should have restrained himself. This was not the way to get Dughall to open up to him.

“Were ye trying tae kill my man?”

“I’m—sorry,” Eadan ground out. “Fiona’s still my wife. I willnae have her spoken of like a whore.”

“A wife no one knew of ’til the other day. A wife ye supposedly no longer care for,” Dughall said, his eyes filling with suspicion.

“I would’ve reacted the same way had he insulted Magaidh,” Eadan lied. “Ye just said I’m a man of honor. Ye ken this tae be true, Dughall.”

Dughall didn’t reply, his features strained as he glared at Eadan.

“I think we’re done hunting for the day," he said tightly.

As they made their way back to the castle, Ronan shot him a look of disbelief. Frustration coursed through him—what was he thinking? But just the thought of what Uisdean had said about Fiona caused another wave of fury to sweep over him.

He offered Uisdean some ale or a meal in the castle after offering another apology, but he stiffly refused, and Dughall and his men left under a haze of tension.

“Eadan—” Ronan began, as soon as the men were gone, and he accompanied him down the long corridor toward his chamber.

“I ken what I did was foolish,” Eadan said, as they entered his chamber. “I doonae need ye tae remind me.”

Ronan fell silent, studying him closely. “Are ye sure yer—arrangement—with Fiona is a way of holding off the betrothal?”

“Aye. Of course,” Eadan said, glaring at him. "Ye ken I've been thinking of ways tae get out of the betrothal for some time now. There’s nothing more between me and Fiona, I was just protecting her honor."

Eadan didn't know if he was trying to convince himself or Ronan, but Ronan didn’t look convinced by his words.

“Just remember what yer goals are—and killing one of Dughall’s men isnae the way tae accomplish ‘em.”

Ronan left him alone before he could reply. Eadan changed out of his hunting clothes before heading to his private study, where he tried to concentrate on the concerns of the day, looking over a stack of deeds and rents owed that he needed to review. But he found it hard to concentrate, his frustration over his actions during the hunt continuing to plague him.

He didn't look up when he heard a soft knock on the door, but he stilled when Fiona’s familiar sweet scent filled the room. He looked up to find her hovering by the doorway. She looked lovely in a gown of deep crimson paired with a plaid cloak, but her eyes were troubled.

Forgetting his own concerns, he got to his feet and strode to her, a wave of protectiveness sweeping over him.

“Fiona? What is it?”

"I'm more nervous than I expected," she said, giving him a shaky smile, “about my meeting with Elspeth. The carriage is waiting downstairs, but I don’t want to leave. I—I’ve felt safe at the castle for the past couple of days."

"Then ye doonae have tae go," he said swiftly. "I'll say ye've fallen ill, make my excuses."

Fiona's eyes widened in surprise at his concession, and guilt filled him. Had he been so rigid? Did she think she had no choice in the matter?

"No," she said, after a brief pause. "I'll go. I'm sure she'd just reschedule the meeting, and you were right—if I don’t go it’ll just raise more suspicion. I’ll just get this over with. I’m—I’m sorry to have bothered you,” she said, looking embarrassed.

"Ye didnae bother me," he insisted. He reached for her hand, and tendrils of heat roiled through him at the contact with her skin. "Ye’re helping me, Fiona. And for that I' m grateful."

As her eyes locked with his, the heat that had filled him at her touch ignited into the hot flames of desire. An ache he didn't realize he had until now swelled, and he leaned forward, capturing her lips with his.

She responded, and his erection swelled against his kilt as he pulled her close, reveling in the sensation of her breasts pressed against his chest. He plundered her mouth with his, wanting nothing more than to lower her bodice and seize one of her lovely breasts with his mouth, to lift the hem of her gown to taste the sweetness between her legs, before sinking into her, claiming her body for his own.

But he forced himself to end the kiss and step back, averting his eyes from her flushed face, her parted lips, her desire-laced eyes.

He closed his eyes, turning away from her, reminding himself what was at stake. He’d already angered Dughall by attacking his man, and now he was on the verge of making love to the lass who was only supposed to pose as his wife.

“I—I’m sorry,” he said, his voice strained and gruff, "I shouldn’t have—”

"It’s all right," Fiona whispered. He looked at her, not missing the brief look of hurt in her eyes, before she turned to the door. “I—I need to be on my way.”