When Eadan returned to the castle, frustration coursed through him. He and Ronan had questioned a man in the village they thought had information about Naoghas. It turned out the man was a drunkard just looking for easy reward money.

Eadan gritted his teeth, raking his hand through his hair. Dughall’s deadline was fast approaching; he needed proof to present to the nobles, and fast.

He made his way to Fiona’s chamber. Just being in her presence would calm him.

But when he found her in her chamber, seated at the table and painting, he could immediately tell that something was wrong. Her shoulders were tense, her mouth compressed in a tight line, and she didn't look up when he entered.

"Fiona?" he asked, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

When she looked up, tumult lurked in her eyes. She set down her parchment and stood.

"Magaidh paid me a visit," she said shakily. "She—she guessed that we’ve made love. And she mentioned having her own lovers."

Eadan closed his eyes and swore. He didn't know how Magaidh had figured that out, unless Dughall had yet another spy working in the castle.

"Fiona?” he asked, when he opened his eyes again. Fiona still looked shaken. “Did she say something else?"

Fiona hesitated, biting her lip. But shook her head.

"Well, I can only assume she's not told her father. Otherwise, Dughall would've been here by now," he muttered. "And the fact that she told ye she has other lovers—“

"Do you care?" Fiona asked, studying him closely. "That she has other lovers?"

"No,” Eadan returned, frowning. Was that what she was upset about? Did she think he cared for Magaidh? “'Tis a relief. I've always ken she doesn't care for me nor this arrangement. This only proves it."

"She told me she cared for you once. That—that she used to loved you,” Fiona said, jealousy plain in her eyes.

Eadan stepped forward, cupping her face.

“Even if that were true—which I doubt it is—she doesnae anymore, I assure you. And I’ve no feelings for her. The lass makes my blood run cold. There's only one lass who has my eye,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.

Fiona blanched, turning away from him.

“Fiona—" he began, surprised.

"I—I'm going to return to the kitchens," she said, still not looking at him. "I was making leeway with one of the kitchen maids. She might know something."

She left before he could stop her. Eadan frowned, watching her go. Fiona was hiding something from him, and he was determined to find out what it was.

* * *

The next morning he met with Ronan in his study, telling him of Magaidh’s visit.

"She said something tae upset Fiona—something Fiona willnae share with me,” Eadan growled. “She’ll tell her father I’ve bedded Fiona.”

“If that were true, ye know Dughall would already be here, furious. I think it was pettier than that. I think Magaidh's jealous of yer lass and wanted to unsettle her."

"Well, she succeeded," Eadan said. For the first time in weeks, he’d not spent the night with Fiona, suspecting that her chill toward him had not melted. “I’ll not resume my betrothal tae Magaidh, even if we donnae find proof against her father. 'Tis a farce.”

“That’s not wise,” Ronan said, shaking his head. “'Tis important we doonae let on we believe something's amiss. We need tae do this the official way; ’tis the best way tae avoid needless bloodshed. Our investigation may be slow, but it’ll come along. We'll get Dughall by not behaving rashly." Ronan paused, shaking his head, looking at Eadan with sudden amusement. “I cannae believe I’m telling ye, the most rational and duty bound man I ken, tae not behave rashly. I think yer lass is affecting ye more than ye realize.”

Eadan glared at him, though his cousin had correctly judged him.

“Bring me Maon,” Eadan said, averting his gaze. He didn’t want the conversation to linger on his growing feelings for Fiona. “I want tae see if he’s learned anything.”

"I did as ye asked and told Dughall what ye told me tae say," Maon said, moments later, after Ronan brought him to his study. "But Dughall wants me tae keep trailing yer wife.”

“Fine," Eadan said shortly, “but I need ye to find out more from Dughall—any proof ye can get of Dughall's scheming. As soon as I have it, I'll send ye and yer family somewhere safe."

A look of relief and hope filled Maon’s eyes, and he turned to leave.

“He’s just a stable worker,” Ronan said, once they were alone. "Not some expert spy. Ye cannae expect him tae—"

“We’re running out of time,” Eadan interrupted. “Less than two weeks ’til Dughall’s deadline. We need tae do what we must for proof.”

Eadan tried to concentrate on his work once Ronan left, but his thoughts were consumed with Dughall, Magaidh’s scheming, and as always, Fiona. He feared the distance she'd displayed the day before would continue, and he couldn’t bear that. He needed her warmth. Needed her. He wanted to be close to her for whatever time they had left together.

Eadan froze as he noticed something out the window. He stood, moving over to it.

Outside, Fiona and his father strolled the grounds of the inner courtyard. At first, anger coursed through him at the sight. He'd told her not to wander the castle grounds on her own; his father was not adequate protection. But he relaxed when he saw one of his men, Osgar, trailing them from a safe distance behind.

He left his study to head to the courtyard. As he approached, he noticed that Fiona and his father seemed deep in conversation; Bran seemed more relaxed than Eadan had seen him in months. While Magaidh had never been rude to Bran, she treated him with a cool and distant politeness.

Fiona suddenly laughed at something Bran said, and Eadan couldn’t help but smile. Genuine warmth emanated from her toward his father.

Fiona seemed to sense his eyes on her, and paused, turning around to face him. She smiled, but he saw a slight wariness in her eyes.

“I saw your father out for a walk. He asked me to join him,” she said, her body stiffening, as if she expected him to reprimand her.

“Aye, I see that. May I walk with ye?" Eadan asked, turning to glance at his father.

“Ye can,” Bran said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “But only if ye can tolerate the stories I’m telling Fiona about how ye behaved as a lad."

Eadan let out an exaggerated groan as they continued to walk, and Fiona turned to look at him with amusement.

“Your father tells me you’ve not changed much since you were a boy. Ronan was always the playful one, you the serious one.”

Eadan scowled. He’d always known that he was next in line as chief of Clan Macleay, and laird of Macleay Castle. That had placed an enormous weight on his shoulders—how else was he supposed to behave?

“Ye should spend time painting with Fiona before she has tae go. Told her I’ve never seen a lass who paints.”

Surprise filled Eadan. He couldn’t imagine himself painting, he rarely had time for leisure. But Bran had a hopeful look in his eyes, and Eadan wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to spend more time with Fiona.

"Aye. I'll try," he said, meeting Fiona's eyes with a smile, but she averted her gaze. Eadan's stomach tightened; he was going to find out the true reason for her distance.

As they continued walking through the courtyard, his father’s voice low as he continued to ply Fiona with tales of his childhood, he found himself wishing that circumstances were different. That Fiona was his actual wife, that there was no rival clan to deal with, that he could put duty aside.

Soon, he could tell that Bran had begun to tire. He and Fiona helped his father back to his chamber. He stood back, watching with unease as Bran's maids helped him into bed; the brief walk had drained him more than it should have.

He’d not told Bran about his investigation into Dughall, nor Naoghas’s disappearance and likely murder; he feared it would weaken his father’s already fragile health. As he studied his father now, he decided he'd have another healer come look at him.

Fiona turned and started to leave, pulling him back to the present, but he reached out to grasp her arm, stalking with her to his chamber.

"Eadan—“ Fiona snapped, twisting in his grasp, but he didn't let her go until they were inside his chamber.

"I want tae ken what's wrong with ye, lass. Ye've been acting strange since Magaidh's visit. What did she say tae ye?"

"I told you what she said," Fiona said, lowering her gaze.

"Fiona," he said gently, stepping forward. "I can read ye well. What else did she tell ye?"

Fiona seemed to deflate, closing her eyes. When she opened them again, pain filled their brown depths.

“Magaidh told me you might have other lovers. I—I know it’s not my business—I'm not your actual wife. But I think it’s fair for me to know if you do.”

Eadan looked at her in disbelief. How could she think he had other lovers when he had access to her beautiful body each night? The thought of bedding anyone else filled him with revulsion. He’d bedded women in the past, but he’d never had more than one lover at a time. Ronan had often encouraged him to find more lasses to bed.

But relief soon replaced his disbelief. Fiona was jealous. It wasn't because she was withdrawing from him as he’d feared. It was because she felt possessive over him.

Without a word, he stepped forward, swinging her up into his arms.

"Eadan!" she gasped, but he could see desire flare in her eyes.

"I've not looked at another lass since ye arrived in my castle, in that sinful dress," he said, walking with her to his bed. "Ye’ve consumed every part of me, siren. The thought of another lass in my bed fills me with ire. The thought of ye with another man,” he continued, jealousy flowing through him as he lowered her to the bed, “fills me with rage. While ye’re here, ye’re mine, Fiona. All mine. And I’m yers.”

He claimed her mouth with his as he lowered his body on top of hers. Fiona clung to him, wrapping her arms around his body. He lifted his head up, gazing into her cedar brown eyes.

"I only see ye, my siren. My Fiona."

Fiona's eyes filled with emotion. He hiked up her gown and released himself from his breeches, sinking his hard length into her, again claiming her mouth with his. She whimpered with desire as he began to move within her.

He thoroughly made love to her, exploring every inch of her lovely curves with his hands and mouth until she cried out his name.

Afterward, as they lay entwined and breathless, he wondered how he could ever live without his siren, his Fiona, who had consumed not just his body—but his heart.