Eadan tried not to let the expression on Fiona’s face affect him, though she looked as if he’d just sentenced her to death. If he thought her story was false before, he was now certain of it. No one would be this eager to get to a nunnery. Dread, wariness, and fear clouded her face. A surge of protectiveness filled him; what was she running from? Or whom? If he could get her to open up to him; he’d happily help her—but only after he ended his betrothal to Magaidh and figured out what Dughall’s true plans were.

“Fiona,” he said gently, reaching out to touch her face. She raised her eyes to his, and he noticed with concern that her brown eyes glistened with tears. “Ye only need tae pose as my bride for a brief time, then I’ll help get ye tae yer destination.”

"What if you can't?" she asked, her voice wavering.

"I'll do everything I can,” he promised.

Though she still looked uneasy, she gave him a shaky smile. Eadan realized how close they stood together—her natural scent, which smelled of honey and roses, teased his nostrils. Desire flowed through him as his gaze dropped to her full, sensual mouth. And he couldn’t help himself—his hands dropped from her face to her waist, and he pressed her close to him before capturing her mouth with his own.

Fiona responded instantly, returning his kiss, and his arousal spiked. He pressed her lush body even closer, plundering her mouth with his. As her hands raised to his neck, gripping his hair, he felt himself harden against his breeches.

His hands tightened around her waist as his tongue probed her mouth, and she moaned. Desire had cast all reason aside. In mere seconds he’d be unable to stop himself from leading her to the bed, to peppering the lovely arch of her throat with kisses, to—

The sound of Ronan clearing his throat brought him back to the present, and he abruptly released Fiona, who looked flustered and out of breath. Fiona lowered her eyes, a lovely blush staining her cheeks.

Eadan whirled to face Ronan, more irritated than he knew he should be, especially when he saw the glint of amusement in his cousin’s eyes.

“Sorry tae interrupt,” Ronan said, not looking sorry at all. He gestured for Eadan to approach.

Eadan did so reluctantly, his senses still on fire after his kiss with Fiona. Ronan lowered his voice.

“Did the lass agree tae yer plan?”

“Aye,” Eadan said.

“Wonder how ye convinced her,” Ronan said, his mouth twitching.

“What did ye come here tae tell me?” Eadan asked, irritated.

“I found a man willing tae help with yer story. Had tae pay him a decent amount of coin,” Ronan said, with a trace of annoyance.

Relief filled Eadan, and his annoyance with his cousin faded. Ronan was unflinchingly loyal and Eadan trusted him more than anyone.

He straightened, glancing back at Fiona. She still looked flustered by their kiss—her breathing was still rapid, her face flushed. He forced himself to not let his gaze linger on the fullness of her lips, or the curve of her breasts against her bodice. He shouldn’t have kissed the tempting lass—he needed to focus.

“I’ve a plan,” he told her. “But ye’ll have tae play yer part. Are ye willing?”

Fiona swallowed and gave him a quick nod.

“I’ll have to be,” she said. “Tell me what to do.”

* * *

Eadan stood in the center of the great hall, facing the nobles of his clan, hoping that his expression was appropriately sincere—and contrite. He’d just told them quite the tale; he could only hope they believed his story.

They all looked at him in astonishment and disbelief. Confusion filled his father’s expression, while Dughall, Eadan noted with unease, studied him with suspicion.

“Ye mean tae tell us ye’re already married?” his father demanded. “And ye never thought tae mention this before the betrothal?”

“I thought it was annulled. ’Twas a foolish thing tae do; my shame is why I never told anyone,” Eadan said, trying to school his expression to one of shame. “Never thought I’d see her again.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ronan’s mouth twitch, though he’d dutifully remained stone-faced as Eadan told his tale.

Eadan was rather proud of the story he’d invented. He’d told them that he’d traveled to England two years prior—which he had. But the next part was pure invention.

During his time there, he’d stopped at a small isolated town on the Welsh border where he’d met Fiona. They’d fallen in love and foolishly—impetuously—gotten married by a local priest. But they’d realized the error of their impulsiveness and went their separate ways before they consummated the marriage, thus rendering it invalid. The only person he’d told was Ronan; he was ashamed of doing something so foolish and out of character.

Fiona had arrived at the castle last night. Her husband-to-be had cast her aside after discovering her marriage to Eadan was still valid, as the priest who married them logged it in the church records and never removed it.

With no family and nowhere to turn, Fiona had come here for Eadan’s help; the priest refused to annul the marriage at just her request; he wanted Eadan’s request as well. Fiona, he insisted, was on her way to Jenloss Abbey; she had no intention of interfering with his betrothal to Magaidh. She just wanted the annulment and then she’d be on her way.

“I’ve already sent a messenger with my request tae the priest,” Eadan said, exchanging a brief look with Ronan. The man Ronan had hired would pose as this messenger; he’d agreed to tell the nobles he dispatched the message if they asked. “But it may take time tae get confirmation the priest has removed the marriage from record,” Eadan continued. “’Til then, the betrothal will have tae be put on hold.”

“’Tis convenient, this lass showing up as ye’re about to marry and end the feud between our clans,” said Dughall, his eyes narrowed. “How do we ken she’s not some spy, here tae end our truce?”

“That’s what I thought as well. I assure ye, I’ve questioned her, and she’s no spy. Just a frightened lass with no place tae go,” Eadan said. He turned to his father. “Clan Macleay is all about honor—and duty. While I’m married tae the lass, I’m honor bound tae help her.”

“Aye,” his father said, after a long pause. “But I’m disappointed in ye, son. What was it about the lass that made ye marry her?”

“’Twas lust, I’m ashamed to say,” he said. “My former bride is a beauty—nothing close tae Magaidh,” he added hastily, looking at Dughall, who scowled. That was the hardest part of his elaborate lie. Fiona made his loins stir while Magaidh left him cold. “I wasn’t thinking with my head, Father.”

“We’ve all been there, haven’t we?” Ronan added. Eadan was grateful for Ronan's presence here, he’d played along well. “Seen a lass we cannae get enough of?”

Everyone except Dughall nodded, some chuckling with amusement.

“I want tae see the lass. Yer Sassenach wife,” Dughall said, glowering at him.

Eadan nodded; he’d been expecting this, though his heart filled with dread. He and Ronan had prepared Fiona the best they could for questioning, but this was where everything could fall apart.

“She’s resting, but when she’s—" he began, hoping this would dissuade him.

“No. I want tae see the lass for myself. Hear her version of the story.”

Dughall’s hard gaze remained on him, and Eadan’s stomach tightened. He nodded and turned to Ronan, who had also gone tense. Ronan left the hall and after several moments returned with Fiona.

He could tell she was terrified; her hands shook slightly at her sides, and her skin had paled, but she held her head high as she entered the room.

Eadan turned to face the nobles. A rush of jealousy coursed through him as one of the nobles, McFadden, eyed her with lustful appreciation.

“I see why ye married ‘er, Macleay,” he said.

“She’s still my wife, McFadden,” Eadan growled. “’Til it's annulled, ye’ll treat her with respect.”

“Fiona,” Eadan's father interjected, giving McFadden a look of warning, before turning his focus to Fiona, "tell us how ye’ve come tae us.”

“My—my betrothed cast me aside when he found out about my marriage,” Fiona said, her voice trembling.

“Yer accent is strange, lass,” Dughall said, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“I—I traveled a great deal when I was a child,” Fiona stammered. “My father was a traveling merchant before he became a farmer; he took me and my mother with him on his travels. I picked up many foreign tongues.”

“And where is yer family now?” Dughall pressed.

“I’ve no family. They all died of the plague years ago. I used my last coin traveling here; I hoped that Eadan would help me get the annulment and send me to Jenloss Abbey where I wish to spend the rest of my days. Please,” her voice cracked, and a tear spilled from her eyes, one that he suspected was genuine. “I—I don’t know how I’ve come to be in this ti—situation, and I just want to go back to my own—to a home.”

She pressed her hands to her mouth, closing her eyes, tears streaming from beneath her lids.

Eadan was at her side at once, pulling her into the circle of his arms. She buried her face into his neck, and he held her close, unable to stop himself from pressing his lips to her hair, whispering words of comfort. Her despair was no act, and for a moment, Eadan forgot about all the eyes on them. He wanted nothing more than to take her pain away.

“Nothing more needs tae be said,” his father said, getting to his feet, leaning on his cane. His expression had softened, and he studied Fiona with sympathy. “My son is honor bound tae the lass while she’s his wife. The betrothal’s on hold ’til his marriage is annulled and we send her on her way.”