“Daenae apologize,” he said, echoing Aiden’s words. “I’d rather ye be overcautious than… than lose ye.”
“Ye willnae lose me,” Jeane said softly.
“Ye daenae ken that,” Fergus said, his voice rough. “If yer faither finds ye, if he takes ye?—”
“He willnae,” Jeane insisted. “Ye willnae let him. And I willnae go quietly. I’ll fight with everythin’ I have to stay with ye.”
Fergus pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe. When they pulled apart, Jeane rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
She was safe here. With Fergus and his guards and the walls of the castle around her.
Her father couldn’t reach her here. She was sure of it.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Fergus was scarce for the next few days. It was festival time, and all the neighboring clans were busy bees preparing.
Lairds and ladies donated food, time, and staff to make sure everyone had a good time on the day of the festival.
Jeane remembered what Fergus had said about a festival he had gone to that had gone wrong, the reason he had lost his friend and betrothed, the way he had gotten his scars. She worried about him during this time. Did preparing for the festival bring back all those horrible memories? Those feelings of losing someone, of being called a monster?
Jeane hated Fergus’ old betrothed on principle, even though she had never met the woman. How could she call such a brave man a monster? He had taken on nearly a dozen bandits and survived, lost his friend, been injured, and she had the gall to call him a monster?
She knocked lightly on Lottie’s door, hoping she would not catch Aiden and Lottie in a compromising position again.
She drew in a breath. When Lottie pulled open the door, she looked frazzled. However, there was no Aiden standing sheepishly behind her like last time.
“I cannae find anythin’ to wear,” Lottie complained, and Jeane laughed, walking inside.
“Ye’ve lost weight since ye’ve been ill.”
“It’s a wonder I daenae weigh a thousand pounds with all the sweets that Aiden brings me.”
“Where is yer fine young suitor today?” Jeane teased, unable to help herself.
“Helpin’ Fergus with the festival,” Lottie said with a pout. “He barely pays attention to me around this time of year.”
“I’m sure that’s nae true.”
“Part of me is sad I’m gettin’ better. He willnae dote on me anymore,” Lottie admitted, and Jeane nudged her with her shoulder playfully.
“Daenae malinger, Lottie. Aiden will dote on ye regardless of yer health.”
“Ye’ll see. Now he will go back to barely lookin’ and speakin’ to me,” Lottie said miserably, and Jeane rifled through her closet.
“What makes ye say that?” Jeane asked, turning to look at the girl.
Lottie huffed out a breath, her bottom lip sticking out in a pout.
“He willnae even look at me when Fergus is around. He… avoids me.”
Jeane chuckled. “Of course, he willnae.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Jeane shook her head. “He’s afraid, of course.”
“Afraid? Of me?”
