Page 67 of How to Be a Scottish Mistress

“Aye, there’s duty and then there’s martyrdom.”

Gavin glared at Duncan, all the more annoyed because he knew Duncan was right. He was acting like a willful child, ill-tempered because he didn’t get his way. His two other marriages had been arranged, and though of short duration, they had been pleasant. There was no reason this third union should not also be successful.

Fiona.

The skin on the back of his neck tightened. The unfairness of it all crept up and seized his heart. Gavin sought refuge in logic and duty, praying that somehow that would make this intolerable situation bearable.

“Aileen Sinclair is a suitable choice.” Gavin’s mouth pulled into a grim line. “She knows her duty, as do I, and will therefore be a proper, respectful wife to me.”

Duncan’s hearty agreement was drowned out by the sound of a feminine gasp of outrage. Gavin swung around and spied Fiona standing a short distance away, her face a mask of shock.

“Fiona . . .”

She turned and started running.

Married? He is going to be married?Fiona reared back, feeling as though she’d been slapped. Pain sliced through her like a steel blade, almost suffocating her in its intensity. Blindly, she staggered forward, falling to her knees as a wave of hurt enveloped her, crushing her heart.

Gavin was going to take a wife, pledge himself to another woman. Care for her, protect her, make love to her. She would sit at his side and share his bed and bare his children. It was the thing Fiona had dreaded and feared most, but she had pushed it to the back of her mind, convincing herself that she would be long gone from Gavin’s life when it happened.

If it happened. Panic squeezed her chest. Saints preserve her, it was going to happen!

Why?Yet even as the question burst into her mind, Fiona knew the answer. He was an earl, a Scottish earl. He had a duty. To his king. To his country. To his clan. A duty that overshadowed the wants and desires of the widow of an English baron.

No matter how deeply she loved him.

“Fiona!”

Oh, Lord, no! Away, I must get away.Fiona struggled to breathe as panic overtook her. Her chest ached in a way that made her fear there wasn’t enough air in the room. She ran as fast as her legs would move, but she was no match for Gavin’s agile feet.

He reached her just as she started to climb the stairs, seeking the comfort and solitude of her small chamber. Grabbing her arm, Gavin pulled her to a stop. She could feel his fingers burning through the fabric of her gown into her skin. A touch she had craved, a touch that had brought her such pleasure and joy.

But no longer.

“Ye heard us talking?”

Fiona stiffened and turned away. “Yes, I heard. You have decided to marry again. And you’ve chosen a young woman named Aileen Sinclair.” Fiona kept her gaze fastened on the wall and concentrated on slowing her breath. “I wish you both great happiness.”

A sick feeling rushed over her as hot burning tears crowded the back of Fiona’s throat. She pressed her closed fists to her eyes, holding them back. All she wanted was to escape to some dark, private corner where she could weep, but that would have to wait. Fiona had no idea how, but she kept her composure and was able to finally turn to him.

He gave her a bleak look. At the sight of it, the tears came, rolling silently down her cheeks. He was everything she could want in a man—kind and funny, strong and loving, intelligent and tolerant. She wanted him to be the man she worked beside each day and slept beside each night. She wanted him forever.

He’s going to marry another woman.She looked at him helplessly. Why did it have to be so complicated? Why did politics and position have to play such a dominant role in their lives?

The trembling of her limbs wouldn’t stop. Fiona wrapped her arms around herself, rocking back and forth. Whenever she had encountered adversity, she had always strived to face it head-on, to tackle the problem aggressively and find a solution.

But this, oh this, was unbearable. It felt as though her very soul was shriveling with pain. Bitterly, she wondered why she was surprised. Any emotion that lifted her so soaringly high would logically fall so despairingly low.

“’Tis apolitical alliance,” Gavin declared. “It means nothing.”

“Oh, I’m sure your new bride will be delighted to hear that.” Despite her own pain, Fiona’s heart lurched with pity. “Honestly, Gavin, how can you be so cruel? This poor, unsuspecting girl deserves more from you.”

“She cannae have what I cannae give. My marriage will change nothing between us. I care for ye, Fiona. With all my heart and soul.”

But that doesn’t matter.The unfairness of it all clamped around Fiona’s throat like a vise. She was foolish to have ever speculated about a future together, let alone a permanent one. A lasting relationship between them was impossible. It had always been impossible. But she had been too caught up in the beauty and wonder of her love for Gavin to fully consider it. And that mistake was now going to cost her in heartache.

“When I first heard you speak of marrying another, I confess I felt pity for myself.” Using the final ounce of her inner strength and resolve, Fiona drew herself up, squaring her shoulders. “But now I shall pity all three of us—you, me, and your bride.”

Sounds drifted in from the great hall. Gavin’s head turned. Her cheeks heated at the very idea that someone else would appear and witness her mortification. Taking advantage of the distraction, Fiona disappeared without another word.

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