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Fiona.
It was impossible, of course, a circumstance Gavin knew could never warrant any serious thought. Marry an English widow—never! Yet as he sat, brooding at that table in the predawn hours, he was almost astounded to realize that Fiona was, without question, the choice of his heart.
Why? Well, that brought forth another nearly incomprehensible truth. He admitted his feelings for Fiona were complex. He also admitted that he had great difficulty acknowledging the depth and strength of these emotions. How had this happened? How had she so seamlessly wound her way inside his head, inside his heart?
How had she changed his world so completely that he now experienced this sentiment so profoundly, so intensely? A sentiment that until this moment he was sure was mythical, something that very rarely existed between a man and a woman.
Love.
Gavin’s mind fairly spun at the concept. Unselfish, all consuming, astonishingly intense.
Aye, love.
He had fallen in love with his mistress.
Chapter 13
The morning mist burned off slowly, and a golden hue spread throughout the countryside. The bright, sunny weather served to heighten the excitement that was already buzzing throughout the castle, for today was the start of the yearly fair. Fiona had been informed of this event by no less than three different people as she made her way to the great hall to break her fast, and their enthusiasm was impossible to resist.
She was disappointed to discover that Gavin had already eaten and was gone from the hall, but he left a message with Hamish requesting that she be ready to attend the festivities in the village with him as the noon hour approached.
Pleased that they would be able to enjoy the fair together, Fiona ate her meal in contemplative silence. This past week had been the happiest of all since her arrival in Scotland. Gavin had been very busy, as always; in fact, she had seen less of him than usual.
But the time they had spent together had been special, infused with intimacy and affection. Having these moments together had made it possible for Fiona to put aside her fears for their future and let the warmth of these emotions embrace her.
As promised, Fiona and Gavin set out for the fair at the appointed hour. As they walked past the village toward the open field where the merchants had set up their carts and tents, Gavin curved his arm across Fiona’s shoulders, holding her close. The scent of him filled her, and her heart thudded in response.
Fiona couldn’t resist the urge to smile. The enjoyment showing in Gavin’s face reminded her of Spencer. Who would have believed such a fierce warrior could have such a boyish streak?
As they came closer, the strains of music could be heard; the trill of pipes and the rhythmic beat of the drums. There were couples dancing while others clapped and stomped their feet. Kegs of ale were set on a wooden table and both the dancers and musicians were imbibing freely.
Fiona observed one of the pretty maids, a tray filled with tankards, give Duncan a saucy wink. His brothers started hooting, their teasing yells carrying in the breeze. Fiona saw Duncan swagger up to the maid and whisper something in her ear that soon had her blushing.
“What do ye want to do first?” Gavin asked.
Fiona took a deep breath and immersed herself in the sights and sounds around her. There were acrobats, jugglers, and ropewalkers, along with merchants in rows on either side of a makeshift path, their carts and brightly decorated stalls showcasing their wares. Bolts of cloth, yards of ribbon, small jars of exotic spices. There were bags made of the softest leather and casks filled with imported wine. Soaps and candles and pottery of various shapes and sizes.
The smell of roasting meat mingled with the sounds of excited conversation. The lighthearted, festive mood was contagious. This was a day to leave behind the drudgery and monotony of daily life, to indulge and enjoy. It seemed something that Gavin’s people understood very well and were undertaking with ease.
“I’ve never been to a market fair this large,” Fiona confided. “I scarcely know where to look.”
“First we shop,” Gavin decided. “Then we feast.”
He took her hand. She turned and he gave her a grin that melted her bones. Still reeling from his gaze, Fiona allowed herself to be led to the first cart. The pleasant, floral scent engulfed her as she gazed at the flakes and bars of soap and the long, tapered candles.
“Which items catch yer fancy?” Gavin asked.
Fiona’s eyes widened. The ordinary, dark yellow candles were made from tallow, but the pale candles were fashioned from beeswax, which Fiona knew gave off a much brighter light.
“’Tis frivolous to buy something we already make ourselves,” she whispered to Gavin.
“This is not at all like the ash or tallow soap we use,” he countered. “Or the fish oil soap that’s only fit fer the laundry.”
“Or bathing my dog,” Fiona said with a grin.
“I’ve heard the most luxurious soaps are made in Spain,” Gavin said.
“Just so, milord,” the merchant replied eagerly. “They use olive oil and add aromatic herbs. Try this one.”
