The Highlander’s Lost Lady: The Lairds Most Likely Book 3

by Anna Campbell

  “She may no’ have me.” He wasn’t sure whether he spoke the words in despair or hope.

  Fergus set his glass down on a side table. “If it means strengthening her hand with Christina, she’d marry ye tomorrow.”

  “Aye, I know.” He felt trapped. Even worse, Fiona would feel trapped. “I dinna want to marry a woman who only takes me as a means to an end.”

  A woman who might never accept his touch as a man. Especially when he had a horrible suspicion that his desire for her was a lifelong affliction.

  Fergus looked somber. “I’d always hoped you’d find the same happiness in marriage that Marina and I enjoy.”

  Diarmid grimaced as cruel reality overwhelmed him. This ending had been ordained since he’d ridden up to the Thistle. Good God, before that. From when he’d brought his mermaid back to the house after the shipwreck.

  “I should have realized it would come to this.”

  “Aye.” Fergus’s expression remained austere. “Of course, there are those who would argue the lassie is nothing to ye. Not kith or kin. A stranger. You’ve already done plenty for her. Making this final sacrifice asks too much of ye.”

  Diarmid met his friend’s steady regard. “I’ve offered her my help. I’ve pledged my allegiance. As far as she trusts any man, she trusts me. I cannae leave her flat. And what becomes of her if I do? Ye and I both know the likely outcome if she runs off with Christina, without a shilling to her name and with nobody to protect her. She’ll find herself on the streets. And her daughter, too.”

  “Aye. And that’s if she manages to winkle Christina out of the Grants’ clutches.”

  “If she doesnae, she’ll end up either having to sell herself, or give up and marry Thomas. If they dinna kill her first. She hasnae said much, but it’s clear they’ve abused her. They’ll have a burden of anger to work off, now she’s put them to all this trouble. Damn it, but right from the start, I dinna see what else I could have done.”

  “I dinna either. You and your infernal chivalry. It’s really got ye into trouble this time, laddie. You’ve always been a white knight.”

  “Now I’m paying for it,” he said. “Worse, Fiona will pay for it.”

  Fergus rose and clapped him on the shoulder. “Chin up, laddie. This tangle is still a mess of knots and snarls. There’s a gey lot of entangling yet to do. We’ll find our way in the end.”

  Diarmid raised his head and made himself smile, although in his chest, his heart was leaden with foreboding. “Wish me happy, Fergus. I have a feeling I’m getting married this week.”

  Chapter 19

  The next morning, Diarmid knocked on the tower room’s door. He’d hoped to catch Fiona at breakfast, but she’d come down early then gone upstairs to help Marina with Eilidh. Kirsty opened the door and bobbed in his direction, before she headed downstairs on some errand. A new baby at Achnasheen meant people were always running up and down stairs.

  “Diarmid, buongiorno,” Marina said with a smile, one hand tugging up the bodice of her dress while the other cuddled dark-haired Eilidh close. “Come in.”

  He’d interrupted the baby’s feeding. Embarrassed, he hovered on the threshold, feeling he had no right to enter this purely feminine domain. “Marina, I dinna want to intrude.”

  Fiona wore her borrowed blouse and plaid skirt and sat on the window seat. Her glorious hair was confined in a plait. The bright sun flooding through the windows lit her in gold and made her look like a princess, despite her humble wardrobe.

  Diarmid bit back a groan. Right now, he didn’t need any more reminders of how bonny she was.

  She was sewing something small and white for the baby. The smile she greeted him with was an uncomfortable reminder that he’d promised to do everything in his power to help her. Last night’s discomfiting discussion with Fergus had revealed just how far that promise extended.

  “Good morning, Diarmid,” she said.

  “Good morning, Fiona. It’s ye I’ve come looking for, actually. Would you care to join me for a walk in the rose garden?”

  Marina shot him a sharp look, full of inquiry. He wondered if Fergus had told his wife about their conversation. He suspected his friend had. “First come and say hello to your goddaughter.”

  Shock banished his conflicted feelings about what he was about to do. “Goddaughter?”

  “Didn’t Fergus ask you last night?” She sighed with fond irritation. “Cavolo, we arranged that he was going to. Men!”

  He and Fergus had had other business to cover in the library. But even that grim thought couldn’t altogether stifle his pleasure. “Are ye sure?”

  “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have as my daughter’s spiritual guardian. Fergus and I already think of you as part of the family. This makes it official. I hope you’ll say yes.”

  “I’d be honored.” He meant that to his marrow. Fergus and Marina were the finest people he knew. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he crossed to kiss Marina’s cheek. “Thank ye.”

  “Would you like to hold her?”

  “Aye, I would indeed.”

  With confident hands, he reached for Eilidh. He was well used to weans. As Laird of Invertavey, he met all his tenants’ babies, and several of his cousins had children.

  Eilidh grizzled at the unwarranted jiggling. When she settled, she opened cloudy blue eyes and stared up at his face. He knew it was too early for her to make any sense of what she saw, but he couldn’t help feeling that this moment established a lifelong link.

  “She’s beautiful,” he said softly.

  Tiny, rosy, and with perfect wee toes and fingers. With a pang, he wondered if he’d ever hold a child of his own like this. Should Fiona agree to his proposal, there was a good chance he wouldn’t.

  He’d never much thought about children. He’d never much thought about marriage, except as a duty awaiting him in the distant future. How very sad that only now, cuddling Eilidh, did he realize how much he’d like children. Just at the point when it was likely that he signed away any chance to have them.

  “Good morning, wee Eilidh. I’m your godfather, don’t ye know?”

  The baby wriggled and made a fearsome face. He laughed and passed her back to her mother. “I think this bonny lassie needs some attention, Marina.”

  “Porca miseria, she always needs attention,” Marina said, clearly not minding at all. She rested Eilidh on her shoulder and started to pat her gently on the back.

  Diarmid was impressed at her adept handling of the baby. Up until now, those slender olive-skinned hands had been more used to wielding a paint brush than cradling an infant.

  When he looked up, he caught Fiona watching him with an arrested expression on her face. He arched a questioning eyebrow at her, and to his surprise, she blushed and fixed her attention on her sewing.

  “Fiona, are ye free to speak to me?” If they were to do this mad thing, better they did it quickly, before Fiona’s reputation suffered any more damage.

  “I’ll just finish this,” she mumbled, still avoiding his eyes.

  “Very well. I’ll meet ye downstairs when you’re ready.”

  The hand holding the scissors she used to cut the thread was shaking. He supposed that seeing Marina with Eilidh must remind her of Christina. He said his farewells and headed out the door.

  Fiona took longer to arrive than he’d expected. He had time to look around the sunny enclosed garden and wonder if perhaps this wasn’t the most appropriate place for his proposal. The rich scent of roses made his head swim, and while the ancient walls had a practical purpose, built to keep out the persistent winds, they also created an air of privacy that suggested a lovers’ tryst. A small statue of Cupid held court over the scene, and brightly colored butterflies fluttered from flower to flower.

  As Diarmid took in the grassy hollow with its neat beds of lushly blossoming rosebushes and fragrant climbing roses nodding against the soft red brick, he couldn’t help noting the romantic picture it made. Definitely not the atmosphere he wante
d. What he was about to do held no trace of romance at all, damn it.

  Something told him he was no longer alone. He glanced up to see Fiona framed like a painting in one of the lichened stone arches.

  “You’ve changed,” he said stupidly, as though it mattered. This drugged air played havoc with his common sense.

  She glanced down at the russet muslin gown. Her hair was pinned up in a mass of curls, just untidy enough to summon images of her rising from her bed.

  Diarmid looked at her and felt sick with longing. And knew it did him not one ounce of good.

  He tried not to think of how bonny she’d looked when she smiled at wee Eilidh.

  “Yes, it’s hard to keep neat and tidy around a baby.” With a self-conscious gesture, she smoothed the richly colored skirt. “And Sandra got a maggot in her head, and wouldn’t let me go without doing some titivating.”

  “To good effect,” he said with a delayed attempt at gallantry, and made himself smile. “Ye look lovely.”

  “Thank you,” she said uncertainly. Around her neck, she wore a small cameo pinned to a black velvet ribbon. One white hand rose to touch it, as if for reassurance.

  “Please sit down.” He gestured to one of the stone benches set in alcoves around the garden.

  She moved to perch on the seat. As she settled, the soft material drifted around her slender body. Diarmid found himself wishing that this was a real proposal leading to a real marriage, one promising mutual affection and desire.

  That dream shifted out of your reach the minute ye decided to help Fiona, laddie. Even if you knew then what it was going to cost you, could ye have left her to die? No’ bloody likely. Every step you’ve taken since that morning at Canmara Beach has brought you to this point.

  “Is it the Grants?” she asked in a small voice.

  “Aye.” When she stiffened, he made a placatory gesture. “No, they havenae caught up with us. As far as I ken, they still have nae idea where we are. But Fergus has been looking at the best way to proceed against them. And he feels—we feel—that regularizing our association is essential.”

  She looked both puzzled and wary as she studied his face. “Regularizing?”

  “We need to get married, Fiona.”

  Chapter 20

  “No. Never.” The denial escaped before Fiona even had a chance to think about it.

  Although her knees felt like jelly and ready to fold under her, she surged to her feet. She stiffened against the weakness. By heaven, she refused to fall down. Over the last week, she’d spent far too much time crumpling into a helpless heap. No longer.

  Diarmid whitened, and a tiny muscle in his cheek began to jerk and dance as if he ground his teeth. “I know ye dinna want to marry me.”

  Despite her rudeness, his voice remained calm. She’d never been so grateful for his self-control. It was one of the things she most admired about him. At Bancavan, the men used their fists first and thought about why later. If at all.

  Not that Diarmid was likely to hit her. She’d come to trust him that much.

  “I don’t want to marry anyone,” she said, barely hiding a shudder. Her retreat came to an abrupt halt when she bumped into the bench behind her.

  He managed to dredge up a reassuring smile. Somehow that just made everything worse. The understanding in his expression made her cringe. “Will ye let me explain?”

  His face was serious and earnest, with no hint of covetousness. Her mind moved past the instinctive urge to run and hide and began to consider what happened here. This wasn’t a man inviting a woman he wanted to swive to become his wife. This was something to do with strategy. Her answer must remain no, but at least she felt calm enough to hear him out.

  “Very well,” she said through stiff lips. “I’ll listen, but I can already tell it’s going to be some mad scheme that will do nobody any good.”

  “I hope you’ll change your mind about that by the time I’ve finished,” he said calmly.

  Without shifting her gaze from him, she subsided back onto the bench. “Tell me.”

  He’d asked for her attention, but now seemed at a loss as to how to continue. He ran a hand through his thick black hair, leaving it disheveled. Even someone as impervious to masculine attractions as Fiona couldn’t help thinking how charming confusion looked on Diarmid Mactavish.

  “Last night in the library, Fergus and I had a long discussion about your situation,” he said eventually.

  “Did you indeed?” Her shock at the idea of marriage had receded far enough to leave room for a moment’s irritation. “It didn’t occur to you to include me in your deliberations?”

  The surprise in his eyes revealed that it hadn’t. And reminded her that for all his fine qualities, he was still a man with all the effortless assumption of privilege that implied. “We started talking, and things went from there.”

  She linked her hands in her lap and kept her voice steady. “I’ve hardly been at my best since we met, and I’ve relied on you far too much. But believe me, I’m more than capable of choosing my own future.”

  “I know ye are.” A smile eased the stern line of his lips. “I wouldnae dream of trying to bully ye.”

  More charm. Because she found herself weakening, she sounded more annoyed than she was. “Yet that’s what you’re doing. I won’t marry you, just because you propose and say it’s the best thing to do. So far, you’ve made all the decisions without consulting me. I won’t have it anymore.”

  “I owe you an apology.” He ran his hand through his hair again. It was a characteristic gesture when he was at a loss, she’d noticed. “I’m used to being in charge.”

  “Aye, you are.” His apology went a small way toward mollifying her ruffled feelings. “And you must know I’m grateful for everything you’ve done. But that doesn’t give you the right—”

  “To take over? No, it doesnae, but I hope you’ll see the reasoning once I set it all out.”

  “Please sit down.” She shifted along the bench and gestured to the space beside her. “I feel like I’ve been hauled into the headmaster’s office because I’m in big trouble.”

  Fiona was struggling to maintain her emotional distance, but it was difficult when he gave her another smile, sheepish this time. “Duly chastised, I take my place. I humbly beseech my lady to hear my plea.”

  “No need to go overboard.”

  As he sat beside her, she couldn’t stop her lips twitching at his exaggerated manner. She noted that he kept a couple of inches clear between them.

  No, this proposal was nothing to do with ardor.

  An unexpected pang of disappointment stung her, although ardor was the last thing she wanted from her champion.

  He didn’t start where she thought he would, with talk of marriage. “Fergus thinks that ye may have some legal recourse against the Grants.”

  Surprise made her sit up straight. “In the courts?”

  “Aye. You’re of age. You’re the child’s mother, a closer relative than any of the Grants. It would be different if Christina’s father was still alive, but he’s not. If you want to sue for custody of your daughter, ye have a strong case. Especially if you make it clear it’s in the child’s interest. It’s still legal for twelve-year-old girls to marry in Scotland, but the practice is considered barbarous and old-fashioned.”

  Good Lord, she was so unworldly. It hadn’t even occurred to her that she had any choice but to steal Christina away and disappear to somewhere the Grants would never find her. “But that means—”

  “A permanent solution where ye can keep your identity and so can Christina. God willing, you might even have some hope of squeezing an allowance out of Allan Grant. Ye brought assets to your marriage with Ian. And you’re Allan’s brother’s widow. Under the law, ye have rights.”

  She stamped on the seedling of hope that sprouted in her heart. “Allan will never let me go, and he’s chary to put out a penny, once it’s found its way into the family coffers.”

  “If there’s a judgme
nt in your favor, he’ll have nae choice.”

  “It sounds grand.” She made a helpless gesture. “I have no money for lawyers. I may be naive. But I know these things cost good coin. I don’t even own the clothes I stand up in.”

  “We’ll talk about money after it’s all done.”

  Meaning he intended to pay for any legal action. The weight of what she owed Diarmid Mactavish was already crushing. She couldn’t bear to fall further into his debt.

  But that was an argument for later. “And the courts will take forever, while all the time, my daughter suffers in captivity.”

  “As it’s urgent, we may be able to request an emergency session. Fergus is going to Edinburgh to see what his solicitors have to say about your circumstances.”

  Someone else to whom she’d owe a crippling debt. “But he’s just become a father. This is so much trouble for him. Why on earth…” Then she stopped. “I see. It’s because of you, not me. He and Marina said they’d do anything for you.”

  He looked a little uncomfortable. “They like ye, too.”

  “They’ve known me all of four days. I’m a stranger.”

  “Who’s suffered a great injustice.”

  “Which is enough to make someone extend the hand of sympathy, not to send a man dashing off to Edinburgh when his child is scarcely a week old. And what do we do in the meantime? Stay here and twiddle our thumbs?”

  “No. We go back to your original plan. We find Christina and steal her away. The minute the Grants hear of any legal case, they’ll whisk the girl off to where we’ll never find her.”

  She straightened. This sounded more like what she had in mind. The legal angle was promising, but what she wanted most of all was her child in her care and safe from the Grants. “Really?”

  Diarmid smiled at her. “Really.”

  “Then let’s go.” She rose to her feet.

  He studied her from where he sat on the bench. “No’ yet. That’s where the other part of the plan comes in.”