The Highlander's Lost Lady Read online

  In the dim light, Diarmid studied her with a searching gaze. “Better?”

  “I haven’t seen Christina in so long.” She made an apologetic gesture. “When Allan wasn’t there lying in wait for us, I’d hoped…”

  “That we might get her back. I know.”

  “Or that at least I’d get to see her.”

  “I’m sorry, lassie.”

  Something in his tone made her eyes sharpen on him. “You’re not surprised we didn’t succeed.”

  An ostler opened the coach door and let down the steps. Diarmid descended and turned to help her out. In the soft gloaming, his expression was serious. “Nothing you’ve said indicates that Allan will give Christina up without a fight. Or the dowry he stole from ye. Or, in fact, you yourself. Allan strikes me as a canny laddie, who keeps a tight grip on what he decides belongs to him. That means all the clan’s assets, material and human.”

  “That’s true.” Fresh despair washed over Fiona, leaving her feeling as heavy as lead. “You must know that William will write to him about our visit. My marriage to a Mactavish will have Allan seething.”

  “Och, I count on it.” Diarmid tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and drew her toward the open doors.

  Surprise made her misstep. “You do?”

  “Aye. I want him thinking with his spleen, no’ his head. He’ll be easier to defeat.”

  “Allan will want you dead so that he can marry me to Thomas.”

  “Dinna fash yourself, lassie.” To her surprise, Diarmid’s voice was warm with affection and humor. “I’ve got nae intention of letting Allan kill me, and he’s no’ going to get ye back.”

  “That’s all very well, but as long as Allan has Christina, I’ll never be free of him,” she said bleakly.

  The innkeeper bustled up, asking about dinner and their plans for staying on. Through the turmoil in her mind, she heard Diarmid order a meal to be served in their sitting room.

  Fiona wanted to tell him she wasn’t hungry. Fear, worry and disappointment made her queasy. But by the time she summoned the words, the landlord had gone.

  “Come away upstairs, lassie.” Diarmid’s smile was gentle, even tender, as he took her arm. “I’ve ordered baths for both of us. We’ll have something to eat and decide our next step.”

  “Is there a next step?”

  “Och, there’s always something to be done. Dinna give up hope.”

  They climbed the stairs to their spacious rooms overlooking the shallow sweep of the Ness River. “But after today…”

  “We’ve had a setback. It doesnae mean we’ve lost the war.”

  “I know you mean to be kind, but there’s no need to treat me like a child,” she responded with a hint of a snap.

  He laughed, as he opened the door. “Braw to hear ye sounding less like a wet hen.”

  “A wet hen?” she spluttered, turning on him. “You know what this means to me.”

  To her surprise, he caught her up against him for a quick kiss. Despite her pique, she sank into him. During their rushed trip across Scotland, she hadn’t slept much, but when she had, she’d dreamed of kisses and the touch of those strong, competent hands.

  She staggered as Diarmid stepped away. Then she blushed to realize a servant had come in. Her husband took everything in his stride, directing the man to set up the tray of wine on the sideboard and standing back as more servants arrived to prepare the bath.

  The thought of soaking away the day’s troubles in hot water was ridiculously appealing. After years of straitened living at Bancavan, a bath still seemed a great extravagance.

  By the time Fiona was settled behind a screen and lying back in steaming, scented water, she realized she didn’t feel nearly so crushed as she had when they’d left Trahair. Diarmid’s conviction that they would prevail lifted her spirits.

  She ran the fine rose-scented soap over her breasts and couldn’t help remembering the way Diarmid’s hands had followed the same path. The memory tightened her nipples to hard, sensitive points.

  Her voice was husky as she called out, “So what happens now?”

  There was no answer.

  “Diarmid?”

  Fiona rose from the bath and wrapped a generous towel around her wet body. She stepped away from the screen. The large, opulent bedroom was empty.

  ***

  Diarmid rested his head on the end of the bath and closed his eyes in weariness. Today had been discouraging, although unlike his wife, he’d never imagined that the visit to Trahair House would end their troubles. At the very least, he’d expected a confrontation with Allan. But the bastard had been clever enough to make himself scarce and remove Christina to a secure location. With the girl at Bancavan, the quest became more complicated, certainly, but not hopeless.

  Nothing more could be done tonight. He was so bloody tired that he might even sleep, despite the distraction of holding Fiona in his arms. She was exhausted, too, and struggling to cope with the continuing separation from Christina. When they left Trahair, his wife had looked devastated. She’d reminded him of the waif he’d rescued from the shipwreck.

  The sound of the dressing room door opening made him raise his head. It was too soon for Allan Grant to send an assassin—Diarmid didn’t make light of Fiona’s warnings about his enemy’s murderous intentions. He’d already asked the landlord to tell him about any strangers asking after the Laird of Invertavey and his lady.

  He expected a servant, perhaps to top up the hot water. But the person hovering on the threshold to this small room with its cot bed and shelves for clothing and luggage was no servant.

  “Fiona?” He reached for a towel. “Is something wrong?”

  “No.” She gestured for him to lie back. “I just wondered where you were.”

  “Having a bonny soak. I thought you’d take longer over your bath.”

  She shrugged, still without stepping into the dressing room. He sank deeper into the water. Since their wedding night, he’d hungered for her. But she’d been so lost and despairing after they left Trahair. He couldn’t imagine she was interested in bed sport tonight.

  His understanding was no defense against his natural reaction to being naked in front of her. Especially as she was dressed the way he dreamed of seeing her—when he dreamed of her dressed at all.

  She wore the cream silk nightdress from their wedding night, although the loose peignoir she’d flung around herself almost made it respectable. Her magnificent hair cascaded around her shoulders. His hands clenched on the sides of the tin bath as he fought the urge to make a rope of those silky tresses and use it to drag her down for his kiss.

  “I worried when you didn’t answer me.”

  “I told ye I’d ordered baths for both of us.”

  “I assumed you’d bathe in the bedroom after I finished.”

  “Och, I’m all about efficiency, me,” he said drily, as he tried to ignore the excitement kicking his heart into a gallop.

  “So I see.”

  When she turned away, he wasn’t sure whether he was sorry or relieved. She looked beautiful, all rosy and damp. The way that sheer material clung to the graceful curve of hip and breast tested his self-control.

  Diarmid slumped back into the water, only to sit upright once more when she returned with two glasses of claret. She passed him one, before with a whisper of cream satin, she settled on the stool beside the bath.

  He gritted his teeth. He’d hoped a bath would relax him. Having his wife within reach left him anything but relaxed.

  “Fiona, I dinna think it’s wise if ye stay.”

  She frowned. “I want to talk to you.”

  God give him strength. “Better when I’m dressed, sweetheart.”

  “Oh.” Her gaze dropped to where his cock rose hard and insistent. “I see.”

  “Ye do indeed.” He tried to speak lightly, but the words emerged as a strangled growl. He took a gulp from his glass, but mere wine couldn’t douse the heat blazing inside him.

  Fiona
hadn’t seen him naked since their first night together. He’d taken to sleeping in his dressing gown.

  “You know, I’m your wife.” That conversational tone shouldn’t make him burn.

  “I know.” Another strangled yelp.

  Her gaze lingered on his erection, then she raised her blue eyes to his. “You have every right to use me as you wish.”

  She leaned forward until the loose nightdress dipped to reveal the top of her breasts. He swallowed to moisten a mouth as dry as dust. His hand clutched the glass so hard, surely it must break.

  “You’re tired after traveling.”

  “So are you.”

  A grunt of bitter laughter escaped him. “I’m never too tired for that.”

  She sighed and sat back just in time to save his ragged composure. “Then what’s stopping you?”

  He felt his jaw drop. “Are ye saying you want…”

  “Why not?” It was her turn to look uncomfortable. Color rose under her gardenia-petal skin, but she held his gaze. “You know I liked what we did. I thought you did, too.”

  “I did indeed.” Although “liked” was a lily-livered word for the sea of irresistible pleasure that had swept him to paradise in her arms.

  Her lips tightened with disapproval. “Must I ask you whenever I want to do…that?”

  “It would help to know I’m no’ bullying ye.”

  Something glowed in her eyes, before her lashes fluttered down to hide her expression. “It might be nice to be invited. So far, I’ve asked you twice, and you haven’t asked me at all.”

  “For the love of God, Fiona,” he bit out, setting his wine on the floor and starting to climb out of the bath, only to stop when she gave him a small wave of discouragement.

  “Perhaps not right now,” she mumbled, although the gaze that ran over his wet body sent another message entirely.

  Confused, feeling like she played with him, obscurely hurt, he subsided with a splash. “But ye said…”

  She made a helpless gesture toward the door. “Dinner will be here in half an hour. I’d rather…”

  He groaned in self-disgust. Of course it would. These last few days, he’d teetered on a knife edge. Now the idea that she might welcome his attentions chased every other thought out of his brain.

  “I’m sorry. I didnae think.”

  She still watched him. He was calm enough now to recognize the keen interest in her expression. “We don’t have to linger over our meal.”

  “No, we damned well don’t.” His voice deepened into seriousness. “Are ye feeling better?”

  “You said you had a few ideas about Christina.” She took a sip of her wine. “Will you tell me?”

  “Let me get out first.”

  The flush in her cheeks deepened. “I’m happy to let you finish your bath, as long as you don’t mind me being here.”

  He settled back. “If you’ll pour in some hot water, I’m happy to stay until our dinner arrives.”

  “Perhaps I could wash your back.”

  Heat stirred anew, but lazy this time and laden with sweet anticipation. He was even able to laugh softly. “Och, that would be grand.”

  The sultry look she directed toward him was a surprise. She bent to pick up his wine and pass it across. “It would make me feel very wifely.”

  “Then kiss me, and I’ll tell you what’s in my mind.”

  Another comprehensive inspection of his body, before she leaned in and gave him a claret-tinged kiss. “I know what’s in your mind, husband.”

  A wolfish smile curved his lips. “In that case, wife, let me tell you what else is in my mind.”

  Chapter 31

  Fiona settled on her stool beside the bath and tried not to stare at Diarmid the way a rustic stared at the glories of Edinburgh. But it was nearly impossible when he reclined naked before her, his broad chest glistening with moisture and his thick, dark hair clinging in unruly curls to his head. Not to mention the sight of the part of him that she’d once felt grow hard and insistent under her hesitant caresses. When it came to her second husband, she’d chosen a magnificent specimen.

  “Fiona, if ye keep looking at me like that, I’m afraid I’ll let dinner go to hell. No’ to mention we’ll shock the servants.”

  She blushed and brought her wineglass to her lips to hide her embarrassment. “Do you mind me looking at you?”

  He gave a grunt of amusement. “What do ye think, sweetheart?”

  She swallowed her wine and told herself to settle down. He often used endearments. They didn’t mean anything in particular.

  “I think you need to tell me what you’re planning. If it’s a full-on assault, you’re wasting your time. Bancavan has never been taken, despite the best efforts of generations of Mactavishes.”

  “I ken the old stories, too.” The humor she loved twisted his lips. “Anyway the days of private armies are over.”

  “You can use the law against Allan, but it will be slow, and it gives him too many chances to spirit Christina away. Once she hits twelve, he’ll marry her to William’s son. Whatever the legalities, the courts are inclined to let consummated marriages stand.”

  “I ken time is of the essence. Tomorrow, I’ll write to Fergus and tell him what happened at Trahair.”

  “Good.”

  As he sipped his wine, Diarmid’s expression turned thoughtful. “In all those hundreds of years of feuding, the Grants didnae have everything their own way.”

  “No, the Mactavishes were always sneaky.”

  “Canny.”

  “Underhanded.”

  “Cunning as foxes.”

  Fiona straightened on her low stool and placed her hand on the side of the bath. She leaned forward eagerly. “You have got a plan.”

  When she saw Diarmid’s smile, she found it in her to feel a brief twinge of pity for her vile brother-in-law. Allan had made an implacable enemy in the powerful Laird of Invertavey.

  “Aye, I do.”

  “Well, don’t keep me in suspense, Diarmid, blast you.”

  He laughed and leaned forward to kiss her with more intent. “It was something ye said.”

  She frowned, as she attempted to focus a mind whirling after that kiss. “Was it?”

  She’d said a lot about the Grants. None of it seemed remotely likely to result in Christina’s rescue.

  “Ye said Allan never met a penny he didnae like. In that case, the prospect of a pound should drum up a fever of excitement.”

  She sat back. “Aye, he likes to hoard his gold, does my revered brother-in-law.”

  “I’ll offer him a thousand pounds for Christina.”

  “Diarmid!” she said in astonishment. Another act of lunatic generosity from her husband. She gulped back an automatic protest about the extravagance of the payment.

  “It’s the perfect solution.”

  She felt torn. For ten pounds, Allan would walk barefoot to John o’Groats. For a thousand, he might even give up Christina. “I’m sure Allan has never seen that much money in one lump.”

  “It will be irresistible. And by far the best solution to our dilemma. Nobody gets hurt. A nice, clean transaction. Cash for the girl. And Allan Grant signing away any rights he imagines he has over either ye or your daughter.”

  “It’s too much money, Diarmid. A fortune, in fact.” Only minutes ago, she’d been giddy with hope and looking forward to a night of passion. Reality’s abrupt and unwelcome return left her reeling. “I shouldn’t let you do it.”

  He set down his wine and regarded her with a somber expression. “Do ye recall our vows?”

  The question disoriented her. She’d expected an argument. “Of course.”

  “So do I. I pledged all my worldly goods to ye.”

  She, too, put down her wine. Drinking it now would make her heave. “But we don’t have a real marriage.”

  One sleek black eyebrow tilted. “No?”

  Did they?

  The silence reverberated with a thousand questions, none of which she
felt capable of asking.

  “It feels rather marital to be sitting in my bath, while you’re watching over me in your nightie.”

  It did feel marital. So had the hours they’d spent traveling together across Scotland. In nine years with Ian, nothing had felt as intimate as the most casual word she spoke to Diarmid.

  “I suppose it does,” she said slowly.

  “Are my causes yours?”

  “I don’t know what your causes are,” she retorted.

  “At the moment, my causes are to disentangle my wife from her villainous relatives and bring her daughter to live with us.”

  Her lips turned down, although her heart was so jammed with poignant emotion, she felt close to crying. “How you must curse the day you found me on that beach.”

  His smile held no shadows. “Never.”

  However sincere he sounded, she couldn’t believe him. “Let me top up your hot water while we talk about this outlandish idea.”

  Two large cans waited near the door. As she emptied them into the bath, she realized that Diarmid was right. Somewhere in the last few days, she’d turned into a wife, not a bride. She couldn’t put her finger on the precise difference, but there was one.

  “Thank ye,” he said softly.

  She subsided onto her stool and took another mouthful of her wine. It didn’t taste half as good as Diarmid’s kisses. “I still hate to think of you giving all that money to a toad like Allan.”

  “No’ even to save Christina?”

  Her gesture expressed irritation. “You used that argument to convince me to marry you.”

  “It still packs a punch.”

  It did, damn him. “Gratitude can smother, you know.”

  He didn’t look happy. He understood what she was saying. “Fergus is looking into getting your property back from the Grants. You’ll feel more in control of your destiny, once you’ve brought a dowry to the match, I know.”