The Highlander's Lost Lady (The Lairds Most Likely 3)

Tears she fought against shedding thickened her voice. “You’re very good to me.”

The man made a dismissive sound. “It’s nothing. I just hope after you’ve seen the way of things at Invertavey that you’ll know that you’re safe and you’ll feel able to trust us.” He paused. “You’re in nae fit state to go anywhere else anyway.”

To her regret, he was right. Even this short ride and the effort of keeping up their conversation tested her failing strength.

He didn’t wait for her reply. “Rest back against me and stop fretting. All that matters right now is restoring your strength and finding out where ye belong.”

She hid another bleak smile. If he could discover that, he was a miracle worker.

But she was in no condition to argue metaphysics. Her head pounded with pain, her mouth tasted sour, her stomach churned with nausea, and whatever the risk of accepting his touch, she couldn’t hold herself upright anymore. With a broken sigh, she slumped back and drifted into a daze closer to unconsciousness than genuine sleep.

Her last thought before she sank into oblivion was that at least she hadn’t given up her fight. While she had breath in her body, she couldn’t. But just now, her strength betrayed her. Whatever awaited in this stranger’s custody, she had no way to defend herself against it.

Not today anyway.

Even as she surrendered to weakness, something in her recognized that the arms enfolding her were strong and sure. Mr. Mactavish’s hands on her and on the horse were kind.

Long ago, she’d learned to recognize a bully. This man claimed she could trust him. Could she? Was he an exception to the rest of his sex?

God help her if he wasn’t, because she was helpless in his power.

***

The sudden clatter of hooves on cobbles made Fiona stir. She released a muffled sound of distress and opened bleary eyes. It took her a few seconds to realize that she’d survived the wild storm and that she rested in a man’s arms.

Her belly clenched on painful emptiness. She couldn’t help reliving that horrifying moment when the boat crashed into the rocks with an ear-splitting crack, pitching her screaming into rough, ice-cold water.

“Whisht, lassie, you’re safe,” the man behind her murmured.

The man. Diarmid Mactavish.

Member of a despised clan. The laird of this place. The sole arbiter of her future, at least until she could manage more than a few steps without aid.

Fiona lacked the energy to sit up, as she struggled to make sense of where she was. A large and pleasant house rose before her, built in the fashionable gothic style. “Is this your home?”

“Aye, this is Invertavey House. I bid ye welcome, and I promise nae harm will come to you here. Ye have my word on it.”

If only she could believe him. Nonetheless she dredged up a polite response. “Thank you.”

He rode around the back to a neat stable block, built from the same stark gray granite as the main house. “Tam, Rabbie, are ye there?”

Two men, one young, one older, emerged from the stable’s double doors, and she read astonishment on their faces.

“Och, Mactavish, what the de’il hae ye been up to? Hae ye caught yourself a wee mermaid on this morning’s tide?” the older man said in a thick Highland accent. Mr. Mactavish’s voice held a soft Scottish inflection, closer to the Edinburgh accents of her childhood.

“Aye, I have at that.” The laird’s chuckle was warm, as he brought the pretty white horse to a stop. “The lady was washed up on Canmara Beach, after a shipwreck during last night’s storm.”

“Och, the puir wee soul,” the younger man said, his face creasing in immediate concern. “Is the lassie hurt?”

“I dinnae think so, but I’ll get Dr. Higgins up to see to her, as soon as she’s dry and warm and settled.”

“Let me help ye with her.” The older man came up and lifted Fiona down from the horse. His touch was kind, too, but he didn’t smell nearly as good as Mr. Mactavish did. “Careful, lassie. You’re no’ looking too steady on your feet.”

As Fiona found her shaky balance, she watched Mr. Mactavish dismount and take the younger man aside. He kept his voice low, but she still heard him. “There’s a body on the beach, Rab. Can ye get a few of the lads down there and bring him up to the house? And send Billy into the village to fetch the doctor.”

“Aye, straightaway, Mactavish.”

The laird turned to where Fiona stood beside Tam, supported by one brawny hand on her arm. The ease between the master and his retainers did more to reassure her than all his promises. This clearly wasn’t a man who used fear to rule. “I’ll carry ye inside, lassie.”