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

He turned and saw her looking uncomfortable. “Of course. Let me help ye out of bed first.”

Blast it, he’d have to touch her. Whatever else he’d learned tonight, he’d learned that was a bloody bad idea.

“I’m sure I can manage.”

“I’ll help ye across the room, then I’ll step outside.”

“Mr. Mactavish, there’s no need.” In a clear attempt to prove her independence, she slid her feet to the floor and with some effort managed to stand.

Impressive. Less impressive when she took one tottering step toward the screen that hid the chamber pot and her knees folded beneath her.

“For God’s

sake…”

Before she hit the ground—before he could remind himself he shouldn’t touch her—he caught her up against him.

They’d touched often. He’d touched her down on the beach, and he’d held her in his arms on Sigurn’s back and when he’d carried her upstairs. But that was when he’d only thought of the girl as someone who needed his help. She’d been wet, cold and afraid, and for all her beauty, an object of pity.

In this cozy, quiet room with night crowding around them and with her wearing only a nightdress, that was no longer the case. When his arms closed around a soft, supple body, and he felt her collapse against him, heat he’d barely conquered pulsed in his blood. The fierce urge to sweep her back into that untidy bed and join her there rose like a wave.

When he’d first found her, she’d smelled like salt and seaweed. Now after a bath and sleep, she smelled like lavender soap and warm woman. With her so close, he couldn’t escape the alluring scent. It permeated his every breath. That evocative perfume made his head swim, stole his ability to see clearly.

“No…” she said in a choked voice. Frantic hands scrabbled at his chest as she pushed against him.

Shame rose bitter and stabbing, made his gut cramp with self-contempt. Not least because if he despised anything in this world, it was a liar. And he’d wager his whole estate that this fragile lassie had lied from the first.

“Dinna worry, you’re safe,” he growled.

“Can you…can you help me across to the screen?”

“Aye,” he said, knowing he sounded ungracious, but unable to help it. He wished to the devil that Peggy was here right now instead of him. Cursing that he had to hold the lassie at all, he adjusted his hold. “Dinna rush.”

She gave a huff of grim amusement. “I don’t think that’s likely.”

After a few unsteady steps, she found her balance. Still, the distance across the room felt like a hundred miles. By the time they reached the screen, they were both breathing hard, but she was mostly walking under her own steam. Once she made it behind the screen, she had a heavy marble-topped table to cling to.

“Shall I help ye?”

“No,” she said sharply. The walk had tired her, turned her complexion ashen, but at this moment, a fugitive pink colored her cheeks. “No, I can manage. Will you please wait outside?”

Diarmid understood her pride. He wouldn’t like to rely on strangers for his intimate needs either. So while he doubted the wisdom of leaving her alone, he bowed his head and stepped back. “Hold onto the washstand, if ye feel giddy.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

He turned and left the room, refusing to look back. If he did, he wasn’t sure he’d keep his distance. And he desperately needed to keep his distance.

“Good God, what in holy Hades is the matter with ye, man?” he muttered, once he was safely out in the corridor and he’d shut the door behind him.

This woman was sick and hurt and in his care. Not only that, her beauty made him uneasy, not to mention he knew he couldn’t trust her an inch. She was the last person he should want in his bed.

Worse, he knew she’d sensed his masculine interest. When he’d saved her from falling, it wasn’t the prospect of crumpling to the ground that had placed that terrified light in her eyes. It had been the possessive strength of his hands and the heat that flared as her body pressed against his.

Devil take her, he was a man of honor. Whatever forbidden urges might torment him, he had no intention of molesting her while she was under his protection.

Gritting his teeth and telling himself to stop acting like a bloody lunatic, he opened the door a crack. “Are ye all right, lassie?”

If she extended her stay at Invertavey and if she intended to persist with this nonsense about not knowing her name, he’d have to come up with something to call her. Another thing to worry about in the morning, when hopefully his sanity returned.