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

“I’m sure,” she said, and heard a trace of nervousness in her voice. “I hope you gave her an extra pat for me.”

“Aye, I did.”

“Thank you…Diarmid,” she said. Shaping his name with her lips felt like a forbidden thrill. “I feel considerably more human after my wash.”

Another expression of gratitude, although at least this time she managed to stand firm on her feet while she made it. She was sick and tired of drooping around like a cut rose left too long in a dry vase.

His smile of approval shouldn’t make her feel like he’d just given her a wonderful present. But the flash of straight white teeth against the darkness of his beard set her heart leaping about in a most disconcerting manner.

“Sit down while I make us a meal.” He pulled one of the chairs out from the table. “There’s some of Rose’s food left, enough for a bit of supper, anyway.”

“Let me help.”

He made a dismissive gesture. “Och, you’ll just get in the way, lassie. Take the chance to rest while ye can.”

“What about you?”

“Dinna worry your head about me. I’m as tough as old boots, no’ a delicate wee bluebell like ye.”

A delicate bluebell? Nobody named Grant would call her that. More of those silly tears pricked at her eyes as she watched the laird bustling about. He treated her like a lady. He always had, but something about his courtesy now, when they were alone together in this hidden glen, sliced at her heart.

“What if it keeps raining?” she asked as he sat opposite her.

On the table, he’d set out two wooden plates with a couple of wizened apples from last year, some hard yellow cheese, and half a small loaf of bread. Wooden cups held more ale.

“There’s a stock of basic food in the cottage. We willnae go hungry if we’re trapped here. In any case, the rain will only last a few more hours.”

This time, she didn’t waste time questioning his prediction. Instead, she turned her attention to their makeshift meal. It was a long time since they’d stopped and eaten. She was starving. Only with difficulty did she stop herself falling on the food like a hungry dog on a bone. The bread from the Thistle was a day old, but she didn’t care. The cheese was deliciously sharp, and the apples had a rich sweetness.

“Where are we heading?” She knew enough of Diarmid to guess that he wasn’t wandering around the wilds with no idea where he wanted to go. More of that appealing competence.

“My friend Fergus Mackinnon is Laird of Achnasheen. He’ll offer us a safe place to stay, while we decide what happens next. I cannae take ye back to Invertavey. That’s the first place t

he Grants will look.”

“Is it far?”

“We’ll stay here tonight, until the weather clears. If we leave early tomorrow, we should make Achnasheen by nightfall.”

She was surprised to look down and find her plate empty. When she glanced up again, she caught Diarmid watching her with a steady gaze. His expression was grave, almost austere.

“Now, Fiona, it’s time ye told me exactly what’s going on,” he said in a voice that invited no argument. “And nae more lies.”

She’d felt better after some food. Now her dinner coagulated into a cold, bitter lump in her stomach. Her hand shaking, she set her cup on the table. After all he’d done for her, she owed this man the truth. But telling him everything exposed her as a liar and a thief.

And an ingrate. Even before he risked his life to save her, she’d given him poor return for his hospitality.

“Diarmid…” she said, still not used to saying his name, even less used to hearing him call her Fiona. It shouldn’t sound like an endearment, especially when his tone was so stern. But it did. God help her, it did.

He slammed one palm flat on the table. The sudden display of anger startled her and made her regard him with wary eyes.

“Enough,” he snapped. “Nae more evasions. Nae more prevarications. By God, you’ve put me on the wrong side of the law, Fiona. The least ye owe me in return is to tell me why.”

Chapter 12

Diarmid battled his unaccustomed surge of temper. He didn’t want to frighten her, when he could tell she’d been frightened too often already, but he’d been seething since he’d discovered Fiona tethered to that bed in the Thistle.

“The law?” Her eyes widened and a puzzled crease appeared between her fine eyebrows. “What do you mean?”