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

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.”