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

She’d looked gorgeous at the wedding, but frail and on edge. He hadn’t missed the violet shadows under her azure eyes.

He’d been fair bedeviled himself. The prospect of Fiona becoming his bride but never his wife had robbed him of sleep.

“About Christina.”

“Aye.”

“And about you. You made such a dreadful bargain when you decided to help me.”

He kissed her softly on the mouth. “Right now, it doesnae feel too dreadful.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she said. “Thank you, Diarmid. You’ve banished my fear.”

“I’m glad.” He wanted to say more, something significant, but the right words hovered out of reach. “Sleep now.”

“Aye.” Her eyes searched his face as if she sought answers to questions she hadn’t yet asked. “May I stay?”

This kiss lasted longer and to his astonishment, his body stirred. He raised his head. “I’d like that. I hated asking for that second room.”

“At the next inn, you should save your silver and take one bedroom.” Charming humor lit her tired eyes. “I’m speaking as a thrifty housewife.”

His brief laugh was appreciative. “What a wee treasure I’ve found.”

Diarmid tried to speak lightly, but the words emerged weighty with meaning.

Because he did think she was a treasure. She wasn’t anything like the woman he’d ever imagined marrying, but he wasn’t blind to her quality. Now she was his wife, he intended to guard her well and do his best to make her happy.

“I’ve brought you a lot of trouble.” Her smile faded. “I hope you still think I’m a treasure, after we’ve defeated all our dragons.”

“I will,” he said, although he could see she remained unconvinced.

He sighed. Time alone would prove him true. “Stop worrying, Fiona. You’re safe, and we’ll get Christina back. Everything else can wait.”

“You’re right,” she said softly, and leaned in to kiss him. Every time she seized the initiative, she took him by surprise. “I don’t want to spoil our glorious night.”

“Glorious?” he said, his heart brimming with happiness.

With a tenderness that had the same giddy effect as her kiss, she touched his cheek. “Aye, glorious. Although I suspect our glorious night has turned into glorious morning.”

So did he. As if to confirm what she said, a blackbird began to sing outside the curtained window.

“Try and sleep. I want us on the road early.” He paused. “I’m sorry it’s no’ much of a honeymoon.”

Not that he’d expected anything like a traditional honeymoon. He’d assumed he’d spend his wedding night alone and yearning. Fiona might be astonished by what had happened between them, but then so was he.

“I wish things were different,” she said with a trace of wistfulness.

“I hate what you’ve been through. I hate that your child has been stolen away. But I cannae hate the circumstances that brought us together.”

By the light of the guttering candles, she studied him. “Do you mean that?”

“Aye, with all my heart.”

“You’re a good man, Diarmid,” she said softly and kissed him again.

He wished to heaven she’d stop saying that. He wished to heaven she felt more for him than gratitude.

But that was an argument for another time, if ever. Diarmid didn’t mistake the damage ten years with the Grants had wrought on his bonny wife. He wasn’t fool enough to think that one night of passion could heal those wounds and leave her whole and ready to face the future at his side.