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

Fiona’s arms felt empty without him. But she trusted Hamish’s opinion about Diarmid’s chances. Right now, she had to look after Christina.

She stumbled to her feet on the damp, slippery stones. “Darling…”

The first time she saw Christina, she’d been too frantic about Diarmid to take in many details. Now the sight of her daughter made her heart cramp with an agonizing mixture of regret and love and longing.

In the last year, Christina had grown so much. When her daughter left Bancavan for Trahair House, she’d been a child. Now her thin, serious face hinted at the beautiful woman she’d become.

Christina looked aghast at the mud and red gore staining Fiona’s clothes and hands. “You’re covered in blood.”

“It will wash out, sweetheart.”

“Aye, that it will.” To her surprise, Christina managed a nervous smile. “Can I come away with you now?”

Fiona swallowed to shift the painful lump of emotion blocking her throat. Her hands itched to grab her daughter and hug the life out of her. But the child had been isolated and afraid for the last year, and today had been crammed with confusion and danger that must scare her even more. Fiona didn’t want to do anything likely to worsen her fear.

Did Christina know her loathsome uncle was dead? Fiona hadn’t seen her cast a single glance toward Allan’s unmoving body on the other side of the bridge.

“Indeed you can come with me.” Tears thickened her voice, but she refused to give in to them. Christina needed her to be strong now. She couldn’t let her daughter down.

It gradually sank in that she and Diarmid had won against the Grants. Allan cou

ldn’t hurt them anymore. Nobody had any reason to keep Christina away from her.

She should be happy. She was. Or she would be if Diarmid hadn’t been hurt.

“I’m glad.” The wariness in Christina’s eyes threatened to break Fiona’s heart. “Who is that man you were hugging?”

“He helped me find you. His name is Diarmid.”

“Is he going to die?”

Not if I can damn well help it.

“I hope not.”

Fiona swallowed again. So many times, she’d imagined this reunion. In her mind, it had been bright and joyous, unmarred by the shadows of the past. Laughter and smiles. Not this awkward encounter where she dreaded that every word she spoke widened the distance yawning between them.

She reminded herself that for a nine-year-old, a year was an eternity. To Christina, she must seem like a stranger. Finding one another again would take time and patience. Now, thanks to Diarmid, they had an opportunity to rebuild their closeness and give Christina the childhood she’d never had.

“What about Uncle Allan?” Christina asked, still without looking at Allan’s body. “Is he dead?”

“Yes, sweetheart.”

“That’s good. I didn’t like him.”

“I didn’t either.” Fiona ventured a step closer. “I know I’m all mucky, but is it all right if I give you another hug?”

This time there was no mistaking the misgivings in Christina’s expression. “Do you want to?”

Fiona frowned. What on earth was this? “Very much.”

“Then why did you send me away to Cousin William? Was I naughty? Don’t you love me anymore?”

For the first time, Christina’s unnatural composure showed signs of cracking. Her face was drawn, and her mouth trembled. Shock kept Fiona silent a moment too long, and Christina retreated a pace.

“Your mother loves you more than ye ken, Christina,” a deep, wonderfully familiar voice said from behind Fiona. “She risked her life over and over to save ye and bring you back to her, where ye belong. You’re verra lucky to have such a brave, clever mamma, who wanted to find you so much, that she’s been running all over Scotland facing untold dangers while she looked for ye.”

Startled, Fiona turned to see Diarmid upright and leaning against Hamish. Hamish had rigged her bloodstained shawl into a makeshift sling. Her husband looked pale and in pain, but steady on his feet.