The Highlander's Defiant Captive (The Lairds Most Likely 4)

Diarmid couldn’t control a shiver. The wind whistling around them cut like a knife, and since giving her his coat, he was only in his shirtsleeves.

“It’s no’ far to the house. We’ll soon have ye in dry clothes and a warm bed.”

“That sounds good,” she muttered without opening her eyes.

“Can ye manage to sit on my horse for a wee moment? I promise you’ll be safe on Sigurn. She’s well trained and as gentle as a lamb.”

“I like horses,” she said, then broke off on a gasp. Green tinged her complexion again.

“Do ye need to be sick?”

Her slender throat moved as she swallowed. Even as she shook her head with what he thought was an excess of foolish pride, he helped her to kneel. While she retched violently into the sand, he held her.

Poor wee lassie. After the shipwreck, her body was in such a parlous state that she couldn’t even keep down a few drops of water.

Diarmid waited for her gasping to ease and watched her fumble in a pocket for her handkerchief. It was sure to be wet, but it was probably the best she could do.

“Was I alone in the wreck?” She caught Diarmid’s expression before he could hide it. “I wasn’t.”

Hell, what was this? Didn’t she know?

Diarmid frowned in confusion, but he made himself answer her. “There’s a man washed up over there. He drowned. I’m sorry.”

She looked sick again. “Can I see him?”

“It’s probably better if—”

“Please.”

Despite his better judgment, he succumbed to the appeal in those wide blue eyes. He rose and helped her up, holding tight to her elbow when her knees threatened to buckle. “He’s over here.”

Fortunately the dead man was only a few yards away. When they reached him, the girl straightened and managed to stand on her own two feet.

Diarmid studied her as she stared down at the body. In his opinion, she looked sad but not devastated. Probably not a family member then, which he’d already suspected given the difference in their clothing.

“Who was he?” Diarmid asked.

Avoiding Diarmid’s eyes, she shook her head. “I don’t know.” She raised a hand to her bloodless lips. “Poor soul.”

Diarmid bit back a flood of questions, starting with a demand for the girl’s name. She’d been through a horrible ordeal. He had no right to badger her. Once she was safe back at Invertavey House, they’d have time enough for introductions and explanations.

“Come.” He took her elbow and angled her away from the dead man. “It’s too cold for ye out here.”

Their stumbling progress toward Sigurn seemed to take forever.

“You’re so kind,” the girl said in a choked voice, and he caught the glitter of tears in her eyes as he lifted her into the saddle. When he set her astride, her sodden skirts rode up to reveal slender calves in tattered white stockings.

“Not at all. Hold tight to the saddle while I get on.”

The lass had bonny legs, shapely and with a neat ankle. He told himself that when a woman was so defenseless, he was a swine to notice such a thing. But on the other hand, the legs were very bonny indeed.

The girl was in such straits that she looked fit to slide back onto the ground. Her brief spurt of energy ebbed, leaving her even paler than before. When he found her, he’d imagined she was already as wan as a lassie could get.

He mounted behind her and curled an arm around her waist. “Lean back against me, and I’ll get ye back to the house as soon as I can.”

“There seems to be a lot of touching,” she said uncomfortably, squirming a little.

The discomfort was probably a good sign. He managed a wry smile, although in his shirtsleeves, he was as cold as a naked Eskimo stuck in a Greenland blizzard. Despite wearing his coat, the girl must be freezing, too.