“You handle most of my business affairs.” Largely because the rich and powerful men who bought her art preferred to deal with a man when it came to money.

“I do what you tell me, Marina,” her father said without resentment. He’d never argued with her role as the captain of their particular ship.

She smiled, partly because she could imagine how the Mackinnon would react to a daughter making decisions and not the parent. But when she checked him for disapproval, he just looked interested. In the conversation and in her, blast him.

“I still appreciate it,” she said. “While you’re charming my customers, I have more time to paint.”

“You said you had news for us, Fergus.” Papa’s Italian accent turned the Scottish name into “fair goose” and made Marina smile again, as her busy pencil shaded in a hollow beneath a high Celtic cheekbone.

“Aye, I think you’ll both be pleased.” The Mackinnon leaned back in his chair. “We’ve managed to rescue your luggage. It’s not even waterlogged. The fine Florentine leather of your trunks looks to have kept everything inside clean and dry.”

Amazement froze Marina’s pencil. “I thought my dresses must be floating around in the Atlantic by now.”

The familiar faint smile lengthened the Mackinnon’s lips. “The coach is still stuck on Eilean Mhaire. We managed to swim out this morning to retrieve its contents.”

Wet hair. Now she understood. She frowned as she recalled the torrent of gray water rushing down the mountainside and under the bridge. “You swam out,” she said sharply.

He shrugged. “Well, someone had to.”

“It’s only luggage.” When she recalled how she’d regretted the loss of her belongings, she felt almost guilty. She should have been thankful that she’d managed to save her sketchbook and that she and Papa carried their money and letters of credit on them. “It’s not worth risking your life over.”

The Mackinnon’s brilliant silvery eyes pierced her to her soul. “I appreciate your concern, lassie, but once I made it out and fastened a rope to a tree on the island, it was straightforward. Becoming as my sister’s wee dress is on ye, I have a feeling you’ll tire of it before your father’s leg heals.”

He seemed to take it for granted that she was staying for the duration, whereas she was far from reconciled to the idea.

“I think you’re very gallant to retrieve our belongings.” Papa sent his daughter a critical glance. “Marina, you should thank our host.”

She hated to think of the Mackinnon taking such risks over something as frivolous as a pretty dress for her to wear. However, as her father said, she should say thank you. “It was thoughtful of you.”

Another twitch of the lips, but the Mackinnon’s tone remained urbane. “I want ye to be comfortable here. I’ve got the castle’s lassies checking that everything’s dry. They’ll bring your luggage up, once they’re sure no water got in. We couldn’t do anything to salvage the carriage. It’s fit for nothing but firewood.”

“You’ve done more than enough,” she said, sounding less grudging.

The deed was done, he’d survived, and having her own clothes would be welcome. Although she’d miss the luxurious coach. Over the years, it had become something of an old friend.

“His lordship, the Conte Rossini, won’t be pleased,” her father said.

The Mackinnon didn’t look pleased either. “Why is that?”

“The carriage was a gift from Marina’s first patron, one of the greatest nobles in Firenze.”

“That is an extravagant present.” The Mackinnon’s tone was flat.

By “extravagant,” the Mackinnon meant “unsuitable,” Marina could tell. Temper prickled as she recognized the signs of a man who learned of a possible rival. Her host had no right to proprietary feelings. She decided to torment him a little to put him in his place. “His lordship has always been most…generous.”

The Mackinnon’s eyes narrowed on her. “Has he indeed?”

“Si, certo. The signore is a great lover...” Enjoying herself more than she ought, she raised her hand to touch her lips, as if she recalled passionate kisses. “…of the arts.”

“Aye, a man of exquisite taste,” the Mackinnon said with a hint of grimness.

Before Marina could spin more of a tale, Papa spoiled her fun. “Sua signoria, il conti has been so kind, like a grandfather. He noticed my daughter’s talent from the first day he visited the school where she studied. He takes a great interest in Firenze’s unrivaled artistic heritage and wants to make sure it continues into the future. Many artists in our beautiful city owe him their gratitude. When he commissioned Marina’s first landscapes, he gave her the carriage so she could visit the places he wanted her to paint. He said that since he’s too old to travel, her paintings brought the world to him.”

“A gift from an ageing admirer.” Wry amusement deepened the attractive creases around the Mackinnon’s eyes. Maledizione, he was onto her game now. Pity. She’d rather relished her power to make him grumpy. “What a charming picture you paint, signore.”

It was her turn to narrow her eyes on the Mackinnon. “The conti has a very handsome son.”

“I hope he’s married with a dozen bairns.”

Tags: Anna Campbell The Lairds Most Likely Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net