The Highlander's Lost Lady (The Lairds Most Likely 3)
Allan strode forward to meet him. With no particular surprise, Diarmid saw Thomas sidle around from behind the coach.
“Mactavish,” Allan said flatly, stopping at the end of the short bridge.
“Grant,” Diarmid responded, waiting at the other side. “This is my cousin Hamish Douglas, Laird of Glen Lyon. He’s here to see our transaction takes place as agreed.”
“Aye,” Allan said sourly. “I brought my brother, too, as ye see. I ken no’ to trust a Mactavish. Have ye got my money?”
“Aye. Have ye got the girl?”
“She’s in the coach.”
“Let me see her.”
“Show me the payment first.”
Diarmid reached into his coat pocket and produced the pile of notes. At the sight, Allan’s eyes brightened, and he rushed forward, reaching out a greedy hand.
Diarmid retreated. “Show me Christina. We want her whole and unharmed, along with a signed paper relinquishing any claim to her or my wife.”
“Aye, I hear ye married the slut.”
“I’m no’ above punching ye in the face, you bastard,” Diarmid said sharply. “Fiona’s told me how you treated her. It was enough to turn my stomach.”
“She was always a foul wee liar, Mactavish. You’re welcome to the besom.”
Neither of them believed Allan meant that.
“I wouldnae be too quick to accuse someone else of lying, Grant. You told me Fiona and Thomas were married.”
“Laddie, ye must ken that in the Highlands, a vow made before witnesses is as binding as a vow before a minister,” Allan said with insufferable condescension.
“Aye, maybe so, but both parties need to agree to the match. What ye intended for Fiona was little better than rape.”
“An ugly word from the devil who kidnapped the lassie away from her family.”
“I wouldnae leave a mongrel dog in your custody, ye swine.”
“Gentlemen, this achieves nothing,” Hamish said from Diarmid’s side.
Diarmid was surprised to recognize that for once, his volatile cousin was the vo
ice of reason, while he had difficulty controlling his temper. The sight of this man who had made Fiona’s life so wretched stirred a rage to kill that had grown since Diarmid first heard her history. “Hand over the bairn, sign the paper, we’ll pay the agreed amount, and our dealings are at an end.”
Allan’s already narrow lips turned so thin, they almost disappeared, but he nodded at Thomas who crossed to open the door of the coach. For a long moment, nothing happened.
Diarmid’s gut clenched with dismay. If Allan hadn’t brought Christina to this meeting, the whole scheme would fall to ruin.
He only took a breath when the carriage shifted and a skinny child stepped down onto the muddy ground. She wore plain but good quality clothes, and a plaid shawl was wrapped around her head, obscuring her face.
“Take off the shawl, Christina,” he called.
At the sound of his voice, the girl stopped and turned in Allan’s direction. Allan gestured to her. “Obey the man.”
Visibly trembling, the girl unwound the length of wool. Pale blond hair appeared. Hair the color of warm moonlight.
Relief flooded Diarmid, and he took an instinctive step forward. “Christina.”
The girl’s large eyes fixed on him, and she retreated. Her face was as white as marble. “Aye, sir.”