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

“If ye feel faint, tell me,” he said.

“Och, Mactavish, stop fussing over the wee lassie. You’re like an old hen,” Mags said. “We’ll see nae harm comes to her.”

“This is against my better judgment,” he said to the girl. “You havenae come near to recovering your strength.”

She stiffened her spine and tilted her chin, as she pulled a pair of black gloves over her hands. “Whoever that man we’re burying today may be, he was my companion. I owe him my respects.”

Diarmid was convinced she knew exactly who the drowned sailor was, just as he was convinced she remembered her name and where she’d come from. Two days of sheltering a genuine invalid in the house hadn’t changed his mind on that at all.

“Aye, verra well. I’ve ordered the carriage around, so ye just have to walk downstairs and out the front door.”

“Thank you,” the girl said, as collected as a queen, despite her frailty and simple clothing.

Lowering her eyes, she stepped away from the dressing table. She looked the perfect little mourner, modest and demure. Yet Diarmid would wager his next ten years that under that unassuming demeanor, she was all fire.

She made it halfway across the blue and red carpet before she showed any sign of wavering. Diarmid bit back a curse as Mags turned to him.

“Och, Mactavish, where are your manners, laddie? Give the lady your arm.”

He set his jaw so hard, it ached. Damn it, he didn’t want to touch the girl, largely because the devil inside him wanted nothing more. But Mags was glaring at him as if he’d gone mad—he wasn’t sure he hadn’t—and Peggy regarded him with a puzzled frown.

Biting back an imprecation that consigned all females to perdition, he crossed to his guest’s side and extended his arm. “My lady?”

“Thank you,” she said in a tight voice and curled her fingers around his elbow. The tight grip betrayed how close she was to falling down, but determination squared her shoulders. “Once I’m out in the fresh air, I’m sure I’ll feel better.”

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“Are ye indeed?” Diarmid asked grimly, but he matched his progress to her halting steps as they left the bedroom and made their way toward the main staircase.

***

Fiona wasn’t used to kindness or consideration, at least since she’d left her father’s house. When Mr. Mactavish treated her like a fragile princess, she found it profoundly unsettling. Nice, to be sure, but a threat to her purpose. His gentleness might deceive her into thinking that the world wasn’t a dangerous, cruel place.

Her perpetual war with life became even more difficult to maintain when he handed her up into an open carriage with a care that made her feel precious. He settled a fur rug over her knees.

“It’s a warm day,” she said, even as she pulled off a glove to bury her fingers in the silky soft pelt.

“Aye, but I dinnae want to take any chances with your recovery. Dr. Higgins expected ye to come down with pneumonia after I brought you back from the beach.”

She hadn’t known that. Dear heaven…

Her hand clenched in the fur throw, as she came to terms with how lucky she’d been—and how easily her story could have found a different ending. She might have drowned, or died of exposure on that wind-swept beach. She could have come down with a fever that trapped her here for weeks or, worse, killed her.

Without her intervention, Christina was doomed.

From beside the carriage, Mr. Mactavish watched her steadily. She didn’t trust him—he was a man after all—but without his assistance, her quest would already have failed.

So the smile that curved her lips conveyed genuine gratitude. “You’ve been very good to me, sir. In fact, I owe you my life.”

“Och, I didnae do anything special. It’s Highland tradition to offer hospitality to strangers.”

His discomfort with her thanks charmed her. And she couldn’t remember the last time she’d found a male charming. The admiration glowing in his eyes made her blood flow with lazy warmth. She knew he wanted her, but at this precise moment, even that didn’t seem too frightening.

Be careful, Fiona.

She stiffened in consternation, as she realized how a couple of days of kindness had weakened her resolve. It was time to go.

Today, she’d see Colin buried and name him to God, if only in her heart. Then she’d start planning her escape. While she was still woefully unsteady on her feet, two days of rest and good food had already restored some of her strength.